tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46538804885134077352024-03-14T06:23:13.848+00:00Collecting CitiesJasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-13381326324480917632016-10-21T23:42:00.001+01:002016-10-21T23:42:06.816+01:00How to fly long haul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Part and parcel of being an "expat" (a.k.a. WASP immigrant) is an obligation to sporadically return to the Motherland. For me this is usually due to visas expiring, although this time I found myself in the UK for family obligations. I've done this back and forth a few times now, first from California and now from Sydney, Australia, so I reckon I've got a few tips to share in terms of flying long haul.</div>
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<ul>
<li>Be sure to start having anxiety dreams about missing your flight at least two weeks before departure. It helps if the dream encompasses everything from showing up and realising you didn't bring any luggage, to arriving at the gate as the plane leaves without you. This will ensure you are so panicked about forgetting something that you will be extra prepared!</li>
<li>If possible, try and to move house immediately after you return from your long-distance trip. Having to pack away everything you own anyway will help you decide what you really need to bring. And staying on a friend's sofa or at a hostel when you return will prolong the excitement and uncertainty of being on holiday!</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home sweet home</td></tr>
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<li>Have you booked this trip to coincide with the end of your visa? You probably should have checked those dates before you locked in the flight, because immigration don't really like the idea of 1 day bridging visas, and airlines don't really like the idea of refunding your flight just because you technically shouldn't be in the country that day.</li>
<li>When it comes to actually packing, don't overthink it. If possible, do it on the day you leave, especially if you have a hangover from last night's leaving drinks, because hungover you knows what's really important - comfortable clothing, in shades of black and grey that don't hurt your eyes. You may forget to bring a swimsuit or beach towel this method, but honestly how much time are you honestly going to spend on the beach in California?</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, Converse are not ideal for mountain climbing. Nearly died.</td></tr>
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<li>Bring the most emotional of your loved ones to the airport to say goodbye, and be sure to remind them that you don't know when you'll be back. Watching the people you care about cry is the only way to be sure how much they love you.</li>
<li>Airport Duty Free is the ideal opportunity to try every single product available. Cleanse, tone and moisturise with Clinique testers, and apply expensive age-defying cream even though you're definitely too young to need it. Put on several different perfumes, so that instead of being seated next to a smelly person on the plane, <i>you</i> will be the smelly person. And six different kinds of perfume is better than B.O. right?</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also do this at every Sephora you see when travelling</td></tr>
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<li>Don't worry about how expensive booze is in the airport bar, just get as many drinks in as you can before boarding. Also, every time the flight attendant asks you if you want a drink, make sure it's alcoholic just to get your money's worth. Yes you will probably end up severely dehydrated but on the plus side, you're more likely to sleep.</li>
<li>Stay awake the whole time watching movies. The <i>whole </i>time. You will be so exhausted on arrival that you will sleep until the next morning, even if that is 17 hours away.</li>
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Full disclosure, I have horrendous jet lag right now. But hopefully these tips will be useful for your next long-haul trip! And if not, sometimes we learn best the hard way. Now I'm going back to sleep for the next 28 hours/until the sweet release of death embraces me.</div>
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Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-88334096722346596382016-07-14T10:41:00.001+01:002016-07-14T10:41:10.841+01:00Being a Global Citizen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The news lately...well, it's been horrifying. Ranging from the tragic (the numerous attacks by ISIS in Muslim nations during the holy month of Ramadan; the massacre of almost 50 people in a gay club in Orlando, Florida) to the depressing (the UK's vote to leave Europe; the absolute shitshow that is the American Presidential race) - keeping abreast of current affairs can be emotionally gruelling. The only major negative I can think of when it comes to travel is that the world is less of a confusing, interchangeable blur of images and events that don't actually affect you. It's been said that when you travel, you leave a piece of yourself everywhere you go, and while building empathy and understanding of foreign countries and cultures is a beautiful thing, the emotional impact can be hard to weather.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vigil for the Orlando victims here in Newtown</td></tr>
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Two years ago, two years after I'd left, there was spree killing in the college town adjacent to the University of California Santa Barbara campus. Elliot Rodger posted an online manifesto stating his desire for "retribution" against women for his lack of sexual experience. He stated, "I don't know why you girls aren't attracted to me, but I will punish you all for it", and on 23 May 2014 he stabbed his three roommates to death, then took a gun into the streets of Isla Vista, murdered three more people, and injured fourteen others. He had an intense 'nice guy' complex, a fervent belief that he had a right to women's bodies by virtue of his mere existence, and was so furious that he had been denied this presumed privilege that he enacted his revenge indiscriminately on his own community. But Isla Vista was also <i>my </i>community, once.<br />
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When the massacre happened, I contacted friends that I knew had been in IV visiting and ascertained everyone was safe, and then let the story go. I had just moved to a town in rural Australia to do my regional work - I had the flu, the wifi was atrocious, and my life quickly became so myopic that a world outside my hostel was hard to imagine, let alone all the way back in California. It wasn't until the recent Orlando shootings that I took the time to read the details of Rodger's rampage, and I found it hard to take. Isla Vista was my happy place, somewhere I loved deeply and had some of the best times of my life, and the idea of someone running through the streets shooting people was traumatic. The murdered people on streets I used to walk, places I used to go: Camino Pescadero, Seville, Embarcadero del Norte. He fired into the IV Deli Mart on Pardall Ave and killed someone in there. It makes me shake to think about.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My image from 2012, two years before the shootings</td></tr>
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Gun violence in America has been an issue close to my heart for some time, as I not only lived in the US for a year but got my Bachelors degree in American Studies with a focus on dynamics of race and inequality. The increased coverage of police brutality against African-Americans, and the Black Lives Matter movement, are stories that feel just as vital to me here in Sydney as local events. In the same way, Australia's greatest shame is the detention camp system for asylum seekers on Nauru and Manus Island, of whom not one person has been resettled yet two have committed suicide - one, most horrifically, by self-immolation - and the story is finally receiving international attention, and due outrage. When such injustices are committed it feels good to know there is a global community of people who will not stand for it, even if the voting majority of the respective countries won't take action. Brexit has been a similar shock - misinformation as to deadlines for registering for a proxy vote meant I was unable to participate in the British EU Referendum, and the country has torn itself in half due to a decision many Leave voters admit regretting, and that none of the right-wing politicians who pushed the idea had actually planned for. The consensus of opinion on this matter is not delineated by nationality, but by age, with 75% of young people voting to remain, and the majority of young people I speak to here in Australia concurring with that sentiment. Discarding the profound symbolism of EU membership feels like a slap in the face for young Brits, and the many foreign nationals who call the UK home.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hounslow, my borough of London, bedecked in Union Jacks for the Olympics - they voted to leave the EU</td></tr>
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My heart is still in all three countries I have lived, and this I think this is generational. We, millennials (if we must be so called), are global citizens, who are just as worried about Trump becoming President as the political happenings of our own nations. With travel, and an increased global network through news and social media, we are internationally-minded. In the US and Australia, I have often found I had more in common with my fellow Europeans than the native-English speakers of my host countries, an Old World identity that is rooted in shared cultural memories, attitudes, rivalries, and weird pop culture. And thankfully, I find that hand in hand with a global outlook is an enhanced awareness of our impact on this world, both politically and environmentally. That at least, in these turbulent times, gives me hope for the future - things might be a mess right now, but the generations of young people coming up are more likely to be looking out for each other and this planet, and I look forward to when we finally get to call the shots.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-38235186414154199232016-04-21T12:08:00.001+01:002016-04-21T12:31:25.272+01:00Depression, anxiety, and doing it anyway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was about nineteen I was diagnosed with moderate depression and social anxiety, but the symptoms had begun a few years before that. Naturally a confident and even precocious person, I had become less assertive, more paranoid, and finally reached the point where the prospect of an innocuous activity like attending a small get-together at a friend's house could trigger a panic attack. Insidiously, depression ate away at my sense of self and anxiety amplified my most self-destructive thoughts. It came with me when I went away to university in Manchester, and remained as I eventually began preparing for my year studying abroad. Shortly before I left, someone close to me told me, "I'm just worried you won't make any friends." Her concern was real, she'd watched me retreat further and further into myself over the past few years, and here I was about to take off across the world completely alone.<br />
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But as it turned out, she was wrong. Studying abroad in California eroded my social anxiety to the point that now, four years later, I find it hard to even remember what it felt like. I had formed a tightly knit social group by the end of orientation, and my natural instinct to avoid human interaction was impeded by the fact that I shared a bedroom with one of my best friends. I became more confident instigating activities, and my nervous tics like hand-wringing abated. When I went back to the UK, people told me how much I changed, and in many ways, they were right.<br />
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Mental illness is so complex, not least because it is invisible. I was upset that people thought I had changed, because as I saw it, I was back to being myself - the person who existed before the anxiety. I was hurt that symptoms of an illness had been conflated with my actual personality. But at the same time, I had gone through more than anyone could imagine. Wresting off years of irrational negativity, literally retraining your brain to think differently, is a mammoth task, and emotionally exhausting. When I had social anxiety, some people didn't realise there was anything wrong with me, viewing me as being antisocial, or moody, or shy. I am not any of these things nor ever have been, but anxiety had such a profound impact on my life it obfuscated the person beneath.<br />
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Unfortunately depression was harder to shake, but then again depression had a hold on me years before the social anxiety began flexing its muscles. It is hard to articulate exactly what depression feels like, probably because a lot of the time, you don't feel anything at all. Just numb. When my depression is bad, I lose my appetite, I don't want to see anyone or do anything. When I have personal setbacks, my brain goes into attack mode. <i>Of course he dumped you, how stupid you are for imagining he would feel anything for you. Of course you didn't get an interview, you must be delusional to think you'd be qualified. </i> In this way my brain reinforces negative self-perceptions by framing life events as proof of my unworthiness. It gives a loudspeaker to the worst things I think about myself while drowning out the good.<br />
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One thing I can say for certain though, is that my depression does not rule my life, and that is because I decided to travel. Studying abroad was one of the most powerful, inspirational things I've ever done. I proved to myself just how much I am capable of, navigating the logistics of living and studying in another country while simultaneously overcoming the social anxiety that had been stifling me for years. And while I do still struggle with depression from time to time, for the most part I am so happy and proud of myself and the life I have built. What travel has done is remind me who I am, beneath the fog of mental illness. I know that I am not a loner, but a loving friend who has forged strong relationships across the globe; I am not a loser, but a decisive, independent and fearless woman. Travel has stimulated my brain, ever thirsty for knowledge, and made my heart soar with the prospect of new adventures.<br />
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Overcoming depression is not an easy task, but if, like me, you have suffered from it and still made the choice to go out there and experience the world around you, that is something you should be immensely proud of. I know I am.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-55604885360722545332016-03-29T05:52:00.000+01:002016-03-29T05:52:30.888+01:00I am English, therefore I am weather-obsessed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Man, do I have "grass is greener" syndrome. When it snowed on and off for 5 months between November 2012 and March 2013, I booked myself a holiday to California and started making plans for a life where I would never have to be that cold again. Now, two and a half years into living in Australia, I'm nostalgic for the snow. And not in the Aussie sense where "the snow" is a location: some inland mountain range if you're low budget, Queenstown NZ if you're splashing out a bit more, and Japan if you're really going for it. Here, "the snow" is a place you go and take lots of pictures of yourself wearing chunky clothing near or on a snowboard, and then pick the one where you're least recognisable to use on your Tinder profile. Fuck that snow. What I want is the English snow that blankets the town and turns your drab London suburb into a Christmas card so perfectly saccharine it could give you diabetes. I want to make a half-arsed attempt at a snowman, then give up and go inside for a Baileys hot chocolate. I want to throw snowballs at my dog's face and laugh as he manages to be surprised every single time they disintegrate on impact. I want all the good bits of winter without the frizzy hair and chapped skin.<br />
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Except of course that's a fiction. And frankly, even writing the words 'chapped skin' induced in me a psychosomatic urge to reach for the hand lotion. The reality is that the snow quickly becomes sludge, and you fall on your arse on your way to a lecture and have to spend the first 5 minutes sitting on a radiator because you're soaked through. Granted, a kaftan and Doc Martens is not the easiest outfit to walk in anyway, but God help me if I start putting practicality over personal flair. Even when I do dress appropriately, it never seems to be enough because I have next to no body fat so the smallest breeze goes right to my bones (humblebrag, I don't care). And thanks to the preponderance of old buildings in the UK, where the concept of energy efficiency in architecture peaked with castles in the 11th century and pretty much plateaued after that, there is <i>no escape </i>from the cold. You're at home, next to the radiator with the heating cranked high as it will go, under a blanket, wearing two jumpers and a hoodie left behind by that guy you're mostly in denial about sleeping with (desperate times, desperate measures), and still you're shivering. It makes me miserable.<br />
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I can't be satisfied though, because I just don't think Sydney does a good winter. It does a good autumn - cold, crisp air with bright sunshine, and you don't need too many layers - but autumn lasts 6 months until the blossoms start appearing on the trees and you realise you've skipped ahead to spring. True, snow is not a guaranteed winter event in the UK, especially the further south you go, but it's still a possibility. And it's a thousand times better than winter rain, plus it means those short days are beautifully illuminated. Winter in Sydney is an incredibly drab affair - you've already powered through Christmas and New Year in the height of summer, and in my case, my birthday and all my friends' too, so you arrive at May with nothing to look forward to except October. "But it's so warm during the days you don't need a jumper!" my fellow European Sydneysiders will say, As if that is something to write home about. "Hi family, hope you had a good break - the Christmas markets looked lovely, and wow, Norway is beautiful this time of year! Personally I am looking forward to winter because I might be able to go without a cardigan for part of the day."<br />
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Part of the package of living abroad is a constant cognitive dissonance in terms of your attitude both to your adopted country, and to your homeland. I am nostalgic for many things about the UK, proud of the British sense of humour and low tolerance for bullshit, but simultaneously shudder with revulsion when I spot British tourists, and will start rattling off a list of reasons Australia is the better country with very little prodding. I am likely to pit the UK and Australia against each other and whichever I side with is entirely dependent on my mood at the time, and who I'm arguing with. I honestly don't think that's something that is about to change, for as much as I envision myself staying in Australia for many years to come, it's not going to undo my nationality, especially as I have been told several times that I am "very English". Which is all to say - I'm not going to stop moaning about the weather. In fact, with two countries failing to satisfy my demands, I'll likely complain about the weather even more. How very English.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-22775848057404367722016-03-02T00:00:00.000+00:002016-03-02T00:52:39.155+00:00Polari<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2YOYm3FBakg/VtYv3jCS9zI/AAAAAAAAD2I/oiLjgFl95_M/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2YOYm3FBakg/VtYv3jCS9zI/AAAAAAAAD2I/oiLjgFl95_M/s640/Untitled.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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As a bit of an amateur anthropologist, I am fascinated by language - how it affects our perception of the world around us, and our relationships with other people; the story it tells about human history, the blending and annexation of cultures. The social history of language is particularly important, especially when that language declines in use. With the rainbow flags of Mardi Gras covering Sydney's streets, I have been thinking about Polari, the name of which comes from the Italian verb <i>parlare</i>, or 'to talk'. It was the dialect used by travelling showmen, prostitutes, members of Britain's social underclass, for centuries. Because of this, many of the words have roots in the Romani language, or come from Cockney rhyming slang. However it is probably most commonly known as the parlance of British gay subculture in the first half of the 20th century, before homosexuality was decriminalised.<br />
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Homosexuality was classified a mental illness until 1968, and was not decriminalised in all countries of the UK until 1981. Obviously homophobia still exists today, but it is wild for me to think of a time when being gay was so subversive that there was no public discussion, so dangerous it could result in a prison sentence or electroshock therapy. So, like many persecuted groups before them, gay people in the UK adopted and adapted their own methods of communication. Speaking Polari allowed them to discuss clandestine activities without fear of recrimination. The theatre was something of a safe haven for young gay men in post-war Britain, who were as such exposed to Polari, and it developed from an itinerant street slang into a kind of secret code. It began to decline in use from the 1970s, as gay rights gained momentum and secrecy was less important, but has left its mark on modern English slang. Some commonly used Polari phrases include:</div>
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<li><b>barney </b>- a fight</li>
<li><b>camp</b> - effeminate or showy</li>
<li><b>naff</b> - drab or tacky</li>
<li><b>slap</b> - make-up</li>
<li><b>troll</b> - to go out looking for something</li>
<li><b>zhoosh</b> - to style or do your hair</li>
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As times change, so subcultures leach into the mainstream. Today, those young gay actors have become iconoclasts of British theatre such as Ian McKellen, whose sexual orientation is as much a part of his cultural impact as his critical acclaim. To some extent, the changing usage and subsequent disappearance of Polari mirrors the gentrification of places. From being the dialect of people who lived on the fringes of society - 'carnies', streetwalkers, people deviating from the law and heteronormativity - it became inextricably linked with underground gay culture, then exploited and parodied in mainstream media to the extent that the increasingly visible LGBT community wanted to distance themselves from it. They also had less need for it, as gay rights gained traction and it became less dangerous to be openly homosexual in the UK. A world opened up, as mainstream society learnt the Polari 'code' and assimilated certain phrases, and as such gained understanding of the associated subculture.<br />
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Society shifts and changes, and so does language. Polari might not be much in use today but fortunately we do have some recordings for posterity. Here is a radio clip from Round the Horne (1965-8), featuring Hugh Paddick and Kenneth Williams speaking Polari as their characters Julian and Sandy. The accompanying footage of a bike ride through London is a bit random, but I can't think of a better person to demonstrate Polari than my old fave Kenneth Williams.</div>
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Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-4965692340094272082016-01-27T00:59:00.001+00:002016-01-27T05:11:05.430+00:00Australia Day/Invasion Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Australia has many public holidays that make me uncomfortable. At least two are devoted to gambling, and the Melbourne Cup also comes with the inevitable death of at least one competing horse. Australia Day is probably the weirdest one though, when the entire country inflates their kiddie pool, fires up the BBQ and listens to the Hottest 100 on Triple J. It is a time of intense nationalism when the shops are flooded with flag-branded merchandise in a way I've only ever seen in America. At home we are so afraid of nationalism that displaying an English flag immediately designates you a fascist, and while Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland proudly celebrate their heritage on respective saint's days, we don't even get a day off work when St George's Day comes around. England is intensely uncomfortable with its colonial past, but instead of starting an honest dialogue with communities from post-colonial nations or the other countries within the UK, we prefer to keep quiet and act like nothing happened. Australia, however has the opposite approach - shout louder to drown out the voice of the oppressed.<br />
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In terms of Indigenous rights, Australia is miles behind its international counterparts. Canada has traditionally had a poor record at dealing with their First Nations, once operating boarding schools with the purpose of Anglicising Indigenous people (similar to the programmes that created Australia's Stolen Generations), and only closed the last one in 1996. But times are changing, as a class action suit paid out over $1.6 billion from 2006-2012 to former students in this system, and last year an Aboriginal woman was appointed Minister of Justice and Attorney General - a huge step in the right direction for a country where violence against Aboriginal women is disproportionately high. And while New Zealand's national day commemorates the Treaty of Waitangi, from which the country became a Commonwealth and the Maori people were granted land rights, Australia Day is the inverse; marking the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788, and as such the beginning of a tragic chapter in Aboriginal history.<br />
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As travellers in Australia, often we are guilty of overlooking Australia's past because we are not investing in a future here, only living in the present. Many backpackers I know here don't socialise with Australians at all, let alone Aboriginal people, and therefore are completely ignorant of the country's current social dynamics. The problem with this is representation: if your only impression of Indigenous people is as touristic commodity, like the didgeridoo players by Circular Quay, then your eyes are being drawn away from the real issues being suffered by the community. And imagining Australia as a nation of beer-swilling blondes is an insult to the Aboriginal people who were here a good 60,000 years before the first surf club or yoga studio was set up.<br />
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Across the country there are events on Australia Day that highlight Aboriginal communities, culture, and the ongoing struggle for veracity in Indigenous affairs. Some use the term Invasion Day, others Survival Day, but either way it provides a powerful counterpoint to (white) Australian nationalism. Yesterday I attended one such event in Queen Victoria Park, where there was music, market stalls, public services, and traditional dance, and what was particularly moving about it was the number of Aboriginal people in attendance. Even though Newtown has a substantial Aboriginal community, visibility is low, and the usual crowd at one of Sydney's many free events or festivals is much more bourgeois. Australia has a tendency to try and whitewash its image and history, so it is important to take some time to consider who suffered to make the country what it today - particularly on a day like Australia Day.<br />
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<i>Images: the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Redfern_Aboriginal_Tent_Embassy">Redfern Aboriginal Tent Embassy</a>; <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Redfern_riots">TJ Hickey</a> protest last year; street art in Redfern; traditional welcome dance from the Invasion Event yesterday</i>Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-46768706938175623292016-01-08T04:32:00.004+00:002016-01-08T04:32:48.797+00:00Traveller vs. Tourist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Are you travelling? No, but are you <i>really </i>travelling? We've all been asked this at some point, often by a sanctimonious white person with dreadlocks whose standard for Authentic Travel™ seems wildly unattainable. There are things you learn are unacceptable unless you want to receive the dreaded moniker of 'Tourist' - i.e. having a suitcase instead of a backpack, or going on a package trip instead of making your own way, and God help you if you even consider eating Western food. The more I think about it, the more I have come to realise that the 'Traveller' archetypes as they establish themselves are very privileged people, and belonging to this hallowed tribe takes more than just wearing elephant pants or not shaving. Those inspirational quotes telling us "Quit your job, travel the world" - who are they for? The single mother working two jobs to support her children? Or the teenager fresh out of high school with no commitments and plenty of pocket money? Exploring the world is an incredibly rewarding thing to do, but it is a luxury, and there are many reasons why it is unfair to judge people for the way they choose to travel.<br />
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<b>Money</b>. I've met several 'Travellers' who have been on the road for years at a time, taking odd jobs for cash, couch-surfing, and living a very frugal lifestyle in order to remain on the road. However, being able to take that initial step of embarking on long-term travel requires some residual funds, whether you have been supported by your parents beforehand or been in a lucrative job that you chose to leave behind. There is a certain amount of privilege that facilitates a nomadic lifestyle in the modern world because you are living with the assumption that money will always come your way. For people who have always struggled financially, this leap of faith is often too much.<br />
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<b>Safety.</b> While there are many women who travel independently and still participate in a dazzling array of cultural experiences, it is just a fact that men have more avenues of exploration available to them. I've met male travellers who will tell me exciting stories of running out of money and sleeping on the street, hitch-hiking across deserts, befriending strangers on the street who then give them a floor to sleep on, and my reaction is always the same: if I tried that, I would get raped. Perhaps this seems like an extreme response, and certainly I have both hitch-hiked and couch-surfed before, but always very cautiously assessing the situation and often sending a friend the licence plate or home address <i> just in case</i>. Sometimes we just don't want to go to those shady guest houses or get on the motorbike of that strange guy, because instinct tells us not to. Unfortunately being a traveller of any gender can make you a target of crime, and sexual assault can happen to men too. However there is a difference in how men and women assess risk, and I have always prioritised my own safety and comfort over spontaneous experiences.<br />
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<b>Transport. </b> I can't drive, I'm a Londoner and a lot of us never learnt. Unthinkable as this is for many Americans and Australians, it simply isn't ubiquitous to have a car in many British cities because our public transport is so good, and as such I never took the time to get a licence. However this can be quite prohibitive in some countries, meaning that I have been forced in the past to go on guided tours or coach trips rather than miss out entirely. I fully appreciate the idea that you shouldn't just select the 'highlights' of a place and ignore everything in between, but generally speaking you need your own vehicle to go off the beaten track.<br />
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<b>Health. </b> "You <i>have </i>to bungee jump in New Zealand. You <i>have </i>to dive in Indonesia." Aside from the obvious fact that the majority of inhabitants of these countries have not themselves partaken of these supposedly obligatory activities, there are other reasons not to participate. Something as innocuous as my asthma is enough of a danger to prevent me from deep sea diving, as even a minor asthma attack could be perilous when using breathing apparatus. Mental health is a factor too, for although travel is excellent for helping you to face your fears and insecurities, you should never be forcing yourself to do something that feels wrong.<br />
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<b>Commitments. </b> Most 'Travellers' are young, single, middle-class, and as such free to roam as far and as long as they choose. Not everyone has this freedom. In the UK, you don't have to pay back your student loans until you are earning above a certain threshold, but in the USA, once you graduate those debts have to start being repaid, whether you can afford it or not. Then there is family - personally I think that being in a relationship should not hold you back from travelling, as a supportive partner should be happy for you and trust you. But if your parents are old, or a family member is sick, you might not feel comfortable going too far from home.<br />
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The way we delineate differences between travellers is baffling, and something that I am seeing more clearly now that I am studying in Australia. We judge people for only spending time with people from their own country, for partying too much, for travelling to the same places as everyone else, for living in hostels. I am guilty of this myself, just because I am trying to build a life in Australia I overlook the many reasons that some people are just passing through. As travellers, we are all strangers in a foreign land, and as long as you are respectful of the countries you visit and their people, it doesn't matter how you choose to experience it.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-45639026239522662952015-12-24T00:57:00.001+00:002015-12-24T00:57:10.194+00:00Getting Stuck In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was an exchange student in the USA, I was constantly trying new things. I had a close-knit group of international and American friends, and our attitude was to give anything a shot (particularly if there was free food). We crashed a Christian barbecue, a Korean pop music society, salsa classes, strangers' house parties; we regularly attended guest lectures and stand-up shows; funfairs, concerts, any event on campus, we'd be there. So when I returned to the UK to complete my degree in Manchester I found myself restless. My friends' excuses that they had too much work rang hollow when their downtime involved going to the same handful of clubs, or watching TV at home, instead of mixing it up. After the excitement of being reunited with family and friends, the return from a significant time spent abroad can be quite depressing, so these are my tips for maintaining the spirit of adventure in your normal life.<br />
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<li>Go to gigs - music, stand-up, whatever you're into. I really like <b><a href="https://www.sofarsounds.com/">Sofar Sounds</a></b> which organises gigs in people's living rooms. You sign up to a mailing list that lets you know when the next event is in your city, and then get to attend a night of local artists in the comfort of someone's living room or garden!</li>
<li>Go to markets, fetes and festivals. Here in Sydney there are a shit-ton of weekend markets, and different neighbourhoods often have small festivals, not to mention the huge <b><a href="http://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/2016/">Sydney Festival</a> </b>that takes place in January. The picture up top is from the Tea Festival at Carriageworks, which is also where Sydney Fashion Week is hosted - and even if you haven't got tickets to a show it can still be fun to gawk at the fashion pack.</li>
<li>Websites like <a href="https://www.broadsheet.com.au/sydney/"><b>Broadsheet</b></a>, <b><a href="http://concreteplayground.com/">Concrete Playground</a> </b>and<b> <a href="http://www.theurbanlist.com/sydney">The Urban List</a></b> in Oz are constantly updating with places to go and things to do. One of my favourite things is discovering cool new bars in the city, and instead of returning to my usual haunts I've been working through the Urban List's Top 50. <b><a href="http://www.timeout.com/">Time Out</a></b> is one that exists in most cities, and also keep an eye out on Facebook for events happening in your area.</li>
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<li>Explore museums and art galleries. I firmly believe there's something for everyone, particularly a city like London which is crammed with world-class museums with free entry. If you don't like staring at old things there are excellent interactive places like the <b><a href="http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/">Science Museum</a> </b>or<a href="http://www.nhm.ac.uk/"> <b>Natural History Museum</b></a> and there are always new exhibits. Even in the dead-end town I did my regional work there was the <b><a href="http://www.griffith.nsw.gov.au/cp_themes/pioneer/home.asp">Griffith Pioneer Park</a></b> (that I am so enjoying above).</li>
<li>Try a dance or yoga class, particularly if it's something you've never considered before. Most dance schools have drop-in classes so you can find what works for you, and most yoga schools have introductory offers for beginners.</li>
<li>Get into some nature. Take a train somewhere and go for a hike. Instead of hiding indoors on a hot day, go swimming. Explore an area out of your comfort zone. Google local walks, and if you need an incentive, find ones that incorporate decent pubs (the UK's Campaign For Real Ale has <a href="http://www.camra.org.uk/camra-pub-walks">several guidebooks</a> listing loads of these).</li>
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<br />The main thing about travelling that is so stimulating is being constantly challenged, physically and mentally, and that is the principle to replicate in your "civilian" life. As banal as your own country may seem compared to the places you have been, there is so much to enjoy around you, if you try to take a look with fresh eyes. Yes, the beaches of Thailand are visually spectacular, but there is beauty to be found in nature more understated. No matter how well you think you know a place, there is always something new to discover, so get out there, and get stuck in.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-11823365332222419462015-10-30T10:28:00.001+00:002015-10-30T10:28:47.821+00:00HK2K15<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over the past couple of years I've given my family so many different dates of return, all of which have shifted. And when one of my favourite people invited me to her wedding banquet in Hong Kong, I kept changing my mind whether or not I'd be able to attend. However, as my plans in Australia began to crystallise, Hong Kong became a certainty, and the launching pad for my month of reunions home and away. There were 5 of us from the UCSB days going to the wedding, coming from three different continents, so we decided to rent an apartment together. First top tip: even if you think you understand how compact Hong Kong accommodation is, you will still be shocked. The people of this country have an impressive ability to fit the maximum into a small space. It was a struggle trying to find an apartment that could comfortably sleep 5 people - even those that claimed to accommodate up to 9 on further inspection assumed that two people could share a single bed. I did eventually find one, which was absolutely miniscule, but it introduced us to the area of <b>Mong Kok </b>in Kowloon.<br />
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Our apartment (from Air Bnb) was in a residential building overlooking the <b>Ladies Market</b>, a bustling daily market selling primarily cheap women's clothing, but various other kinds of tat too. Another lesson quickly learned: capacity limits are based on the idea that all people of traditional Asian build, i.e. slight and not tall. A lift that says it can carry eight people will be creaking with four Westerners inside. Mong Kok itself is not a particularly touristy area, so it can be difficult to find things written in English, but there's plenty of traditional street food. Wedding activities were number one on the agenda - including the fun and surprisingly exhausting game of bubble soccer - but we did explore a few other neighbourhoods in Kowloon. The banquet itself was in <b>Tsim Sha Tsui </b>on the harbour, and we also managed to explore the <b>Night Market </b>(above) on Temple Street, which was much more about interesting art and trinkets than polyester clothing.<br />
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The cultural highlight of this trip was easily the <b>Tian Tan Buddha</b>, also known as the Big Buddha, which sits at the top of a mountain on <b>Lantau Island</b>. We took a train to the island and then a bus that lulled me to sleep up the windy roads to see this monument, and the <b>Po Lin Monastery </b>that is adjacent. It is a singularly peaceful spot, particularly in comparison to over-stimulation of Hong Kong city. Despite being completed in 1993, there is an aura in this place of an old world that no longer exists, as Buddha sits in repose above a picturesque landscape.</div>
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Though the Tian Tan Buddha was guarded by several gentle dogs, cats were the main theme of our trip. We visited <b>Upper Lascar Row </b>also known as <b>Cat Street</b> where antique shops sold everything from traditional tea sets to Maoist memorabilia. The street's nickname comes from the so-called 'mouse goods' (stolen goods) that some shops sell, making the customer a cat ready to pounce on a good deal. More literally feline, we also visited <b>Ah Meow</b> cat cafe in Causeway Bay, where we moved to after the wedding. I would raise some health & safety queries (grooming the cat on the table?!) but I thoroughly enjoyed my hazelnut milk and the cats were quite sweet. A point of interest that our hostel and the cat cafe both shared was that they were hidden away in apartment blocks. Hong Kong buildings seem to share commercial and domestic purposes, and addresses are often written with 'F' at the beginning (i.e. 13F/100 Nathan Rd) denoting the floor of a building, which acts as another street. I found it quite fun - our hostel was in an apartment building on top of Michael Kors!<br />
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I'll wrap this up with some tips. First and foremost, get yourself an <b>Octopus card</b> - you can get these at any MTR station in the city, and they are invaluable. You pay $150 HKD which includes a $50 deposit and $100 of credit, and not only can the card be used on all methods of transport in Hong Kong SAR but also in some places to buy food, or pay for tourist attractions. Things like the <b>Victoria Peak Tram</b> accept Octopus and also give you a discount for paying that way. You top it up at any 7/11, and when you leave Hong Kong you hand it back in at the station and they refund you any remaining credit plus all but $9 of your deposit! Also, there is a train from the city to the airport which (for some airlines) allows you to check in for your flight while in town - I checked my luggage in downtown Hong Kong and it was waiting for me when I got to London. Finally, be aware of typhoon season. October usually isn't, hence the wedding banquet being booked then, but we were experiencing the fringes of the one that hit mainland China and the rain is intense. However I did get some nice moody pictures like the one above from Victoria Peak!Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-87687720279253866802015-09-24T11:12:00.001+01:002015-09-24T11:12:11.449+01:00Byron Beach Bum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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September historically has been a busy month for me - whether settling into university life in Manchester and Santa Barbara or readjusting to the big city after my three months of farm work, it is inevitably a transitional period. It is also the month in which New York, London, Milan and Paris host their Spring/Summer Ready to Wear Fashion Weeks, and despite my busy schedule I have always managed to keep up. Not this year though. I still haven't got through all the shows from February on my <a href="http://lo-fi-fashion.tumblr.com/">little side blog</a>, let alone devote the time to this season. Strangely enough that is my way of realising that I'm going through the biggest life upheaval so far and the logistics of planning has been doing my head in. So of course...I had a little holiday.<br />
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Byron Bay is an affluent surfer town in the north of New South Wales. The beaches are beautiful, and so are the people. My friend and I rented a room through Air Bnb just down the road in <b>Suffolk Park</b>, next to the picturesque and isolated <b>Tallow Beach </b>(see above). Warning: this area is a bloody nuisance to get around sans vehicle. The last bus back from town leaves at 5pm (11pm on Friday and Saturday if you're on time), a taxi is $20, and it's a hell of walk. Despite that it was a lovely place to stay, no commercial centre as it were but lots of pretty little homes and a gorgeous beach just a few minutes walk away.<br />
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There are good eats to be had all over town of the healthy/organic variety, but the must-visit for us snap-happy creatures is <b>The Farm</b>, just outside Byron in Ewingsdale. Set amongst the greenest fields I've seen in a long time, this incredibly photogenic establishment includes a florist, grocers and restaurant <b>Three Blue Ducks</b>. I'd been to their Sydney premises in Bondi the week before and had a good meal, nothing to write home about, but found the setting and food far superior up in Byron (could be my preference for breakfast food, or the placebo effect of the rustic-luxe vibe). Either way worth the irregular bus service to experience.<br />
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We walked up to the <b>Cape Byron Lighthouse</b>, which commands gorgeous views over the neighbouring beaches and towns, as well as being a pretty little structure itself. Thankfully the weather largely outperformed the dreary forecast, and the one rainy day we spent cosy in our host's home with several beers to keep us entertained. Perfect antidote to the month of rapid travel I have approaching, and pretty much the polar opposite of my next location: first time visiting Hong Kong! I'm going for a friend's wedding and will be reunited with many friends from my time in the States (none of them American) so it should be a riot....stay tuned!</div>
Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-38323823182831203182015-08-13T10:26:00.004+01:002015-08-13T10:26:58.684+01:00Life Lately<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been working a lot lately - 50hrs a week in fact - but that time is about to come to a close. I'm reaching the end of my current visa which will make almost 2 years away from home, mostly living in Australia. I've loved it so much that I'm currently applying to study in Sydney so all being well, I'll be here another two years. I'm looking forward to my next big trip: Hong Kong, London, Manchester, and Southern France, all in the space of 4 weeks. It will be hectic and emotional, as not only will I being seeing my family for the first time since I left, but I'll also be reunited with my exchange friends from UCSB after three years at the wedding of one of my favourite people. I'm incredibly excited, and big things on the horizon and the end of the cold weather. Goodbye winter, bring on summer!<br />
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Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-91771983970894215912015-07-19T13:00:00.004+01:002016-04-22T13:13:15.145+01:00Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are some things where you can't see the full spectrum until you view it through the right prism. This is particularly relevant when it comes to confronting horrors of recent history, when the tragic details are familiar to us all yet abstracted by the passage of time or sentimentalised cinematic portrayal. The circumstances around my visit to Auschwitz were not especially conducive to introspection either, being at the tail end of a three-day school trip to the Polish city of Krakow and most people were more looking forward to getting drunk in the hotel that evening. But it moved me nonetheless.<br />
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Someone said to me once that birds do not sing in Auschwitz. I can't remember noticing one way or another. I do remember that it was a beautiful sunny day, and that I was angry that the weather should be so pleasant on such a sombre occasion, in no small part because as we walked across the grounds various students in our group began speculating what they might do with the rest of their day. I also recall that it wasn't the iconic images that made my blood run cold - not the ominous train tracks leading up to the camp, not the bitterly ironic sign 'Arbeit Macht Frei' - but the glass cases containing the items that had been taken from the people brought here. Shoes, an enormous pile of them, modern-looking enough to hit home how recently this all happened; and so many pairs of glasses, that made me imagine families packing their things and ensuring they brought their essential items, only to be stripped and dehumanised on arrival. These are the pictures that flash into my mind when I think of Auschwitz. That, and the tiny cell in which dissidents were placed in solitary confinement, unable to fully extend their bodies and deprived of light. In the years since seeing that, I have never been able to spend long in a room with a low-ceiling, and the basement level kitchens of old English country houses cause me anxiety.<br />
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It is important to make ourselves uncomfortable when we think about these things. I recently read Elie Wiesel's memoir <i>Night</i>, recounting his time incarcerated at Auschwitz and the death marches that preceded liberation. His tone is detached compared to the high drama we are used to seeing in cinematic accounts of the Holocaust. He describes horrific sights, including the death of his father so close to the end of their nightmare, with a hollow voice, because the unimaginable awfulness of his experiences does not require linguistic tricks to invoke empathy. It is short, and harrowing, and incredibly important. Reading has always been my greatest passion, since childhood, and having not been able to travel for a while it is the most challenging and fulfilling pastime currently available to me. Literature, like travel, has the ability to lift us from our own experiences and open our eyes to a different worldview, and in some cases it is more effective. For me, visiting Auschwitz engendered sympathy, but reading <i>Night</i> grew empathy within me, to the extent that my heart would ache when I put the book down. It is incredible, and painful, and I cannot recommend it enough.<br />
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<br />Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-29744610564967062312015-06-09T11:08:00.002+01:002015-06-09T11:09:47.606+01:00The Big Easy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The more time that passes since you've been somewhere, the more it becomes clouded by nostalgia and romanticism, and that is only exacerbated when you're working full-time with no new adventures on the horizon. For me, though, New Orleans already had an aura of mystery and excitement before I visited which was only amplified by being there. Conjuring an image of the city, I pictured a liminal place, equal parts vibrantly alive and ethereally undead, tasting like spices and brown liquor, with the sound of jazz music filling the streets. It was all of this and more.<br />
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The first thing that hits you like a brick wall in New Orleans is the humidity. During my visit it was 40<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">°</span>C and sticky which unfortunately became too prohibitive for us in the end, but I guess that's why you don't visit in July. However, the wet heat of the city is incredibly evocative, creating an atmosphere that is almost dangerously sensual. You slow your pace, start craving a dimly lit bar when you can listen to languid sax and sip on something strong. There is no shortage of talented musicians in New Orleans. Unable to get into the iconic <b>Preservation Hall</b>, we saw a bluegrass trio at the <b>Blue Nile</b> complete with washboard player instead, and of course jazz is everywhere. My friend and I, struggling to handle the heat, spent our time discovering why they call it The Big Easy - but in reality, the city is bubbling over with raucous energy. Weddings and funerals both feature brass bands and dancing in the street. <b>Bourbon Street</b> epitomises that glorious Southern dichotomy of zealotry and lasciviousness, with strip clubs lining streets that mix drunken revellers with charismatic street preachers. The food is decadent, rich and spicy and not remotely healthy. The French concept of <i>joie de vivre </i>here is still so strong it continues on as <i>joie de mort</i>.<br />
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If you enjoy architecture, New Orleans is famously a feast for the eyes. The <b>French Quarter</b> is just as photogenic as you expect, and still has a scent of danger at night, like a mysterious fog might come rolling round the corner and engulf you (unfortunately it would probably be a much more corporeal threat - be vigilant at night here ladies). My friend and I were couchsurfing in the sumptuous <b>Garden District</b>, where our late afternoon wanders took us to several bewitching bars and antique shops, as well as one of the best finds of our whole trip. While posing next to a Victorian hitching post, we attracted the attention of a homeowner who ended up recommending us to a restaurant called <b>Parasols</b>. It's a nondescript-looking eatery that boasts some of the best po'boys in the city (baguette sandwiches) and still one of the highlights of my time there. What can I say, it was a damn good sammy.<br />
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The gothic history of the city is still traded on by tourist attractions such as the <b>house of Delphine LaLaurie</b>, where she infamously tortured slaves in the nineteenth century, or the haunted <b>Cornstalk Fence Hotel</b>. Ghost tours and voodoo shops are aplenty, though unfortunately lacking in authenticity. It's not necessary though - once the ungodly heat starts to make you woozy everything starts to seem a little strange anyway, and if you know a little bit about American history you can feel the city's bloody past. It is macabre, possibly, to think so graphically about the hardships that African-Americans have endured here but that is what gives the city its soul: the voodoo, a hybrid born from West African spirituality and colonial Christianity; the 18-19th century architecture, built on riches from the slave trade; the jazz music, ever restless and rebellious. Some things were never meant to be wholesome, and are much better appreciated when considered uncensored.<br />
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At best, I can only say I dipped a toe into New Orleans. I had the kind of trip that I can report in full uncensored detail to older family members, and I was quite satisfied with that - there is plenty to offer in terms of PG-rated activities, the food itself is worth a trip. But if there's any place I could picture myself succumbing to a fugue of debauchery it is NOLA - somebody just needs to buy me a ticket.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-75249960791756024572015-04-16T04:16:00.000+01:002015-06-16T10:37:35.009+01:00A home away from home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over the past 15 months I spent in Australia, I have lived in 7 different places. Aside from the working hostel, those were all sharehouses in which I lived a thoroughly non-backpackery existence. I'm the kind of person who likes to surround themself with personalised touches, but if you're only living in a place for a few months, it can be difficult to justify spending money on settling in. However, if you've got the opportunity to unpack and not live out of a bag for a while, there are ways to settle in without spending too much.<br />
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Buy multi-purpose souvenirs. If you're concerned about not acquiring too much stuff it can be difficult to justify more bulky items, so look for things that have more than one use. My favourite is a blanket I picked up in Bali, where the market items are so cheap you could easily fill a second bag, but it's more than just an impulsive holiday purchase. The print is a typical traditional Indonesian ikat design, and I've used it as a beach towel, bed throw, picnic rug and much more.<br />
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Burn incense or scented candles. The sense of smell is one of the most powerful for invoking memories - incense always reminds me of my mother, and this particular blend smells like Indonesia too me, the perfect combination of home and away. Scented candles are a good alternative because there are a thousand variants so you're bound to find something that creates the right energy for you.<br />
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Plants brighten the atmosphere as well as bringing a little bit of the outside in if you're feeling cooped up. You can pick up posies for cheap at grocery stores and markets, or florists if you want to spend a little extra for something special. Or, if the idea of having flowers that die and need to be replaced is too much effort for you, succulents are a great low-maintenance alternative.<br />
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Print photos. They don't take up much space in your bag and as well as being room decor, they remind you of where you came from and where you've travelled so far. If you're not into scrapbooking add ticket stubs, brochures to excursions you've been on, certificates etc, and create a collage of your trip so far.<br />
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Sometimes the perfect house comes with an unfurnished room but you don't want to spend a lot of money. There are ways of getting round this. In Australia particularly there appear to be a plethora of milk crates outside every establishment - over the past year I've used these as bedside tables, bookcases or chest of drawers, even support for a mattress. You can pick up furniture for cheap or even free from Gumtree (or Craiglist in the states), and of course there's stuff on the streets too. Lastly of course there's good old Kmart - in the US I bought a full-length mirror for $5, and here my clothing rack cost $12, the coat hangers $2 for 12.<br />
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A temporary living situation can be a difficult thing to justify expenditure, but for someone like me who has an evening job and often works from home during the day, putting a little effort into your surroundings pays off. Even furnishing a room can seem daunting, but you can always sell your furniture to the next occupant. It's the unfortunate truth of long-term travelling that we don't always get to stay in beachfront huts in tropical paradise, so at least make yourself comfortable until you get to jet off again.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-72711896082708679052015-04-01T02:30:00.000+01:002015-04-01T02:30:00.920+01:00Redfern<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sydney has so many neighbourhoods that you can pretty much walk a block in any direction and the postcode has changed, so the actual area of Redfern isn't that large but spiritually it occupies a significant place on the map. Within walking distance to Central and the CBD, Redfern has suffered from a bad reputation in the past due to the plethora of drug users and casual violence that used to go on. This is in part because Redfern is traditional Aboriginal land, and as anyone with the most glancing knowledge of indigenous rights would know, poverty, substance abuse and crime are more frequent in native communities due to the disproportionately poor government care and infrastructure. However in recent years Redfern has started to come into its own, the lower rent and proximity to universities bringing in several students, and an upsurge of cool bars and cafes making it a rival to neighbouring Surry Hills.<br />
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The Aboriginal influence on Redfern is still marked, from the population to the street art, various community centres and occasional protests. The other majority group in Redfern, however, are the hipsters. It took me probably less than a month after moving to the area to become immersed, and now the transition has been completed with a new trendy haircut. This is again because of the students, the huge amount of young people living in the area, and the array of cool little spots to go out.<br />
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I could very easily write an entire post on where to eat and drink in Redfern but I would start waxing lyrical so maybe one paragraph should suffice. Brunch is a big thing in Australian cities, I would never think to call someone up to go out for breakfast back in the UK yet here I do it easily once or twice a week. <b>Tapeo </b>and <b>Barn Door</b> are two cafes on Redfern street that offer some tasty delights along the theme of eggs & bread etc. In terms of bars my favourite is a tiny dingy place called <b>The Dock</b> near Redfern train station, but along the same street is <b>The Bearded Tit</b> (frequently ranked one of the best bars in Sydney) and <b>Arcadia Liquors</b>. Sydney also seems to have this thing where a pub might look quite plain and basic from the outside, but inside actually has a cool interior and bartenders who know their shit. <b>The Norfolk Hotel </b>(pictured here) on Cleveland St has a kind of Latin feel, good food deals and a fun vibe; <b>The Rose Hotel </b>further down the same street is suprisingly sprawly with loads of different beers on tap and a huge garden.<br />
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Of all the neighbourhoods I've lived in Sydney, Redfern is by far my favourite. It's easy walking distance to other lovely suburbs like Newtown, Glebe or Surry Hills, the train station is one of the major junctions connecting you to the whole city, plus there are buses to all the beaches. It's edgy and not too gentrified, the Aboriginal centre often organises community events and raises awareness of local issues. There's an array of culinary (and boozy) delights a stone's throw away, plus if I feel like getting out of my comfort zone Crown St and other hubs of food & drink are easy to reach. You pay more than you would out in a further suburb but most of my life is within walking distance so it evens out financially. And the best thing of all - once you start frequenting the same places, soon enough you know everyone. I've never lived in a village before but I feel like I've achieved that small town vibe, in the middle of Australia's biggest city - right up my alley!Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-2807046089852349852015-01-28T01:23:00.003+00:002015-01-28T01:26:46.673+00:00Neighbourhoods of Sydney<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What's great about Sydney is that the different parts of the city each have a very distinctive feeling. I've lived in a few different neighbourhoods over the past year, and although they all have their merits, I've definitely got my favourites.<br />
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<b>The CBD</b><br />
CBD, or Central Business District, is what Australians call 'Downtown'. In Sydney this is the area stretching from Central Station up to Circular Quay, with George Street as the major artery. I would also include neighbourhoods such as The Rocks, Pyrmont and Darling Harbour in this category, at least in terms of their vibe. The CBD is where you spend the majority of your time on arrival in Sydney, as your hostel is likely in this area and all the main tourist attractions too. This is where all the shopping is, the big flashy bars and clubs, the things that make you feel like you're in the Big City. It's also the least personal, most overpriced part of Sydney - for a shared room in the CBD you'll be paying as much as having your own room in any of the suburbs. And the excellent thing is, in Sydney living in a "suburb" doesn't necessarily mean a half-hour commute on public transport - you could have the whole city on your doorstep.<br />
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<b>The North Shore</b><br />
Broadly encompassing everything north of the harbour, the neighbourhoods closer to the city are the ones with more going on. Neutral Bay and Crow's Nest are cool neighbourhoods with plenty of food and drink opportunities, plus decent transport to the city. Manly is the backpacker epicentre, with lovely beaches and a great nightlife, plus regular ferries back down across the water. The Northern Beaches suburbs are a little bit hippie, with more Aussies than backpackers and a very laidback vibe. In general though, the North Shore is quite a yuppie place, with it's own satellite CBD in North Sydney where there are many big businesses, and lots of affluent neighbourhoods populated by well-to-do young people.<br />
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<b>The Eastern Beaches</b><br />
Bondi is not internationally famous for no reason. The beach is huge, and always packed with an eclectic group of people. The backpackers you get here are Brazilian, Irish or British - the kind with fake tans and boob jobs, wearing singlets and snapbacks and risking skin cancer every day out on the sand or trying to learn to surf. The surfers themselves are the Australians we all expected to see, long blonde shaggy hair and washboard abs, and all retreat up to Byron Bay in the summer. Walk around Bondi Junction a bit and you'll see scrawny middle-aged women whose expensive blonde locks and plastic surgery do little to hide the fact that age is catching up with them. The further south down the coast you go, the more the wannabe-LA thing eases off.<br />
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<b>The Inner West</b><br />
When I arrived in Sydney, I lived in Newtown - possibly the most hipster neighbourhood in the city, filled with students, vegan lesbians, and creative professionals. As a result it's jam-packed with cafes and coffee shops because none of the locals have day jobs. There are also some of the best Thai restaurants in Sydney on King Street. Stretching out west there's Enmore, Marrickville, Camperdown, Leichhardt, and numerous cool but more gentle versions of Newtown. Closer to the city there's Glebe, elegant and organic, and Redfern, young and hip but still with the odd junkie hanging about (my current ends). There's a cool bar (or two) on every block and you can successfully avoid fast food for as long as you want.<br />
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I loved something about everywhere I lived - Newtown offered endless options of places to eat and drink, Bondi Junction had Westfield on my doorstep and the beach a short walk away, Neutral Bay was quiet and pretty but a short trip into town - but Redfern is the neighbourhood I've been happiest in yet. Cool without being too expensive, walking distance to my job and the CBD, buses to every beach, and so much to offer right here I don't even feel I have to leave. It takes a little time to find the place that's right for you but it's fun to explore and work it out.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-76052036169720140692015-01-04T23:53:00.000+00:002015-01-08T07:49:30.531+00:00Bangkok, Generally<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started my trip in Bangkok feeling like the most useless tourist, and by the time I departed Thailand two weeks later I felt like I'd really got the hang of the city. What changed? Essentially, just having a local guide. For the majority of my time in the capital I was staying in petit-bourgeois luxury with my friend Amy that I knew from my time studying at the University of California, where we'd both been exchange students. I stayed in her family home not far from <b>Chatuchak Market </b>(which I'll talk about in another post), and as a result had my own custom itinerary drawn up for free. I was given a list of attractions to visit each day when my friend was at work, got driven to the BTS Skytrain station by her driver, breakfast made by the housemaid. When Amy had time off work I never knew what to expect, but would follow her from one Bangkok spot to another. It was unlike any trip I'd had before and I loved it.<br />
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I started my two weeks in Thailand by flying into Bangkok Don Mueang Airport late in the evening, and hopping in a Taxi Meter - something at least Thailand does have on Indonesia, you don't have to haggle the price. However, the driver will pretend he can't read the map and take you on a long unnecessary detour. I was meant to be staying in the <b>Khao San Road</b> area and meeting up with a couple of lads I knew from my farm work, but stupidly had not looked up the specific place ahead of time and ended up wandering around the same 2 blocks for an hour before finding them. I have no pictures of this night, it was an absolute mess. I do know I went to a couple of different clubs and one of them was called <b>Levels</b> which is apparently good? Genuinely do not remember any music, because in Thailand you can buy towers of beer and knock back four pints before you realise it.<br />
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So, not researching my destination did waste a lot of my time, but at least I had done one thing. I checked the cost of a shuttle bus into the city and immediately felt it was too high, because I had checked on an online taxi calculator how much it should put me back from Don Mueang to the Khao San area. I was vindicated when I checked with my friends and they'd definitely payed more, HA. However, I did return to silly tourist mode the next day, although I partly blame my hangover for that: I eschewed street food for an a la carte Thai meal on <b>Rambuttri Road</b>, a nice bar with wifi I returned to several times in my trip, which cost far more than street food would have. I also overpaid on a taxi, since I was supposed to meet my friend at BTS Ari, and instead of getting a taxi to the nearest Skytrain station I just took it all the way to Ari. My spending in those first few days made me panic...and then luckily Amy took over.<br />
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We went to street cafes where the menu boards were all in Thai and ate Chinese-style pink noodles. Her dad recommended the most interesting temples and museums and a public transit route to get to them all, and even dropped me off at the first one. We went to an ancestor blessing ceremony at a Buddhist temple in town, and I sat at the back while several branches of the family sang and left offerings with the monks. We unexpectedly went for a Thai massage, where I seemingly had all my limbs stretched behind my head even though Amy asked the woman to "go easy" on me, but left with the satisfied feeling you get when all your muscles have been successful unknotted. Amy haggled with the tuktuk drivers in Thai, which is so important - I never took a tuktuk without a Thai person negotiating the price, they're a fast easy method of transportation but also an easy tourist trap.<br />
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There are many things I would not be able to replicate from this trip if I returned, simply due to lacking a local's ease with transport - speaking Thai to tuktuk drivers is an obvious one, I never did work out the buses, and our one riverboat excursion (NOT the tourist boat) made me feel like a child on a school trip. But my set-up was perfect for allowing me to explore on foot, get to know different parts of the city and the sacred sites, while having a piece of modern Thai life to get into in the evenings. Staying with Amy was one of the highlights of my time in Thailand, and that's why I couchsurf, particularly with old friends.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-62030880350242248122015-01-02T04:58:00.000+00:002015-01-02T04:58:00.079+00:00Ubud<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ubud is utterly sumptuous. Like a lot of Indonesia, it is filled with Australians, but these are an altogether different breed to the denizens of Kuta. Ubud is filled with artisan jewellery shops, clothing boutiques, art galleries and yoga studios. It got a huge tourism boost from that godawful <i>Eat, Pray, Love </i>and as a result suffered an influx of privileged middle aged woman trying to "find themselves", a.k.a throwing down a lot of money in the aforementioned businesses. Lots of Australians have holiday homes in this area too, and there is an affluent vibe to the city. This preamble might sound off-putting, but it's necessary to stop me gushing because I just loved Ubud.<br />
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There's a temple on every block in Ubud. Hinduism is integral to city life, with people leaving incense and other offerings at small shrines every morning, and several musical performances. The first picture of this post shows a festival we stumbled upon one day, huge crowds swarming the market temple and bringing boxes full of offerings. We asked one stallholder what it was for, and he explained it was a monthly ceremony to induce good fortune for the market sellers for the rest of the month. Another time we happened to walk past a temple in the evening where a small orchestra were practicing traditional Balinese music on instruments that somewhat resembled xylophones, but more ornate and played using a small hammer. You can pay to attend one of the performances, also featuring Balinese dancing, which emphasises eye movement and complex hand gestures. The storytelling is symbolic, you can't really follow the plotline you're handed with your ticket, but it was interesting to see the depiction of the <b>Barong</b> (below right), a creature you'll see all over Balinese iconography, a benevolent spirit who behaves kind of like a dog.<br />
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Culture is a commodity in Bali, and it's easy to be put off by that as a traveller if you are looking for authentic, unstaged experiences. What's important to remember though is that these are artisans, preserving and working hard at traditional art forms, who surely deserve to be remunerated for their work. I enjoyed the dance drama thoroughly, especially the music which is amelodic compared to the Western tradition but instead creates a soundscape of tuned percussion that I could have listened to for hours. I'd say this was the only "touristy" thing we did in Ubud, generally preferring to eat and drink and smoke shisha or wander the markets all day. Oh, apart from one thing...<br />
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The <b>Monkey Forest</b> is a major attraction in Ubud. Monkeys are major players in Indonesia life, such commonplace trickster creatures that there is a monkey god, Hanuman, who is an important figure in much Hindu mythology. Two of the major roads in Ubud are named for them too, Monkey Forest Road and Hanuman Road, both leading down to the monkey forest itself. You do pay entry, as it is a designated park ground for the monkeys to thrive and there are I think two temples on the grounds too, but the monkeys are utterly unfazed by being paid attractions and will wander out the park entrance regularly. It's worth a visit, because although you will inevitably see monkeys around Indonesia, I never observed their behaviour up close like I did here. Family groups are clearly defined, and often you'll see too females each with Gollum-like babies attached, grooming each other - or alpha males sitting with their balls prominently displayed, eyeing you like "what, bitch?" They're kind of intimidating. I attempted the classic monkey-on-shoulder picture by dangling a banana and instead got jumped by two different heavyset male monkeys, and gave up after that.<br />
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Ubud is just one of those cities that is so sensually enjoyable. You can walk through rice fields or markets where the colours are so vibrant your camera won't rest; the food is delectable of course, and there are several bars with happy hours; the streets smell of incense and clove cigarettes; and as well as plenty of traditional music, loads of the bars on Monkey Forest Rd have live music at night. I stayed at the <b>Happy Mango Hostel </b>(above) at first when there were three of us, a colourful place with a nice communal area and a decent price for an individual or group. If there's two of you, you're better off finding a homestay off the main roads like <b>Dewi Ayu</b>, where had an ensuite room with pool and breakfast included for the same price each. There's an excellent cafe in town that we frequented and I stupidly didn't note the name, but it's a colonial style building with delicious mix-and-match food. It's next to <b>Warung Schnitzel</b> on Sri Wedari, which has overpriced meals but $3.50 cocktails everyday from 4-10pm. I spent 5 nights in Ubud but it could have been weeks, it's just such a lovely lifestyle. The only thing it's missing is a beach...Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-22233664996586109652014-12-31T02:19:00.000+00:002014-12-31T02:19:00.125+00:002014 on Instagram<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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They say people travel to "find themselves", and this year is the closest I've ever come to that. Four countries, countless cities, and more incredible new friends than I could have hoped for. 2014 has set the bar high, that's for sure.<br />
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<b>January</b> - starting the new year living in Newtown, Sydney then setting off for New Zealand's North Island.<br />
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<b>February</b> - exploring the South Island of New Zealand, then heading back to a new neighbourhood of Sydney.<br />
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<b>March</b> - back to work but still in travel mode, living in Bondi and skydiving for the first time.<br />
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<b>April</b> - Easter, autumn colours, and a gruelling work week...<br />
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<b>May</b> - goodbye to the bright lights of Sydney and hello to the red earth of Griffith. Farm work begins!<br />
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<b>June</b> - becoming a country girl, and getting into hostel living.<br />
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<b>July</b> - a purple haze of partying interspersed with 8 hours a day of staring at oranges.<br />
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<b>August </b>- spring in the air, and making the most of Griffith's unexpected charm before leaving for good.<br />
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<b>September</b> - first trip to Asia, two weeks in stunning Indonesia, and living in Neutral Bay, Sydney.<br />
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<b>October</b> - my second year visa commences on an impromptu trip to Thailand.<br />
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<b>November</b> - a move to 'edgy' Melbourne, uncertain but giving it a shot.<br />
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<b>December</b> - an odd Christmas and a month I can only remember snippets of, finally getting into Melbourne but also deciding to leave. Early 2015 I'm planning on hitting the road, and I can't wait to see where I'll end up.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-76132998043330730612014-12-29T02:05:00.003+00:002014-12-29T02:05:57.395+00:00Urban Malaise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Blogging is a hard habit to keep up, especially because I don't want to write arbitrary posts with borrowed images and nothing interesting to say. I still have a wealth of photos from Indonesia and Thailand that I haven't even mentioned, and the problem is the pace of city living. No matter how much of a whirlwind of sensory delights my travels are, once I return to a job and an everyday life, the memories are dulled and any attempt at storytelling becomes rote. I'm going to line up a couple of posts about my Asian jaunts for the next week or so, since I will be spending my birthday week back up in Sydney. I have some restaurant, hostel, temple names noted down in my travel journal but I want to try and recreate is the atmosphere of the places I visited, and now I am not working I have the opportunity to sit down and do this. <br />
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I began my second year visa in October, actually while I was in Thailand, and as I've mentioned I faced a bit of a dilemma. I'd missed the opportunity to visit Europe over Christmas, but I'd lost interest in Australia. Transferring to Melbourne was a start, but I still found myself melancholic and unsure of what I was missing. Working in a bar I hate and living in a neighbourhood distanced from the backpacker community has exacerbated this feeling, but ultimately made me think about what I want from my time here in Australia. With that in mind, my plan is to quit this city at the end of January and embark on a little adventure.<br />
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My travel priorities are and have always been: meeting interesting, international people; learning about new cultures and/or communities; being close to nature. That last one might not gel with my "city collector" attitude, but what I've come to realise is that it's not about the size of a town so much as how you connect with it. Previously I've enjoyed walking the streets of cities, people-watching and considering the psychogeography of a place, how architecture, climate and topography intersect with the people living there to create a unique culture from one city to the next. Now I want to take this to a smaller scale, and in Australia it's not just the residents of these towns that are so interesting, it's also the other travellers. The backpacker community in this country is so interconnected and I can't wait to get out there and build even bigger networks.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-77776226097373782632014-12-10T02:20:00.000+00:002014-12-10T02:20:29.466+00:00Queen Victoria Market<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Who doesn't love a market? So many good sniffs, such bustle, handmade jewellery, vintage clothes and antiques, more food than you can limit yourself to...<br />
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Melbourne's biggest market, the QVM in North Melbourne, runs 5 days a week in the mornings, but over the summer the night market runs on Wednesday evenings. This is the best selection of stalls from the weekly market plus special pop-ups too, and a weekly bevy of delights. Packed to the rafters with locals and tourists alike, there is also live music playing to keep everyone entertained.<br />
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It's the food that gets me coming back week after week. My plan is to try as many different stands as possible before I leave Melbourne - so far top recommendations are the Sri Lankan street food and paella. The sangria is pretty damn good too, but obviously market prices aren't exactly conducive to a night of drinking.<br />
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YUM. Unfortunately I'm working tonight but maybe I'll have time to stop by for a snack on my way...<br />
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<br />Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-63833455071820624952014-11-18T00:51:00.003+00:002014-11-18T00:51:38.989+00:00Like Asia but more Aussie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Bali is in general infested with Australians, but while Ubud has the yoga-centric hippie contingent, the vast majority can be found in <b>Kuta</b>. It's a beach town a stone's throw from the airport, and, with neighbours <b>Legian </b>and <b>Seminyak</b>, the hub of Australian tourists from middle-aged bogans from Perth to affluent schoolies from Sydney. The three towns stretch along Bali's southwest coast and are an easy walk from one to the next but with a discernible change of pace. Semiyak contains the more swanky hotels, boutiques, and conceptual bars and restaurants; Legian is the family-friendly stretch, with sprawling resorts that have nightly entertainment and very Western menus; and Kuta is the Ibiza-style shitshow, all tacky tourist shops, nightclubs, and hostels with triple-decker bunkbeds.</div>
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These beaches are nowhere near the best in Bali (especially if you count the Gili Islands), with grey sand strewn with litter and cigarette butts. But they're an easy place to spend some time, smoking shisha, drinking a Bintang, or just watching the surfers. There are many surf schools in the area often with local teachers who have been surfing these waves for years, or who come from neighbouring <b>Lombok</b> which is also famed for its "swell". I find surf talk incredibly tedious and am not a comfortable swimmer so this wasn't on the cards for me, although apparently that doesn't stop a lot of people. One night my friend and I were enjoying a beer with one of the surf instructors, a guy called Froggy, who was telling us he'd seen an entire Indian family attempt a night time surf session without anyone overseeing, only to start flailing in the water when it transpired none of them could swim. (They survived of course, or that's one weird story to tell nonchalantly to a couple of strangers).</div>
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Bali in general has a huge Western influence, but it was most obvious to me in Kuta. We went to the <b>Sky Bar </b>with a couple of lads from Bribane because they do a killer deal, 5-6pm unlimited refills of your beer and access to the buffet all night, only for Rp.50,000 (like $5 AUD). It's a weird place, with several levels before you get to the roof area, and every single person inside is white. There were a few empty dancefloors on the way up (it being barely evening), yet there were inexplicably scantily-clad women dancing to an audience of <i>nobody</i> to house music. Literally, empty rooms. They would occasionally shout at each other over the music. And while I was hoping the food would be a delectable mix of Indonesian staples, it was all burgers and potato salad. The blandest of Western offerings for the least imaginative of Western tourists. But they had shisha so we ended up staying for hours.</div>
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The gift shops here, and in truth all over Bali, are stuffed with a weird assortment of trinkets. There's your standard Asian fare, local fabrics and elephant pants (wide-legged trousers with a distinctive elephant pattern that half the travellers you meet in Asia will be wearing. Actually half might be a conservative estimate). But there's also a lot of clearly Australian-influenced stuff, like bumper stickers that say "I fuck midgets" or "X is gay" with many popular Aussie names, that you can bring back as souvenirs for your friends, who you apparently hate. You'll go into a bar in Kuta which is selling Coca Cola for the same price of an entire meal on the other side of town, and three generations plus inlaws of an Australian family will be loudly arguing with the staff about how they know best because they've been coming for 15 years and their friend Gary owns the place.</div>
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I stayed at first in the <b>M Hostel </b>in Seminyak, which my friend warned me "you have to go through a pharmacy to access". She was not bullshitting. The front is a 24hr pharmacy, then there are several shady, American Horror Story-reminiscent corridors to get through, before you come to the hostel's communal/outdoor space. It's actually a lovely little hostel, and inexpensive (although as I'd learn, if you're not travelling alone then homestays will get you more for your money). The strange entry process is because of the Balinese backstreets which do not always connect to the main road in the most logical way, so M Hostel actually exists on the courtyard of several other buildings, which may or may not be residential. It's eccentric but clean, which for me is a great combination.</div>
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Balinese culture is still present in Kuta/Seminyak, despite the Western influences and the resorts. Like in the rest of the island, there are shrines everywhere and business owners will perform their morning rituals, lighting incense and sprinkling scented water, and leaving an offering which always seems to include a cigarette for some reason. If you want to see traditional dance you're probably more likely to find it in <b>Ubud </b>(post coming soon), but some of the resorts do put on traditional entertainment, for example a performance of the Ramayana my friend and I stumbled across. And of course the best way to get stuck into any new place is the food. Avoid restaurants and find warungs, and then the cheaper and more interesting thing to do is eschew the menu and attack the buffet. There's so many delights you won't know where to begin: beef rendang, tempe (fried bean curd), vegetables cooked with shredded coconut, this delicious spicy aubergine thing, ayam goreng (fried chicken)...it's possibly one of my top national cuisines. <b>Warung Murah </b>on Double 6 Street (Jl. Arjuna) is the top bet but there's many of a similar type. Even if you did just come to Bali to stay in Kuta and get wrecked, at least try and eat local food...maybe all that chili might help your hangover.</div>
Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-48387281985528365092014-11-14T00:31:00.003+00:002014-11-17T04:30:09.785+00:00Mildly Homeless in Melbourne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few weeks ago, I was at my job in Sydney and I just got an overwhelming urge to quit and do something new. Find a new neighbourhood in Sydney, go to Thailand for a month, move to Melbourne - I wasn't sure, I just felt very strongly it was time for a change. After a few days of vacillating and probably quite annoying my workmates, I took the plunge, handed in my notice, booked a two-week trip to Bangkok, and promised my friends in Melbourne I'd be moving there in time for Halloween. Which would be just three days after I returned from Thailand...<br />
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So, I arrived back in Sydney having barely slept in 2 days, on the morning of Oct 29th. I'd failed to find someone driving down to Melbourne, so I had to book a flight for the next day - meaning almost half of my beloved clothes got left behind in the house I'd been sharing, and I still had 22kg to lug about with me. I'd planned literally nothing and once again, barely slept. Yet on October 30th I found myself at 10am sitting in a Melbourne CBD laneway drinking coffee with friends. One was comfortably settled with a good job, and a house she shared with her boyfriend and friends - but the other, Lucy, was in the same position as me, and she dropped a bit of a bombshell. All the hostels were booked up, and those that weren't were charging $40+ per night because of the long weekend. I'd picked basically the worst week to arrive.<br />
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So now on top of house-hunting and job-seeking, we were having to find a different place to stay every night. Thankfully we were able to leave our heavy bags at our friend's house, but otherwise it was one relentless week. We would wake up every morning with at least three appointments in different parts of the city, and either have to find a cheap, available hostel for the night or try to couchsurf. Our initial attempts at couchsurfing got us no love, as a lot of hosts on the website are unnecessarily uptight about taking in stranded backpackers. This is also when the inefficiency of the trams started to grate on me, as when we found a host we had to face a 40 minute journey to get to our stuff in Caulfield, then again back to the city, plus another 30-40 minutes to reach our couch host in Kensington. And then we were sleeping on a mattress in the garage.<br />
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We eventually lucked out when a girl I'd met briefly while travelling in California last year noticed our plight on Facebook and offered to put us up in suburban luxury in her family home for a few nights. This was perfection, comfortable with kind people, and thankfully Lucy had a room we could move into after that. I'd managed to get myself a hospitality job without even doing a trial shift, but I was still woefully lacking a room. I'd been primarily looking in the cool northern suburbs (read: incredibly hipster), and of course if the rent is low in an otherwise pricey neighbourhood, there's a reason. I became accustomed to walking down lovely well-kept streets and knowing that the house I'd be viewing would be the most decrepit one there.<br />
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A sample of some of the houses I looked at: a terraced Victorian home in Fitzroy where my housemate was a white guy with dreadlocks whose body odour lingered after he'd left the room; a bizarre building with 3 apartments run as one house with twenty tenants, bikes and old plants hanging off the walls, filthy kitchens, and random middle-aged Italians sleeping in the living room; another enormous sharehouse with a hostel-style kitchen but with all the warmth and fun of hostel living surgically removed; and a house with a dog, but it turned out the dog would be leaving when the room became available. Alright that one wasn't so weird but I was still pretty disappointed.<br />
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Lucy and I are not the most thrifty characters, so our approach to budgeting in these lean times involved eating just one meal a day, but it could be a decadent $15 splurge somewhere. We were also getting coffee every morning, and wandering around the shops more than we could bear the temptation. We attempted so save some dollar by hopping the tram...only to get caught and fined $75 apiece. My knowledge of the trams and city centre was massively accelerated by our strange living style those weeks, and I even got to know some nice little cafes (although I don't know who we thought we were getting deluxe nachos and endless coffees when other people would have been on a home-cooked noodle diet).<br />
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I eventually found a room, which I'll be moving to at the end of the week, but here's what I learnt from my week of being an itinerant:<br />
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<li>karma is real, and if you try to not pay for trams you're going to get nicked</li>
<li>you want to go out at night in Brunswick, Fitzroy, Coburg etc. but you don't want to live there. Unless you're fine with living in squalor</li>
<li>don't listen to New York hipsters who've been living in Melbourne for a year and therefore think they know everything. Before Christmas is the best time to find retail or hospitality work</li>
<li>don't go to house-viewings you found on Gumtree that have no pictures</li>
<li>one meal a day is not enough, especially if you're schlepping across the city from 10am-10pm</li>
<li>don't lose faith, because now I've been here two weeks and everything's coming together</li>
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Despite our weird experiences (which also included killing time in a children's library and playing Lego Star Wars on their PS3), I've liked Melbourne since I got here. And now I can actually get stuck in.</div>
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Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-4981613578408472962014-10-15T02:11:00.000+01:002014-10-18T11:53:32.224+01:00Griffith, NSW<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm a city girl - look at the name of this blog. No matter where I travel, I always feel most comfortable in the bright lights. So for me, a big factor in whether or not I could hack three months (or more) living out in the sticks, was not only working in agriculture but living somewhere remote on top. As it happens, Griffith, where I eventually found myself is technically a city but good lord, not by a Londoner's standards. Let me be clear straight-up though: I fucking loved my time in Griffith and I wouldn't change it for the world.<br>
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I stayed in a working hostel, <b>Shearers' Quarters</b>, owned and managed by a Chilean guy who is a kind of benevolent dictator that runs every aspect of your life. He finds you work, wakes you up every morning, drives you there and back, and asks you a lot of personal questions. That or he has his lackey Greg do it, a special fellow who looks like a backwoods axe murderer but has a very kind heart. You sleep in a room with 3 other people who will become your best friends. The kitchen is underequipped, the toilets and showers are in a tin shed outside, and the TV room (above) is an odd cinema consisting of ragged sofas and one apathetic cat. Give it a couple of weeks and you'll love it.<br>
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Downtown Griffith is basically one street, <b>Banna Avenue</b>, wherein you can find all your basic amenities and maybe three clothing stores. There are actually several places to drink in Griffith (this is Australia after all), but for some reason the backpacker hotspot is <b>The Area Hotel. </b>It's a bar during the day populated by men in hi-vis jackets but on a Saturday night they push the tables aside and hey, you got yourself a dancefloor! The only other 'club' I tried is <b>The Griffith Hotel</b>, aka "The Griff" which is a lot rougher but the music is just as bad. You really don't have a lot of options in this town but from what I hear it's at least better than Mildura.</div>
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I arrived in Griffith in winter, and the cold was ferocious as the town is situated in an irrigated desert, so while the sun is out and hot during the day, nights are bitter. I purchased a fluffy blanket and wore it everywhere. But towards the end we started getting beautiful weekends and I realised there is actually fun to be had in Griffith. Our hostel was right next door to the <b>Pioneer Park Museum</b>, a deceptively large open air museum of historical reproductions. Griffith was founded in the early 20th century so it's really not that old, but Australia at that time was a real frontier kind of a place and walking round the museum is like stepping into the wild west...surprisingly enjoyable.<br>
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On my very last day two buses loaded with backpackers headed to <b>Lake Wyangan</b> which is the most hilariously underwhelming lake ever, it really only has room for like a few boats. But it's nice and open and there's places to picnic and barbecue so why not. We got very day-drunk and I ended up leaving behind looooads of stuff when I took my train back to Sydney...which is a very representative story of my time in Griffith. It's messy and strange but goddamn you'll have fun!</div>
Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4653880488513407735.post-31641348152158815712014-10-08T01:33:00.003+01:002014-10-08T01:33:53.034+01:00The Gili Islands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Twice in my life I've found myself sitting in a tropical paradise, my feet buried in white sand, my eyes gazing out over the azure ocean, wondering how I got so lucky. The first time was in Hawaii two years ago, and the second time was on <b>Gili Meno</b> last month. Both are the kind of honeymoon destination I'd seen in adverts and only dreamt I might one day visit, yet there I was and I'm not even 24 yet.<br />
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It's easy to wax lyrical about the Gili Islands - the pace of life is much slower than on Bali or Lombok, they only got electricity about a decade ago and they are too small for cars, so a horse and cart or the obligatory Indonesian scooter are more common modes of transport. Yet there is wifi everywhere, which is apparently normal throughout southeast Asia, and therefore steps ahead of New Zealand and Australia. Aside from that though, you are just living in an island paradise of thatched bungalows, beach bars and warungs (homestyle cafes) serving the most delicious Indonesian cuisine for less than $2 AUD!<br />
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I spent the majority of my time on Gili Meno, the smallest of the three and the quietest, but the other two have a lot to offer. <b>Gili Trawangan </b>is the party island, your best bet to find live music, all night parties or mushroom shakes. There are a few backpackers' to stay in as well as the usual vast array of homestays, and there's also a bustling night market which is a good bet for cheap local food. <b>Gili Air</b> I didn't make it too, but I've heard it might be the best of the three, with Meno's tranquility but the occasional party. Gili M is a real couple destination so if you're looking to hook up maybe try Gili T - or just head to the <b>Eco Hostel</b>...<br />
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The Gilis were my first main destination on arrival in Indonesia, and one thing that became clear very fast was how friendly Indonesians are. We frequented a warung known as Mama's, family-run and informal, and would take every meal there. Aside from being warm and welcoming people, I have them to thank for introducing me to <i>dadar gulung </i>(pancakes filled with coconut and palm sugar), a dessert I frantically sought out in every place we visited afterwards. My last night on Gili M was spent at Mama's watching Lombok music videos with the family while Mama sang along and danced. There we also met a young woman from Lombok who was teaching English to some resort staff - she asked us to come along, and the evening ended up with the bartenders creating signature cocktails named after us and a midnight dip in their infinity pool! Then the very next a group of small girls approached us on the beach with some hermit crabs to share with us...I've never been to a country where the people are so giving.<br />
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Homestays are a good bet for cheap accommodation if you're sharing, averaging about Rp.15,000/night (about AUD $15) and usually include breakfast - one of these we stayed in was <b>Meno Smile Cottages</b>, where we had a little bungalow. Bare in mind though the showers on Gili M run seawater and flushing toilets are still a luxury. Hostels are a steal as well, the <b>Bird Park Hostel</b> above cost us just Rp.50,000 a night, and since the weather is so warm late into the night you really only need somewhere to crash rather than an all-inclusive hotel. Friends of mine actually slept on the beach instead, which would be a great thing to try once. All in all the Gili Islands are the epitome of a relaxing beach holiday, definitely worth a visit, even if it's just a few days.Jasminehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00348718279667742860noreply@blogger.com0