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| Home @ The Mansion |
We arrive
at “Home” and the place is huge. It used to be a hospital or
something. Everything in Melbourne isn’t what it used to be. It’s
hard to keep up. It’s 4 stories high with a great winding staircase like
something out of “Beauty & The Beast”…wait, what?
Guys
aren't supposed to reference, quote, or watch Disney movies? Noted.
Let’s move on. You know where I’m coming from.
I checked
in and went to make myself something to eat. The hostel itself is a lot
like the place I lived in Sydney, as in, there were a lot of “long-termers”
there. So usually in places of this nature it takes a little bit more
effort to crack the proverbial ice. Everyone is already in their own
clicks so to speak and everyone already knows each other at this point and new
faces aren’t always as welcome at first to some degree. It's still a
hostel but not everyone in hostels are looking to make friends or connections
all the time.
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| Cool buildings all over Melbourne |
I circle
around and look for new people to meet. I go outside, no dice. I
try the kitchen, nope. I go back outside another time with my box of
“Goon” and decide that I’m just going to start drinking. Damn it
all. If I can’t find new people to hang out with, them I’m just going to
drink and go out on my own (I'm brave like that).
Of
course, that’s when you start meeting new people! The second time I
go back outside I struck up a conversation with a guy named Patrick and a
German guy named Nicolas. They like to smoke weed, a lot. Not to be
confused here, I used to, a lot. But I also quit.
I quit
because of 3 reasons.
1)
It made me very unproductive (like not starting the blog I’ve had in my
head for 5 years, going to a REAL college, finding a REAL job, you know…stuff
like that) I’m 26 years old now, I got shit to do.
2) It
made me doubt myself and my choices, I don't like that...because as you all
should know by now...I'm RIGHT, ALL THE TIME (or so I tell myself). So I
can't have any clouded judgements on future or previous experiences.
3)
Movies. I can't tell you how many movies I've watched when I was high and
couldn't remember a single thing about it afterwards. The best is when
people ask you later if you've seen it, you say yes; and then can't recall any
of the plots points, jokes, or twists that made the movie great....but I
digress...
That’s
neither here nor there. The point is, with my long hair and beard
everywhere I go that’s generally the topic of conversation. I get
accosted by people wanting to sell me drugs constantly. It just comes
with the territory of the hippy appearance I guess.
Not to
mention, in Australia, they also mix there “joints” half tobacco, half
marijuana. I’m not really down with that, so it made quitting a lot
easier for me. I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life, so it’s not
really a matter of “want” to me anymore because the fact is, I actually DON’T
want it...but enough of this off subject tangent (my apologies).
I meet some of the local backpackers and they bring me into their assortment of a crew. I spent the next 3 days hanging out with that same crew coincidentally. Patrick, Nicolas, Elise, and a lot of other backpackers that I really can't remember and will probably never see again. They can be your best friend for 2 days or 2 weeks but if you forget to get their details, you may never see them again. So I guess by most standards that's not really a crew. As vicious as a cycle as that can be, to a traveler it is, they're your crew until you split up. Nevermind.
The first
night we went out was a Tuesday, I convinced everyone that we needed to go to
Chinatown and find “The Croft Institue”. It was one of my destinations on
the list and it sounded really cool because it used to be a mental institution
that was turned into a bar. Little did I know at the time, it actually
came with inmates…but I’ll get to that later.
It took a
little convincing because most backpackers tend to be poor and usually aren’t
willing to go out to places they don’t know have some sort of cheap drink
specials. We fill up our water bottles with “Goon” and off we go….
P.S. I will
explain exactly what “Goon” is and what it means when I get to the Wednesday
night portion of this entry.
The first
place we come to is a bar that I have no recollection of. They wouldn’t
let me in. I was drunk and forgot that I had a water bottle full of
"Goon" with me as I tried to walk in. They also wanted me to
pay an entry fee….I don’t do that….I haven’t done that since I turned 21 way
back in 1972...and if you don’t have a band, I’m DEFINITELY not paying to get
in, simple as that.
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| Marley & Me fightin' over some "Goon" |
So one of
the Swedish girls, Marlieke and I sit outside and finish our Goon in front of
the bar with defiance! Once the others came out and told us that Heinikens
were $16, I told the bouncers I’m glad I didn’t come in and then I “passively”
take another swig of my illegal street beverage and meander down the street.
Long
story short, we get lost and spend more time than we should looking for this
place. But as all great places in Melbourne, it was located down a dark
back alley that you wouldn’t find if you didn’t know about it to begin
with. Somehow we stumble across the alleyway anyway.
We walk
down this dark corridor with graffiti all over the walls as it begins to
rain. It was like a bad movie, like a bad 80's movie. There’s a guy
yelling at me from a bench as we’re about to go in, I pay him no mind. He
paid me a lot more…he followed us inside.
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| The Croft Institute |
We get in
and it’s exactly as predicted. The walls are that tiled sea green color
that makes you want to shiver because you feel as if something bad is soon to
come. There are glass beakers and prodding instruments placed all over as
the rooms decorum. We walk straight up to the bar and order a few drinks.
The drinks are a bit pricey for the “Homeys”, they begin to fill out one by
one.
The
bartender was extremely talented at his craft. He took everything very
seriously and everything he did was with exact precision. Even to the
point of simply putting ice in the cup. He would put the ice in the cup,
turn to mix other ingridients/chop various fruits and then pour out the
smallest of condensation from that ice before inserting the remaining
ingredients of the drink. That felt weird writing so I'm hoping you
followed, if not, just know it was the smallest of details that he paid the
most attention to. It seemed unnecessary to me but that’s why he’s won
countless of bartending awards and I haven’t. I also drink the easiest
thing on the planet to make, bourbon & water/on the rocks...so there you
go.
This
starts his friend off on a drunken tirade about how great his
"friend" the bartender is. The bartender himself was quite shy
and wanted his friend to shut up, he was nice enough to keep him around because
the guy should have been cut off hours ago.
Who is
this guy??? Nobody, just the guy that was outside yelling at me in the
alleyway; oh, and did I mention yet that this guy didn’t have nose. HE
DIDN’T HAVE A NOSE!!!
Like, it
just wasn’t there. There was a hole in his face where there was supposed
to be a nose and he didn’t have it!!! As my luck goes, all this guy wants
to do…is talk to me. Dammit. And wouldn’t you believe the irony…of
a guy with no nose…being nosey!
He was
all-in my business, once he found out I was American it was all over.
After that nothing negligible came out of his mouth. Apparently
"Americans are trying to be like Australia", "what am I doing
here?", blah blah blah…dude, you don’t have a freaking NOSE!!!! What
are you supposed to do with that???
It was
like a train wreck, I couldn’t look away but the last thing in the world I
wanted to see was the black space in the middle of his face WHERE HIS NOSE IS
SUPPOSED TO BE!!! (I can’t stress this enough, I was freaking out).
I also
didn’t want to be rude.
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| Not all graffiti is poorly done |
Sometimes
I put myself in other people’s shoes, why? I don’t know, it just always
makes me sympathize with them and where they are coming from I guess.
Then I do stuff I don’t want to do because it’s the “right thing”
(bleeehhh). So I continued speaking to him. But I’m looking at this
guy and my heart went out to him. I said to myself, “who else is talking
to this guy?”. the answer: Nobody.
I
wouldn’t say it was out of pity, maybe a little I guess. Not that I'm any
hero or hidden gem that people should be honored to talk to or anything but no
one else would even look at the guy. It didn’t help that he was
completely shitfaced and yelling either. Seriously though, the guy had
some balls. I would be so self conscious about that; I don’t know if I
could go out to bars missing a fairly intregal part of my face. If you
don't have something on your face, people are going to notice. You’re not
approaching any chicks without a nose, sorry, it’s just not happening. I
felt bad so I stayed.
My
Swedish girl was not as sympathetic, she dipped out and I didn’t even see her
leave….there goes that pipe dream (get it? Pipe…dream…yeah, you get it).
I talk
the guy off his high horse and he buys us (me & him) a few rounds of
Chatreuse shots. I have a knack for changing negative views on Americans
I’ve come to realize. I took the shots, the bartender FINALLY cut the
dude off and then we left. He wanted us to come back to his apartment but
that was giant NOOOO….SSSEEE.
I wake up
Wednesday and convince my other American roommate to forgo all of her
responsibilities and come explore Melbourne with me. I’m a bad news
bear. I do this so much I should get paid. Chicks dig cars, I had a
rental car. I’m pretty sure that swayed it in my favor, probably because
she told me it did. Whatever, I'm awesome, that's how we'll describe
that.
The car
however, did not work out as planned because traffic in Melbourne is a bitch
and parking is even worse. We were in the car for maybe 5 blocks
totalling1 hour of driving. We decide to take our venture out on
foot. We meet up with Gavin and out for a couple of day drinks. We
found a rooftop bar where I began to realize that in Melbourne, I am completely
underdressed…everywhere we went. I love it though, not sure Elise shared
my enthusiasm for center stage.
We get a
couple of the other backpackers to come and meet us up for drinks and pizzas
and then we headed off back to the hostel. The “Home” hostel has theme
nights to get everyone involved and interacting with one another, or just get
every s#*@ faced, which ever comes first. Wednesday night is their “Wine
& Cheese” party.
Sounds
fancy right?
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| Hello sweet pillow |
Now is the
perfect opportunity to explain the term “Goon”. “Goon” is basically boxed
wine, like Franzia in the US. The lowest of the low, the cheapest
possible drink to buy in Australia, it’s literally $12 for 4 liters of just
foul tasting “wine”. The best part about most “Goon” boxes, is that the
boxes themselves don’t actually say the word “wine” anywhere on it! They
do admit that there are "fish-eggs" involved in the making however so
there's that. The term, “Goon” is derived from the aboriginal word that
means “pillow”. So the idea here, is you drink the bag of
"wine" that is in the box and then blow it up as a pillow and sleep
on it! How great is that???
So what
was thought to be a “Wine & Cheese” party turned out to be a party where
they set out 4 boxes of “Goon” on the table with sliced cheese and crackers…the
type of cheese you ask? “Coon”, that’s the brand name of the cheapest
cheese in Australia. So our "elegant" wine and cheese party
quickly dispatched into the “Goon & Coon” show.
Not that
this bothered any of us at all. Free wine and cheese is always
welcome. We spent a few hours being “classy” at the backpackers and then
we set off to the place Johnny O wanted to go. They had cheap jugs of
beer for backpackers on Wednesday night and oddly enough he was the only one
who knew how to get there...or remembered rather.
So we all
set out following Johnny O, probably 20 of us in total. We reach
the bar and it’s not nearly as packed as I thought it would be on a special
backpackers night. But the booze is cheap and pool tables are free so I’m
content. Johnny O and I run to the tables and start scamming free drinks
from any and all takers. Not that I’m a shark or anything. I’d say
dolphin, I’m good, you just have to keep my attention to the table and make
sure I’m buzzed a bit. I may call Oxford for a new definition, I'll keep
you posted.
The
backpackers start filing out, while Johnny and I stayed until the end.
The bar turned into a nightclub the later it got so we made our way to the
dance floor and danced with everyone, or nobody in particular, depending on the
whatever rate of success you consider acceptable.
Usually
when I get drunk I like to go off and do my own thing. I’m the predator
here. I see something I want I go get it. Drinks, girls, doesn’t
matter. I’m a loner in these situations, I just like to see what I can
get myself into. Tonight was different, I tried to walk off (happened
several times out of habit) and realized that I had no idea where I was, or how
to get home. So I’d go find Johnny O. My one goal was to keep a tab
on Johnny’s whereabouts all night because he was getting me back to our place,
well that and he is generally a cool guy to be around.
The tab
is usually an easy task, but I didn’t know Johnny that well. Friends will
wait for you, friends will even look for you. Friendly acquaintances you
just met the day previous may or may not forget you even came with them.
It’s an old shaky wooden bridge, that situation…and the wind is blowing.
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| They run Trams, not buses |
We make
it out together however, we hit up McDonalds on the way and I either get
praised or cursed out by 3 Spanish chicks. I can never tell because the
language itself sounds like they are yelling at you, always. So I yell
back at them, I tell her I know what she said…I have no idea what she said, I’m
not even sure why I’m allowed to talk anymore.
I think
instead of those breathalyzers they give you in cars when you get a DUI, they
should give you some sort of device that after a certain level of blood alcohol
content is surpassed whatever you say after 4am should either be silenced
completely, or recreated into something more pleasant. Like when people
who snore get those masks that turns their snore into the sound of the ocean or
the jungle. Things like that.
GOD, how
am I not rich yet??? Can I find someone with some sort of technology
know-how and construction capabilities here??? Jeez man, all these great
ideas…I’m wasting away here!
Anyways,
the Spanish chicks didn’t end up dancing with us in the streets but they didn’t
end up stabbing us when we saw them later at McDonald’s either…so I’ll chalk it
up as a win. Johnny and I made it back successfully.
The next
thing I know I’m getting kicked out of the hostel at 10am. I got in 4
hours previous and was in no mood for it. I knew I had to be out by 10
but I like to play the “Silly American” card whenever I can.
The “Silly
American” card is when you do something you know is wrong and then just blame
the fact that you are by trait a “Silly American”.
“Oh, you
need a ticket for this train???
- I'm sorry, I didn't know, where do I get that? (Silly American)
“Oh, I need
to check out by 10am???
- I had no
idea, I’m sorry” (Silly American)
“Only girls
can dance on the stage???
-Really!?
It’s different in America I didn’t know the rules…(Silly American)
It's just a
lie basically. However, you'd be surprised how dumb other countries think
we are, so you get a free pass. There's a slight bit of shame involved,
but there's also no trouble to come of it.
You break
minor rules here and codes of conduct there and play your “Get out of jail free
card” because the rules are “different” in your country. They have no
idea, it’s a jedi-mind trick of sorts and 75% of the time…it works…everytime.
Either
way I obliged, I collect my things and leave the hostel. I had to pick up
Gavin who needed help moving to his new place. I still had the rental car and
my plane back to Sydney wasn’t for a couple of hours.
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| Oh you fancy huh? |
We got
him moved in and we went to a place downtown called “Madame Brussells”.
Which I thought was a whorehouse…or at the very least a titty-bar. No
dice. Madame Brussells is a rooftop cocktail establishment where all the
ladies working there are decked out in sexy tennis apparel.
Novel
idea, not so novel were the girls who were working there, they need to step
that up. Good drinks though, bit pricey, but all of Melbourne is so you
roll with the punches, just like you expect to be underdressed and judged to a
slight degree everywhere you go. It comes with the
territory.
We split
up after that and I went to the bus station admiring “Hot Lady Thursday” in
Melbourne. It’s every single Thursday I’ve been there. Not
lying. Heads on a swivel constantly; young, older business types,
cougars, you name it. It’s incredible. I got 5 full blocks of
amazing & visually stimulating company.
Melbourne is a splendid city. I have no complaints. Very classy, with lots of views, cool buildings and fun people. If it weren't so far south and so cold, I would probably try to live there but who knows, maybe I'll try that out when I come back...on my Student Visa.... ;)
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| HELLOOOO Melbourne University! |
1) Sometimes I get drunk and forget to take pictures of important outings, people, and things.
2) Sometimes I get drunk and forget my camera all together.
3) Did you really want a picture of the guy without the nose!? Didn't think so, so you got some cool grafitti instead...
YOU'RE WELCOME.
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