There are almost no buses that ran north along the coast, and what was left was full, so I hitched a ride with my Mum up to Brisbane. I found an old mixed cd I had made when I was a teenager entitled “Groovin Fun Times”, which surprisingly held up to its name. Continue reading “Week 25 & 26 – Groove is in the Heart”
The train from Melbourne to Sydney is 12 hours long, and if anyone ever wanted a front row seat to deep Australian culture, I cannot recommend it enough. There’s no wifi or power points, so at some stage, you just have to sit and watch the shit unfold. Continue reading “Week 23 & 24 – Last Train out of Melbourne’s Almost Gone”
The streets here are littered with divots in the concrete, splashed with red paint and framed. They are the Roses of Sarajevo and they are scars in the ground from the explosions of mortar shells during the war and serve as a monument to the innocent lives that were lost in that spot. As the asphalt of the city gets slowly replaced the roses disappear, but the memory of the very recent war will take much longer to die out. Continue reading “Week 12 – Roses are Red, Violence is Blue”
Whenever I speak to a fresh American, almost always the conversation turns to how I managed to survive in such a dangerous environment. They’re talking about all the deadly animals and the heat and I guess the nasty nature stuff that was used as propaganda in the days when being sent to “The Colonies” was a punishable crime, and parents would use it to keep their kids in line. I get it, my country is big and red and we have deserts to spare, but that doesn’t mean we were all raised Survivor-style then moved to the cities when we came of age.
Actually, Harry 