Brace yourselves...

A good friend of mine recently posted a status on Facebook: "Why?". Naturally I bit that status and bit it hard and it lead me to actually write down my thoughts on 'How stuff works' for the first time which I now release to you below...

Be warned, no one is going to like this answer:

Q: Why?

A: Consequentialism.

7 Habits of Highly Ineffective People

So you've got something you've got to do.

It's important, it's not going to be easy and you're worried about it. It might be a work report, cleaning your house, filing your tax return, paying off your loan-shark, or a uni assignment.

Now, the sensible thing to do would be to knuckle down and actually do the work necessary to solve the problem, right? Get it out of the way, forget all about it and relax, stress-free.

By why would you do that when you can resort to these helpful techniques!

The Facilitation Mafia

Ever since I started this blog, I'm becoming aware that my life back home is nowhere near as wacky as it was overseas.

Sure, working, studying and living in my own home town where I speak the language, versus moving every four days through utterly foreign places and living in places that actively promote drunkenness each night, may not be a really fair comparison. Nonetheless, it's slightly concerning.

So it's always nice when you get a ridiculous situation turn up. Especially when you're well into the thick of it before you realise just how ridiculous it actually is.

War. Doing the terrorists' job for them since 2001.

Ok, I could run on at the mouth for hours on this topic. But it's late, I'm still in the damn offic because we haven't got internet in our otherwise sweet-as house yet, and statistically speaking, no one responds to my long posts.

I had a sudden realisation the other day, wandering around town. We're in Iraq and Afghanistan to fight terrorism right? Iraq was a lways dodgy from the get-go, but Afghanistan is considered pretty legitimate in that Al Qaeda was known to be hanging out there.

So we invade Afghanistan to protect the lives of US citizens from terrorist attacks.

Does anyone else notice the enormous flaw in this logic?

And I swore I was never going to do this again after Corsica...

Long long time readers will be familiar with one of the more ridiculous episodes of the Palunawack Tours across Europe last year.

Namely, the 'Screwing up the timetables and sleeping under a bush with an unstable French-woman' incident. Shortly followed by the 'Screwing up the timetables again and having to fend off thieves in Milan' incident the next night.

I swore (loudly) at the time that I would never ever again fail to read a timetable. As a result I was doomed to almost certain failure in this regard.

Intolerant of Tolerance

Whenever there is a clash of values, this seems to be our standard response. Tolerate the differences. Just because they are different doesn't mean they're any better or worse than yours.

So what if that guy disagrees with climate change? Everyone's entitled to their opinion! Who are you to say your beliefs are any more valid than someone else's? If a Muslim woman wants to wear a hijab, then that is her right.

Or as the big man once said: Thou shalt not judge.

And to this collectively recognised and long respected bastion of our society, I have only one response:

Wrong.

The Spliff of Mystery

A mystery wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in cigarette papers and stuffed with weed. And thrown at my head.

Now let’s get this out of the way up front: I’m not into drugs. Not a fan. This is a well though-out position based on rational consideration of the evidence. The fact that I vomit significantly whenever I’m around the gear and wake up under trees (or on the 14^th floor of a docklands apartment building on one occasion) has nothing to do with it at all. But that's a topic for another post.

But some people are. And frankly, if we’re going to compare weed to alcohol, it’s kinda hard to get all self-righteous. Besides, I’ve got bigger, more important things to complain pointlessly about.

Child of the 70s

I remember skyping with my parents in the final days of my Euro trip last year, discussing what I was going to do when I got home (uncertain), whether I would try and get the same sort of job again (unlikely),and more importantly, where I was going to live.

This last was a question I was not keen to grapple with. I am blessed with parents who not only managed to bring me up compassionately and firmly, but possess the asbestos ears necessary to put up with my ranting whenever the television is on. 

But after 12 months of total freedom gallivanting around the continent, careless, fancy-free and, all too often inebriated, my Mum saying “We expect you will move back in with us for at least six months” was not exactly enthusing.

Lyrical philosophers. Kinda.

Just a short one until I get my act together and post something awesome soon. Much big news to come!

I was browsing the Herald Sun again (I am rather self-destructive) and ran across this little gem:

Demi Moore in Twitter war with Kim Kardashian over her use of word 'pimpin'.

I can't beleive I opened this story thinking I was going to get some sort of social commentary. The word 'Twitter' should have been warning enough.

Feminism - a lot more simple and complex than you'd expect

I just know this post is going to lead to trouble. I can feel the foreboding. But since when has impending and predictable doom ever put me off anything?

Feminism is a tricky topic, what with the fact that I'm male and all, so normally I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. But I came across a couple of things last week that have made it very firmly my business. And I treat my business seriously, if moderately sarcastically.

The cause was the Herald Sun. For those who don't live in Melbourne, the HS is our tabloid paper. Still legitimate news but pretty trashy. If you want a good indication what the average person is interested in/thinking, the HS is the place to go.

As of 2005, everything the HS prints is firmly my business, ever since their number one shock-jock columnist, Andrew Bolt, specifically targeted my Uni course as "do-nothing, scary hippy freaks". A mistake on his part.

You've done what now?

Every now and then we are privileged to be witness of an act of such comic improbability that we are compelled to share it immediately.


Last night was involved just such an incident.


It's been a while since I was last out on the town with the boys, so I had been looking forward to Saturday for a while. A footy game, several bars and some highly inadvisable dancing later (I will never learn my lesson about that. In fact I flatly refuse to) we piled into a cab and headed home.


Now me and the boys all live about an hour out from the city from a place called Ringwood. Ringwood could be described a number of ways. 'Culturally diverse melting-pot' is one, provided you consider 'bogan', 'confused pensioner' and 'mothers wear matching clothes to their children' to be cultures. 

Writing is a lot easier and harder than I thought it would be

So I got a lot of praise for those travel emails I was sending home, and even before that people have always told me I write pretty well. So when I got home I thought I’ll start doing this thing properly – writing is obviously my form of expression, so let try and get some solid stuff down on paper.
I started this blog, I started editing The Palunawack Tours for a book and I even started mapping out some of my own thoughts on philosophy (more to come on that another time).

But while the actual writing bit come naturally once I’ve started, it’s the getting started bit that seems to be a problem here.

I’m guessing we’re all familiar with this feeling of impending doom you get when you’re asked or planning to try something you care a lot about. The totally irrational but completely undeniable feeling that ‘If I start this, the world very well might end’.

That, combined with a certain set of bizarre emotional spasms I’ve been experiencing lately as a result of being on the other end of the staying-home-while-someone-else-travels situation (seriously, I was away for 12 months, she’s only gone for three. I should really just shut the hell up) are the reason for the extended period of silence on this blog.
But no more!

And yes! I’m aware I’ve said that before! Shut up!

And the hits keep on coming - an update

So I finally get my butt into gear and get an original Post up here! In had to happen eventually...

So now I've got the final 2 Episodes of the Palunawack Tours uploaded, what better way to kick off than a bit of an update on the sporadic string of reality-challenging randomness that is my life (there's an easily understood sentence for all you internationals out there. Get out the dictionary...).

The Palunawack Tours - Episode 15, England and an Epilogue

This is it people! The final episode of The Palunawack Tours across Europe. The end of an era...
12 months, 18 countries, 3 ferries, 7 flights, 4 farms (one unplanned), 8500 photos, 1 dead camera, 2 dead phones, 1 injured Finnish girl, 2 shredded manual cars, several hundred liters of beer, 1 lost suitcase wheel, 3 parking fines, and 1 count of being banned from Switzerland, and it's all over!

What a hell of a trip.

Highlights - not enough room

It staggers me how popular these emails have been - I was surprised that so many people managed to get through them, let alone liked them - an others have even suggested I put them together as a book. I've been chatting to a friend about the idea so stay tuned...you'll hear it here first if anything happens!

Blogalicious

Can't wait for me to get my arse into gear and eventually publish a book after a few years or procrastination? Why should you! Check out my blog for future updates - you may be assured things will not be any less chaotic just because I am home. Hell, it only took me 9 days before I found myself half-naked wearing a very rude hat at a mate's stag night. No, will not be posting any photos. Trust me, you don't want me to...
Anyhoo, here's the blog: http://ithilian.blogspot.com/

Keep track when there's a new update by signing up as a Follower on the right hand side there. And you can find all 15 Episodes up there right now! For those of you missing some of them, here's your chance to get the lot.

Lies, Damn lies, and Claims these emails will be short

I am well aware that I claimed in the ever first Episode that I would be keeping these emails short and frequent. Massive, massive irony then that they ended up being up to 5000 words long and up to 2 months delayed.

So in the spirit of this original promise, I'm going to try to keep this final email brief.

Don't bet on it.

London

Despite the fact I've technically been in London twice before, I've never made it to the city so I wasn't sure what to expect. As it turns out, London is an odd mix of the super polite and cultured, combined with trashy media and an odd undercurrent of fear.

The eye-contact phenomenon is a great example; on the continent, especially Germany or Switzerland, if you make eye contact with someone on the street they just keep looking at you. While this initially freaked me out (see Episode 2), I've come to love it; it gives me a great opportunity to smile at people and practice my alluring-ness as I like to call it (essentially, making women over 30 blush a lot. Yes I know it's not very sporting, but it is very fun).

But try this in London, assuming you can find a person who isn't staring fixedly at the footpath, and they will freak out the second eye contact is made. I actually managed to get people crossing the road just by looking at them, though I must admit the combination of long hair in a pirate bandanna, shorts, sandals and the English weather did make me stand out a little.

I'm also officially rating the British as the #1 most sexually repressed nationality in the world. This may seem a big call, but what other country in the world has a topless woman on page 3 of a daily national newspaper? And that's only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg if you'll excuse the imagery. At least in Australia a teenage girl can claim the weather is suitable for wearing a pair of shorts that look like they're going to impregnate her, but when you see people (not just girls I might add) walking around in what could best be described as a belt and tights in 2 degrees and rain? An image not improved by the fact the UK has a bit of an weight problem. And I would like to apologise for that mental image.

Beyond that, London was quite awesome and the people surprisingly polite and friendly when you eventually managed to convince them you weren't going to mug them. One of the definite highlights in the first week was going out to a West End production of Les Miserables (try ordering a ticket for that when you don't know how to pronounce French) and being addressed as 'Sir' by the ushers. I actually went in and out of the theater 3 times during the interval just to hear the guy with the top hat on the door go "May I see your ticket Sir?". Note the capitalised 'S'.

Awesome.

Swine flu reaches an entirely new level

Hanging out in the Berlin hostel I met Vicky, who offered to show me 'England's number 2 city' when I arrived. After some embarrassment while I tried to figure out which one was England's number 2 city without actually asking anyone, I met her up in Birmingham and had a brilliant guided tour around the place.

Given it was Halloween I should have been prepared for it, but walking into the middle of a Zombie Shuffle was kinda a surprise. If you're wondering what I'm talking about check this out: www.heraldsun.com.au/zombie-shuffle

As if dressing up as the living dead wasn't enough, these zombies had done so for a purpose: they were protesting the Swine Flu vaccine - which pretty obvious when you think about it.

I was actually pretty surprised how much everyone got into Halloween in the UK, but as Vicky explained to me; "If there's one thing the English like better than dressing up, it's sexy dressing up". Amen to that. I've never seen so many french maids, nurses and man-kinis in one night.

It was like the whole town was on a stag/hens night and the results were slightly terrifying. I for one am not keen to have to bribe a taxi driver to take a drunk woman (who we'd somehow inherited) home again any time in the near future. I'm still not sure where she came from.

British Rail would like to apologise for its miserable existence

I always thought Melbourne's public transport was poor and Europe did nothing to change my mind about that - except for British Rail. I have never seen so many trains cancelled in one afternoon as I did trying to get back to London from Birmingham. Since I wasn't really in a rush to be anywhere I decided to just settled back and observed the chaos unfold.

Imagine Australians in this situation: muttering curses, yelling at rail staff, and gradually degrading into a refund-demanding mob.

This is not the English Way - the English bottle up their rage, ask staff politely for updates, go home quietly and hen write a scathing letter to the local newspaper, television shows and the Minister for Transport.

After a fair bit of pestering and judiciously applied bureaucracy-speak - "In the interests of consumer peace of mind could you communicate the cause of the inhibition?" - I found out what was going on. Apparently the cause of 3 hours of mass cancellations and delays was:

Leaves on the rails.

But wait, that's not all! It was the wrong kind of leaves on the rails!

Well...that's ok then.

The honorable British tradition of human sacrifice

Guy Fawkes night, for those who don't know, is to celebrate the foiling of a plot to blow up the english Parliament.

They celebrate this triumph of the law preserving enlightened democratic government, by selling small explosive devices to children, dancing around enormous pagan bonfires, and capping it all off by pretending to burn a man alive. Am I the only one who thinks this is a little odd?

Road tripin'

After a couple of weeks in London I decided to hire a car (you guessed it, a manual) and tour around England a bit to visit some friends and see the sights.

Stop 1: Offord D'Arcy

Why did he go back to France, you may be asking. Well despite the odd name Offord D'Arcy is actually a tiny little town a few hours north of London. Why bother? Because this is where my Dad's family comes from, and since one of the things I've been trying to do on the trip is track down some heritage, this was a place to visit. It turns out there's actually a street named after the family up there - Cawcutt's Close.

Yeah I know it's not interesting. Hey, you're the ones who wanted to hear less about me drinking. See what happens? Thrills!

Stop 2: Nottingham

The very first night I arrived here I went out with some guys to watch a boxing match at the pub; I believe it was a tiny English guy versus an enormous Russian. The English guy won by basically avoiding the Russian for 10 rounds while occasionally poking him while the Russian was still trying to figure out where the little man had gone. Good tactics, sure, but surely nothing to cheer over.

I obviously underestimated the English sporting obsession. The crowd went insane.

If there had been a corner I could have backed into at that point, I would have been there. All I could think as random people hugged, kissed and threw coasters around the room was that it was a bloody good thing they hadn't lost.

The main reason for going to Nottingham was, naturally, Robin Hood. To summarise this experience: don't bother. Stick with the book, avoid disappointment.

Stop 3: Bangor, Wales

I worked with Alex in Switzerland at the start of my trip. He was the guy who dragged me and Swedish Kris home after our attempt to visit every bar in the village in one night, thus probably saving our lives. At least Kris' life anyway since he couldn't really walk by bar #13. So I figured the least I could do was visit him at his Uni campus.

Now I'm usually up for anything, but even I was somewhat surprised to find myself dressed as a bug at a fancy dress ball 5 hours after arriving at Alex's place. What can I say? Alex is a really persuasive guy.
It also turned out another old friend of mine was studying at Bangor as well. Catching up with Lucy was great, since I haven't seen her since we met in Tasmania back in 2007, where we completely failed to build a greenhouse for a farm down that way. She introduced me to the town with officially the longest name in the UK:

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

My cultural experience is now complete.

Between the two of them they managed to have me out partying fr all 3 nights I was there, including one unfortunate incident where I ended up getting my nails painted by a couple of strange women. I must admit I didn't really put up much of a fight...if I had have known the sparkly silver nail polish wasn't going to come off for 4 days, I might have tried a little harder.

Stop 4: The Leeds Rally

Alex is also in the Scouts and got me an invite to a rally being held a couple hours away at Leeds. The amount of paperwork I had to fill out to go on this one weekend was pretty staggering. I even had to wear a red wrist band at all times to show I wasn't allowed to be left alone around minors as they hadn't been able to police check me - all part of the UK's 'Suspicious until we say otherwise' child protection policies.

Hanging out with English Scouts was a pretty interesting experience. As the original country of Scouting I was expecting people to be pretty uptight - fundamentalist Scouts if you will. What I got was people beating the snot out of each other with foam sticks, an organised system of mascot thievery, and possibly the dirtiest campfire songs I've ever heard.

Oh, and about 3 inches of mud. Sweet!

Stop 5: Birmingham mark 2

It started as a stopover for one night before heading down to Oxford. Then I met some cool people in my dorm and got to talking.

It finished with carpet burns, free pizzas, a parking fine, and a noise complaint about a girl shrieking "stop it, stop it, stop it" at three in the morning. That'll get you to stop tickling someone pretty damn fast. I was half expecting the cops to burst in at any given moment.

Stop 6: Oxford

A very pretty town indeed! Oxford is small, well built and is so full of student culture you can smell is 5 miles out. The definite highlight here though was the stereotypes.

For the rest of my life I will carry with me the image of a young man trying to hit on a couple of girls with an accent you would expect out of Price Charles; "And what are you dear ladies about on this afternoon? Perhaps I could accompany you?" I think it may have cramped his style a little with my cackling in the background. Just as well he didn't get too upset or he may have challenged me to a duel...

Stop 7: Newquay

The plan was to head down towards Cornwall to check out the Eden Project. If you are a greenie, this is the place to be in England. Two massive bio-domes containing a rainforest and a Mediterranean forest, along with huge educational arrangements, a vego cafe and basically anything you could want in an environmental education centre.

Check it out here: http://www.edenproject.com/

But you can't actually stay at the Eden Project so I found myself in a hostel in Newquay. Newquay is the number 1 surfing own in the UK, a concept I'm still struggling with. By happy coincidence there was a Movember party on while I ws there. The combination of surfer fashion with moustaches gave a strong feeling of the 70s, like I was hanging out with a room full of Austin Powers extras.

Stop 8: Bristol

India, or Jones as I prefer to call her, worked with me in Switzerland as well. And while I may or may not have forced her to climb into an ar conditioner, we got on petty well. We managed to catch up at the Leeds Rally but I dropped by her Uni as well for a couple of nights.

The plan was to crash the night and drive over to see another mate, Dominic before I took off back to London. But thanks to my impecable sense of timing I arrived right in time for a charity fundraiser night at the student halls. These being uni students, they raised money somewhat...creatively.

Various stunts I saw to raise some cash included waxing a guys legs, waxing his chest, waxing his facial hair and then finally, the inevitable nude run around the campus.

And incidentally, playing snap as a drinkigame is not a good idea when you're drinking port. The combination of high speed movements with alcohol, blood red alcohol, means the lounge room is almost inevitably going to look like you slaughtered a cow in there. At least it wasn't me who hit the bottle.

And despite a reasonable port hangover (very dry) we managed to get down to Devizes and do lunch with Dominic the next day. It was awesome to see him again, even if we had to keep it brief. I had received a phone call earlier that day informing me I had to go back to...

Stop 9: Birmingham, mark 3

Because I had managed to leave my drivers license there, probably during the tickling incident. Not a small drive and while I was beginning to get familiar with Birmingham by this point, I was a bit annoyed at the detour. But as it happenedI met some more guys there and ended up getting invited to an Ultimate Frisby tournament the next day. Again, another 'how the hell did this happen again?' situations.

I also ended up catching up with Ida, another mate from the Ryla program back home I haven't seen for ages. Why is everyone moving to the UK all of a sudden?

London, and the final week.

Despite my best efforts to deny reality, the last week in England and Europe passed really quickly. But the pace meant for quite a few highlights:

Here's to Tamara!

One thing I love about traveling is the instant trust you build with people. I met Tamara at a weekend in Germany way back in May. And on the strength of that alone she offered for me to stay at her place for 4 days on my last week. So after I returned the rental car, with the gear box happily intact for once, I wandered over there. it was awesome to get a break from youth hostel dorms for a while too. In fact Tamara's place was so awesome that I walked straight past it - twice - o the basis that this cannot possibly be where I'm staying.

Amature WWF

Ralph is a mate I haven't seen for nearly 4 years, catching him in London would have been cool enough, but he managed to up the anty. Never in my life would I have considered going to a WWF wrestling match, let alone an amature version run in a community hall on a Thursday night. Frankly, I was braced for a pretty awful night of bad acting and nearly-fatal accidents.

Now I'm not proud of saying this, but amature WWF turned out to be one of the most entertaining nights of the entire 12 month trip. The combination of amazing outfits, ridiculous smack-talk, extremely impressive athleticism (never seen anyone fly through the air like that) and the audience participation made for a hilarious night out. The fact we had a few beers and started cheering Russel the umpire just completed the night - the poor guy didn't know what to do about us. For that matter the wrestlers were throwing us some odd looks as well; 4 half-drunk Australians cheering for the referee would be a pretty odd sight.

Those wacky English and their queues

One of the more surreal experiences in that last week came when I tried to get some money out of the ATM. There was a queue, so I joined it. And stood there for 10 minutes before I realised it wasn't for the ATM at all, it was for a bus. Which hadn't arrived yet. This is a uniquely English habit - the pre-emptive queue.

So fixated are they with conforming to the queue that they will only ever stand on the right side of the escalator unless they are moving, regardless of how many people are crowded at the top or bottom. Nevermind the efficiency of it, using both sides of the escalator is simply impolite! One must follow rules or civilisation as we know it breaks down! The English have a surprisingly similar mindset to the Swiss in that regard.

Sunday roast

As if the WWF wasn't enough, Ralph also invited me round for a Sunday dinner, the night before I left for home. Given my nerves, this was probably the best way to end the trip - hanging out with a few friends, eating a good solid meal and alling asleep on the couch in while watching 'It's a Wipeout Extreme' - who could ask for a better finish?

British airways regrets to inform you...

My plane was due to leave at 9pm. I arrived at 8pm all ok, early and ready to go. And at 8.50pm I realised I was at the wrong gate. 30 seconds of panic and 8 minutes of sprinting later, I staggered up to the right gate and was cheerfully told the flight has been cdelayed for an hour. Phew.

Actually the flight ended up being cancelled completely. Normally I would have been pretty annoyed about his, but between a year of travel and the fact I had sweet sweet unemployment waiting for me when I got home, what the hell do I care if I get put up in a hotel for an extra night. In fact that sounds awesome! It was probably a bit tactless of me to be grinning my face off while everyone else was worrying about connections and missed appointments, but hey, whatcha gonna do?

Welcome home

And just like that, it's over. Apart from a lingering feeling that everything was smaller than I remembered, it was like I'd never left - the smells are the same, the trees and the birds are the same, and catching up with my friends and family is all the same as it ever was.

But I'm not. And that is one of the strangest feelings I've ever had - it's like I never left but changed in everything overnight. I look around me now and I understand life a lot more than I did; my world has deepened. I've found confidence, courage, calmness that I never knew before. I've met people from all walks of life, from everywhere and shared experiences I could never have expected (and a few I still struggle to explain).

So if you want my tip? What's the one best thing I learned on this trip?

TRAVEL

What cheer!

Gordon
http://ithilian.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=516897153&v=photos&ref=profile
http://www.youtube.com/user/TheGreenScout

The Palunawack Tours - I'm coming home

Damn, damn, damn.

You spend 3 hours typing up a homeoming email and then manage to delete the damn thing adding the final touchs minutes before boarding the plane. Bugger. But somehow it's a fitting end to this shambolic parade of mine across Europe.

Meant to be boarding now so keeping this brief for once!

Thanks to everyone I met or stayed wih. You guys made this trip what it was, and it was beyond awesome
Thanks to everyone who took the time to email, call or facebook me over here, despite the fact you guys actually had real lives at the time. You guys kept me sane and grounded.

Oh and thanks to popular demand (still can't beliee how much you guys liked these episodes) I've started a blog. Follow the link below and click the 'Follow' button on the right to get a heads-up when there's something new to report

http://ithilian.blogspot.com/

Not sure exactly what I'll be writing about once I get home, but since I'm rarely short of an opinion it should be interesting. I've also uploaded all 13 episodes of The Palunawack Tours - get your old Episodes now!

I hit ground on Wednesday the 2nd and will NOT be doing a welcome home party,basically because at the going away party I barely spoke to anyone and spent the whole night doing laps. Instead I'll be trying to catch up with everyone back home one on one or in small groups.

Given the enormity of the task here, help me out by sending me a message if you want to catch up - I'm free practically 24/7 thanks to my glorious unemployment (read as::-)Hippy Bum. It's official now) so let me know when is good for you.

Thanks again guys. And if you want a nice audio sum-up of how I'm feeling right now, you need only ask John Butler: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4ikCeSbOck

Ciao Europe. See you in 28 hours Australia!

What cheer!

Gordon