To see me off from Sydney in style Christof and I planned to hit the town hard. We were going to a club on Oxford Street that was famous for pelting out the best dance, trance and house music. The place was heaving with bodies, mostly bare chested muscular bodies. Julia heaven maybe? Sadly not, this was a gay club, although some of the men were so macho you’d never have guessed, while others were, well, as camp as Christmas. There were a large number of small Asian men, sprinkled with a dusting of sparkling drag queens and lots of Aussie hotties. Most were friendly and welcoming.

We hit the floor dancing like crazy, before the sweat and claustrophobia became too much. Christof grabbed my hand and dragged me along to the upper floor. A balcony ran around the top of the main dance area and we had spectacular view of the rhythmic bodies below as laser beams illuminated the club. With more freedom to move, we both let our inhibitions go and I felt the music pulsate through my body.

Christof, as I mentioned, was extremely camp. He strongly denied it, but most people presumed he was gay. The way he moved, the way he talked, I guess he was just very fancy, but what I loved about Christof was that he never tried to change. He was always himself and confident enough not to care what anyone else thought. However this trait meant he was pursued by an army of admirers throughout the night. Once they realised he was straight most turned and walked away. Others came up to me, to congratulate me on my catch or to tell me to send this “Gorgeous piece of arse” their way if I ever got bored.

But he wasn’t the only one getting attention. I jumped as two hairy arms wrapped around my waist. Grasping hold of me, my assailant spun me around. It happened so fast I can’t even tell you what he looked like, but he first took a glimpse of my face, then at my full and obviously real breasts, made a loud ‘humph’ noise and disappeared into the throng. He had obviously mistaken me for a transvestite. With my tight dress and long hair I guess it was an easy error to make, but most of the men in stilettos had much better legs than I did.

During the night several drag shows took place on a stage in the centre of the dance floor. A perfectly manicured man in a gold leotard mimed along to music while performing moves that would put Britney Spears to shame. The drag queens did seem to have the most attitude, occasionally taking the female persona too far, incorporating a vast amount of bitchiness. While accompanying Christof for a cigarette, I apologised as I squeezed past a body clad in a tight pink mini dress.

‘What’s wrong honey, God give you the wrong thingy between your legs, huh?’ he/ she said sarcastically as I moved away.

I was tempted to point out the irony of her comment, but figuring it would probably result in an uneven cat fight, I kept my mouth shut. I have always loved being around the gay community but as within most human circles there is always one who has to spoil it for the rest.

I wasn’t the only female in the club; there were a few of us about, so I didn’t feel totally out of place. As for straight men, well it was hard to tell. Generally the crowd were fantastically open, friendly and fabulous. The vibe was exhilarating. However we did encounter one more bout of nastiness. Christof and I hadn’t had much physical contact the whole evening, too distracted by all the dancing, but suddenly he grabbed me, pulled me tight and kissed me. Our romantic moment was rudely interrupted by the very same drag queen.

‘You two are disgusting, people like you should be barred. Get the fuck out.’

Was she stalking us? Again not wanting to aggravate we moved off into the crowd ignoring her advice. I wasn’t going to let an ego in a dress ruin my night. What a waste. She looked stunning in her glittering attire and glamorous make-up but with a mouth like that it was all undone in an instant.

I danced my heart out watching Christof work his way through the crowd of admirers when a very attractive guy started to dance with me. I didn’t mind having fun and I knew Christof didn’t care, but this guy was getting a bit full on. Attempting to teach me some moves he began grinding and writhing his half naked perfect torso against me. I was beginning to hope this wasn’t some slime ball using the ‘I’m gay’ card as an attempt to get into my knickers. I played along for a while eventually freeing myself for some air. As I did so my dance instructor turned around and started tonguing a little Asian man behind us. Maybe the Drag Queen wasn’t the only one whose ego had gotten too big. Had I been single and he had been straight I’d have been overwhelmed by the sexualness of a moment like that. Oh well I thought as I turned to watch Christof jumping around like a fairy, at least my man was sweet and lovable.

The club was open until 9am, but after hours on the dance floor I needed a break. This was the one bar I had found in Sydney which didn’t have a 2am lock out, so we decided to go for a walk. As we headed to the exit I noticed that my knee hurt. It felt bruised and swollen. I was fairly intoxicated so I brushed the worries aside. I’d probably just knocked it on something. We burst out onto the street and I took a deep breath of fresh, non-sweat filled air. Hand in hand we took a stroll around the block, gossiping about the events of the night so far. We both agreed the club was amazing, the music up lifting and the people entertaining. It certainly beat watching backpackers OD on goon.

Eventually returning we were headed back down the red carpet, when the doorman stopped me. ‘You can’t come in wearing thongs.’

Now remember we are on Aussie lingo, he was talking about my flip flops not checking my underwear. If that had been the case then at least half the club would have been refused entry. When we arrived the first time I had started up a bit of banter with the security guy and we’d shared a few laughs. He’d never made an issue of my foot wear and obviously didn’t remember me.

‘Behave yourself young man or I’m going to shove your metal detector in a very naughty place,’ I retorted turning around.

Unfortunately it turned out to be a different guy and this new one wasn’t looking too happy. Within seconds we were trudging back to the hostel for a change of footwear.

It was a good twenty minute walk back to The Cross and my knee was really starting to hurt. I didn’t want to kill the night so I kept quiet and decided it was nothing a few more vodkas wouldn’t cure. At the hostel we took ten minutes to enjoy a cup of goon with the Irish, before returning for a few more hours of partying.

By 7am I couldn’t take any more. The club had emptied out and those who were left were either too ugly or too wasted to pick up. The place looked a mess, bodies slumped in chairs, against the bar, in the toilets and only a few hard-core dancers were left on the floor. It was time to call it a night, or a day as the case now was.

 

Not ready for bed, we decided to wind down and popped around the corner for a nice cup of tea. Sitting watching the world wake up reminded me of my days working in the Spanish Islands, finishing my bar shifts just as everyone else was heading off to the office. I was no stranger to all-nighters. The tea went down a treat, although how far it went towards counteracting all the alcohol I’m not really sure.

Feeling slightly refreshed we set off for The Cross. I was becoming more and more concerned about the pain in my knee and decided that I should get a second opinion. ‘Christof, does my knee look weird to you?’

He looked down and his eyes widened. His face told me everything I needed to know. My knee was now at least double its normal size. There was something seriously wrong. I took a deep breath and tried to calm the rising panic. It was day light; I was in a mini dress and stupidly high heels. I was also extremely drunk. There was no way I wanted to see a doctor right now.

I agreed to hobble off to the Kings Cross chemist. They wouldn’t batter an eyelid, our state was relatively normal in a place that saw overdoses on a regular basis. With Christof’s help I made it along Darlinghurst road and into the brightly lit shop. The man behind the counter touched my knee and it made a squeaky sound. I felt sick. It seemed my knee was inflamed and filled with fluid. He prescribed tablets which I would have to take with food. Armed with my drugs we set off towards another cafe with the intention of getting something to eat. However as I stared at the menu I began to realise that mixing drugs with alcohol might not be the best idea. I would leave the pills until I had slept off the booze.

It had turned into a glorious day and the sun was shining. Christof suggested getting changed and spending the day sleeping in the park. Why not? I thought. Well in hindsight I would have to say, because my knee was too painful to walk on, we would probably get sunburned and it would be too hot to sleep anyway. But drunken Julia knows no limits. The park Christof assured me was just around the corner. Ten corners and a whole lot of pain later we were finally there.

Most parks have play grounds, but Sydney being a fitness fanatic city, has outside gyms. Muscular men were doing pull ups on metal bars and toned woman performed so many sit ups that it made my stomach hurt just watching. A new mother jogged past pushing a pram and walking her dog. Now that’s what I call multi-tasking. The lot of them made me feel ill. I realised it was time to call it a day and after less than an hour in the park I was hopping back up the hill and safely into bed.

Another of my quests was to attend some festivals and concerts. I had never been to one before and Australia had hundreds of them. My love of dance and trance lead me to book tickets to a one day event. I was to be joined by a new Canadian friend, Gary. We set off towards the venue at 11am and the butterflies in my stomach started to flutter as I saw the hordes of other ravers streaming down Oxford Street towards the gates. Once in we explored the different tents and stages. Water fountains were dotted about everywhere, along with bars, merchandise and first aid stands. Piling into an indoor arena the crowd went wild as Zombie Nation played out their famous hits. Spiky white inflatable globes hung from the ceiling and enormous speakers pumped out thumping dance tunes whilst the revellers screamed in excitement. Attached to an invisible wire multi coloured orbs appeared to be floating as they lit up the room and large screens flashed with patterned lights behind the DJ’s decks. I felt the electrified energy of the room run through me as I moved my body, riding the rhythms.

After the set we shielded our eyes as we left the arena and emerged back out into the daylight. One of my favourite groups were performing in the main arena and I was dying to watch them. The sun beat down and security guards in front of the stage alternated between filling people’s water bottles and spraying the crowd with large hoses. Security and promoters were throwing Chubba Chup lollipops out into the mass of bodies, which were all moving in time to the music as the band belted out their well known track. I watched in dismay as everyone except me managed to grab or catch a lolly. Eventually I saw a swarm of the brightly coloured sweets flying through the air, destined to land a few meters in front of me. I shot forward and beamed with happiness as I clutched the shiny wrapper of my new treasure. I sucked on it with all the contentment of a delighted child as Gary bounced around with the energy of one. We must have danced for hours and dusk began to fall. All of a sudden Gary started to point upwards excitedly. Looking up I saw hundreds of bats flying en mass, circling the stage. The crowd was building as we all waited for the headline act Deadmau5 to arrive. By this time we had been dancing all day and I was running out of energy. However I wasn’t about to risk missing a second of the performance just to grab a Redbull, but I knew exactly where to get a sugar hit from. I squeezed my way to the front of the crowd and approached a security guard. I looked him in the eyes and asked,

“Do you have any more Chupa-Chups?”

Him: light-heartedly, “No sorry, we’re all out.”

Me: leaning in closer and lowering my voice, “I know you’ve got some”

Him: looking shifty, “Maybe.”

Me: with pleading eyes, “I only want one!”

Him: attempting to be firm, “If I give you one, they will all want them and I don’t have enough to go round.”

Me: looking serious “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Him: looking even more serious, “Ok, get a close as you can, slide your hand through the fence and grab one out of my pocket. Don’t let anyone see!”

It felt as if I was taking part in a drug deal, but my persistence paid and I returned to Gary with a hand full of lollies. The sea of people stretched as far as I could see, some with arms held up in the air, some sat on each other’s shoulders and most dancing away amongst a forest of bodies. Suddenly the music stopped, the stage went dark and everyone stilled, breath baited as we waited for the set which was to be the high light of the whole event. After a few moments, a beat began to play. It continued for a few minutes building our anticipation. Then the lights blazed up and a huge scream erupted from the crowd. My pulse raced wildly as the tune started to pump and the DJ known as Deadmau5 to step onto the stage, complete with his trademark giant mouse mask hiding his face. The set was amazing, thousands of people drawn together through a passion for music. I danced until my feet were so soar I could hardly stand. Amongst the chaos, Gary and I exchanged a smile, silently acknowledging the day’s brilliance. The event came to a close around 10pm, I wanted it to last forever. My first day festival had been one to remember.

Sardine Can To Adventure

Well there I was in China! Beijing to be precise, but don’t worry you haven’t bought the wrong book; this is simply part of my story. On my way to the other side of the world I had thankfully needed to change planes. My flight departed from Heathrow and was now making a short stop in Beijing before finally taking off for Sydney Australia. I only had a short time back on the ground, but it made a great break from the twelve hours that I had just spent sitting like a battery farm hen, caged by only an inch of personal space. Mercifully the mind numbing dullness of being trapped in the airborne sardine can had been broken just before we started our decent. As I stared at the beautiful country side which was coated in a thick layer of frosty snow, I began to notice the man in front of me pointing at something excitedly. I looked down straining my eyes to find the cause. We were flying over the Great Wall of China. I couldn’t believe it not only was I in the privileged position of having a year to travel Australia, but my connecting flight had allowed me this added bonus of getting a quick glimpse at the ancient Asian orient. I was delighted and surprised to see the wall in fact even snow itself had come as somewhat of a shock. For no reason what so ever I had always presumed the china was a permanently hot country. I guess this assumption was not unlike my childhood belief that the world used to be in black and white because of course that was how it was shown on TV. All this had been leant and viewed before I had even stepped off a plane, oh they joys of travel.

On arrival in Beijing I experienced another lesson on Chinese practice. Their airport security is rigid. I followed the ant like queue as it wound its way through the corridors before we flooded out in front of customs. My first startling observation was that all the staff were wearing face masks. Was there some kind of plague gripping the people of china that had suddenly out broken during my plane journey? Why didn’t I have a mask? I tried not to breathe the air too deeply for fear of becoming contaminated. As it turned out swine flu was the latest epidemic and over in China they were obviously taking it far more seriously than back at Heathrow. Like reluctant school children we all sat down and filled in forms to prove we didn’t have any form of cold and flu. I swear my nose involuntarily made a sniffing noise just as I signed on the dotted line. The Chinese must have been onto me and just in case any of us were telling porky pies, we had to walk through a scanner which checked our temperatures. Fortunately my sniffing must have been a temporary side effect for the air-conditioning on board the plane and I made it out the other side without any dramas. Then in one swift swoop the Chinese went from evil interrogators to my saviours as I came upon cute little shopping trolleys in which to ferry my hand luggage around. Due to the fact that my giant green suitcase (yes this is a backpacking story, so I will explain the suitcase later) which was hopefully also currently changing planes, was already up to, if not over the weight limit, I had been a little generous with the volume of my hand luggage. I had tried my best to make it look as if it weighed the 10kg limit and not the more truthful 20kg, as I heaved and hauled it up into the overhead lockers on board the plane, but attempting to carry it across the endless terminal was not going to be so easy. With my mini trolley pushed out in front of me and a literal load off my shoulders I set off on a mission.

I was looking to dine on some Chinese food, which I guess would just have been called food here. I wasn’t a big fan of the stuff, but you’ve got to try cultural experiences when you can, even if it’s only at the airport. I glanced at a menu only to be met but pretty little drawings that although were atheistically pleasing, didn’t mean a bloody thing to me. The food was priced in Yen, of which I had none, things were not going to plan. A little disheartened, but lacking the time or skill to translate Chinese, I decided to head off across the vastness of the terminal, to find my next departure lounge. I was most excited to find a small cafe right next to my boarding gate where they were happy to accept Euros, giving me change in local currency. Cuddling my cup of tea, I cossied up in a corner gazing through the window at the perfect icy snow. The idea of local food was out and English breakfast tea was in. I figured there would be plenty of time for new experiences and at least the tea was keeping me warm. Having dressed for Sydney summer weather, my feet were only clad in flip flops and even with the vague attempt at heating within the airport my little fleece wasn’t much use. Thankfully as all the English will tell you, a good cup of tea solves all problems and having warmed up, I turned my new shinny coins over in my hand, before dropping them into my wallet. Inside was a jumble of Euros, Pounds, Australian dollars and Yen. Looking through them all I felt like a true international jetsetter. Why Euros? You may ask. How did an English girl on her way to Australia end up with Euros? Well, fortunately I hadn’t got lost along the way. I may originally be from the not so sunny county of Kent, England, but travel certainly wasn’t a new past time for me. I was now the grand old age of twenty seven and during in the last ten years I had mostly been travelling or living abroad. Much of this time had been spent living in Spain and the Canary Islands, hence the Euros, but I had always set off on backpacking trips whenever I got the chance. Now, after a year of planning and saving, I was headed to the land down under on a one years working holiday visa.

As my next plane began to board, I made a quick final dash to the toilet, in the hope of avoiding having to use the miniscule cubicles whilst in the air. I pushed my trolley through the swinging door to be met by a blaze of shinning white cleanliness. Six cubicles were manned by two staff who rushed in to clean the booths as each occupant left. I perched on the seat which was protected by a disposable cover and did my business extra carefully. Upon standing back up, I jumped in shock the toilet flushed all by itself. The taps were also automated and the second I moved away from the sink and attendant rushed over to clean away whatever evil germs I may have left there. These toilets seemed cleaner than some restaurants I had experienced over the years, another brownie point for the Chinese. Also waiting for the flight were approximately ten other backpackers. Well I could only guess, but the loose khaki trousers, slouched positions and t-shirts with Thai beer adverts upon them certainly gave that impression. And, oh yes, they were all about ten years younger than me. Like myself, it seemed that the thrill of a new adventure had clearly been dulled and then stamped upon by hours of planes and airport lounges for them too. We stood around tired and lifeless awaiting another session of endless cramping and praying for sleep. Certainly none of us were looking forward to the next ten hours on board the cheapest airline I could find.

Whilst waiting I pondered over what I was about to embark on. I had been researching this trip for nearly a year. I had read my guide book from start to finish giving me a rough idea of what I would like to see, taking note of climates and seasons. I am a Virgo and although not a big believer in star signs in my case the profile fits well in the fact that I tend to be organised, thorough and occasionally a little anally retentive. I may have had notes, maps and colour coordinated climate charts, but my only solid planning on a daily basis had been to book a Sydney hostel for my first week. For the rest I had the luxury of being able to take as it came.

My last long haul flight had been to Thailand eight years earlier and things had certainly up graded since then. My second plane had video players in the back of the seats, a choice of music channels and even computer games. I have never been able to sleep on planes and therefore had now been awake for over twenty four hours. As the flight bounced off the run way, I did my best to rest and waited for my mind to settle, but an hour later sleep still eluded me. I finally gave up and turned on my brand new netbook computer upon which this book was to be written. I tapped away on the keys, rejecting the in-flight music and instead selecting some of my own. After a couple of hours I could ignore my bladder no longer and I pulled the headphones from my ears on route to the loo. I was horrified to find that they had clearly not been plugged in correctly and Tiesto’s club mix had been playing out loud for all to hear. I can’t believe that no one complained, maybe I had accidently converted a flight full of people to the joy of trance. I quickly slammed the computer closed cutting off the sound, although I think after the last few hours it was a little late to worry. I then kept my eyes to the floor, my cheeks burning as I headed to the claustrophobia of the aeroplane loos.