Spirit 1/ self , inner being , soul
2/ ghost , phantom , spectre.
Yes , here I am looking up the word '' spirit’’ in a dictionary, trying to make sense of my Life. Follow you spirit they say. definition 1 and 2 are not entirely satisfactory.
I'm going to go for 3/
3/ strong liquor
I've been told recently that more and more people are currently realising that we are actually made of 3 different things :
1/ A body . Girls : Don't say I put on 5 kilos. Say My body put on 5 kilos. It makes a hell of a difference because YOU can have more of that cake over there.
2/ A mind . the logical part of us, the thinking bit. The common sense. No, I can't say more about the mind because I ve lost it a while ago.
3/ A spirit. Still looking that one up. That's usually known as the feeling telling you '' Mate, there is MORE to Life'' . Feeling that you can or can't shut up according to how hard you can try ignoring it.
I can't ( obviously). Because I would ( sometimes)
Make it a book, call it '' Eat Pray Love'' or '' into the wild'' and following your Spirit will make sense to EVERYONE. Make it your Life and it does not even make sense to YOU. ( Let alone other people)
And here you are , with zero money, no flight out of Australia ( visa due to end in less than 20 days) , looking up the word '' Spirit'' in the dictionary in Murwillumbah's library , sitting right next to the '' dangerous species '' section ( which is scarily big by the way)
I would like to have an answer : What the hell am I doing all this for????
The thing is when you live a life that is no longer governed by your logical mind and when you made a conscious choice to listen to that voice ( call it intuition if you're freaked out by the idea of a voice. I am.) , you have ABSOLUTELY no idea what you're doing.
When you start following your Spirit ( intuition , heart , love , guts, strong liquor, you name it) your Life makes sense RETROSPECTIVELY. Things happen to me and THEN I understand why. Life as we don't know it. Yeah, that one. Apparently it gets better when you get used to it ( ask Jesus )
Like for example , I am just making sense NOW of what happened to me LAST YEAR.
So when people ask me now that I hit the big zero money :
'' Annabelle , what is it you WANT to do NOW????! YOU HAVE TO HAVE A PLAN ''
I freeze.
Recently, I've decided that the best answer to that is :
'' I WILL TELL YOU NEXT YEAR'' ( if the end of the world hasn't happened)
Yes, it takes guts to follow you Spirit when you absolutely have NO idea where it takes you. But what would even take ME more guts , is to stop.
I've tried to stop, yes .Why? to finally make sense again. Have a routine , know what I'm doing. It did make sense. To other people. Not to me or no for long anyway. D'oh.
Did I tell you how much I like making sense to other people? To send the right message?
You're gonna laugh. Because obviously THE OPPOSITE happened recently.
In the last 20 days I was the ''wanna be girlfriend who gives no space'' to a guy , then I went woofing and I was a '' drug addict hippie'' for mentionning the words '' community'' trust'' '' sharing'' to the family I was staying with ( who needs connection more than free food and accommodation these days? Hippies. Sure)
Then my best friend reminded me that I could not really complain or ask anyone for money because I was that backpacker having fun out there drinking coffees on the beach when everyone else is working their ass off. SURE.
Other friends emailed me that now that I've wasted 4 years of my Life and it was time to go back to France to find a REAL job.
So I decided to do a teacher training course , to make more sense to my friends, my family so I don't lose their love and respect ( and maybe later, it will also make sense to ME, if I'm lucky, who knows .)
My family? They just refused to lend me money to go on that teacher training course in Thailand because they think it's a scam. They saw it on telly. D'oh. Money from loving family = zero.
So much for making sense to others. D'oh.
Wait til I tell them I'm also a psychic. ( just kidding i'm gay. Just kidding I'm really a psychic)
If it was not for what people I love think about me and what I'm doing , I'd be damned happy.
Because in the last 20 days, I ALSO
helped an amazing lady through cancer ( who ended up helping ME because I was broke. She took me dancing , cooked for me and made me laugh again) , stayed with an awesome guy who told me so much about Aussie culture I now feel like I was born here , I worked with great people at the Red Cross ( yeah for free) who gave me my first ever expensive branded clothes in my whole Life ( isn't it ironic) , I had an awesome picnic with a smart sensitive Aussie man who happened to have read my blog and wanted to meet up with me ( it is sort of weird to go for lunch with a stranger you know nothing about but who knows ALL your fuck ups in the past year because he's read them all online. No , he did NOT invite me over to his place. This one knew better.)
I found out I could not live with people who don't share the same values as me ( and only tried to fit in for 5 days before I freed myself again. Major improvement)
I met great French people who also have travel fuck ups that are worth a good laugh, I flew back to North New South Wales where all my friends were as happy to see me that I was to see them ( very) and had free coffees from an Italian man who owes me a '' Life Time of free coffees'' .
I am being looked after every single day by my amazing friend and her little boy who calls me family. I also teach little Aussie kids ( yeah for free) how to read english in a real Aussie primary school (excited) . Me, the one with a totally f**** up accent .A weird mix of Brit, French and russian ( so I ve been told) . Imagine how those poor 6 year old kids will end up speaking.
I went and run my friends B and B ( yes, for money) for the week end and had them help me about my situation. They suggested
1/ sell a kidney in Bangkok.
2/ go to French Polynesia and claim benefits.
My Spirit has not let me know about what's coming next. It never does. All I know for now is that I don't choose my Life, my Life chooses ME.
I have today 100 Australian dollars in my name, have no idea what's coming next, I’m 33 years old in 2 days , my Life has never been such a mess but it never felt so right..........
But how can I make sense to other people ?????
Elizabeth Gilbert and Christopher Mc Candless did it. So... for people to understand me, Do I have to 1/ marry a guy called Felipe 2 / be found dead in the snow ? ( Thank God I’m in Oz)
Sounds interesting.
Damn I did it again. Wanting people's approbation........ I've had a Life time of '' what will the neighbours think'' so excuse me for caring.
As a friend reminded me recently : France was nominated 10 times at the Oscars for a silent movie... It can only mean one thing : The French make more sense when they shut up... and everyone loves it.
Can't wait to try that one out.
Shut up and follow your spirit. We don't need to know anf let know what we're doing.... in the end, we just need to know WHY we're doing it.
So I will end this post with some other guy's words. A guy I deeply admire because I know what he's been going through to be able to say that the other day , on his facebook status:
‘’ Don’t expect to get anything back, don’t expect recognition for your efforts, don’t expect your genius to be discovered or your love to be understood. Act because you need to act ‘’ PAOLO COELHO
A french girl discovering ze world, other cultures, people and herself...
Monday, 5 March 2012
Monday, 13 February 2012
''Life as we don't know it'' Newsletter. Love is all you need (HAHA)
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Wednesday, 8 February 2012
You passionate people
'' You French, you passionate people ''
I've heard that for years now. But I always take it differently . I could answer '' Thanks'' or '' Sorry'' depending on how I judge the situation.
Then I got to thinking about passion and its different meaning in the world.
French passion = capacity to complain , organize a revolution, strike, push open doors and get what we want at any price.
I met this Taiwanese guy the other day in Federation Square , Melbourne and he had 2 questions for me :
1/ Can you teach me basic French?
2/ Why is that French people always argue about politics?
He had met 2 French guys and every time they went to the pub the two of them ended up fighting in loud French about a guy called '' Sa-ko-zi'' after a couple of beers.
'' When I go to pub I relax. Why fighting?'' he asks me.
10 minutes later he could say ''bonjour-je-m-appelle-james-ca-va'' ( I did not teach swear words for once. Am I becoming an unpassionate teacher? Hope not) . He also left with the idea that French people are just passionate. And they have a s*** president.
Yes, we are good at blaming our president. We are ‘passionate’ about it.
The other day I was watching the French news on Aussie TV (God bless SBS) and they were talking about the cold weather and the snow and I was wondering when they were going to start blaming the government for it.
2 minutes later:
'' It is very cold and we don't have the equipment for it. Our roads are frozen and no one does anything about it. Then you've got the electricity problem, who's going to pay for that? That's why people live on the street , because everything is too expensive. And on the street, it's bloody cold! '' says that random woman from the South ( they complain even more there. Yes, I'm from the North)
Time to strike again. Against the cold.
I'm in! But for now, I'm off to the beach, mate (do I love February)
That's our passion . Other people. We blame them for everything and tell them what they should do to make it better. Take our life into our own hands? Who are you kidding?
In terms of passion, we directly compete with our dear (yeah right) neighbours from Italy. Compete is a good word. We are so similar. They also put their passion in other people but they do it quite literally.
A conversation between 2 girls involving an Italian man very often ends up with the same question: ''What? He's also sleeping with YOU?''
We love other people. We just have a strange way to show it sometimes, that's all!
Reminds me of a really great Italian guy I met in Sydney. Yes, I do have Italian FRIENDS. (it does need to be mentioned)
He put his passion into his looks and making friends. Bellissimo.
Together we always played on the French /Italian cliché and argued passionately and loudly about football and food in front of strangers just to have a good laugh. The only one who could really take it, was a middle aged American tourist from Florida who married ( and divorced) an Italian guy. She found us ''slightly'' entertaining. We could have made money out of it in the streets of Sydney, for sure.
A few days later I visited him at his new house. He just moved in a couple of days earlier in Australia. It was his first time in Oz.
'' People are cold here in Australia. They don't give a s*** about you, they don't talk to you or anything. How do YOU cope Annabelle?'' he asked me slightly nervous.
That, is called culture shock, mate. And I was lucky to never have it in Australia. Why? Because I ALREADY had it in England. ( Note to Aussies : no , I am not trying to say that Australia is England with snakes, sharks, spiders, backpacker murders and skin cancer . I'm just saying that you guys share some common cultural aspects. )
Here's some examples of what I would say to my French friends in England when I still ignored the country’s culture.
2003 (about the school I worked at as teacher) : '' If I died , How long do you think it would take them to notice I 'm not there ?''
2006 AND 2008: (about Men) '' they like our passion but they can't f***** take it''
It did take me time to learn how to relate to the POMS and accept that we all have a different way of expressing our passion.
'' I love England ’’ is now my middle name. I bloody earned it (the hard way sometimes). But it was Just a small price to pay to get to know how awesome and passionate the Brits actually are. They mostly put their passion into taking the piss out of… themselves. Just thinking about them makes me smile now.
Back to Italian central in Sydney:
He introduces me to his Aussie flatmate. The guy barely looks up and says ''G'day'' then disappears (
'' See I told you. They don't give a s*** about you, here.'' he says in loud French.
So , with my Brit culture knowledge , I gave a new keyword to my new Italian friend
PERSONAL BOUNDARIES.
He stared at me: '' WHAT? No, they have NO passion here, I'm telling you. ''
He will learn... Just like I did.
Many Aussies I know had the opposite shock coming back from Italy :
'' They all yell at each other ALL THE TIME there! That's crazy, mate! '' they tell me with disbelief. ( and passion, too )
Passion... it all seems to mean different things in different countries....
And If the Aussies did not have any, they would not be here now. Something about the rage to survive in a hostile environment (yeah the snakes, sharks, spiders, backpacker murders and skin cancer story AGAIN)
The first time I noticed passion in Aussies was when I mentioned a magic word for them: ‘History’. Listen to them talking about it. They know more than you. Wanna know about European history? Ask an Aussie. And they still like it, even after having seen 275 bloody castles around Europe.
They love travelling too. The question to ask them is NOT '' Have you been to Europe'' but '' Where in Europe have you NOT been to''
They travelled to more European countries than me in just a month And that's just the ones over 70 years old.
Sport. One other passion. For me, the passion is in trying to understand what the hell is this cricket thing all about?
Wait until you speak to real life Aussie people, you will inevitably find it, the Passion. In each and every one of them.
Passion is everywhere in this country. In every single Aussie I've met since I've been here ( and before I even got here) . From my Aussie parents up in New South Wales who had 2 million jobs and built their 5 star B&B THEMSELVES ( google ''Silk Pavilions'') , their neighbour who cycled to London when he was young , my favourite aussie boy who is now 7 years old and who considered me as a family member with a weird accent after he’s known me for 2 minutes and who is now drawing maps of Australia with France nearby , to people I 've met more recently: my friend Cristina who battles against cancer with a '' who gives a s****'' '' attitude , my friend Sky who 's fighting to have a Life of her own with an extraordinary courage .
And many more ...
I also watched a documentary on TV the other day called ‘’And then the wind changed’’ shows human beings’ amazing potential to manage adversity and rise from despair after a bush fire devastated their village in February 2009. http://www.thenthewindchanged.com/story
I was absolutely stunned by all their strength and solidarity.
'' You French, you passionate people''. The person telling me this is called Sally (you thought it was a man didn't you) she’s my new manager. No , I'm not working illegally in Australia ( I'm not THAT French) I am volunteering at a Red Cross Op shop ( second hand retail shop) in Frankston, Victoria .
I was folding a ton of clothes.
'' Aussies are very generous'' she tells me as I was staring at the 4 other full boxes of donations yet to be folded.
Who said Aussies were not generous with other people.
It took the team of volunteers 2minutes and an instant coffee to make me feel like I was one of them.
'' Annabelle, you're very pretty , but look at what you’re wearing’’ , Sally tells me.
I just bought the bloody outfit to look good for work (you should have seen my style BEFORE ) D'oh.
‘’That guy you live with will never want to marry you and how the hell are you going to stay in Australia? Trust me , I'll make you look stunning ''
I did not have time to explain that marriage was not really part of the deal for me when they all started.
'' Look , you can marry my son , you'll stay here forever''
I've known them for an hour. One was willing to give me her whole wardrobe and the others wanted to give me ... their son?
I've also had messages from strangers inviting me for beer and coffee at their place to talk about Australia with me after reading my blog.
Well if it's not passion.... then what is?
It is something we ALL have. We just express it very differently.
The most awesome part of traveling is to find how different countries channel theirs.
I watched the French news again today to see that people around the country decided to share their food, shelter with others in need. They organise free Soup stands, get coffees to the the homeless , let strangers to their own Homes, to fight the cold ... together ( while still moaning against the government of course)
There is no right or wrong way to be passionate.
In the end , Passion is just the rage to live to see another day... together ( as opposed to struggle to survive alone )
So don't be afraid to use yours, '' You passionate people''
I've heard that for years now. But I always take it differently . I could answer '' Thanks'' or '' Sorry'' depending on how I judge the situation.
Then I got to thinking about passion and its different meaning in the world.
French passion = capacity to complain , organize a revolution, strike, push open doors and get what we want at any price.
I met this Taiwanese guy the other day in Federation Square , Melbourne and he had 2 questions for me :
1/ Can you teach me basic French?
2/ Why is that French people always argue about politics?
He had met 2 French guys and every time they went to the pub the two of them ended up fighting in loud French about a guy called '' Sa-ko-zi'' after a couple of beers.
'' When I go to pub I relax. Why fighting?'' he asks me.
10 minutes later he could say ''bonjour-je-m-appelle-james-ca-va'' ( I did not teach swear words for once. Am I becoming an unpassionate teacher? Hope not) . He also left with the idea that French people are just passionate. And they have a s*** president.
Yes, we are good at blaming our president. We are ‘passionate’ about it.
The other day I was watching the French news on Aussie TV (God bless SBS) and they were talking about the cold weather and the snow and I was wondering when they were going to start blaming the government for it.
2 minutes later:
'' It is very cold and we don't have the equipment for it. Our roads are frozen and no one does anything about it. Then you've got the electricity problem, who's going to pay for that? That's why people live on the street , because everything is too expensive. And on the street, it's bloody cold! '' says that random woman from the South ( they complain even more there. Yes, I'm from the North)
Time to strike again. Against the cold.
I'm in! But for now, I'm off to the beach, mate (do I love February)
That's our passion . Other people. We blame them for everything and tell them what they should do to make it better. Take our life into our own hands? Who are you kidding?
In terms of passion, we directly compete with our dear (yeah right) neighbours from Italy. Compete is a good word. We are so similar. They also put their passion in other people but they do it quite literally.
A conversation between 2 girls involving an Italian man very often ends up with the same question: ''What? He's also sleeping with YOU?''
We love other people. We just have a strange way to show it sometimes, that's all!
Reminds me of a really great Italian guy I met in Sydney. Yes, I do have Italian FRIENDS. (it does need to be mentioned)
He put his passion into his looks and making friends. Bellissimo.
Together we always played on the French /Italian cliché and argued passionately and loudly about football and food in front of strangers just to have a good laugh. The only one who could really take it, was a middle aged American tourist from Florida who married ( and divorced) an Italian guy. She found us ''slightly'' entertaining. We could have made money out of it in the streets of Sydney, for sure.
A few days later I visited him at his new house. He just moved in a couple of days earlier in Australia. It was his first time in Oz.
'' People are cold here in Australia. They don't give a s*** about you, they don't talk to you or anything. How do YOU cope Annabelle?'' he asked me slightly nervous.
That, is called culture shock, mate. And I was lucky to never have it in Australia. Why? Because I ALREADY had it in England. ( Note to Aussies : no , I am not trying to say that Australia is England with snakes, sharks, spiders, backpacker murders and skin cancer . I'm just saying that you guys share some common cultural aspects. )
Here's some examples of what I would say to my French friends in England when I still ignored the country’s culture.
2003 (about the school I worked at as teacher) : '' If I died , How long do you think it would take them to notice I 'm not there ?''
2006 AND 2008: (about Men) '' they like our passion but they can't f***** take it''
It did take me time to learn how to relate to the POMS and accept that we all have a different way of expressing our passion.
'' I love England ’’ is now my middle name. I bloody earned it (the hard way sometimes). But it was Just a small price to pay to get to know how awesome and passionate the Brits actually are. They mostly put their passion into taking the piss out of… themselves. Just thinking about them makes me smile now.
Back to Italian central in Sydney:
He introduces me to his Aussie flatmate. The guy barely looks up and says ''G'day'' then disappears (
'' See I told you. They don't give a s*** about you, here.'' he says in loud French.
So , with my Brit culture knowledge , I gave a new keyword to my new Italian friend
PERSONAL BOUNDARIES.
He stared at me: '' WHAT? No, they have NO passion here, I'm telling you. ''
He will learn... Just like I did.
Many Aussies I know had the opposite shock coming back from Italy :
'' They all yell at each other ALL THE TIME there! That's crazy, mate! '' they tell me with disbelief. ( and passion, too )
Passion... it all seems to mean different things in different countries....
And If the Aussies did not have any, they would not be here now. Something about the rage to survive in a hostile environment (yeah the snakes, sharks, spiders, backpacker murders and skin cancer story AGAIN)
The first time I noticed passion in Aussies was when I mentioned a magic word for them: ‘History’. Listen to them talking about it. They know more than you. Wanna know about European history? Ask an Aussie. And they still like it, even after having seen 275 bloody castles around Europe.
They love travelling too. The question to ask them is NOT '' Have you been to Europe'' but '' Where in Europe have you NOT been to''
They travelled to more European countries than me in just a month And that's just the ones over 70 years old.
Sport. One other passion. For me, the passion is in trying to understand what the hell is this cricket thing all about?
Wait until you speak to real life Aussie people, you will inevitably find it, the Passion. In each and every one of them.
Passion is everywhere in this country. In every single Aussie I've met since I've been here ( and before I even got here) . From my Aussie parents up in New South Wales who had 2 million jobs and built their 5 star B&B THEMSELVES ( google ''Silk Pavilions'') , their neighbour who cycled to London when he was young , my favourite aussie boy who is now 7 years old and who considered me as a family member with a weird accent after he’s known me for 2 minutes and who is now drawing maps of Australia with France nearby , to people I 've met more recently: my friend Cristina who battles against cancer with a '' who gives a s****'' '' attitude , my friend Sky who 's fighting to have a Life of her own with an extraordinary courage .
And many more ...
I also watched a documentary on TV the other day called ‘’And then the wind changed’’ shows human beings’ amazing potential to manage adversity and rise from despair after a bush fire devastated their village in February 2009. http://www.thenthewindchanged.com/story
I was absolutely stunned by all their strength and solidarity.
'' You French, you passionate people''. The person telling me this is called Sally (you thought it was a man didn't you) she’s my new manager. No , I'm not working illegally in Australia ( I'm not THAT French) I am volunteering at a Red Cross Op shop ( second hand retail shop) in Frankston, Victoria .
I was folding a ton of clothes.
'' Aussies are very generous'' she tells me as I was staring at the 4 other full boxes of donations yet to be folded.
Who said Aussies were not generous with other people.
It took the team of volunteers 2minutes and an instant coffee to make me feel like I was one of them.
'' Annabelle, you're very pretty , but look at what you’re wearing’’ , Sally tells me.
I just bought the bloody outfit to look good for work (you should have seen my style BEFORE ) D'oh.
‘’That guy you live with will never want to marry you and how the hell are you going to stay in Australia? Trust me , I'll make you look stunning ''
I did not have time to explain that marriage was not really part of the deal for me when they all started.
'' Look , you can marry my son , you'll stay here forever''
I've known them for an hour. One was willing to give me her whole wardrobe and the others wanted to give me ... their son?
I've also had messages from strangers inviting me for beer and coffee at their place to talk about Australia with me after reading my blog.
Well if it's not passion.... then what is?
It is something we ALL have. We just express it very differently.
The most awesome part of traveling is to find how different countries channel theirs.
I watched the French news again today to see that people around the country decided to share their food, shelter with others in need. They organise free Soup stands, get coffees to the the homeless , let strangers to their own Homes, to fight the cold ... together ( while still moaning against the government of course)
There is no right or wrong way to be passionate.
In the end , Passion is just the rage to live to see another day... together ( as opposed to struggle to survive alone )
So don't be afraid to use yours, '' You passionate people''
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Life as we don't know it.
Traveling for a living. People dream to do that. Get rid of their house, 9 to 5 job and routine, they're forever curious of what's in the head of the ones who are actually doing IT. The ones who are FREE.
Wanna know?
We crave .... a 9 to 5 job, a house and a routine and a sense of security. Without securing a future for ourselves Life seems to be a big black hole. Conclusion : Human beings do not like freedom.
But thankfully for us, that feeling does not last long..... until we figure out why.
We were brought up to think that. So when you're finally break free of all your duties you 're not happy at all. You feel like a guilty misfit.
That's usually when I stop and stare at all these well dressed 30 + business women on the phone to their clients having a cigarette on their way to work. Perfect make up , perfect manners. Perfect life.
'' I am really convinced we should sell'' I hear them say.
Perfect.
Then you look in the mirror and there's you. Same age, poor hair cut, wearing shorts and hiking shoes, with a kids sleeping bag ( it was on special) attached to your backpack. looking for a bed in a 10 bedded dorm backpackers hostel on a Saturday night in Melbourne and your job is '' volunteer writer'' .
That 's when your brain starts thinking : '' Where the hell did I go wrong?'' and your Spirit starts wondering '' Where the hell did THEY go wrong?''
You can't stop your brain from craving to belong somewhere ( or to someone or a social status ) BUT you can stop giving a shit about what your brain thinks. and re program it. Easy to re program 30 odd years of the same thinking ? Hell no.
The next dialogue has been my DAILY struggle for the past year :
Mind :Annabelle, You can't decently go with that amount of money. That's insane.
Spirit : You can't decently stay and not travel.
Mind: How about settling down and have a social status . And babies ? 33 mate. (sound of clock ticking)
Spirit : How about the writing ? And meeting people? That's your passion right?
Mind : Think about your insurance, and your retirement pension
Spirit : Think about a life of adventure and making people happy.
Mind: You don't deserve to be happy. Money is not coming in. Go sell'' the Big Issue'' on the street now. You belong nowhere
Spirit : You belong everywhere. People deserve to be around the positive You.
Mind : You will die alone and broke
Spirit : you will never die.
Stoooooooooop.
28 January 2012 : F***** it. I'm on my last 400 pounds , Money is obviously NOT coming in but I'm doing a great job writing about it. Whatever is supposed to happen WILL happen whether I eat peanut butter for dinner OR NOT. It will just happen SOONER.
That's when I decided to stop listening to my mind. Yes, maybe I'll end up selling the big issue or swim back to Europe but for NOW i'm living the F***** dream ( I swear a lot these days don't you think?)
Brain ‘s new pattern : '' Think you're on a holiday and you have a Home and a Job to go back to. But for now you can do what you really love''
And.... Bloody brain believes you and stops worrying.
Obviously the first thing you have to do is make a difference between what you REALLY love and what you nasty ego WANTS.
A night in a 6 bedded dorm instead of a 20 bedded in a backpackers hostel :I really love
A 300 dollar uncomfortable dress that I will only wear once to impress aussie guy : nasty ego
Sushi : borderline. But I really love. So be it.
Every day I ask myself '' What would I do if I was on a holiday?'' and I do it.
Turns out it 's exactly the same anyway , except that I work more ( read WRITE more) Isn't it ironic?
Well done, brain of mine.
I had the best 3 days in a city in very a long time. ( I used to hate cities because I have to spend the money I don't earn yet)
I was shown Fitzroy area by a French girl I met on Couch surfing. She was really cool. She only told me she was from Paris after coffee. It was too late to hate her.
I met a finish guy my age who came to the same conclusion as me : F**** it and live this Life of Citizens of The World. We promised to meet again when we are rich and famous.
I met Sky, from Tassie who wanted to marry me so I could stay in Oz. We spent hours chatting and she also came to the F**** it conclusion. It took us 5 minutes to talk about ourselves like we were sisters. After a 12 year relationship ( she's only 27) she decided to start living for herself and made the first step towards travelling. Amazing girl. We felt strangely close. Maybe because we both started to live Life as we don't know it.
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love your family.
And I met Cristina, a 50 year old eccentric and generous single Aussie woman. I had seen her profile on Couch Surfing and had invited her randomly for coffee. She told me that she also was travelling and then came cancer. She had to come home and get treated. She was fine but......
2 hours later I was holding her hand at the hospital when the doctors told her that there was a 50% chance that cancer was back.
1 hour after that , me and her decided, while laughing at the doctor’s manners and stuffing ourselves with french patisseries and italian coffee on Lygon street, that there was a 50% chance that f***** Cancer WAS NOT COMING BACK. So why not start to live Life as we don't know it. Nothing to loose.
One day, when I 'm a wealthy writer and she is a healthy traveller I'll take her to bloody Paris. But next week I'll take her to do her scan.
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love your family. No one. Because Strangers ARE your family
When you don't have those worries about money, security and possessions, strangers become a part of YOU.
After a whole afternoon chatting to my friend Sky on the riverside in Melbourne I decided I'd love to go back. You know THERE. To stay with a man I've known for ... 30 days. Not for comfort, not for security and , not to secure a future...Just because he's awesome!
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love... Hang on. That's a tricky one for me, that one. because you know...... ( you should see my face right now PETRIFIED.)
Shut up Annabelle, and start living Life as you don't know it... yet.
Wanna know?
We crave .... a 9 to 5 job, a house and a routine and a sense of security. Without securing a future for ourselves Life seems to be a big black hole. Conclusion : Human beings do not like freedom.
But thankfully for us, that feeling does not last long..... until we figure out why.
We were brought up to think that. So when you're finally break free of all your duties you 're not happy at all. You feel like a guilty misfit.
That's usually when I stop and stare at all these well dressed 30 + business women on the phone to their clients having a cigarette on their way to work. Perfect make up , perfect manners. Perfect life.
'' I am really convinced we should sell'' I hear them say.
Perfect.
Then you look in the mirror and there's you. Same age, poor hair cut, wearing shorts and hiking shoes, with a kids sleeping bag ( it was on special) attached to your backpack. looking for a bed in a 10 bedded dorm backpackers hostel on a Saturday night in Melbourne and your job is '' volunteer writer'' .
That 's when your brain starts thinking : '' Where the hell did I go wrong?'' and your Spirit starts wondering '' Where the hell did THEY go wrong?''
You can't stop your brain from craving to belong somewhere ( or to someone or a social status ) BUT you can stop giving a shit about what your brain thinks. and re program it. Easy to re program 30 odd years of the same thinking ? Hell no.
The next dialogue has been my DAILY struggle for the past year :
Mind :Annabelle, You can't decently go with that amount of money. That's insane.
Spirit : You can't decently stay and not travel.
Mind: How about settling down and have a social status . And babies ? 33 mate. (sound of clock ticking)
Spirit : How about the writing ? And meeting people? That's your passion right?
Mind : Think about your insurance, and your retirement pension
Spirit : Think about a life of adventure and making people happy.
Mind: You don't deserve to be happy. Money is not coming in. Go sell'' the Big Issue'' on the street now. You belong nowhere
Spirit : You belong everywhere. People deserve to be around the positive You.
Mind : You will die alone and broke
Spirit : you will never die.
Stoooooooooop.
28 January 2012 : F***** it. I'm on my last 400 pounds , Money is obviously NOT coming in but I'm doing a great job writing about it. Whatever is supposed to happen WILL happen whether I eat peanut butter for dinner OR NOT. It will just happen SOONER.
That's when I decided to stop listening to my mind. Yes, maybe I'll end up selling the big issue or swim back to Europe but for NOW i'm living the F***** dream ( I swear a lot these days don't you think?)
Brain ‘s new pattern : '' Think you're on a holiday and you have a Home and a Job to go back to. But for now you can do what you really love''
And.... Bloody brain believes you and stops worrying.
Obviously the first thing you have to do is make a difference between what you REALLY love and what you nasty ego WANTS.
A night in a 6 bedded dorm instead of a 20 bedded in a backpackers hostel :I really love
A 300 dollar uncomfortable dress that I will only wear once to impress aussie guy : nasty ego
Sushi : borderline. But I really love. So be it.
Every day I ask myself '' What would I do if I was on a holiday?'' and I do it.
Turns out it 's exactly the same anyway , except that I work more ( read WRITE more) Isn't it ironic?
Well done, brain of mine.
I had the best 3 days in a city in very a long time. ( I used to hate cities because I have to spend the money I don't earn yet)
I was shown Fitzroy area by a French girl I met on Couch surfing. She was really cool. She only told me she was from Paris after coffee. It was too late to hate her.
I met a finish guy my age who came to the same conclusion as me : F**** it and live this Life of Citizens of The World. We promised to meet again when we are rich and famous.
I met Sky, from Tassie who wanted to marry me so I could stay in Oz. We spent hours chatting and she also came to the F**** it conclusion. It took us 5 minutes to talk about ourselves like we were sisters. After a 12 year relationship ( she's only 27) she decided to start living for herself and made the first step towards travelling. Amazing girl. We felt strangely close. Maybe because we both started to live Life as we don't know it.
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love your family.
And I met Cristina, a 50 year old eccentric and generous single Aussie woman. I had seen her profile on Couch Surfing and had invited her randomly for coffee. She told me that she also was travelling and then came cancer. She had to come home and get treated. She was fine but......
2 hours later I was holding her hand at the hospital when the doctors told her that there was a 50% chance that cancer was back.
1 hour after that , me and her decided, while laughing at the doctor’s manners and stuffing ourselves with french patisseries and italian coffee on Lygon street, that there was a 50% chance that f***** Cancer WAS NOT COMING BACK. So why not start to live Life as we don't know it. Nothing to loose.
One day, when I 'm a wealthy writer and she is a healthy traveller I'll take her to bloody Paris. But next week I'll take her to do her scan.
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love your family. No one. Because Strangers ARE your family
When you don't have those worries about money, security and possessions, strangers become a part of YOU.
After a whole afternoon chatting to my friend Sky on the riverside in Melbourne I decided I'd love to go back. You know THERE. To stay with a man I've known for ... 30 days. Not for comfort, not for security and , not to secure a future...Just because he's awesome!
Who said you could not love strangers the way you love... Hang on. That's a tricky one for me, that one. because you know...... ( you should see my face right now PETRIFIED.)
Shut up Annabelle, and start living Life as you don't know it... yet.
Saturday, 28 January 2012
The ( French) tourist
I just got back from the beach and now having Lamingtons while listening to the Hottest 100 songs of the year 2011 on the radio. It's hot outside , It's January and it feels natural to me. Today became my second favourite day of the year after Xmas. Today is Australia Day.
Today is the day I am fully embracing australian culture and REALLY feeling the belonging.
Today is also the day that I officially become ... A TOURIST. Ironic hey ?
26th January 2011 was the day I first entered Australia and was legally allowed to work for one year.
Today I'm offficially too old to renew the working holiday visa and I am now officially a middle aged french woman on a tourist visa until the 20th March. You know, a tourist. with a red nose holding a map , the '' excuz me where iz ze station of trainz?' sort of people Yeah, that one.
So............... , I can talk about Julia Gillard's hair cut for more than 10 minutes, I use a stubby holder , I answer oi oi oi to aussie aussi aussie, I can say that I prefer Melbourne to Sydney , I supported Tommic agaisnt Roger Federer , I had a beer at 5am at the memorial ANZAC day service , I can listen to the Hottest 100 for 6 hours straight, I drink VB and know that fosters in a Pommie illusion, I eat capsicums and egg plants , wear thongs everyday , and I almost ( but not quite) understand the rules of cricket and yet, today i'm officially a French tourist.
It's true that, when you look at it, when you are a foreigner hanging out with the locals , you still feel like a tourist deep inside. But when there is no other tourist around to complain with ( the sort of '' It's so much better back home'' complaints) you have to keep going. and challenge yourself to fit it while keeping your identity intact. Mate, that's the real challenge of travelling.
'' Annabelle, it's a snake!'' Garcon says ( He's the Man I live with . Why this nick name ? Because he thought that posh french women in Paris ( ie ALL french women) were still addressing any waiter in France that way ( with arrogance, of course) . So yes , I decided to call him that. What a french tourist thing to do hey.
What? a snake? I jump , yell, but had my camera ready in my right hand.
''It's a branch , mate but you were so funny''. he says.
'' HAHA. I was acting. Of course I'm NOT scared of snakes or even those deadly red spider thingies. Don't be silly. I'm tough, mate. And no ,I wasn't trying to take a pictures of absolutely everything by the way''
Some Aussies can be very annoyed that that we, Europeans, see australia ONLY as the most dangerous place in the world. Not the most beautiful, the most DANGEROUS. .
'' Give us a break with damn dangerous animals, and get real. How many times have you seen snakes and deadly spiders in a whole year Annabelle ? an Aussie said to me one day.
'' Not many times, it's true'' I answer , understanding why he was annoyed. I'm also annoyed that when people think France they only think '' country of people who are never happy and always on strike'' .
But... the problem is that, in both cases : It IS true!
Yes, in Australia, you have to pretend to be tough and be one with Nature to NOT be seen as a precious tourist who is scared of her own shadow.
Of course, I do it quite bad.
The other week I traveled with a real aussie dude from Sydney to Melbourne. A country guy who has solid knowledge about everything that involves Nature. Surviving in hostile environment is in Aussie blood. Obviously NOT in mine.
And I wondered for hours how to tell him that I was not really the practical kind.
He soon found out when I read the map on his i phone wrong and sent us in the exact opposite direction. Oh and he had read my blog too. Especially the one about common sense and my lack of it.
Then came the moment of caping. In a national park. In the dark.
'' I 'll do it for you'' he says , adding a delicate '' I would not want you to break my tent''
Sure.
When you're standing there , watching helplessly for the whole 3 minutes and half it took him to put the tent up you REALLY feel like a tourist.
Looking back to a year in Australia I realised how many times I looked like a complete outsider . Especially when I was living in the bush with my aussie parents last year .
'' John ,there is a big toad in my toilet''
'' So? Did you eat it?'' My Aussie dad asked
'' So I went to pee in the bush but there was strange noises''
He then came to remove it.
Bloody tourists
Then there were bush rats.
'' Annabelle, why exactly are you scared of things that are a fraction of your size. Imagine what they think of YOU''
So we try to act tough.
'' I'm NOT scared. Just a bit surprised''
I'm terrified
Then comes the fun bit. When Your culture meets Aussie culture.
'' Are you scared?'' I say to Garcon the other night
'' Yes, clearly'' he answered , quite seriously.
No,we were NOT talking about the fact that I was supposed to stay for one night and , 10 days later, I'm still here....... No. I had just told him that I was going to teach myself french cuisine and just asked him if he wanted to be my..... guinea pig. Yes, ME . COOKING. I've come to the realisation that It's just the best way to share your culture.
2 days and some burnt croque monsieur later I was teaching him ( and myself) how to make french crepes. And we happily shared them with the kids next door.
As I was telling them what these strange pancakes were , They looked at me with awe thinking :
Wow, they come all the way from France and they are still WARM? Then I heard them going in and tell their mum '' Muuuuum we've got food from Fraaaaaance''
Happiness and Feeling of belonging : 200 %.
But, ''The Universe'' clearly wanted to tell me something as it was insisting on sending me every now and then to those places called backpackers hostels ,
I realized yesterday , that as much as I hated it, the message WAS clear :
.'' You're like the rest of them in the end ,mate, you don't really belong here''
So where the hell do I belong? That's when the pain hits you HARD.
But I don't feel I JUST belong to my country either.I'm still proud to be french but '' I'm from France'' is now for me a conversation starter to exchange funny cliches and open people's minds about somewhere they don't really know. I feel the same about England.
That's when you enter your darkest hour. That's when you feel like a homeless looser wandering aimlessly in the streets of Melbourne ( that was me yesterday). You start thinking that you'll be always be a ''visitor'' who will always be offered less because not REALLY from here. And who can seriously LOVE a visitor?
You know, the feeling that everything is a f****** illusion and nothing will last.
But after the painful feeling of belonging NOWHERE comes the blissful joy of belonging EVERYWHERE. You just need to hang on, it will come.
Because in the end, we're all the same...
Today is the day I am fully embracing australian culture and REALLY feeling the belonging.
Today is also the day that I officially become ... A TOURIST. Ironic hey ?
26th January 2011 was the day I first entered Australia and was legally allowed to work for one year.
Today I'm offficially too old to renew the working holiday visa and I am now officially a middle aged french woman on a tourist visa until the 20th March. You know, a tourist. with a red nose holding a map , the '' excuz me where iz ze station of trainz?' sort of people Yeah, that one.
So............... , I can talk about Julia Gillard's hair cut for more than 10 minutes, I use a stubby holder , I answer oi oi oi to aussie aussi aussie, I can say that I prefer Melbourne to Sydney , I supported Tommic agaisnt Roger Federer , I had a beer at 5am at the memorial ANZAC day service , I can listen to the Hottest 100 for 6 hours straight, I drink VB and know that fosters in a Pommie illusion, I eat capsicums and egg plants , wear thongs everyday , and I almost ( but not quite) understand the rules of cricket and yet, today i'm officially a French tourist.
It's true that, when you look at it, when you are a foreigner hanging out with the locals , you still feel like a tourist deep inside. But when there is no other tourist around to complain with ( the sort of '' It's so much better back home'' complaints) you have to keep going. and challenge yourself to fit it while keeping your identity intact. Mate, that's the real challenge of travelling.
'' Annabelle, it's a snake!'' Garcon says ( He's the Man I live with . Why this nick name ? Because he thought that posh french women in Paris ( ie ALL french women) were still addressing any waiter in France that way ( with arrogance, of course) . So yes , I decided to call him that. What a french tourist thing to do hey.
What? a snake? I jump , yell, but had my camera ready in my right hand.
''It's a branch , mate but you were so funny''. he says.
'' HAHA. I was acting. Of course I'm NOT scared of snakes or even those deadly red spider thingies. Don't be silly. I'm tough, mate. And no ,I wasn't trying to take a pictures of absolutely everything by the way''
Some Aussies can be very annoyed that that we, Europeans, see australia ONLY as the most dangerous place in the world. Not the most beautiful, the most DANGEROUS. .
'' Give us a break with damn dangerous animals, and get real. How many times have you seen snakes and deadly spiders in a whole year Annabelle ? an Aussie said to me one day.
'' Not many times, it's true'' I answer , understanding why he was annoyed. I'm also annoyed that when people think France they only think '' country of people who are never happy and always on strike'' .
But... the problem is that, in both cases : It IS true!
Yes, in Australia, you have to pretend to be tough and be one with Nature to NOT be seen as a precious tourist who is scared of her own shadow.
Of course, I do it quite bad.
The other week I traveled with a real aussie dude from Sydney to Melbourne. A country guy who has solid knowledge about everything that involves Nature. Surviving in hostile environment is in Aussie blood. Obviously NOT in mine.
And I wondered for hours how to tell him that I was not really the practical kind.
He soon found out when I read the map on his i phone wrong and sent us in the exact opposite direction. Oh and he had read my blog too. Especially the one about common sense and my lack of it.
Then came the moment of caping. In a national park. In the dark.
'' I 'll do it for you'' he says , adding a delicate '' I would not want you to break my tent''
Sure.
When you're standing there , watching helplessly for the whole 3 minutes and half it took him to put the tent up you REALLY feel like a tourist.
Looking back to a year in Australia I realised how many times I looked like a complete outsider . Especially when I was living in the bush with my aussie parents last year .
'' John ,there is a big toad in my toilet''
'' So? Did you eat it?'' My Aussie dad asked
'' So I went to pee in the bush but there was strange noises''
He then came to remove it.
Bloody tourists
Then there were bush rats.
'' Annabelle, why exactly are you scared of things that are a fraction of your size. Imagine what they think of YOU''
So we try to act tough.
'' I'm NOT scared. Just a bit surprised''
I'm terrified
Then comes the fun bit. When Your culture meets Aussie culture.
'' Are you scared?'' I say to Garcon the other night
'' Yes, clearly'' he answered , quite seriously.
No,we were NOT talking about the fact that I was supposed to stay for one night and , 10 days later, I'm still here....... No. I had just told him that I was going to teach myself french cuisine and just asked him if he wanted to be my..... guinea pig. Yes, ME . COOKING. I've come to the realisation that It's just the best way to share your culture.
2 days and some burnt croque monsieur later I was teaching him ( and myself) how to make french crepes. And we happily shared them with the kids next door.
As I was telling them what these strange pancakes were , They looked at me with awe thinking :
Wow, they come all the way from France and they are still WARM? Then I heard them going in and tell their mum '' Muuuuum we've got food from Fraaaaaance''
Happiness and Feeling of belonging : 200 %.
But, ''The Universe'' clearly wanted to tell me something as it was insisting on sending me every now and then to those places called backpackers hostels ,
I realized yesterday , that as much as I hated it, the message WAS clear :
.'' You're like the rest of them in the end ,mate, you don't really belong here''
So where the hell do I belong? That's when the pain hits you HARD.
But I don't feel I JUST belong to my country either.I'm still proud to be french but '' I'm from France'' is now for me a conversation starter to exchange funny cliches and open people's minds about somewhere they don't really know. I feel the same about England.
That's when you enter your darkest hour. That's when you feel like a homeless looser wandering aimlessly in the streets of Melbourne ( that was me yesterday). You start thinking that you'll be always be a ''visitor'' who will always be offered less because not REALLY from here. And who can seriously LOVE a visitor?
You know, the feeling that everything is a f****** illusion and nothing will last.
But after the painful feeling of belonging NOWHERE comes the blissful joy of belonging EVERYWHERE. You just need to hang on, it will come.
Because in the end, we're all the same...
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Free Spirit
Ah travelling without a plan.... Adventures, taking risks, not knowing where you'll be tomorrow, seizing the moment.... The best way to free your spirit and see where it wants to take you. Stuff that you 'd never dare to do back home.
Life as it should be. With the roller coaster and that.
Guess where MY free spirit took ME? To stay in a house in the suburbs with a man . THAT , mate I would NEVER do back home, for sure.
Hey, Spirit... you're kidding me right?
'' I'm usually not that type of girl '' I tell him trying to reassure me after what I had just done. Did I really do that? Oh nooooo.......
It's Sunday morning . I'm wearing an apron and I'm holding a broom. I just cleaned the whole house. Including folding Male underwear. I even asked him THE question '' DO YOU HAVE ANY LAUNDRY to do? ''
People who know me will laugh. People who know me well will try to get me Home ( wherever that is) ASAP.
I look around me.The bed is neatly made, the bathroom spotless and the kitchen shines.
Seriously. ME.
The only time I would do this back home was at my work. And I was paid good money to do so. I probably miss my work, that's it.
But it's not like I'm being held hostage or I have to do this for accommodation. I ENJOY IT. ( scary huh)
You know what? 2 days ago I even cooked.....! Since then? We're having tuna sandwiches.
He gave me a precious tip that I shall remember my whole life. Any shit food tastes amazing with a French name.
So now, I name my food in French. Like : '' pommes de terre brulees et ses petites carottes pas cuites'' Sounds cool hey?
It means '' burnt potatoes and uncooked baby carrots'' .
It's awesome to be French in Australia.
A woman stopped me on the street the other day to tell me : '' You have the best tattoo I've ever seen'' . Yeah, my tattoo says '' Made in France'' . I was very careful to hide it back home in England or even back home in France ( That's f****** racist mate), I don't even try to go to Italy anymore ( not that I want to) , I haven't tried to get in to the US with it yet but I would probably have to change it to ''Made in Liberty Fries country'' , but here , in Australia, I can show it proudly. Yay.
'' It was really good to meet you, I could change my vision of French people'' says my Melbourne man.
Sure. French women are known to be classy, mysterious, always sexy, confident and good looking.
GLAD I HELPED YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, MATE.......
Then he told me what some Aussies REALLY thought about the French. The Truth.
Precious , delicate, arrogant, smug, know-it-all and no sense of humour, plus they all own French poodles ( Where the F**** did they get that one from)
I just replied one (very meaningful) thing to end this awful cliché:
'' No, we're not ALL from Paris..............''
We go out in town on Saturday night and meet several people in the local pub.
'' You're from France?'' says that older man , giving me THE look '' and you're coming HERE in this pub... in ''Bogan Town Frankston'' ?''
Why not? I don't get it.... Ah, maybe I'm too ''precious''..... So I went on talking to him about random things drinking my 3rd beer (thus completely drunk) for a couple of minutes.
He left, probably thinking French people are not that precious or classy in the end. They just have a problem with alcohol.
That's an improvement .... right?
I went home drunk holding an Australian Flag that we stole somewhere .. speaking frenglish. Now THAT 's travelling ( for me anyway)
If opening up people's mind (including mine) and break clichés is where my free Spirit is taking me, then I'm in.
But next time...Give me a French maid's apron
Life as it should be. With the roller coaster and that.
Guess where MY free spirit took ME? To stay in a house in the suburbs with a man . THAT , mate I would NEVER do back home, for sure.
Hey, Spirit... you're kidding me right?
'' I'm usually not that type of girl '' I tell him trying to reassure me after what I had just done. Did I really do that? Oh nooooo.......
It's Sunday morning . I'm wearing an apron and I'm holding a broom. I just cleaned the whole house. Including folding Male underwear. I even asked him THE question '' DO YOU HAVE ANY LAUNDRY to do? ''
People who know me will laugh. People who know me well will try to get me Home ( wherever that is) ASAP.
I look around me.The bed is neatly made, the bathroom spotless and the kitchen shines.
Seriously. ME.
The only time I would do this back home was at my work. And I was paid good money to do so. I probably miss my work, that's it.
But it's not like I'm being held hostage or I have to do this for accommodation. I ENJOY IT. ( scary huh)
You know what? 2 days ago I even cooked.....! Since then? We're having tuna sandwiches.
He gave me a precious tip that I shall remember my whole life. Any shit food tastes amazing with a French name.
So now, I name my food in French. Like : '' pommes de terre brulees et ses petites carottes pas cuites'' Sounds cool hey?
It means '' burnt potatoes and uncooked baby carrots'' .
It's awesome to be French in Australia.
A woman stopped me on the street the other day to tell me : '' You have the best tattoo I've ever seen'' . Yeah, my tattoo says '' Made in France'' . I was very careful to hide it back home in England or even back home in France ( That's f****** racist mate), I don't even try to go to Italy anymore ( not that I want to) , I haven't tried to get in to the US with it yet but I would probably have to change it to ''Made in Liberty Fries country'' , but here , in Australia, I can show it proudly. Yay.
'' It was really good to meet you, I could change my vision of French people'' says my Melbourne man.
Sure. French women are known to be classy, mysterious, always sexy, confident and good looking.
GLAD I HELPED YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, MATE.......
Then he told me what some Aussies REALLY thought about the French. The Truth.
Precious , delicate, arrogant, smug, know-it-all and no sense of humour, plus they all own French poodles ( Where the F**** did they get that one from)
I just replied one (very meaningful) thing to end this awful cliché:
'' No, we're not ALL from Paris..............''
We go out in town on Saturday night and meet several people in the local pub.
'' You're from France?'' says that older man , giving me THE look '' and you're coming HERE in this pub... in ''Bogan Town Frankston'' ?''
Why not? I don't get it.... Ah, maybe I'm too ''precious''..... So I went on talking to him about random things drinking my 3rd beer (thus completely drunk) for a couple of minutes.
He left, probably thinking French people are not that precious or classy in the end. They just have a problem with alcohol.
That's an improvement .... right?
I went home drunk holding an Australian Flag that we stole somewhere .. speaking frenglish. Now THAT 's travelling ( for me anyway)
If opening up people's mind (including mine) and break clichés is where my free Spirit is taking me, then I'm in.
But next time...Give me a French maid's apron
Thursday, 19 January 2012
A Tale of 2 cities. My truth about Melbourne and my decision.
Going South... For us, Europeans, it means Sea, Sun, Spain ,Summer holidays. For the French it means going down to the coast for 1/ a family trip in a cheapish campsite and drinking Pastis while playing Petanque ( which is a white trash thing to do but anyway) 2/ A road trip with friends that has for main goal Sea ,Sun, booze and Sex if you're lucky.
Back in Sydney, that's what I was thinking as I was waiting for my lift to Melbourne. A road trip down South. Hell yeah. I've never met the guy before but hey , I AM GOING DOWN SOUTH. And we're going camping. Yay!
After a night in a tent looking for the warmest clothes in my backpack, I woke up with the outfit I was wearing the day I left England. A pair of jeans , a jumper and a Winter jacket. I realized as I started to sneeze that, going South was not going to be quite what I expected. It f***** freezing.
I also left Sydney with the certitude that I would prefer Melbourne. Because EVERYONE does.
'' Tourists usually don't like Melbourne because they think there is nothing to see. Only locals can really enjoy Melbourne for what it is '' my lift says.
'' I 'm not a f**** tourist'' I answer angrily. I hate tourists. I do.
Of course that night I ended up in a backpackers' hostel . I felt like Home in a minute and a half and even started helping the staff to clean the kitchen in return for a free dinner.
But, 3 days later I decided I HATED backpackers' hostels. Weird for a girl whose main address in the world IS a backpackers' hostel in the South of England. No mate, not the same. This one is HOME. Way different. And it should not be called a backpackers hostel that one. Kipps is a ''Homepacker hostel'', mate.
Don't worry; backpackers hostels hated me back too.
Sharing a dorm with 18 year old Danish girls who probably are still on European time zone as they as chatting like it's f**** daylight when everyone else is ( trying to ) sleep.
Of course when I said something I was the weird one. Even for those who were trying to sleep. They ALL gave me THE look:
First trip away from Mum and here she is , the old French twat , telling us what we can or we can't do. Go home and have babies you silly old woman.
That's how Mummy Annabelle spent her first 3 nights in funky Melbourne. I loved it already.
The next day I decided to take a free walking tour to go see some landmarks and that.
'' This building was voted the 5th ugliest building in the world'' says the guide showing an actual ugly building as we were starting the tour in Federation Square. No time to say more as it started to pour down with rain. The temperature dropped to 15 degrees in 2 minutes and a half. The guide even had UMBRELLAS ready for tourists...
I decided that the hardest job in Australia was Weather Forecaster in Melbourne. It is known to be the '' 4 seasons in one day'' city. (The easiest job in Australia being History teacher: no so much to work on.)
In Melbourne you have to get out of your house in the morning with 1/ an umbrella 2/ sun block 3/ no expectations.
''This is the Royal Exhibition building. It does not serve no real purpose anymore, except for end of school year exam'' the guide continues.
At this stage the only thing I loved about Melbourne was its History. Our guide was so passionate about it, it was hard not to fall in love. Do you know it should have been called '' Batmania '' after that guy called BATMAN. How cool is that. What happened? The Brits took over.
Also, there was that guy called William Buckley. He escaped from Prison with 2 of his mates in 1804 hoping to get to Sydney. Crazy idea huh. Well, he survived. Living most his life with aborigines, he almost forgot his own language. Lucky huh. He was later used as a peace maker. How cool is that man.
'' To have Buckley’s luck'' became an Aussie saying ( mainly used by males when they get lucky with someone way of out their league)
Also, there was that dude Ned Kelly. He was a bushranger who He robbed and terrorized a whole town in the 1880’s to finally get caught by the cops. He killed one of them. Then what did the Aussies do? They built a huge statue in his honour in that town. Now he’s remembered as a hero. My French rebel side says '' I like'' . AWESOME. .
No, there is no ''tourist bucket list'' anything to SEE in Melbourne. My lift was right. But yet I could feel something ... different. No idea what that feeling was until the cool guide (awesome dude really) took us to ugly narrow streets all painted in beautiful Street Art. Or graffiti. Depends on how you see it.
'' Most of Street Art in Melbourne is illegal. But the paint is still provided legally so it's up to you what you want to do with it ‘‘ Hell yeah. My French rebel side says '' I like'' again. You make your own luck, mate.
Then the city got to me. Like ANY city in the world (so it does not count). I could not cope: I had to go AWAY.
I decided to go 2 day camping trip at the week end with 2 people I had never met ( a Scottish girl and a French guy who luckily was NOT from Paris)t and a German guy who saved me from staying another self-destructive night in a hostel. (God bless Germans and their organization skills)
Like almost non Aussie we were sh*** at camping.
While we were struggling with one knife for 4 , no plates or glasses, 1 tent with no mattress and the F**** cold, the Aussies next to us were watching telly on their double bed by the heater in their huge campervan. D'oh.
But somehow, together as a European team, we made our own luck and we happily made it to the 12 apostles on the Great Ocean Road feeling like a Scottish- German- French family at the end of the week end.
Time to get back to Melbourne.
I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO MELBOURNE. I don't like it. And I thought I'd love it. No no no noooooo!
There is something missing in my experience. Something I’ve experienced in Australia before.... Something called connection. And I'm fed up with bloody sandwiches for brekkie / lunch / dinner too.
'' Annabelle, us backpackers, if we want to see most of Australia on a budget in such a little time frame, we HAVE TO sacrifice stuff. '' Says my new backpacker friend.
'' I DON'T WANT TO SEE MOST OF AUSTRALIA. '' I said it. Sh**
Well not at this price anyway. No thanks.
So.. There are only 2 options in travelling right??? 1/ Staying in cheap backpackers and skip 2 meals a day , eat pasta for breakfast for the sake of seeing 12 cities , a kangaroo in a zoo and one local person in a souvenir shop in one year ... and go home ?. 2/ work your ass off for 10 years and stay in a Holiday inn, book tour guides to see the whole of Australia in 5 weeks and go home too ? In both cases you sacrifice so much and... WHERE IS THE CULTURAL EXPERIENCE IN THAT??????
They gave me THE look '' Well... If you want a homely feeling and basic comfort then..... You should actually go HOME now then. It may be time for you to settle down, you know at your age...''
I get agitated. It’s never a good sign.
Well Travelling is not for me then. I'm ready to give up and go back HOME up in North New South Wales when I start thinking about that Buckley guy again ( the one who made his own luck)
So I texted him. ( not Buckley. I wish, though) . My Melbourne Man , you know, the one I woke up next to on New Year's day in Sydney ( Happy New Year me) and whom I could listen to talking about Australia for hours.
Told him the whole truth about me in Melbourne, not feeling any connection at all and how depressed it made me. My last chance of loving my life as a traveller: staying with him. Somehow, being a traveller, he got that and said yes. That's how I ended up in Frankston, 40km South of Melbourne Central. Where no tourist goes.... Because there is NOTHING TO SEE.
Imagine having a French girl turn up to your doorstep with her whole life on her back saying '' My life does not really make much sense anymore'' the first thing you'd probably think as a bloke would be: '' Why the f*** did I drink that much whiskey on New Year's Eve ??? Got me into trouble.She is now going to move in....'' and you’d freak out. He did not. Instead he said:
'' Let's go to the beach, mate''
That's when I saw my first ‘’Beach Sunset’’ in Australia. No, they don't get that in the East, do they?
And the game Sydney- Melbourne was on again...
He did not have any answers for me, but he had Goon ( the most disgusting wine in Oz. Comes in a bag. you can make a cushion out of)
After 2 glasses I went on and on about Community feeling and how travellers should try to connect more to the country they're visiting with such a passion that I'm sure I almost convince him that I was not really a stalker who pretended to be a traveller just to get a husband and babies. That I was a genuine f**** dreamer.
2 days later I was still there, quite naturally eating ''Weetbix'' for breakfast, watching the Australian Open yelling '' Go Tommiiiiiic'' , and jog to the beach saying ''G'day'' to neighbours,while still being my French self that I would not give up, not for anything in the world.
It still says '' Made in France'' on my neck and it always will. It's just a matter of connecting with locals, mate.
He teaches me Aussie culture I teach him French and British English. I'm a happy traveller again. Because I have created a Home for a little while.
And I know that there is only one way of travelling now: yours. And if it does not exist invent it, mate. Whatever makes you happy. I’m officially a ‘’Homepacker’’ ( yes , I even made the WORD up)
Somehow I made my own luck.
It's a bit like Melbourne. Nothing is offered on a plate in Melbourne. There is nothing spectacular to see on the surface. But it gives you an opportunity to look further and experience something different ,
Whether it's a legal can of paint to do illegal street Art, or the first step to Freedom for a convict. Melbourne gives you the opportunity to make up your own story. You can, like Buckley, take the risk of making your own luck, or not.
I don't know how long I will stay here, or even where I'll be tomorrow or next week but I know that , in the name of '' Buckley's luck'' , I am now and forever will be.... a Melbourne Girl.
Back in Sydney, that's what I was thinking as I was waiting for my lift to Melbourne. A road trip down South. Hell yeah. I've never met the guy before but hey , I AM GOING DOWN SOUTH. And we're going camping. Yay!
After a night in a tent looking for the warmest clothes in my backpack, I woke up with the outfit I was wearing the day I left England. A pair of jeans , a jumper and a Winter jacket. I realized as I started to sneeze that, going South was not going to be quite what I expected. It f***** freezing.
I also left Sydney with the certitude that I would prefer Melbourne. Because EVERYONE does.
'' Tourists usually don't like Melbourne because they think there is nothing to see. Only locals can really enjoy Melbourne for what it is '' my lift says.
'' I 'm not a f**** tourist'' I answer angrily. I hate tourists. I do.
Of course that night I ended up in a backpackers' hostel . I felt like Home in a minute and a half and even started helping the staff to clean the kitchen in return for a free dinner.
But, 3 days later I decided I HATED backpackers' hostels. Weird for a girl whose main address in the world IS a backpackers' hostel in the South of England. No mate, not the same. This one is HOME. Way different. And it should not be called a backpackers hostel that one. Kipps is a ''Homepacker hostel'', mate.
Don't worry; backpackers hostels hated me back too.
Sharing a dorm with 18 year old Danish girls who probably are still on European time zone as they as chatting like it's f**** daylight when everyone else is ( trying to ) sleep.
Of course when I said something I was the weird one. Even for those who were trying to sleep. They ALL gave me THE look:
First trip away from Mum and here she is , the old French twat , telling us what we can or we can't do. Go home and have babies you silly old woman.
That's how Mummy Annabelle spent her first 3 nights in funky Melbourne. I loved it already.
The next day I decided to take a free walking tour to go see some landmarks and that.
'' This building was voted the 5th ugliest building in the world'' says the guide showing an actual ugly building as we were starting the tour in Federation Square. No time to say more as it started to pour down with rain. The temperature dropped to 15 degrees in 2 minutes and a half. The guide even had UMBRELLAS ready for tourists...
I decided that the hardest job in Australia was Weather Forecaster in Melbourne. It is known to be the '' 4 seasons in one day'' city. (The easiest job in Australia being History teacher: no so much to work on.)
In Melbourne you have to get out of your house in the morning with 1/ an umbrella 2/ sun block 3/ no expectations.
''This is the Royal Exhibition building. It does not serve no real purpose anymore, except for end of school year exam'' the guide continues.
At this stage the only thing I loved about Melbourne was its History. Our guide was so passionate about it, it was hard not to fall in love. Do you know it should have been called '' Batmania '' after that guy called BATMAN. How cool is that. What happened? The Brits took over.
Also, there was that guy called William Buckley. He escaped from Prison with 2 of his mates in 1804 hoping to get to Sydney. Crazy idea huh. Well, he survived. Living most his life with aborigines, he almost forgot his own language. Lucky huh. He was later used as a peace maker. How cool is that man.
'' To have Buckley’s luck'' became an Aussie saying ( mainly used by males when they get lucky with someone way of out their league)
Also, there was that dude Ned Kelly. He was a bushranger who He robbed and terrorized a whole town in the 1880’s to finally get caught by the cops. He killed one of them. Then what did the Aussies do? They built a huge statue in his honour in that town. Now he’s remembered as a hero. My French rebel side says '' I like'' . AWESOME. .
No, there is no ''tourist bucket list'' anything to SEE in Melbourne. My lift was right. But yet I could feel something ... different. No idea what that feeling was until the cool guide (awesome dude really) took us to ugly narrow streets all painted in beautiful Street Art. Or graffiti. Depends on how you see it.
'' Most of Street Art in Melbourne is illegal. But the paint is still provided legally so it's up to you what you want to do with it ‘‘ Hell yeah. My French rebel side says '' I like'' again. You make your own luck, mate.
Then the city got to me. Like ANY city in the world (so it does not count). I could not cope: I had to go AWAY.
I decided to go 2 day camping trip at the week end with 2 people I had never met ( a Scottish girl and a French guy who luckily was NOT from Paris)t and a German guy who saved me from staying another self-destructive night in a hostel. (God bless Germans and their organization skills)
Like almost non Aussie we were sh*** at camping.
While we were struggling with one knife for 4 , no plates or glasses, 1 tent with no mattress and the F**** cold, the Aussies next to us were watching telly on their double bed by the heater in their huge campervan. D'oh.
But somehow, together as a European team, we made our own luck and we happily made it to the 12 apostles on the Great Ocean Road feeling like a Scottish- German- French family at the end of the week end.
Time to get back to Melbourne.
I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK TO MELBOURNE. I don't like it. And I thought I'd love it. No no no noooooo!
There is something missing in my experience. Something I’ve experienced in Australia before.... Something called connection. And I'm fed up with bloody sandwiches for brekkie / lunch / dinner too.
'' Annabelle, us backpackers, if we want to see most of Australia on a budget in such a little time frame, we HAVE TO sacrifice stuff. '' Says my new backpacker friend.
'' I DON'T WANT TO SEE MOST OF AUSTRALIA. '' I said it. Sh**
Well not at this price anyway. No thanks.
So.. There are only 2 options in travelling right??? 1/ Staying in cheap backpackers and skip 2 meals a day , eat pasta for breakfast for the sake of seeing 12 cities , a kangaroo in a zoo and one local person in a souvenir shop in one year ... and go home ?. 2/ work your ass off for 10 years and stay in a Holiday inn, book tour guides to see the whole of Australia in 5 weeks and go home too ? In both cases you sacrifice so much and... WHERE IS THE CULTURAL EXPERIENCE IN THAT??????
They gave me THE look '' Well... If you want a homely feeling and basic comfort then..... You should actually go HOME now then. It may be time for you to settle down, you know at your age...''
I get agitated. It’s never a good sign.
Well Travelling is not for me then. I'm ready to give up and go back HOME up in North New South Wales when I start thinking about that Buckley guy again ( the one who made his own luck)
So I texted him. ( not Buckley. I wish, though) . My Melbourne Man , you know, the one I woke up next to on New Year's day in Sydney ( Happy New Year me) and whom I could listen to talking about Australia for hours.
Told him the whole truth about me in Melbourne, not feeling any connection at all and how depressed it made me. My last chance of loving my life as a traveller: staying with him. Somehow, being a traveller, he got that and said yes. That's how I ended up in Frankston, 40km South of Melbourne Central. Where no tourist goes.... Because there is NOTHING TO SEE.
Imagine having a French girl turn up to your doorstep with her whole life on her back saying '' My life does not really make much sense anymore'' the first thing you'd probably think as a bloke would be: '' Why the f*** did I drink that much whiskey on New Year's Eve ??? Got me into trouble.She is now going to move in....'' and you’d freak out. He did not. Instead he said:
'' Let's go to the beach, mate''
That's when I saw my first ‘’Beach Sunset’’ in Australia. No, they don't get that in the East, do they?
And the game Sydney- Melbourne was on again...
He did not have any answers for me, but he had Goon ( the most disgusting wine in Oz. Comes in a bag. you can make a cushion out of)
After 2 glasses I went on and on about Community feeling and how travellers should try to connect more to the country they're visiting with such a passion that I'm sure I almost convince him that I was not really a stalker who pretended to be a traveller just to get a husband and babies. That I was a genuine f**** dreamer.
2 days later I was still there, quite naturally eating ''Weetbix'' for breakfast, watching the Australian Open yelling '' Go Tommiiiiiic'' , and jog to the beach saying ''G'day'' to neighbours,while still being my French self that I would not give up, not for anything in the world.
It still says '' Made in France'' on my neck and it always will. It's just a matter of connecting with locals, mate.
He teaches me Aussie culture I teach him French and British English. I'm a happy traveller again. Because I have created a Home for a little while.
And I know that there is only one way of travelling now: yours. And if it does not exist invent it, mate. Whatever makes you happy. I’m officially a ‘’Homepacker’’ ( yes , I even made the WORD up)
Somehow I made my own luck.
It's a bit like Melbourne. Nothing is offered on a plate in Melbourne. There is nothing spectacular to see on the surface. But it gives you an opportunity to look further and experience something different ,
Whether it's a legal can of paint to do illegal street Art, or the first step to Freedom for a convict. Melbourne gives you the opportunity to make up your own story. You can, like Buckley, take the risk of making your own luck, or not.
I don't know how long I will stay here, or even where I'll be tomorrow or next week but I know that , in the name of '' Buckley's luck'' , I am now and forever will be.... a Melbourne Girl.
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