Stray 20March04 - Part one of four.

When fun is outlawed only outlaws will have fun.



I don’t even remember where I was up to with the last one of these, but

I

know it was like three months ago and a lot has happened since then.

So much in fact that I kind of have to treat the writing of it as a

chore

(enjoyable as it is), just plug plug plug away until its all done and

we

are all properly informed. I have forgotten most of what has happened

I’m

sure.

These things can be too long to read properly, so this one comes

serialized.



Christmas day I flew from Western Australia to Brisbane, a plan that

mum

initially vetoed until it became clear that the only flight available

would be last thing at night and I’d still get to do the Christmas

thing.

It was a hundred plus dollars cheaper then going out Boxing Day.

The flight was annoyingly short for one leaving at midnight, longer and

I

would have got some decent sleep, I think I ended up with about three

hours.

I was meant to be picked up from the airport and taken to the Woodford

folk festival, but after an hour of waiting around it was pretty clear

that no one was showing up so I made my own way by series of trains and

a

bus.



This is no good. The last three paragraphs could as easily be replaced

with ‘I made my way to Woodford’ and would contain all the information

and

about as much exiting travel literature. We’ll never get anywhere at

this

rate. I’ll speed it up a little.



Woodford was good.

And immense, and spread out. And hot, and these combined made for a lot

of

walking around at first trying to sort out what was going on and where

I

was supposed to be, and getting very dehydrated in the process.

I had, you may remember, been slung a free ticket by good old Tim to be

part of his street theater… thing. The Woodford Festival Public

Transportation System.

We were a bus. Four people sporting harnesses to lift the plastic

tubing

and canvas bus shell, and a fifth as hostess slash tour guide.

It was beautiful. Everyone loved us. We even ran the occasional night

bus

shepherding punters between the dance tents with a little stereo and my

headlamp set to flash-on-and-off-real-fast-mode hanging from the

ceiling.

Ahhhhhh good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is Bruce Murray your

captain speaking, we are now in our ascent out of ‘the punch bowl’,

I’ll

be taking us out on an easterly heading to our cruising altitude of

twelve

feet. Those of you on the right hand side of the bus will be treated to

a

view of stalls selling water pipes and powdered mushrooms. In the

almost

twice daily event of an emergency you will find exits directly to your

right, your left, by hurling yourself out the front window or assuming

a

reclined position with your arms folded over your chest, allowing the

bus

to pass over you. If an oxygen mask should drop from the ceiling above

you, that’s really fucking weird since we didn’t install any. Smoking

is

encouraged everywhere on the vehicle.

Then Joyce would circulate the cabin handing out damp rags and vomit

bags.



Most of the time, when I wasn’t being the front left wheel and turn

signal, I spent just roaming the festival at random. There was so much

good stuff going on that I could stumble across and drop in on. Saw

some

amazing music and circus acts, met a couple of good people. But not

many,

and if I have a quibble about the whole experience, and I do, its that

the

festival was a little too big. It was practically a city, and so had a

city type vibe. People were in their own space, you didn’t smile and

chat

with every person you passed for the same reason you don’t in town,

there

are just too many of them. Twenty thousand they reckoned.

Or maybe it was just me. The people I did meet were very cool.

Big fire event, not too much politics.

Little things, tents getting hot in the mornings, sudden rains, trips

into

town for food. Just the stuff which isn’t much in the retelling, but if

you were there, and so happy that some of you were, it all made for one

of

those blissful festival type experiences that most of you know all

about

anyway.

Hello Tony, hello Tim. Hello Marnina and Michelle. Wasn’t it good?

Would’ve even been worth paying for.



I left after a week, the day after the paying public wandered off. I’d

stayed an extra night to go to the staff party, which turned out to be

pretty lame, but I was in no hurry. I was hitchhiking to Melbourne

about

two and a half thousand kilometers south.

The first night out was spent in Byron Bay. So many people had told me

go

to Byron Bay, you’ll love it, you’ll stay for days. I actually, as it

turned out, thought the place was an absolute shit hole.

First off there was no hostel accommodation, since it was a Saturday

and

booked solid. I ended up camped in the bush by the beach between the

BEWARE – BROWN SNAKES signs, which if the police had found me would

have

meant a two hundred dollar fine, and if anyone else had would’ve meant

getting robbed. Big big crime problem in Byron.

I spent most of the day hanging out on the beach, which was alright as

the

town is really in a beautiful spot. But it’s expensive, and all the

pubs

have chain link fences around the front to stop the random groups of

drunkards who like to rush in and bash anyone sitting there. There was

nothing going on but drinking and the only ferals I saw were scattered

like colonized natives, hocking beads on street corners to the

occupying

tourist force.

So don’t go there.

The next day my third hitch, which took me seven hours south, was with

the

recently retired second in charge of the entire Australian armed

forces.

Man, that was an interesting ride.

Unfortunately all the really good stuff he could’ve told me was

classified, but I did find out some stuff. Like that the night of the

Bali

bombings (where my cousin was very nearly killed) the American forces

stationed there had been told not to go ashore. They knew it was going

to

happen, they just didn’t tell anyone else.

The Pentagon was hit by a plane, I had thought it maybe wasn’t.

When the main French agent responsible for the bombing of the Rainbow

Warrior in New Zealand was imprisoned he informed the officers that ‘if

I

am not freed within one year my people will be coming to get me.’

Meaning

the French army. He was extradited back to France eleven and a half

months

later.

The popular uprising in Papua New Guinea was put down by the Australian

army (read slaughter) because it risked ozzy mining interests. But

apparently that was common knowledge at the time.

Spent a night camped beside a park in Sydney and one in a suburb of

Canberra. Man is that place dull. Could’ve made it into Melbourne the

next

evening, but didn’t want to show up last thing at night, so camped by

the

side of the motorway surrounded by what I’m certain were trapdoor

spider

holes, and arrived the next morning. It was good hitching. I made good

time and met some good people. Didn’t get rained on, though there was

some

savage heat and flies, but it wasn’t too bad.

Ten days spent in Melbourne passed without much effort. Hooked up with

Michelle again and Naomi, but mostly just chilled in the hostel reading

and drinking with the British and Japanese.



Daniel.