Whynot Street

I’ve been in Brisbane a little over two weeks now. I’ve seen a little bit of the beautiful Sunshine Coast. I’ve been disgusted by the shallow, horrible, skyscraper laden hole that is the Gold Coast. I’ve wandered national parks, explored Brisbane town, gone over the Story Bridge, swam at a fake beach and busked with locals at Nimbin. I’ve even managed to squeeze in a visit to a gaming exhibition.  All these things were interesting, nice little experiences. Each memory nicely wrapped in a neat little moment. Stored away, ready to jump out at an inappropriate time to remind me of days gone by.

None of these memories though, will fill me with as much nostalgia as those from Whynot Street. A curious name for a road, yet entirely fitting. Every moment at 38 Whynot Street, West End has been welcoming, exciting, relaxing, fulfilling, intriguing, enlightening and inspiring. I’ve met some of the most wonderful people you can imagine here. I’ve had a chance to hang out with my good friend. I’ve played heaps of guitar. I’ve read far too little of my books. I slept almost an entire day on the couch while the house partied on around me. I’ve fought with the tiny fridge, painted my contribution on the coffee table, played chicken with the temperamental hot water system and listened to the rain falling on the roof day after glorious day.

I’ll never forget the people I’ve met here. Selene, the mexican PHD student. Jamie the flighty, crazy New South Welshman. Antoine, the very cool and very relaxed French uni student. Jess, the arty, fun loving Australian who stole my shed. Julianna, Jamie’s Brazillian better half. The wonderful Frenchies. Tak, the Japanese massage student and of course, the wonderful Tegan and her fantastic, funny and intellectual boyfriend Sam.

I leave this place tomorrow, bound for Sydney on my Odyssey, but for tonight: we party, one last time.

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