observations Keyword
Prague
Being sick while traveling is never fun. It gets in the way of everything, and when you’re on a relatively tight schedule it can stuff with a lot of plans. I got sick in Prague which was unfortunate as I really wanted explore the city. I could have stayed in bed, nursing a throbbing headache, aching muscles and running nose, or I could fight it. Through a constant haze of the flu, I did force myself out into the streets to see the capital of the Czech Republic.
Prague is an unusual place. It oozes beauty. Every building is stunning. The winding, cobbled streets scream to be explored. You can practically taste the history of the place, but it doesn’t smack you over the head with it like some other cities. Prague is subtle, gentle and gorgeous.
Wandering the streets of the city are the Czech people. A race stuck in the eighties. I am not sure if it is by choice or if they just got forgotten when the universe was handing out the “please remove the mullet and stone wash jeans” memorandum. Eighties music pumps in every venue and pastels, pinks and fluoro are worn without humor or irony. Decor, signage, advertising are all throw backs to a time when perms were fabulous and greed was good.
At night the city transforms. Glittering lamp lights chase the creeping dark into corners and down streets. A warm blanket of tungsten covers the city. All sense of time disappears as the city heaves with people strolling the cobblestones and enjoying the evening at terraces and bars.
I heart Prague. The small taste I got has left me hungry for more.
Hacked
Over the weekend you may have noticed that this site was suspended. My hosting service only issued me with a brief email saying “Due to scripts taking too long to execute the website was disabled”. This email was not entirely helpful, and after repeated support emails that went without reply and a few calls to the support line I found I could not get my site reactivated until today.
I decided to do a little research myself while my site was done. As I had no access whatsoever to any part of my hosting (logs, emails, cpanel, etc etc) I had to rely on what little data Google Analytics recorded before the site was suspended. I found something quite interesting.
Google recorded a bunch of hits to the following URL:
/_vti_logs/VideoEclusivo.avi.mpg.exe
Obviously something dodgy going on. Once I had access to my site again this morning, the first place I went to was this _vti_logs folder. In it I found a phishing site and a PHP email generator. I contacted support at webcity but they were unable to tell me who put these files on my site and seemed uninterested in helping me further.
Snooping around the files I found a few things. First that around emails 6089 were generated by the PHP script. Second the script was written by “MurdeR” who’s website is Diosdelared.com . This does not mean this phishing site was put there by this character though. Third the scam seems to be a phishing site masquerading as “Moviestar” a Venezuelan phone company.
Apart from the lack of support I got regarding this matter, the most frustrating thing is that this scam seems to have worked quite well. The phishing site received thousands of hits, with 2397 being to the exe which is obviously a virus/trojan. Out of the 6089 emails that “Murder”‘s script reported it generated almost half landed with people who fell for the scam. Quite scary when you think about it. It is quite obvious from the URL (www.agamersodyssey.com/_vti_logs/index.php) that the user had come to something unaffiliated with Moviestar, but nearly 50% of the people who received this poorly crafted email clicked on the link AND entered details.
My hope for humanities future continues to decline.
I have kept a copy of the phishing site incase anyone else would like to look into this issue. Please contact me if you need more info, or if you can provide any info that would help track down the perpetrators.
The Church
Religion is one of those things that really isn’t something I can discuss without the conversation getting heated or me just having to shut my trap. The mere idea of it makes me cringe. I am tolerant of those who have beliefs, and I think people should be able practise what ever religion they want as long as they keep themselves. Hell, I support Pastarfarianism, but I’ll never push the teachings of the flying spaghetti monster on anyone even if I was touched by his noodly appendage. That said, religion does have some merits. Like its role in the creation of public holidays.
Easter weekend is one of those holidays we have to thank some of the bigger groups of Invisible Cloud People followers for. It is a great weekend. Some people get chocolates, everyone gets a Holiday and as always, there’s an excuse to get rat shit maggot pissed. Which is what I did this Easter Sunday. I met up with Jessica Cullen, a friend from Perth and, with a few of her mates, we hit “The Church“.
The Church is hard to describe. For three and a half hours, every sunday, it hosts a multitude of yobbo aussies, sleazy south africans, goofy americans and smelly brits as well as a sampling from pretty much all corners of the globe for an afternoon of debauchery. This is real hedonistic stuff. Drink can only be purchased three at a time and are handed to you in a plastic bag to be easily attached to a belt. A preacher delivers a rousing speech, taking the piss out of everyone in the room. Strippers, both male and female strip right down for the heaving crowd and drinks flow into gullets faster than they can be dispensed.
While a little crazier than most night clubs I have been to, it was just like being at home. Sweaty dudes with their shirts off, chicks that couldn’t handle their drinks, the same songs you’ve heard in every pub, every weekend. Booze covered chicks and strippers is pretty much the only way you could ever get me into a Church. Pure-fucking-gold.
Attached is a gallery of the usual “Simon’s been out drinking” photos I take, most of which are of me looking pissed. Majority were taken at the Church, some at the Shepard’s Bush Walkabout later in the day. Enjoy.
Going nowhere, fast
What is this strange attitude that runs through the British population? A twine that binds each citizen with a sense of unfounded urgency. Strangers trotting about town, frowning at their shoes, shoulders broad, pushing through the crowds alone among many. Grimacing faces rushing up and down escalators. Where are you going so fast? I’ll see you at the tube platform when I eventually get there. Your rushing achieved nothing. Do you have somewhere to be? Is it somewhere important? Do you search for a life just out of reach but fail to enjoy the one within your grasp? Why go through existence in this haste, with this frustration? Breathe. Let go. Find solace in now. You’ve missed that tube, but another rumbles but moments behind it. Do you not feel the bitter air that precedes it, blowing at your back. Stop a moment. Why push your way to be first onto the train and then frown like you don’t want to be there? Does the fluorescent flicker of the lighting gnaw at your soul, or is your anger feeding a cancer to do the job? The shine on your shoes shows a smile on your face, but it is merely a fun house mirror of leather and wax. Quick! Jump up to the doors; they will open any moment. Mind the gap. Bump past elbows as you power up the moving stairway only to wait in line at the exit. I stand behind you, patient, and watch. Your Oyster card itches to beep you through the gates. Hands. Thick, purple veins. Your stride pushes you forward. Outside now. The sky is brilliant blue, the sun shines down with glory, but you don’t see it. Your next step is all that is on your mind. Step forward and stride. Stride, stride, stride. Cheap plastic souls beating the pavement. Where are you going to? I stop and watch and gather the sun you’ve forgotten and left sparkling behind you. Do you have somewhere to be? I’ve found where that place is. It lays tossed in the wake of the life that you’re rushing through, going nowhere.
One for All
Probably the most common misconception of Japanese by westerners that have never been to the country is that the people are a collection of unthinking, working robots with no personalities or individuality. I guess the idea of a country working as one to the betterment of their society is seen as socialist and evil in western eyes. In reality Japanese society is something completely different.
I see Japan as almost a utopia. Sure it has its social problems, and Japanese tend to hide what they are actually thinking but the Japanese society is wonderful. This is a group of people who care for the whole, always putting themselves last. The old adage of “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” fits pretty well here. Everyone is conscious of how they are acting and if they may be offending, annoying or disturbing the people around them. Phones are OFF on the trains. People don’t STEAL. There’s no litter. People are polite in the street. This is not because LAW says they can’t do or say certain things. It’s just that they know that it’s not a good thing for the whole. It the way people should act. I don’t think a billion people can live so well in such a small space without thinking about how one persons actions affect the rest. Someone tried to explain to me that the reason that there isn’t much stealing, or anti social behaviour, why you can leave your wallet on the train and expect to get it back with all your cash is that ones actions are considered based on how that person would be perceived “in the public eye”.
Western Society seems to think that “free speech” or even “freedom” means being able to do what ever you want, when ever you want, which I think is absurd. It gets taken completely out of context. Like someone being a lout, yelling at people and causing trouble in the street. Sure you’re allowed to do this but really: is it good for the whole? I believe everyone should come to Japan and experience their mentality. It really opens your eyes to how good life could be if everyone just considered their actions and put others first.
Enough ranting. I’ve done heaps around Japan, too much to write up individual posts for, so instead please enjoy this collection of photos from around beautiful Tokyo. Area’s photographed include the hostel, Harajuku, Asakusa, Tokyo, Asakasubashi, Shibuya and Ginza.
Sardines
I think my travel agent pulled some kind of sick joke on me by booking my flight to arrive at Narita airport at 6am. By the time I had picked up my luggage and passed through customs it was around 7am. The train trip from Narita to the edge of town is about fourty-five minutes, putting the time I would be hitting Tokyo proper smack bang in middle of the morning rush.
The trip turned from a nice, leisurely train ride to peak-hour chaos. Increasingly people piled onto the train. I managed to wrestle my guitar onto the luggage rack just as the last bit of space was consumed, but my backpack and daypack ended up between my legs. At one point I didn’t need to try to balance any more, the bodies around providing me with more than enough support to disconnect myself from the hand grip. The mass of bodies moved with the train, wobbling and waving with every turn. They moved down the carriage with each application of brake from the driver and returned to their spots as the train moved off again. More people were herded in by the handlers with their little white gloves at each station we hit. Japanese faces were literally pressed against the windows of the carriage, the walls and my shoulder blades. The momentum carried the swarm of people like seaweed on the tides.
I was getting kind of creeped out. There were hips and hands and arms and legs everywhere there shouldn’t be. I felt violated, and stared steadfastly through the window; too nervous to look around at who or what was poking into my personal space. I started to puff myself out, standing tall, pushing back against the flow of people. Up straight I was bigger and taller than 90 percent of the people in the carriage. I got to sticking out my elbows, trying to make space. It wasn’t working. Getting tired of being on guard I took off my headphones and looked around me, putting on my best “fuck off, weirdo” face. The train was silent. Strangely, eerily silent. Save for a few quiet coughs not one of the multitude of people crammed in around me made a sound. There was not a bleep from a cell phone. No school yard secrets were whispered between teenagers. Not even the distant tinkle of j-pop on headphones punctured the silence. I have been in Libraries louder than that carriage. It was so quiet I felt like whistling, just to break the implied tension that the silence generated. What’s more is that most of the people, including the four commuters pressed up against me, appeared to be asleep! Eyes closed, lids not even fluttering, calm, distant expressions on their faces. This was their moment of Zen. I relaxed. I rolled with it. All were one.
Finally reaching my stop, I groped for my guitar, apologising profusely in my sorry excuse for Japanese and started moving through the crowd. As packed as the carriage was I got through easier than I had imagined. Even with eyes closed my fellow sardines made space as I wiggled through. Incoming passengers waited calmly as a couple of other commuters and I popped out of the doors and onto the platform. The hole I left was quickly consumed, filled by eight Japanese salary men all assuming their eyes-closed, dreamlike look as the train pulled away. One of the guards on the platform smiled at me and gave me a little nod as I stood back taking a deep breath. I nodded back, picked up my gear, put my backpack on, and headed to the opposite platform to catch my connecting train. I decided to keep my gear on me this time. It was only a couple of stops. I stood first in line for my train. After only a moment it arrived, and a few people exited the packed carriage. I took a step towards the door and then suddenly I was careening across the gap. I didn’t so much as get on the train; I was forced. My feet lifted from the floor as about 15 people behind me, much more than the amount that left the train, rushed forwards. Gloved hands squeezed more commuters into the carriage, the doors ground shut and we rumbled onwards down the line.
I popped out the other side of the train at Asakusabashi Station, quickly found my hostel and dropped my bags. Still wearing shorts and thongs I hadn’t felt the one degree weather, but I changed into some jeans and whacked on a jacket after the staff at the hostel informed me it might snow today. SNOW!
This is Japan, and I love it.
Nimbin
My hire car is proving to be a boon to my travel situation. On Friday, gathering a group from the house, I loaded up the little Hyundai Getz with Crystal, Julianna, Antwon, and Jamie and headed south to New South Wales. “To Nimbin” was the call from the car as we pulled onto the motorway.
As we moved south, thick, lush rain forest bushland gave way to rolling, cleared farm lands. Rain, as it has for most of my adventure, bucketed down in torrents, at one point almost forcing us to stop the car. One-way bridges were covered over by the rivers they were traversing. The wipers couldn’t move the water off the windscreen fast enough and misting windows obscured my vision. We pushed on. The rain cleared as we pulled into the infamous town of Nimbin, leaving behind a thin mist and slick streets.
Nimbin, once considered almost a Utopian town by the hippies that resided there, is a small rural community with a population of around 350 “official” residents. While Nimbin originally began life as a dairy farming town, its main drawcard now is the fairly relaxed marijuana laws that exist there. Drugs such as various varieties of pot and hash, acid and mushrooms are sold relatively openly in the street. The heady aroma of grass and incense mingles with the sweaty, “haven’t showered since Malcolm Fraser” stink of the bums and druggies that wander the main strip. Large groups of stoned tourists shamble along, bleary eyed, talking shit and browsing hemp themed souvenir stores. Aging hippies sit behind street stalls selling shiny nicknacks and new age books. If it could be tie-died, it was tie-died.
While the utopian nature of the place may have gone, the druggies have not. The “free love” ideal brought to the town by the hippies that transformed it so long ago has been lost to drunk bums and modern meth head junkies.
I wandered the main strip, stopping into the local pub where loud music played from an old CD jukebox drowned out the caller on the TAB racing screens. I found the rest of the group chatting to some aboriginals busking in the street for booze money. I picked up one of their guitars and with Antwon grabbing the bongo we busted out a few tunes on the street. One of the buskers repeatedly yelled Superman while I played, in reference to my tshirt.
My time in Nimbin was a pretty surreal. While it made me a little sad to see what could have been a nice place turned bad, it was still an experience I have now crossed off my “things to do” list.
On the way back Jamie directed us to Mount Warning the highest, most eastern part of Australia. If you wish to catch the first rays of light hitting Australia on New Years, the top of Mount Warning is the place to be. The forest was lush, helped in part by the heavy rains and the running creeks and dripping foliage were very peaceful.
We crept back into Brisbane with its twinkling lights around 7pm. Just in time for some dinner. I sat listening to the creaking and popping of the car as the engine cooled in the moist night air. I decided that I would hit Surfers Paradise the next morning.
The Blonde Nightmare
I promised I would write an article about one of the very interesting people I met in Sydney: Lucy Holden. A self confessed “blonde nightmare” or “A car crash of a woman”; Lucy headed to Australia with a few dollars, a working visa and an uncontrollable desire to buy any clothes she sees.
Full of life, Lucy was the mistress of the goon, often sneaking it into bars and clubs to drink on the cheap. She missed her first day of work at a cafe because of a big night out and still managed to bluff her way into keeping the job. She stole muffins from hostels, scammed a bed pretty much every night and found coles to be a great source of free food. Even with so little money Lucy could still pull out a big night.
The last I heard from Lucy was that she was headed down to Melbourne with a few hundred bucks donated from her mum. She’ll be looking for, and eventually flagging work in Victoria just as this post goes up. Good luck Lucy, I hope the reputation you earned at the YHA doesn’t follow you to Melbourne!
UK Working Visas
Applying for an Australian Working Visa from the UK is laughably easy, according to most of the UK backpackers I’ve spoken to. I’ve heard reports of pommies applying online and being told within hours if they have had their Visa issued.
The process is not nearly as easy for Aussies headed to the UK, as I found out.
Here’s some handy hints I’ve picked up from my experience for Australians applying for a UK Working Visa.
- Expect delays
Applications take around 25 days to process apparently, but it can take longer. Don’t leave it till the last two weeks before you leave. Give a few months lead time. - You WILL have to surrender your passport
I thought this was a mistake on the website, but you will have post your passport to Canberra. I never let me passport out of my sight, and the idea of sending my passport through the absurdly unreliable AusPost completely confounded me. But, it needs to be done apparently. As I am leaving for Japan in 2 weeks I can’t give up my passport, so no Visa for me. - The cost of applying is refundable UP TO A POINT
If you choose to give up on your application do it BEFORE the consulate take your biometric details. Anytime after that and you’ve lost your money, no exceptions. This would have been handy for me to know before they took my fingerprints. - You can only get a Tier 5 Youth Mobility Visa from inside Australia
Pretty much says it all. You can’t get it issued outside your home country. Not even if you’ve started the application and its all over apart from the the shouting. - TWO WEEKS?!
You have only two weeks from starting the application to when Canberra need to receive your documention. Don’t expect that you can start it up again in a few months, or in a years time. You WILL have to pay another $280 bucks and go through all this shit again.
I hope these tips help anyone looking to apply for a UK Working VISA. They sure would have helped me! At this point I have no UK working Visa, and my Italian Citizenship is still lost in the thick forest of red-tape, slackness and bureaucracy that is the Italian Immigration System. Looks like I’ll be funding my entire trip out of savings.