Ferris wheels and falafel.

We get into Perth in the late afternoon. Southwestern coast of Australia—I am now probably as far from home as I’ve ever been. Get the rental van, drive to the hotel, check in. If there’s one basic part of touring that never gets any more tolerable, it’s airports. Expensive pseudo-gourmet food, poor design, long lines, trite formalities. It’s the epitome of the ‘hurry up and wait’ condition. You always have to get there early because a million things could go wrong, but more often than not your left sitting around for an hour with nothing to do but spend your money, and now they’ve trapped you! You begin to wonder if increased airport security measures were actually just a scam cooked up by businesses to get people in the airport for longer so they would spend more money. I think it was our UK drum tech Simon who said, on one particular morning last November when we found ourselves in a German airport at 4am with hours to spare: “I’m pretty sure hell is like being stuck forever in an airport.”

I get into my hotel room and feel like napping but I know I should exercise. I check out the fitness center which is decent, but I can’t quite motivate myself today. This is the whole problem with being hung-over. We haven’t really done anything today, but I try to excuse myself mentally with some kind of travel fatigue. Maybe that’s fair, maybe it’s total bullshit. I take the middle ground and head out on an exploring walk. Down to the bay, walking along the deep blue water as the slowly setting sun nearly flattens me. The sun here feels much stronger than it does at home. The whole scene is very romantic, which is actually kind of awful when you have no one to share it with. But I try to appreciate it in nonetheless and let myself just slow down and take it in.

I walk past a series of piers that seem to be the hot spot when it comes to Saturday night dining in downtown Perth. The sun has been setting pretty late down here, like 9-10PM, so even though it’s still very bright out it’s already around 7PM and tons of people are gathering for drinks and dinner. Couples streaming in across a park, casually but nicely dressed in that steamy summer evening sort of way—a few more buttons unbuttoned, a little more tanned skin showing, flip flops, boat shoes, no socks. Some hold hands and stroll, some walk briskly, late for a rendezvous with friends. There is one of those oddly placed downtown ferris wheels that no one ever rides towering over the scene.

I stumble upon this awesome looking Indian buffet place that seems to be run on a ‘pay what your heart desires’ concept. I read over the sign out front quickly, and it seems to have something to do with charity and religious volunteers. I don’t follow the concept completely, but it seems like the place has been around for a while, so it must work on some level. Now I love me some buffets, and this places was even 100% vegetarian! But I’m not that hungry, and there’s a wicked long line, so I don’t eat. On some level I’m actually kind of proud of myself. I tend to have a problem thinking about food without actually stuffing my face, so I’m trying to work on it. Walking through a grocery store and not buying anything or checking out a menu and moving on is tough sometimes, but I really, really want to be better at it. My brain is all fucked when it comes to food and it sucks sometimes.

Back to hotel, a couple beers in the hotel bar w/ The Ting Tings crew and an extended search with Ryan for something reasonably priced but decent for dinner. The best we can do at 10PM on a Saturday night is a Kebab place. For a major city this place really shuts down early! I eat my falafel and we head back. Fuck it, I’m done with today. Back to my room to read or write or watch TV or just sleep.

DIY hotel room kitchenette

If you open your eyes wide enough, you can almost see the whole oppressive circle. So, we get to stay in these fancy hotels on tour. Fancy hotels are nice, and comfortable, but mostly unnecessary. When it comes down to it, all your really need is a comfortable temperature, and a soft place to lay down. Internet access is nice. These expensive hotels get you by the balls and don’t let go, charging you extra for almost everything. They certainly don’t supply you with kitchen facilities—it’s much more awesome to eat crazily overpriced room-service, right? So, you are seemingly forced to go out and spend your money in restaurants or at cheap, disgusting fast-food joints. There’s always Subway, which is fucking everywhere, but that’s really not much better. Who knows where those vegetables came from and what kind of chemicals were used to grow them…

But where there is no kitchen a little ingenuity and effort does a kitchen make. First, a short trip down the street to the “Central Market.” For a second I thought I was back in south America, except it was not nearly as cheap. My trip yielded a large pie-shaped slice of brie, 4 tomatoes, 3 avocadoes and a couple small baguettes. Nectarines for dessert. I think I spent about $12 on enough food to make at least 3-4 solid sandwiches. Room service was kind enough to deliver some butter, salt and pepper without charging me anything. Those supplies came on a plate and a fabric napkin, both of which were useful. Then I made use of the complimentary coffee & tea supply tray as a cutting board, and used my Leatherman like the all-purpose tool that it is. Bam! It’s sandwich time.

So, moral of the story—the minute you start thinking that your circumstances force you to live within a certain framework, or do certain things or make certain choices—that is the very minute that you let yourself die a little inside. Every one of those moments is like a little gasping breath of death—and I’m trying to gasp just a few times less every day. Whether you just want to save money, or you don’t want to keep throwing your hard earned cash at places like Subway out of laziness or convenience, or both, you can do it. I’ll admit, I don’t know exactly where all my food came from, but most of the places in the market were organic, and at least I feel better about supporting local vendors.

I don’t think Quantas pilots are particularly smooth when it comes to landing. But we’ve made it this far, right? And no one can complain too much about an airline that still feeds you a sandwich and a drink for lunch on an hour long flight.

It is just as blazingly hot here, if not hotter. I don’t plan to go outside much until we head for the festival tomorrow. Should be a sweat-fest, but these Australian audiences have been stellar so far. In the meantime I think I’ll hit the gym and edit down my article into an alternate sidebar format for Wonka. There is talk of drinks tonight—eh, whatever.

Australian Heat Wave

So, I’m gonna try this. We’ll see what happens. And rather than give some sort of preface or back-story synopsis, I’m just going to start here, in the middle, and see where it takes me.

Heat like this reminds me of Giving Chase tours rolling through the South in the summer. Brutal, all encompassing. Like sitting in a fireplace, only in the South it’s the most humid fire you’ve ever endured. Standing on a no name street corner in a no name town with nothing to do but wait, staring into an empty hall. Maybe a few microphones and two speakers on flimsy stands, maybe a stage but probably not. No air conditioning to speak of—probably few people in the audience to speak of later that night. We used to do so much standing around, in the boiling heat and in the freezing cold. Standing, bullshitting, kicking stones, knocking back beers, walking to the corner, wandering back. Tour skill number one: patience. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait.

I just checked the Celsius conversion on my phone and it was actually 113 degrees Fahrenheit today. That’s actually way worse than I thought, and probably one of the hottest days I’ve ever experienced—save for a few choice days visiting family in Tucson I’m sure. It should be that hot for the next couple days. The Big Day Out show in Adelaide should be a hot & steamy pleasure.

Eating in Melbourne, Australia: check out Trippy Taco on Smith St. in Collingwood. Pretty tasty all vegetarian Mexican food. I had a Tofu Asada burrito while reading Bukowski and then sauntered along down Smith St. in the heat. A junk shop, a bakery, a guy drinking from a brown-papered bottle. Finally, a little bit of artsy ghetto! Back downtown, Lord of the Fries for dinner—corner of Elizabeth and Flinder Sts. Owen and Reggie raved on this place. I finally got there. All vegetarian fast food. Just imagine if In-and-Out Burger didn’t serve any meat. Awesome fries, solid, protein-packed burger. I’m sure it’s not the healthiest thing, but sometimes comfort food is good for the soul.

Also, all hotels should pair up with local gyms instead of stocking some half-ass exercise room that usually consists of a treadmill, and stationary bike and (if you’re lucky) so sort of poorly maintained multi-purpose weight lifting machine. High-fives on the Melbourne City Baths, which I made good use of…and also rooftop pools rule.