Category: Travel

Welcome to Anti-Vax Island!

Posted on by SW

Imagine if all the anti-vaxxers moved to their own island where they had all the freedom they have been demanding…

“Well hi, fellow anti-vaxxers!!

A big, we-all-know-COVID-is-bullshit welcome to Anti-Vax Island, our tropical sovereign resort paradise where we can finally express ourselves… with freedom from those vaccinated sheeples.

People have been dying to come here!

You won’t find any of these in the Anti-Vax Island minibar!

Right now, our lovely coughing, mask-less hostesses are serving your complimentary Anti-Vax Island welcome cocktail, ‘Giddy Up’… with 666 shots (sorry, I shouldn’t use that word) of Ivermectin and bleach.

First up, I would like to apologise for the lack of mobile phone reception on the island, obviously none of us have been injected with Bill Gates’ 5G towers.

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A special Anti-Vax Island welcome to you professional sportspeople, including NRL, AFL, NHL, MBL, NBL and tennis players… oh… a very special I-will-not-reveal-my-status-whether-I-have-been-vaccinated-or-not greeting to you Novax … you will be residing in our luxurious Vax-Vacillation Villa.

Karens, COVID deniers, Big Pharma conspiracy theorists, I am sovereigns, those who did their own research, New World Order aficionados, it only kills old people people, ‘You can’t tell me what to put in my body’ guests and those who think the COVID vaccine will make you magnetic… you don’t like being told what to do or think, so you will need to find your own accommodation on the island.

I’ll let you get settled in, then we’ll start our super-fun Anti-Vax Island activities!!

You’re going to love it!! We’ll be rewriting our DNA, learning to say ‘You can still transmit the virus even if you are vaccinated’ in ten different languages, a bible study class to prove Jesus wasn’t vaccinated, coming up with even more abusive terms for Chinese people, holding your breath for three days to prove you don’t have the Coronavirus, different ways to scream ‘SEGREGATION!!’ at café staff and finally… a cooking class on how to make delicious hydroxychloroquine meals with cow urine pairing.

So welcome again to Anti-Vax Island, where as the song says, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

©Steve Williams 2021

You belong to the city

Posted on by SW

London. A few weeks ago.

“Would you like to go to a disco with me? Or if not, how about the movies? Maybe we could see Toy Story 4.”

Possibly the disco in mind

Both interesting options, with pros and cons, the major con being my wife and I had never met the English gentleman asking the question. He was a random bloke on the street who just came up to us.

After giving our profuse apologies, (though I was very tempted to see what old mate had in store for the “disco” option) we went on our way.

London is like that. You never know who you’re going to encounter as you wander. Like Bangkok. There was an elderly Thai couple that would busk on our street. He would play a MacGyvered string instrument and back his wife’s lead vocals. They had a prime spot out the front of a Starbucks and we would always give them some baht, which was always returned with a nod and a smile mid-song.

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Every city has characters. Our first time in Paris quite a few years ago, we were having dinner in a bistro in a residential area, and a striking gentleman (quite possibly homeless, apologies monsieur if you are not) wandered past. He was dressed in an amazing coat (no, not technicolour), accessorised with an old school cassette recorder around his neck, attached with a piece of rope. All very très très chic and reminiscent of the very non-PC fashion line in the Zoolander movie… Derelicte.

I have encountered many characters in Sydney as well. Martin Place in the city’s CBD seems to be a magnet. One bloke would yell “GARN GET FUCKED!!” at everyone, yet no one in particular. Another would quote Shakespeare in an extremely resonant, thespian style… I would contribute the odd line if he forgot and I happened to remember.

Then there’s the bloke in Munich who prefers to live in a mobile phone shop doorway, a busker who plays the pan flute and stands out not only in his herbal, hippy outfits, but is the only burgher in the city who has a smile on his face.

To misquote the old TV show Naked City, there are eight million stories in the naked city. These have been just a few of them.

©Steve Williams 2020

My city of Sydney – digital zombies, tradies in undies

Posted on by SW

I hadn’t been back to Sydney for a few years. I was recently in town, and in no particular order, here are a few random observations. 

Not quite what Sydney airport needs, but close

It’s the kulcha mate. I heard this enlightening comment from a bloke behind me on the flight to Sydney, “I went to Zurich and f*cking paid 20 bucks for a beer. Then, “I feel pretty cultured though now that I’ve been to Zurich.” Sydney’s gain, Zurich’s loss.

As you walk off the aircraft, those first corridors are soulless. They need something more Australian, more Sydney. I don’t mean an animatronic Paul Hogan offering a shrimp on the barbie, or a Sydney “personality” (Roxie Jacenko?) welcoming you, but something.

The taxi driver from the airport was a nice bloke, sans BO, which is always a bonus. I was watching the meter violently ticking over like a Geiger counter in Chernobyl. It was late on a Sunday night with no traffic and the fare to the CBD was stupid dollars. I’d forgotten how expensive taxis are. 

To misquote Eric Idle, Sydney keeps on expanding and expanding… faster than a Married at First Sight star’s 15 nanoseconds of fame. Why are the motorways a permanent construction zone? Why didn’t they future proof them when they were first built? The boffins behind the Sydney Harbour Bridge got it right. In 1932.

You need a bank loan to buy a simple, garden-variety sandwich, pub meals are now the same price as fancy restaurants… no doubt to pay for the funky hipster light globes you see in every pub.

Speaking of hipsters, on my last visit I noticed every drink was served in a mason jar, and food was served in a pot plant, slab of slate or on a shovel. Thankfully restaurants have rediscovered glasses and plates.

The hipsters still have some influence… new-old-school barber shops have sprung up everywhere in Sydney’s CBD (along with discount chemist shops). I had a haircut at one said barber, and thankfully didn’t emerge with a man bun and Grizzly Adams beard, wearing a flannelette shirt and riding a skateboard. 

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What’s with the buskers in Pitt St Mall? One bloke was playing “My Heart Will Go On” on a violin plugged into a Spinal Tap-style wall of sound cranked up beyond 11. It was so f*cking loud I was hoping an iceberg would do us all a favour.

To mute the Celine Dion wannabe, I should have joined the ever-increasing numbers of Sydney-siders talking to themselves while wearing headphones or AirPods. A woman in my hotel was talking at the top of her voice to herself about KPIs, spreadsheets, working capital and “visual optics.” I’m not sure if she was wearing AirPods or it was a serious mental health issue. I encountered many annoying people on speakerphone calls or watching stuff on their phone. Show some consideration. I’m talking to you, person on the train watching a documentary on rubber trees without headphones. SHUT. THE. F*CK. UP. 

I caught the Sydney Metro a few times, excellent. Though “Tallawong” sounds like a naughty euphemism in a Slim Dusty song.

The spatial awareness of Sydney types was always crap, but it’s worse now. Digital zombies wander aimlessly, heads down, messaging / reading / watching / swiping. It will be natural selection at its best once the trams start running (again) in George Street. Hopefully they will have bull bars or snow ploughs.

I kept seeing ads flogging undies designed for tradies. I’m disappointed they’re not in high-vis, though at least I didn’t see plumber’s crack.

My most profound moment in Sydney… I could understand the guard on the train. Simultaneously great for commuters and rather sad.

Having said all that, you gotta love Sydney *raises a mason jar*.

©Steve Williams 2019

Little sons of beaches

Posted on by SW

Dear people of the world. I don’t hate children.

Yes, actually I do, when I’m trying to chill out at an exclusive resort or expensive hotel.

“Hate” is slightly harsh, maybe “vehemently dislike”.

When I’m relaxing by the beach or pool at a sublime, tropical idyll, is it wrong to be searching my phone for the number of the Child Catcher or The Pied Piper to lead little (MUMEEEE DADEEEE WATCH ME!! , WATCH MEEEEEEEE!!) screaming Trevor into very deep, rip-infused water?

In fairness, it is not the kid’s fault, the blame should be laid firmly at the rapidly sunburning feet of the parents. Most kids have the attentive span of a gnat with ADD and become bored quite easily, unless they’re constantly entertained and catered for. What gets me are these selfish parents who take kids to resorts that are obviously “couples retreats” and then proceed to retreat from being a parent. Bored / ignored kid = pissed off other guests.

Hate to break it to you mum and dad, but things do change when you are a parent, you may not think it is très cool to be staying at a resort boasting “Kaptain Krokodile Kidz Clubz” but that is the life you created — literally.
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What also gets me are intimate, boutique resorts, or the “funky” hotels with bars that turn into nightclubs, which say, “we don’t cater for or encourage children”. They may not have the Kidz Klubz, but they often have kids’ menus, kids’ pool toys, happily provide fold-up beds, high chairs etc. Come on, show some intestinal fortitude and simply ban kids, it’s not like your food and beverage profit will take a major hit. How many fish fingers and babyccinos can little Trevor consume? The positive PR you will generate from your real target market will be worth its weight in mini-burgers.

There are an increasing number of “child-free” resorts around the world, even websites nobly dedicated to listing them, though I find it surprising there are not more adults only destinations. I’m not talking about those resorts where you get hit on by sagging, amorous, 75 year old nudists — not that there’s anything wrong with sagging, being 75, amorous, or a nudist, I just find that quadrella somewhat disconcerting.

Interestingly, when I embarked on painstaking, exhaustive research — i.e. Googled “child free resorts”, number four trumpets how “kids stay, eat and play free”.

Oh, the humanity.

Words and image ©Steve Williams

*This piece was published in the sadly now defunct The Punch by news.com.au