Memoirs Part 1

So I’d decided to pack my bags, leave all of my worldly possessions behind and set about on an adventure to end all adventures. I’d worked tirelessly for 6 months and I told my parents I’d be home when I was home. I was going to take on obstacles no one in the world had faced before and meet thousands of amazing people in thousands of amazing places. I would walk the roads that people in ancient times carved with their bare hands and stand still shocked with amazement at the beauty and engineering magnificence of the worlds’ newest structures. I was going to taste tastes that should never be cursed upon the most evil of people, and see things that only eyes of the enlightened should see. I was destined somewhere during this journey to find myself, and discover what it is I would do with the rest of my life…

The naivety of the young wayward traveler, the above paragraph is something I firmly believed in before I took my first round world adventure. I am now 5 round world trips under my belt as well as countless overseas holidays, I have lived in numerous countries, worked an overwhelmingly large number of jobs, met some of the most amazing people in the world, and been arrested in three different continents, and now know that everything I have written above, well nearly everything is left completely upto chance.

I cannot take a standpoint for the rest of this story as a critic and inform you of the pros or cons and ins or outs of all of the worlds independent states. I can however talk honestly and factually with the occasional flamboyant exaggeration of my own experience as a globe trotting bandit who started with a wild history making dream and ended up sexually diseased, alcohol addicted and in a horrendous amount of debt.

My travel career started early, I don’t remember much of the trips anymore as my memories of my younger years seems to fade away with each new hangover, (it’s a good thing I have finally decided to take a month of booze, this is the only reason I can write this book now as if I were still drinking I wouldn’t remember what the last paragraph was about) I do remember little things though, walking down the beach bright red in Bali after deciding that I was too cool for sun block(a decision I’m sure I’ll regret in the not so distant future), taking the shot over jet boat in New Zealand and marveling at how precise the driver of the boat was with all of his turns, and standing in sheer admiration on Turtle Island in Fiji when first being introduced to a turtle at least 1 and half times my own size. I have lots of these little memories from our family holidays a picture here and there from all the different holidays, occasionally I flick through them in my head and think Forrest Gump didn’t really do that much. I’m sure somewhere through these trips I discovered within myself my curiosity for different cultures, different environments and how much I loved doing something that was just, new, no matter what it was. After all I needed to come up with some reason why I liked travelling so much and I figured if I can some how revert the responsibility back onto my parents then they can’t get so pissed off that I’m a 23 year old travelling bum.

“It’s not my fault, it’s because you guys took me on too many holidays as a kid now I just want to keep going”

I don’t really know if that excuse is working at all but I’m going to stick with it for now until I can think of something better. So like I said my travel career started early with a bunch of family holidays, a few trips around Australia, but the ones I remember most are a few trips we made to Bali, and one trip me and my sister made with my Dad and Step Mum to The USA, I think the trip to the USA was the trip that really opened my eyes to how different the rest of the world was to Australia. You would probably imagine that I would notice a bigger difference between Bali and Australia than between the States and Australia, but I think because I had just got into Hollywood movies, going to the states and to Disneyworld and Hawaii was a huge eye opener for me.
I loved it so much that a few years later when the opportunity came around I took it by the balls and went to study high school North of Seattle in Washington State. When I say the opportunity came around I guess that’s not really explaining it enough. My best mate, Jarrah Thompson who I have known now for 18 good years has some extended family in the states I think nearly all of them live in Las Vegas and surrounding so somehow he managed to stumble upon a student exchange program that had him leaving Australia in January bound for a year of high school in Vegas, I was so jealous of him, not only was he going to school in Vegas and getting away from the shithole of a school we were going to, but he was a good looking Australian kid going to school in America, we’d all heard stories about how easy it was to pick up as an exchange student (it was the year after American Pie had come out and we were sure it worked the same way for male exchange students as female ones), so I was jealous. I sat thinking one night, I believe it was just after I had watched “Cruel Intentions” for the first time and wanted to see if I could plot as well Ryan Phillipe, so I wrote a note something along the lines of the following..

“Dear Mum, I’m sorry..i’m sorry I can’t be more like Annabel(that’s my little sister), I’m sorry that I keep disappointing you guys so much… and that I don’t make you proud of me, if I could only go to school in America I’m sure I can make everything better” etc etc…

I then took it one step further and cried on the letter making it look like I really was a depressed child (thinking about it now I’m sure Ryan Phillipe would have been able to come up with an idea that definitely would have had contained a little more finesse). Anyway, it worked I left the note on my bed then next day went to school then came home, the note was gone and bed was made, step 1 was underway Mum had found the note( I still to this day don’t think she knows it was ploy but if she’s willing to pay for a copy of the book then I guess she deserves to find out the truth) however the whole plan worked so much faster than I had dreamed, not only had mum found the note but she had got in contact with Jarrah’s mum found out the organization that constructs the exchange program and gotten every piece of literature available on studying abroad. It was another couple of months, a couple of introductory meetings and a couple of shopping trips before Dad, Mum, my oldest brother and my little sister stood at the entrance to passport control saying goodbye to a beaming 16 year old Aussie kid, who thought Stifler was about meet his competition.
I didn’t stop smiling the whole way there, I still remember it all, I flew United Airlines flight UA 830 from Melbourne to LA, I was supposed to be wearing a student exchange t-shirt so I could meet up with a group of other kids at LA airport, check in with a couple of oldies there and then they would walk me to my next gate…fuck that..I was 16 about to embark on 6 months of fraternity style partying with cheerleaders and fake tittied 18 year olds, I certainly didn’t need two old biddies holding my hand and making sure I made it to my next flight on time.
Fortunately after about 45 minutes walking around the wrong terminal I ran into the group and “the old biddies” walked my to my gate, they let me keep my dignity and didn’t hold my hand or make me put on the t-shirt. I boarded the second last leg of my trip upto Seattle and again couldn’t stop smiling, I’m not one that much for sleeping on planes anyway but there was no chance of adjusting to the right time zone now. I had had a couple of e-mails back and forth with host family I was going to be living with so I knew a little about what I was heading towards but was still completely uncertain about how the next 6 months of my life was going to plan out. I arrived in Seattle some time in the middle of the morning I think, my heart had started pounding I was scared one of beats was going to break my ribs and allow my heart out of my chest so it wouldn’t make the rest of this journey with me, I was so excited I still couldn’t stop smiling but now some nerves had managed to work there way into the mix too, the inevitable questions, what if I’m not what they expect?, what if my host family are freaks, what if?? What if…..
My nerves were calmed a little when I walked over to stunningly gorgeous flight attendant and asked her where my gate was. How do you think I felt as a 16 year old, when one of gods finest creations responded by saying “I’ll walk you there as long as you keep talking to me in that sexy accent.”
Oh yeah Stifler, here’s Tommy..

I had a couple of hours sitting around Seattle Airport before walking down the walkway onto the tarmac and out to little maybe 15 person plane that would take me and a few others the final leg of the journey to Bellingham Airport in Northern Washington State, where I would meet my maker(or makers as it would be). I say maker as they literally were my gods when I got there I knew nothing of my surroundings, culture and in some cases language, I would rely completely upon them until I could stand upon my own two feet and then I would still respect and thank them for everything, religiously much the same as people do with their respected gods, hence the reason they were my “Maker”.
I jumped off the little plane, and stood still for a second wondering where the fuck I was, I didn’t know airports came this small…
I knew McDonalds’ in Melbourne that were bigger than this airport, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with small airports, hey, there’s no point having a big one if there’s not enough traffic coming through, but that’s what established my concern. A place that doesn’t have a big airport, probably doesn’t have a lot of people, a place that doesn’t have a lot of people probably doesn’t have a lot of cheerleaders and faked tittied 18 year olds.
I walked into the one roomed airport, quickly stepped sideways as I’d managed to find myself in the checking-in line accidentally then stepped out the other side of the building, and there they were, Jim, Travis, Theresa and Kurtis, they stood in line a like set of Matryoshka dolls from tallest to smallest. We said hello, it wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it was going to be, and I felt at home almost instantaneously among their warm smiles. Believe it or not though this little airport still had a baggage carrousel, it started inside the building behind a black wall obviously were the loaded the bags on, then it carried them outside for you right to the side of the road were you were forced together like sardines in a can simply by the fact that there was no where else to stand. One of the best things about being at a small airport is that it never takes longer than 5 minutes to get your bags, so out they came, the Armstrong’s (that was my host family’s last name if you didn’t figure that out)gave me a hand with the bags I had and we walked to the car, this was a telling stage of what sought of life I was going to be living, we loaded the bags into the back of a jacked up Ford Bronco, one of the ones with the wood grain panels like the car out of Harry and the Hendersons. I had sought of figured by this point through a number of telling signs that I probably wasn’t living with the richest family in the city, and I also probably wasn’t living in the city. At this stage after over 30 hours of travelling no showers about 74 conversations about how brave people thought I was, and thousands and thousands of my own personal expectations about what this experience was going to be like I was physically and mentally numb.
Travis was a year older than me and he sat in the back of the bronco with me while we were riding back to the house, he passed me a swisher sweet cigar, those little cigarette sized cigars, and I didn’t know whether to hide it or smoke it, but when he asked his Mum for a lighter I knew that it was probably alright if I smoked to, so I sent myself to sleep in the back seat of the ford bronco with a lit swisher sweet cigar in my hand and a pair of parachute material pants on. I very quickly became the owner of home made pair of parachute material shorts and never have I smoked a cigar laced with burning material since. I struggled to stay awake for the rest of the ride back to Hamilton, Washington, but scared I would somehow destroy the rest of my clothes or the car I forced myself to at least make it back to the bed I would be calling my own for the next 6 months. Although the Armstrongs had everything they needed and most things they wanted they, and I can really only guess now, had decided not to spend the money they had on property, their house was about 15 minutes outside town and house might be to kind of a description. For me it was the first time I had seen a house that could actually fit on the back of a semi trailer a fact that I was soon to learn was actually the way house got onto the block of land where it sat when I got there. Although house may be to grand a description of the building after no more than 5 minutes between it’s walls it was clear to see that the Armstrong definitely had a home and a beautiful one at that. I actually felt like Charlie Sheen in Loaded Weapon, when he walks into his caravan and is greeted by miles of marble flooring and granite columns. What I’m saying is the place was deceptively large, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, large living room, dining room attached to the kitchen and a laundry right out the back. Plenty of room for the 5 of us, as long as I shared a bedroom with Travis, at this stage it was the last thing I was concerned with I dumped my bags in the room asked for the phone so I could call home and let them know I’d made it alright then I wanted to pass out for at least 3 days. I woke up the next morning fairly early still feeling a little uneasy about walking some strangers house I sat in bed looking around Travis room, observing what would become my point of view nearly every morning for my stay. The was a red electric guitar in the corner of the room behind the door, and bench press kit, a small tv and vcr stand underneath the window, the bunk beds that me and Travis slept on were opposite the bench press and next to us was the built in wardrobe, my bags lay scattered on the floor in front of stack of woodgrain shelves that held lots of little knick knacks, one shelf in particular grabbed my attention though, it was literally littered with little gold statues, it was enough to get me out of bed for a closer look, turns out Travis used to be quite a baseball pitcher for the school team and had one a few medals for it. I figured seen as I had made the big trip down from the top bunk I may as well continue out into the rest of house and see where I was living. I looked back at Travis’ room one last time to be sure I was comfortable leaving the room(I don’t know why I was so scared, I guess it’s like staying at someone else’s place when you don’t really know their parents, then having that awkward conversation in the morning when you’re trying to leave) when I noticed a few further details that made me crack a smile, Travis was still sleeping with baseball covered sheets and the curtains on the windows looked remarkably similar to some I had seen in the Myers kids section days before leaving Melbourne. I walked out into the hallway, noticing the way the terracotta colored semi-shagpile carpet felt under my feet, there was a smell of fresh firewood burning and a slight hum of cartoon themes came every so gently out of the TV in the living room. It must have been early as the Sun was only just starting to peak through the windows so I walked into the living room and pulled back the curtains admiring the way the sun weaved it’s way through the evergreen forests that seemed to surround the Amstrongs property. Jim and Theresa had both gone to work and Travis was still sleeping and took me about 5 minutes to realize the Kurtis was curled up in a ball watching cartoons right in front of me. We chatted for a little bit, until he got to frustrated at trying to understand what I was saying, I was glad he got frustrated first because I had no idea what he saying either. So we stopped chatting, but Kurtis took me into the kitchen and I had my first real American breakfast, a little bit of sugar, topped with some sugar pretending to be something healthy, then finish it off with a little bit of sugar. I think Kurtis called it Captain Crunch.
It wasn’t long before Travis woke up and we did the whole sugar breakfast thing all over again, and I finally realized what it must be like to have attention deficit disorder(ADD) a term I became all to familiar with over that 6 months as apparently every parent in America thinks their kids have ADD. We watched a little American morning TV and I was first introduced to the 500 channels these guys had grown up with their whole lives, I was dumfounded by the fact that they could still flip through all these channels without find anything they wanted to watch. After watching Regis and Kelly(Americas answer to Mel and Kochi) flip through the box a couple times we decided it was time to get my first real day in the States underway, it was Travis’ birthday the day I got there but due to the fact I was arriving in the afternoon the celebrations had been delayed a day, so the extended Armstrong family was due to pop round at some stage during the day but before we got to the fun stuff we had to go register for school.
Like I said earlier the Armstrong’s lived about 15 minutes outside of town and it seemed like every one of those minutes lasted an hour on that day, I was excited and nervous and scared and worried but mostly I was excited. We drove into Sedro-Woolley the first time at about 11.00am on August 20th 2000, it was the first time I had ever seen a town like this. There was one main road in town, and those ingenious Americans had worked out a way to make sure that everyone knew which one it was, they named it Main Street. At one end of Main street there was a vacant block, opposite the police station(which definitely looked like the newest building around). Further down a clothes store a bank, a video store and a couple of other one-story building scattered upon the street. My worst fears were slowly being confirmed, I had ended up in the arse end of no where and my dreams of becoming the next Van Wilder were drifting away through the empty streets of Hicksville, USA.
At the far end of main street you could see the schools football stand, like every good American School it seemed like the majority of the schools funding had been pumped into the athletics program, with the Football stadium encompassing a full size American football field, a running track, and various other activity areas for what ever a sports inclined being could dream of attempting. The students’ parking lot was the size of a football field in itself, and even though there was no game on today the lot was filled, it was strange for me to watch as we pulled up, that kids that looked no older than 12 were jumping down from their jacked up pick up trucks. Obviously these kids were all over 16 and had their licenses; well I found out later that nearly all of them had their licenses the rest just didn’t care. We joined the masses in the students lot, put out our smokes and headed towards the orange brick school building, it was one story nearly the whole way round and reminded me of a hospital from the outside. It was a daunting feeling walking into that building, and if it had only been my concern for not knowing what lay inside the glass doors in front of me I probably would have got through the day alright, but looking at the signs on the wall next to the door put my concern levels into overdrive. One was your standard “no smoking” sign, you know the one cigarette smoking with a red circle round the outside and a line that goes through the cigarette, fairly understandable seeing as we were walking into a school, it was the one below that, that shocked me, same layout as the no smoking sign but there wasn’t a cigarette, just a picture of a handgun. Like it’s not an unwritten rule that handguns have no place at school. There was a typed letter next to the no handgun sign that listed other types of weapons that weren’t to be taken within the school grounds. It’s a good thing everyone obviously had high respect for those signs as security was unseen beyond the signs on the wall.
As Travis walked through the glass doors ahead of me I was struck with awe at the linoleum-lined corridors that sprawled out in front of me. To my right was the schools reception a larger than life woman spoke loudly like a good American down the phone to what must have been a disgruntled parent, the receptionist sounded strangely like Stephen Hawking and I guessed at the time that it must have been caused from a lifetime of being addicted to the cancer sticks. Branching off the reception was the Headmasters’ office, a place I fortunately never had to visit. To the left of the entrance, one of the schools many trophy cabinets, any movie you have ever seen that has a scene based in a high school will take you passed one of the cabinets, and it looks exactly like the movies in real life. The white walls of the schools corridors where stylized with waist height strip of royal blue paint that ran the whole way round the school, White and Royal Blue were the schools colours. I stood by randomly following as close behind Travis as I could ‘cause if I lost him I felt I would never be able to find my way out even though we were no more than 3 meters from the schools entrance. I got introduced to a few people here and there no one whose name I remembered and continued walking through the seemingly never ending corridors. I remember turning one corner and cracking a smile, it was my first introduction with High School cliques, we had entered the Seniors Hall(each year level had the own area of the school, so dependant on which year you were going into let you know which area of the school your locker would be in) I watched as younger kids walked through while the seniors stood around chatting to each other about what they had been upto over the Summer and occasionally pushed a Freshman into the lockers. I was only in year 10 in Australia but due to the age they start school in the states I was going into year 11 or my ‘Junior’ year over there, Travis was a senior and because I was living with him, we shared a locker in the Seniors row.
Corridors full with Royal Blue lockers lined nearly every hall of the schools premises, and once school started there was very rarely a time when you couldn’t hear a student kicking the locker because they’d forgot the combination or slamming the shoddy built doors.




If anyone has read this, and wants more let me know, I wrote this bit a few years ago and have sought of put it on hiatus but if the demand is there I can always start her up again…
Much love all..
Tommy