It may have seemed so cliché but think about it, there I was in the European Summer of 2009 with my three best friends from high school, finally doing what we had mulled over in the twelfth grade. This was it. After years of study and endless shifts at the pub, it had arrived, that ‘Euro trip’ with the boys where the mood would flow, alcohol consumed and ladies engaged.
Imagine my irony when the end of our time together would become the catalyst for this trip. After two months of shacking up in hostel bed or hotel room, sometimes clueless, wondering whether or not it was even my room, awakening in what became a daily drunken stupor. Two months of hangovers, tourist sights, nightclubs, drugs and alcohol, I was sad to depart Milan and my three best friends.
We had the time of our lives and looked forward to going home and boasting about our ‘Euro trip.’ But for me my next stop was the south of Spain, my European adventure was just beginning. The inner ‘geek’ in me was ready to be unleashed on the streets of Andalucía. Eager to soak up a city rich with plots, colonisation and history.
Southern Spain and I immediately fell in love. After four years I had studied their language, learned their nuances and now I was here in Andalucía, the old Moorish dwelling of Spain where the influences of Morocco are everywhere in their architecture and narrow cobblestone streets.
My first afternoon in boiling Seville where the temperatures soared above 40 degrees Celsius, a local shopkeeper tells me in musical Spanish that “old Moroccan families still keep the keys to their long-lost houses in Andalucía.” Explaining the monuments and palaces around the city that scream Northern Africa.
An area of Spain I took great interest in during university, Andalucía was home to a brilliant civilisation at a time when Europe was considered barbaric. The Moors, a race with a mixture of Berbers and Arabs moved into Southern Spain in the early 700’s and within a decade they began to conquer the Iberian Peninsula. Eventually however, the Spanish regained control of their own land and despite trying to eradicate anything remotely Moorish, much glorious architecture remains. It was hard to believe that architecture and monument alone would be motivation enough for me to visit somewhere, but Andalucía is definitely an exception to my rules of travel.
Andalucía, more than any other state in Spain has continued to embrace the mark that the Moors once left behind. In a country notorious for domestic strife, little did I realise what existed outside the glitz and glamour of Madrid and Barcelona. Venturing the streets of Andalucía saw me visit Seville, awestruck by the Mezquita Gardens and the Torre del Oro, which translates loosely to the ‘Tower of Gold.’ This great compound was once the largest mosque in the world after the Kaaba in Mecca, showcasing the grip the Moors had on Spain.
But it was in Granada, where the monument and motivation behind my travel lived, the commandeering Alhambra Palace. Home to the King of the Moors and ironically this was a place where Arab and Jew coincided, living harmoniously amongst one another, something I struggled to fathom in today’s world. Personally, the Alhambra Palace under all its splendour was a peaceful and serene place where I felt all my European travels culminate at once. It’s not very often that one has an epiphany when they travel, but wandering the halls and private quarters of the Alhambra seemed to put me at ease with myself. After spending two months chasing busses, consuming alcohol and worrying about the after-effects, the Alhambra was that release where I simply enjoyed and enveloped everything from the sights and sounds of people scurrying about to the plain natural Granada air, a real throwback to an era that has been lost in the sands of time.
It was here in the foothills of Granada that my ‘Euro trip’ came to a close. The Alhambra Palace, with her stone red walls and long towers glowing in the evening sun, this was a remarkable sight. An architectural wonder, I couldn’t help but be encapsulated by its symmetry, oozing specifics and grace in Islamic Moorish design.
Entering the Palace, I felt like an imposter, manoeuvring my way through the ‘Gates of Justice’ surrounded by decorated gardens, water features and pathways leading me to all avenues of history and culture. The palace, filled with its archways, lead through arcaded courtyards and pavilions, according to a gatekeeper, he tells me that everything was built entirely of wood and stucco. Technology and application well ahead of its time, the Alhambra is decorated with exquisite arabesque patterns, surrounded by calligraphic inscriptions from the Koran. This truly was a place where culture and history coincide, and I felt at home, for once I didn’t feel the need to yell ‘Calma te’ to anyone or even myself.
As with most heritage-listed sights around the globe, there are many restrictions on tourists in order to help conserve the beauty of such a landmark. However I was able to thank my lucky stars that day, as it turns out speaking ones local tongue proved beneficial. People talk about the arrogance of the French and the unfriendly nature of the English, but the Spaniards really took things to a new level. Smiles were rare, laughter was kept amongst friends and general service was determined on the size of my wallet. However from the moment I set foot in Spain, I would nervously break into Spanish ‘lingua’ and the smiles would spill and the warm nature of Spain came into fruition.
Her name was Jordana, and she showed me a side to Granada and the Alhambra that I can guarantee no other tourist would have envisaged. For the next four nights I was treated to home cooked meals, dining with mixtures of Tapas, Paella’s and other varied ‘Arroz’ (Rice) dishes mixed with a plethora of seafood. The real Spain at my fingertips, I almost felt guilty for the hospitality Jordana and her family poured on me and I was stumped as to how I could possibly repay her. Not a word of English was spoken other than my failed attempts at helping Jordana with her English coursework and I could not have asked for anything more.
Jordana was a young and vibrant Flamenco dancer. Following in her Mother’s footsteps, and together with her Father they all contribute to the local family business. ‘La noche de Granada’ which translates to ‘Granada nights’ was their own thriving Flamenco bar in the heart of Granada town and Jordana and her Mother, Rosa, were regular performers. With the bar full almost every night throughout the Spanish summer, Jordana would perform in front of a surfeit of tourists and local Granadians whom indulged in Tapas and San Gria all night long.
I had only seen Flamenco on the television, but what I witnessed from Jordana was fuelled with passion, love and effort. From the moment the ‘Guitarista’s’ began, the music was almost systematic. Starting off slowly, vocalists and Jordana would work together in sync, never making eye contact with each other; Jordana simply understood the beats and mood of Flamenco. Eventually the beat would pick up, riffs occurring randomly, the real movement can be felt in the distance. The steady hands of Jordana would clap in tandem, but as the guitar began to strike its chords, Jordana’s feet would pound the dance floor; her blood-red frock swivelled from side to side as the sounds of guitars, maracas and bongo drums played on. One could be forgiven for thinking the floor would cave in beneath them, as Jordana tapped dynamically, sending shivers throughout the venue and its keen observers.
Seeing this in motion was a staple of Andalucía, and being in the company of Jordana and her family made me feel apart of this culture, right in the heart of Spain. Tearing up the dance floor that night with Jordana elevated my spirits, almost like someone out of a Robin Thicke ballad.
Attaining restricted access to the Alhambra Palace insides, VIP entry into Granada’s favourite Flamenco bar and ending my days with the Andalucian sunset from Jordana’s balcony. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined such an experience in Europe, but little did I realise just how valuable this became. What started as an adventure with the boys, boozing our nights away turned into a perfectly scripted romance, I likened to a Bollywood film. This was my Europe, and never will I forget a moment from these two months, as I sat patiently on the arduous flight home from London, dreading going back to the reality of Melbourne and my monotonous lifestyle. But to say I didn’t return home with a new vigour and motivation to excel would be a lie. I came home to commence my Masters in Journalism, a new man, grown up, educated and mature. Here I am today, documenting these experiences, these moments that inspired me to chase my dream, to write and inspire others.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
DELHI. For real
Little did I realise what the next six weeks would bring to me, not just in terms of travel, but an all-round life experience. India is called home to over a billion people, and many more thousands of Indians abroad would ideally still like to call it so. Getting away from the monotonous lifestyle of Melbourne and the everyday boredom I found within my everyday life was my initial motivation for embarking on this adventure, a chance to prove that I can travel amongst the best of them and not cry for Mummy once.
It was approximately 2am and before I exited the aircraft, a mild-mannered gentleman tells me excitedly that we are lucky. “It’s the cooler time of year, so you picked a great time to travel through Northern India.” Stepping onto the tarmac of Delhi International Airport however proved to be anything but cool. I was met immediately with a swirling hot wind and humidity that made me want to strip into my underwear and race to the baggage carousels.
Exiting Delhi International Airport, my stubbornness was already starting to cave, but I knew what I had gotten myself into, and there was no way on Earth I was going to complain about it all. “Are you sure son? I can organise hotel transfers in Delhi for you.” My Father’s diligent travel agents voice ringing through my head as a plethora of families were met with personalised vans and signs directing them toward their vehicle, taking them to the comforts of their hotel rooms. Feeling as though my triumph gave in, I wanted to call my Father and tell him about my predicament, but I soldiered toward what I likened more to a domestic warzone as oppose to a taxi stand.
Fighting for every rupee and hustling for every customer was the way of life in India, and unlike the bureaucratic modernity of the west, there was no rules, no queues and most importantly no exceptions. Even though Indian people probably saw me as a naïve 21-year-old tourist, little did they realise about how much this was of no concern to me. My deep, driving desire to immerse myself in the way of India remained at the forefront of my mind. I came here with many voices in my head, friends questioning why I would want to explore the confines of a country swept with pollution and crowds, and family forever concerned about my safety. But people must realise that I was not seeking one’s typical ‘holiday,’ filled with man-made tourist sights, golden beaches and 5-star resorts.
After spending some time in Delhi, visiting the predominantly Islamic oriented streets of Old Delhi and being overwhelmed by the Red Fort, I immediately realised the impact of this trip. Travelling throughout India not only gives you an appreciation for the life you live, but it provided me with a culture shock that I have never witnessed before. Delhi is a city like no other, it is everything you read about, but no matter what you hear from people or read about, nothing can compare to actually seeing it in living colour. The everyday hustle for people of Delhi trying to make that extra rupee, the chaos of everyday traffic and people constantly in your face, one would automatically think that personal downtime would have to be paid for.
Scything through traffic, horns blazing and total disregard for general road rules are all commonplace in the city streets of Delhi, but to say that I didn’t fall in love with this pandemonium would be a lie. Playing chicken with busses and 3-wheelers merely in an attempt to cross a road as well as trying to source authentic meals without being duped by shopkeepers purely for being a tourist are all experiences that I wouldn’t trade for the world. At first I felt out of place and generally useless. It is a disconcerting feeling as an individual away from home, feeling helpless to my own cause, struggling to find a place to stay. But adaptation is the first step in travelling, adapting to one’s surroundings and having that initial epiphany that you are in fact on someone else’s home ground. With this stark realisation, all these daily occurrences with shopkeepers and roads began to feel like an everyday theme.
The wonder of Delhi is more than breath taking; it’s a city that provided a moment in life where I genuinely grew up. Amidst the beauty of Delhi, the largest metropolis in India, I was constantly awash with emotion. Various corners were home to beggars and homeless families that struggled to form something of a life not just for their children, but them as well. Living in Australia these are things we are not accustomed to witnessing, so you can imagine the shock once you see this, but this is India. With that in mind, besieged with mixed emotions, the happiness in their eyes is highly noticeable. This could be my naivety, but they seem genuinely happy at the sight of people like me, now whether this is because of their perception of the size of my wallet is unbeknownst to me, but it was my goal to interact with these people, the real India.
Many travellers go to India wanting to conquer their ferociously busy nature, however from experience, I have encountered many who fail miserably at this and fall into that trap of experiencing India at a tourist’s level. No disrespect to people who visit India under such pretence, but this is not what I came for. Pacing the streets and alleyways of Delhi at my own leisurely pace, I won’t lie, it was not easy to achieve my goal and I think I will forever question whether I achieved my goal. I guess this is why I am headed back there at years end. I was yelled at by Heroin addicts for impeding their ‘downtime,’ I interacted with kids wondering whether their parents thought I was some raging paedophile and the mere sight of my camera immediately made locals shudder at the thought of what my intentions were.
By Delhi standards, I woke to a rather cooler temperature, as per normal the daily chaos around my guesthouse was loud, and in your face, but something else caught my eye in a nearby park. It was cool in temperature, but the sun was shining over Delhi’s eastern district, it was a Saturday morning and little did I know how this day would shape the rest of my trip, and in some ways, my life.
The real Delhi, where the begging on Connaught place brought tears to my eyes, the smiles on children’s faces whilst I taught them how to perfect their cover-drive was uplifting. Never have I met children so appreciative of information, beaming away with pride at correcting their skills, all wanting to replicate their idol, Sachin Tendulkar. Cricket is more than a sport to Indian boys, the adoration they pour on their sporting heroes, one could be forgiven for thinking cricket is another religion over there. My travels and interaction with these Delhi children will never be forgotten, waking up early for days, teaching them the finer points of the game, and their appreciation at an Australian teaching them cricket is priceless. Before leaving Delhi, I had attached myself to this group of kids. Dhruv with his lanky frame, bowling each delivery on the harsh concrete like his life depended on it. Rahul and his bucktooth smile, displayed diligence and patience that I had never witnessed in Children back home, on and off the cricket field. Finally, Little ‘Mo’ became my best friend in Delhi. So much so, he invited me to dine with his family just before I left, a mere thank you for the interaction we had over the course of two weeks. Being able to run around the streets without a care in the world was made possible because of this interaction. Some afternoons after the school bells would sound, Little ‘Mo’ and the ‘Delhi kids’ would crowd around, fighting over who got to bat first, craving and valuing anything I had to say on the game and in turn they gave me that experience of India that I could not have gotten any other way.
The city of Delhi opened my eyes, and this is not the kind of eye-opener that one experiences after learning something new. Delhi introduced me to a new world, India and its capital metropolis, waking up every morning to the sound of 3-wheelers buzzing around the streets, hawkers commencing another business day and the kids running around. The humidity reaches soaring heights, even though I try to convince myself to sleep another 5 minutes, I awaken jubilant at what India will provide me with today. In 2 hours I head south to Agra and the Taj Mahal, the mausoleum constructed during the rule of the Ottoman Empire, rich with history and culture, India down to a tee.
It was approximately 2am and before I exited the aircraft, a mild-mannered gentleman tells me excitedly that we are lucky. “It’s the cooler time of year, so you picked a great time to travel through Northern India.” Stepping onto the tarmac of Delhi International Airport however proved to be anything but cool. I was met immediately with a swirling hot wind and humidity that made me want to strip into my underwear and race to the baggage carousels.
Exiting Delhi International Airport, my stubbornness was already starting to cave, but I knew what I had gotten myself into, and there was no way on Earth I was going to complain about it all. “Are you sure son? I can organise hotel transfers in Delhi for you.” My Father’s diligent travel agents voice ringing through my head as a plethora of families were met with personalised vans and signs directing them toward their vehicle, taking them to the comforts of their hotel rooms. Feeling as though my triumph gave in, I wanted to call my Father and tell him about my predicament, but I soldiered toward what I likened more to a domestic warzone as oppose to a taxi stand.
Fighting for every rupee and hustling for every customer was the way of life in India, and unlike the bureaucratic modernity of the west, there was no rules, no queues and most importantly no exceptions. Even though Indian people probably saw me as a naïve 21-year-old tourist, little did they realise about how much this was of no concern to me. My deep, driving desire to immerse myself in the way of India remained at the forefront of my mind. I came here with many voices in my head, friends questioning why I would want to explore the confines of a country swept with pollution and crowds, and family forever concerned about my safety. But people must realise that I was not seeking one’s typical ‘holiday,’ filled with man-made tourist sights, golden beaches and 5-star resorts.
After spending some time in Delhi, visiting the predominantly Islamic oriented streets of Old Delhi and being overwhelmed by the Red Fort, I immediately realised the impact of this trip. Travelling throughout India not only gives you an appreciation for the life you live, but it provided me with a culture shock that I have never witnessed before. Delhi is a city like no other, it is everything you read about, but no matter what you hear from people or read about, nothing can compare to actually seeing it in living colour. The everyday hustle for people of Delhi trying to make that extra rupee, the chaos of everyday traffic and people constantly in your face, one would automatically think that personal downtime would have to be paid for.
Scything through traffic, horns blazing and total disregard for general road rules are all commonplace in the city streets of Delhi, but to say that I didn’t fall in love with this pandemonium would be a lie. Playing chicken with busses and 3-wheelers merely in an attempt to cross a road as well as trying to source authentic meals without being duped by shopkeepers purely for being a tourist are all experiences that I wouldn’t trade for the world. At first I felt out of place and generally useless. It is a disconcerting feeling as an individual away from home, feeling helpless to my own cause, struggling to find a place to stay. But adaptation is the first step in travelling, adapting to one’s surroundings and having that initial epiphany that you are in fact on someone else’s home ground. With this stark realisation, all these daily occurrences with shopkeepers and roads began to feel like an everyday theme.
The wonder of Delhi is more than breath taking; it’s a city that provided a moment in life where I genuinely grew up. Amidst the beauty of Delhi, the largest metropolis in India, I was constantly awash with emotion. Various corners were home to beggars and homeless families that struggled to form something of a life not just for their children, but them as well. Living in Australia these are things we are not accustomed to witnessing, so you can imagine the shock once you see this, but this is India. With that in mind, besieged with mixed emotions, the happiness in their eyes is highly noticeable. This could be my naivety, but they seem genuinely happy at the sight of people like me, now whether this is because of their perception of the size of my wallet is unbeknownst to me, but it was my goal to interact with these people, the real India.
Many travellers go to India wanting to conquer their ferociously busy nature, however from experience, I have encountered many who fail miserably at this and fall into that trap of experiencing India at a tourist’s level. No disrespect to people who visit India under such pretence, but this is not what I came for. Pacing the streets and alleyways of Delhi at my own leisurely pace, I won’t lie, it was not easy to achieve my goal and I think I will forever question whether I achieved my goal. I guess this is why I am headed back there at years end. I was yelled at by Heroin addicts for impeding their ‘downtime,’ I interacted with kids wondering whether their parents thought I was some raging paedophile and the mere sight of my camera immediately made locals shudder at the thought of what my intentions were.
By Delhi standards, I woke to a rather cooler temperature, as per normal the daily chaos around my guesthouse was loud, and in your face, but something else caught my eye in a nearby park. It was cool in temperature, but the sun was shining over Delhi’s eastern district, it was a Saturday morning and little did I know how this day would shape the rest of my trip, and in some ways, my life.
The real Delhi, where the begging on Connaught place brought tears to my eyes, the smiles on children’s faces whilst I taught them how to perfect their cover-drive was uplifting. Never have I met children so appreciative of information, beaming away with pride at correcting their skills, all wanting to replicate their idol, Sachin Tendulkar. Cricket is more than a sport to Indian boys, the adoration they pour on their sporting heroes, one could be forgiven for thinking cricket is another religion over there. My travels and interaction with these Delhi children will never be forgotten, waking up early for days, teaching them the finer points of the game, and their appreciation at an Australian teaching them cricket is priceless. Before leaving Delhi, I had attached myself to this group of kids. Dhruv with his lanky frame, bowling each delivery on the harsh concrete like his life depended on it. Rahul and his bucktooth smile, displayed diligence and patience that I had never witnessed in Children back home, on and off the cricket field. Finally, Little ‘Mo’ became my best friend in Delhi. So much so, he invited me to dine with his family just before I left, a mere thank you for the interaction we had over the course of two weeks. Being able to run around the streets without a care in the world was made possible because of this interaction. Some afternoons after the school bells would sound, Little ‘Mo’ and the ‘Delhi kids’ would crowd around, fighting over who got to bat first, craving and valuing anything I had to say on the game and in turn they gave me that experience of India that I could not have gotten any other way.
The city of Delhi opened my eyes, and this is not the kind of eye-opener that one experiences after learning something new. Delhi introduced me to a new world, India and its capital metropolis, waking up every morning to the sound of 3-wheelers buzzing around the streets, hawkers commencing another business day and the kids running around. The humidity reaches soaring heights, even though I try to convince myself to sleep another 5 minutes, I awaken jubilant at what India will provide me with today. In 2 hours I head south to Agra and the Taj Mahal, the mausoleum constructed during the rule of the Ottoman Empire, rich with history and culture, India down to a tee.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Why so glum old chap?
Buenas Dias to you all! Now I understand in the last 3 weeks since I previously filled in this space, I have seen my readership increase by a whole 1 person, so KUDOS to you Blow Job Campbell, your following warms my heart quicker than that hot cup of Coco you had this morning.
As pleased as I am that BJ Campbell is my new best friend, I am however somewhat rattled. So much so, that my basketball game tonight not only saw me curse in disgust at the teams (My own actually) performance but actually got me excited about the upcoming cricket season. Something I usually dread more than that tense moment where you are sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's, only for him to tell you that NO you do NOT have an STD.
But why am I so rattled? Well last evening, not only did I witness an amazing Turkish Grand Prix, but also witnessed Lewis Hamilton at his conservative best. Watching Lewis race is something I liken to visual brilliance. Everything from his aggression on the track, to his inability to manage a set of tyres and YES I would be lying if I said the guy wasn't the epitome of handsome *cue Homosexual remarks* but Hamilton makes Johnny Depp look like a side show freak. But why? Why am I so rattled!?
Well after an amazing race which saw the Red Bulls ruin their own race and consequently blame it on one another, Jenson Button and Lewis showed the true values of the sport, conducting in safe and exciting overtaking in the dying laps. Regardless of their cars being inadequately fuelled, gave the spectators a dose of life, doing what the Red Bulls should have done. Button's move on Hamilton was calculated and precise, characteristics of his driving style whereas Lewis was tenacious and aggressive in returning the favor and making the move stick, with both drivers realising that F1 is a team sport and not doing anything that could be deemed too dangerous.
Ecstatic with another Mclaren win for the season, I was naturally jubilant. But was Lewis? I mean the guy has just completed his first win of the season and has potentially boosted his hopes of a shot at a second World Championship. But his reaction after the race and his conversation with the race engineer's were subdued and reserved. Why? Could life in F1 and with Nicole Scherzinger (excuse the spelling) not be enough?
Being a fan of Lewis however, I wasn't not going to be a detractor. In fact I thought about it, and well not only was his reactions perfect, I thought it was the perfect 'up yours' for all his critics. Here is a guy who has achieved so much in such a short time in the sport, no matter what the guy is to achieve, you just know that people who may despise him, will always do so.
Lets start with the incident in Melbourne, being a citizen of this great country, I am the first to say that I love Australia and Melbourne. BUT! Are we a sensitive society? Are we a society of numb and conservative nature? Lewis did the wrong thing, but really the way the press here are continuing to grill him over his 'hooliganism' on the road is dispicable, and I put this down to the fact that we are so far away from this sport, that their was nothing better to report on. Oh and the small matter of our Tabloids being some of the most boring news items on the globe. What a kick in the face it must be to us, when Lewis tells us we need to 'get over it.' Clearly we do, clearly F1 has, so much so, Hamilton and his friends are not even attending the hearing. I mean seriously the guy did 'Doughnuts' on the road to please his viewers, now there is not a weekend that goes by where I don't find a Douschebag in a VL Commodore doing exactly the same. A hearing? For doing 'Doughnuts.' Ridiculous.
Add to this the comments from one, Nigel Mansell last week. Calling Hamilton spoilt and lucky to be where he is? Claiming the kid had millions of quid at the age of 7? His Grandfather worked on the London Underground for goodness sake. You are more likely to find the Crack Whore in Camden earning more money from welfare than him.
Finally, the daft comments of his peers that he is a dangerous driver? Because Michael Schumacher and Ayrton Senna were just amazing disciplined drivers who never stepped out of the square, let alone the racing line?! They are the two greatest drivers to ever grace the sport and their attitude and desire to win made them so, and do I see Hamilton achieving similar heights? I most certainly do. Give the guy a break, he is a rare talent with a penchant for speed, sit back and observe. Learn something or just simply admire the kid, without concentrating on his attempt to be squeaky clean to the media and that pathetic book he wrote. The guy is a racer, please do not turn him into anything but that.
GO MCLAREN! F1 is a team sport Sebastien Vettel.
Buenas Dias to you all!
Now I understand in the last 3 weeks since I previously filled in this space, I have seen my readership increase by a whole 1 person, so KUDOS to you Blow Job Campbell, your following warms my heart quicker than that hot cup of Coco you had this morning.
As pleased as I am that BJ Campbell is my new best friend, I am however somewhat rattled. So much so, that my basketball game tonight not only saw me curse in disgust at the teams (My own actually) performance but actually got me excited about the upcoming cricket season. Something I usually dread more than that tense moment where you are sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's, only for him to tell you that NO you do NOT have an STD.
But why am I so rattled? Well last evening, not only did I witness an amazing Turkish Grand Prix, but also witnessed Lewis Hamilton at his conservative best. Watching Lewis race is something I liken to visual brilliance. Everything from his aggression on the track, to his inability to manage a set of tyres and YES I would be lying if I said the guy wasn't the epitome of handsome *cue Homosexual remarks* but Hamilton makes Johnny Depp look like a side show freak. But why? Why am I so rattled!?
Well after an amazing race which saw the Red Bulls ruin their own race and consequently blame it on one another, Jenson Button and Lewis showed the true values of the sport, conducting in safe and exciting overtaking in the dying laps. Regardless of their cars being inadequately fuelled, gave the spectators a dose of life, doing what the Red Bulls should have done. Button's move on Hamilton was calculated and precise, characteristics of his driving style whereas Lewis was tenacious and aggressive in returning the favor and making the move stick, with both drivers realising that F1 is a team sport and not doing anything that could be deemed too dangerous.
Ecstatic with another Mclaren win for the season, I was naturally jubilant. But was Lewis? I mean the guy has just completed his first win of the season and has potentially boosted his hopes of a shot at a second World Championship. But his reaction after the race and his conversation with the race engineer's were subdued and reserved. Why? Could life in F1 and with Nicole Scherzinger (excuse the spelling) not be enough?
Being a fan of Lewis however, I wasn't not going to be a detractor. In fact I thought about it, and well not only was his reactions perfect, I thought it was the perfect 'up yours' for all his critics. Here is a guy who has achieved so much in such a short time in the sport, no matter what the guy is to achieve, you just know that people who may despise him, will always do so.
Lets start with the incident in Melbourne, being a citizen of this great country, I am the first to say that I love Australia and Melbourne. BUT! Are we a sensitive society? Are we a society of numb and conservative nature? Lewis did the wrong thing, but really the way the press here are continuing to grill him over his 'hooliganism' on the road is dispicable, and I put this down to the fact that we are so far away from this sport, that their was nothing better to report on. Oh and the small matter of our Tabloids being some of the most boring news items on the globe. What a kick in the face it must be to us, when Lewis tells us we need to 'get over it.' Clearly we do, clearly F1 has, so much so, Hamilton and his friends are not even attending the hearing. I mean seriously the guy did 'Doughnuts' on the road to please his viewers, now there is not a weekend that goes by where I don't find a Douschebag in a VL Commodore doing exactly the same. A hearing? For doing 'Doughnuts.' Ridiculous.
Add to this the comments from one, Nigel Mansell last week. Calling Hamilton spoilt and lucky to be where he is? Claiming the kid had millions of quid at the age of 7? His Grandfather worked on the London Underground for goodness sake. You are more likely to find the Crack Whore in Camden earning more money from welfare than him.
Finally, the daft comments of his peers that he is a dangerous driver? Because Michael Schumacher and Ayrton Senna were just amazing disciplined drivers who never stepped out of the square, let alone the racing line?! They are the two greatest drivers to ever grace the sport and their attitude and desire to win made them so, and do I see Hamilton achieving similar heights? I most certainly do. Give the guy a break, he is a rare talent with a penchant for speed, sit back and observe. Learn something or just simply admire the kid, without concentrating on his attempt to be squeaky clean to the media and that pathetic book he wrote. The guy is a racer, please do not turn him into anything but that.
GO MCLAREN! F1 is a team sport Sebastien Vettel.
Now I understand in the last 3 weeks since I previously filled in this space, I have seen my readership increase by a whole 1 person, so KUDOS to you Blow Job Campbell, your following warms my heart quicker than that hot cup of Coco you had this morning.
As pleased as I am that BJ Campbell is my new best friend, I am however somewhat rattled. So much so, that my basketball game tonight not only saw me curse in disgust at the teams (My own actually) performance but actually got me excited about the upcoming cricket season. Something I usually dread more than that tense moment where you are sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's, only for him to tell you that NO you do NOT have an STD.
But why am I so rattled? Well last evening, not only did I witness an amazing Turkish Grand Prix, but also witnessed Lewis Hamilton at his conservative best. Watching Lewis race is something I liken to visual brilliance. Everything from his aggression on the track, to his inability to manage a set of tyres and YES I would be lying if I said the guy wasn't the epitome of handsome *cue Homosexual remarks* but Hamilton makes Johnny Depp look like a side show freak. But why? Why am I so rattled!?
Well after an amazing race which saw the Red Bulls ruin their own race and consequently blame it on one another, Jenson Button and Lewis showed the true values of the sport, conducting in safe and exciting overtaking in the dying laps. Regardless of their cars being inadequately fuelled, gave the spectators a dose of life, doing what the Red Bulls should have done. Button's move on Hamilton was calculated and precise, characteristics of his driving style whereas Lewis was tenacious and aggressive in returning the favor and making the move stick, with both drivers realising that F1 is a team sport and not doing anything that could be deemed too dangerous.
Ecstatic with another Mclaren win for the season, I was naturally jubilant. But was Lewis? I mean the guy has just completed his first win of the season and has potentially boosted his hopes of a shot at a second World Championship. But his reaction after the race and his conversation with the race engineer's were subdued and reserved. Why? Could life in F1 and with Nicole Scherzinger (excuse the spelling) not be enough?
Being a fan of Lewis however, I wasn't not going to be a detractor. In fact I thought about it, and well not only was his reactions perfect, I thought it was the perfect 'up yours' for all his critics. Here is a guy who has achieved so much in such a short time in the sport, no matter what the guy is to achieve, you just know that people who may despise him, will always do so.
Lets start with the incident in Melbourne, being a citizen of this great country, I am the first to say that I love Australia and Melbourne. BUT! Are we a sensitive society? Are we a society of numb and conservative nature? Lewis did the wrong thing, but really the way the press here are continuing to grill him over his 'hooliganism' on the road is dispicable, and I put this down to the fact that we are so far away from this sport, that their was nothing better to report on. Oh and the small matter of our Tabloids being some of the most boring news items on the globe. What a kick in the face it must be to us, when Lewis tells us we need to 'get over it.' Clearly we do, clearly F1 has, so much so, Hamilton and his friends are not even attending the hearing. I mean seriously the guy did 'Doughnuts' on the road to please his viewers, now there is not a weekend that goes by where I don't find a Douschebag in a VL Commodore doing exactly the same. A hearing? For doing 'Doughnuts.' Ridiculous.
Add to this the comments from one, Nigel Mansell last week. Calling Hamilton spoilt and lucky to be where he is? Claiming the kid had millions of quid at the age of 7? His Grandfather worked on the London Underground for goodness sake. You are more likely to find the Crack Whore in Camden earning more money from welfare than him.
Finally, the daft comments of his peers that he is a dangerous driver? Because Michael Schumacher and Ayrton Senna were just amazing disciplined drivers who never stepped out of the square, let alone the racing line?! They are the two greatest drivers to ever grace the sport and their attitude and desire to win made them so, and do I see Hamilton achieving similar heights? I most certainly do. Give the guy a break, he is a rare talent with a penchant for speed, sit back and observe. Learn something or just simply admire the kid, without concentrating on his attempt to be squeaky clean to the media and that pathetic book he wrote. The guy is a racer, please do not turn him into anything but that.
GO MCLAREN! F1 is a team sport Sebastien Vettel.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
From the top down: The good and bad of competitiveness
As I sit here, Macbook in hand, short black forever by my side, I ponder the week that has been. As I do this, I am staring down the barrel of another Hawthorn loss for season 2010, and wonder whether that trip to the Marquee of the AFL in September is at all possible. Couple this with another season of 'what if' for my baby Gunners as we struggle to hold on to that lucrative third position in the English Premier league. Needless to say that my year as an avid sports fan is well and truly staring down the murky heights of oblivion. Ringing in my ears are the audacious words someone once told me, that they refuse to follow sports teams plainly because of the heartache one suffers on a constant basis. I mulled over this statement for quite some time, before realising that the passion and courage we all witness in sport certainly tops the feelings of even the most dire individual.
Being a professional in some form of life is something we all crave, whether it be reaching the top of one's corporate ladder or even seeing the fruit of your own hard work within something as small as your local community can provide some of life's most rewarding experiences.
Almost every weekend my two closest friends and I engage in a competitive round of golf, traditionally a gentleman's game, I can safely say that all etiquette is thrown aside as the two of them battle it out for the right of 'weekly bragger.' The week that ensues provides the laughter, arrogance and spice that defines competitiveness. On the one hand we have the flashy golfer. Expensive clubs, golfing quips who will grace us with shrills of frustration and club throwing that would rival an Olympic Javelin athlete, without fail, providing the entertainment that Golf usually would not. The other side of the coin showcases all that is inspiring and at the same time, despised in sport. The conservative sportsman, watching and waiting for his moment to strike, almost like a seasoned Sniper surviving the throngs of warfare. Using simple clubs, and always playing within himself, as a neutral third party, I cannot help but want to snatch his Hybrid and snap it in half!
Based on the nature of the result and which way it swings, my email inbox awaits with glee for the barrage of abuse that comes courtesy of these two competitive turtle doves. I will hear more jokes and insults between the two of them than I would courtesy of Ari Gold in an Entourage episode, and with this spurs the human gene of competitiveness. Is it something that testosterone just oozes? I personally hate losing more than anyone I know, but the real beauty of competitiveness is brought out at the most adverse times.
As the NBA Playoffs roll on, it certainly is the most exciting time of the year for me. Considering the NBA might as well be a religion to me, the most amazing scenes are witnessed first hand at the sight of competitive edge. All in an attempt to raise that trophy, celebrate with your teammates, sharing in the success of victory. The purity of victory for me, is a feeling that cannot be replaced by anything in life. Any accomplishment of varied magnitudes is an irreplaceable feeling. The birth of a new-born baby, closing on a million dollar deal or signing the deeds on your own home. That own personal victory spurns the competitor in us all, defining the human spirit's most admirable and perhaps, most evil trait.
So Ladies and Gentleman, as I embark on my potential life as a writer, I look to win, I want to be the best I can be, will I have you as a readership applauding me? Or simply ridiculing the drivel I splurge on this blog? Either way, as this year rolls on with the excitement of the NBA Playoffs and more importantly, the world's most anticipated hallmark event nears. The 'Rainbow nation' will display all that is competitive about the human race, in the most extravagant way of all. Bringing together what we love to believe as the pinnacle of competitive spirit.
Until next time, one can only hope the negative plight of political Junta's, economic 'junk' crisis and political differences will have decreased, considering that the world we live in today consists of such negative news, I like to look to the competitive nature of sport and the glory it is associated with. Making me realise what a great society we live in, and how the power of adversity can bring out the best in us all.
*Cue Hans Zimmer and his inspirational sound*
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