Arizona: The Grand Canyon and Beautiful Flagstaff

The one where I watch the sun set over the Grand Canyon; fall in love with idyllic Flagstaff; eat greasy foods at the Arizona State Fair; sample deep fried crickets; marvel at a freakishly large cow; and befriend a Rottweiler by the name of Harley.

Coming to Arizona

Fallon and I’s reasons for visiting Phoenix were three fold, really. The most obvious of these was for a chance to see the Grand Canyon. While my six week United States journey couldn’t possibly have hit every major landmark on the continent – it would have been criminal of me not to see the Grand Canyon in all of its….uh…. grandness.

Then there was the small matter of attending a real American style County Fair. While Australia does have them under a different name (we call them ‘Shows’ which is short for agricultural show) – I’d grown up seeing county fairs on television and in movies. While I certainly didn’t expect a tractor pull or a blossoming romance with a girl in overalls, I was still excited about a chance to see the fair as I’d always imagined it.

And finally, although definitely not the least of our reasons, was that two of Fallon’s best and oldest friends just happened to live there. With Fallon moving to Australia to live with me in January of 2010 – it would be a good chance for her to catch up with some of her best friends.

So, there’s your set-up. Now for the story.

A Big Hole in the Desert

We touched down in Phoenix late in the afternoon, and Fallon’s good friend Krishelle picked us up on her way home from work. While it was Fall and Idaho had already begun to take on the chill that would only deepen as winter drew nearer – Phoenix was hot and dry. Unlike a lot of the large cities I’d seen in the United States and South Korea – Phoenix is just one big sprawl, as if being close to the ground helps to disperse the heat of the Arizona desert.

We arrived at Krishelle’s condo and were greeted by a bit of a terrifying sight. I’ve never been a dog person, and I’ve certainly never been comfortable with big dogs – so to see a hulking Rottweiler racing down the stairs as we entered was almost enough to have me turning tale and heading back to the car.

World's sweetest 'Rottie'

I guess a lot of it has to do with the breed’s reputation, so my face was just a little red when I came to realize what a darling Harley was. Not only was he affectionate and friendly – but he would have had to have been the best trained dog I had ever seen. And smart! You couldn’t even spell the word ‘treat’ without him going crazy. But you could leave food on the table and he wouldn’t even approach it without your permission. Such a sweetie, and a bit of a micro-example of how it’s best not to judge a book by its cover. A valuable lesson for travelers!

We spent our first night in Arizona hanging out with Fallon’s friends and eating copious amounts of candy. There was a fantastic sushi dinner in there too.

The next day rolled around with Fallon and I up bright and early to meet our hire car. Before too long we were nudging our way out of Phoenix’s early morning traffic and spreading our legs on the road towards the Grand Canyon. The terrain was the stuff of Wild West lore and had I know how close we were to legendary locales such as Tombstone, I’d probably have requested a detour.

Over the course of our five hour drive we began to ascend into the mountains and the terrain changed drastically. Gone were the rolling hills with their mantles of cacti and low grass, and we were soon in the midst of a hazy pine forest. The our outside had gone from oven hot to afternoon cool, and it was hard to believe we were still in the same state.

We flew through Flagstaff and went directly to the Grand Canyon. It was a surreal feeling to be approaching this place I never imagined I’d be, and the anticipation only grew as we wend our way through the woods that separate the parking lots and buildings from the canyon proper.

To say I was awestruck doesn’t do the Grand Canyon justice. The word ‘grand’ wasn’t merely attached to it to attract tourists. It’s just… I’m not sure I could do it justice. It stunned me into silence for a moment and if you know me, that’s no mean feat. Rather than try to capture the sheer size and colour of it – here are some photos. They do paint a thousand words, after all.

The sunset over the Grand Canyon

We spent a few hours wandering the rim of the canyon and snapping off hundreds of photos, pausing occasionally to pose beside a particularly interesting tree or in front of a breathtaking vista. The latter certainly weren’t in short supply. In the few hours we were there we only managed to see a fraction of the park, and that was with the aid of buses. I’d love to go back someday and explore the canyon more thoroughly. Perhaps even take one of the legendary donkey rides down to the floor.

We took a moment to explore one of the information centres on site, and then it was time to stake out a good spot to snap some sunset photographs. You can see one of them above, but we really didn’t have the position to really capture it. Another thing to add to my bucket list.

With full bladders and empty stomachs, we piled back into the car and headed back toward Flagstaff. The air had turned bitterly cold and, stubborn fool that I am, I had declined to bring a jacket for the walking. Suffice to say I was regretting my lack of foresight on the ride home.

Our night in Flagstaff was a pleasant one. We had dinner at the Beaver Street Brewery. I sampled their Bramble Berry Brew and Fallon, the Heff lover that she is, couldn’t resist a chance to try another Hefeweizen. I really enjoyed the berry beer, although it’s definitely something probably more aimed at drinkers of the female variety. Gwangju readers might have tried the strawberry beer at Songs. This was a bit better than that. Dinner was some pretty good Mexican food (by my humble tastes – Fallon is far harder to impress on that front). If we hadn’t been so tired we might have stuck around a little longer – there were pool tables and even a Wii set up to entertain the patrons.

Our plan for the next day had been to get up early and drive back out to the canyon to catch it in the half light of morning, which fellow photographers will know to be a fantastic time to get good shots. Laziness won out over our artistic aspirations, so instead we spent our morning exploring Flagstaff – which has got to be one of the cutest towns I’ve had the pleasure of visiting. Compared to the rootin’ tootin’ stereotypes you associate with the rest of Arizona, Flagstaff is this wonderfully off-beat little hippie town up in the mountains. There were craft stores and book stores all over the place, and the entire vibe of the place put me in mind of a Byron Bay or Nimbin back in Australia. Definitely a place I’d love to visit again if time allowed.

 

Just one of the many quaint stores on the streets of Flagstaff

With our car due back in Phoenix by 6pm and one last stop to make, we left Flagstaff earlier than either of us would have liked. Our sole pit-stop on the way home was another canyon, albeit one a little less famous than its colossal neighbour. Walnut Creek Canyon is known for the many cave dwellings that were built in it by Native Americans centuries ago. It’s a testament to their ingenuity (and the outstanding efforts of Arizona State Parks) that many of these dwellings are still present today.

Exploring the box canyon, it was easy to imagine how vibrant it must have been when it was still inhabited. By day the winding trails that hugged the cliff-face would have been lifelines between the many humble dwellings that the locals called home. I could almost imagine children racing around in the shady groves on the canyon floor while their parents labored higher up to erect a new wall or find a meal for the evening. By night, when fires were lit, the twinkling across the canyon must have been truly beautiful.

We spent an hour and a half wandering the trails and exploring the dwellings, and were lucky enough to spend a good half hour discussing the site (as well as fantasy novels) with a very helpful volunteer ranger on the site. It was a fascinating glimpse into Native American history, and while it wasn’t the Sioux or Apache that some of us might have studied in school – I felt like I had learned more in that brief brush with their culture than I did in an entire term of classroom learning.

Posing in one of the ancient cave dwellings

I felt truly humbled to stand on the same ground that a Native American family might once have slept and taken their meals on. The soot stained roofs were a testament to how long they had been called home, and it was every bit as moving as I’d imagine standing in the Parthenon might feel. It’s a shame more of the Native American culture isn’t known, because it is truly fascinating what they had achieved.

Getting my kicks

After the truly painful trek back up out of the canyon (one I would not recommend to the elderly or the overweight) – it was time to head back to Phoenix via the infamous Route 66. And, tourists being tourists, we pulled the car over and posed just to show we’d been there.

 

Arizona State Fair & Reunions

The last hurrah of our Arizona trip would be an excursion to the Arizona State Fair, and I was particularly excited after a friend of mine from South Korea trekked all the way up from New Mexico to take part in the fun. Tim, one of the wingmen I paid testament to in yesterday’s entry, brought along his beautiful fiancé (and now wife) Chloe to join the fun.

The price for parking might have been exorbitant, but we recouped it by getting into the fair at a discounted rate thanks to some kindly locals letting us get in on the back of a 2 for 1 promotion they’d found a loop-hole in. Something about a receipt from Home Depot being required, and Home Depot selling $1 bottles of Coke.

I’ve been to a number of fairs in Australia, the most notable of which is Sydney’s Royal Easter Show, but this was like an Australian show on steroids. The crowd was massive and so too was the selection of rides and food to be had. With Fallon not a huge fan of carnival rides, our night’s budget was instead set aside for trying as much greasy and potentially lethal carnival food as humanly possible. We tried the traditional things such as Indian fry bread and funnel cake, and then Chloe and I branched out and tried something a little different.

A block of fries. Sounds healthy!
Delicious funnel cake!
Mmmm.... crickets
Chocolate coated scorpion.

I’ve eaten some strange things in my life: writhing raw octopus tentacles, silkworm larvae, and the humble Witchetty Grub to name a few. The challenge set out by the aptly named ‘I Ate the Bug’ stall was too much for me to refuse. I stepped up and confidently ordered some deep fried grasshoppers to munch on and was promptly served two of the unfortunate creatures (with a dab of chocolate sauce) in a plastic cup. They were… disappointing. They had the consistency of badly burned and dried out toast, and the taste was not particularly remarkable.

Not to be outdone, Chloe stepped up and ordered the chocolate coated scorpion instead. After a lot of goading from the gathering crowd, she coolly slipped the creepy crawler into her mouth and chewed it.

“Tastes like Vodka,” she informed us, which might have something to do with the fact they’re preserved in alcohol before being dipped in chocolate and served up.

The sole other real highlight of the fair was a visit to a ‘freak animals’ show, which basically consisted of various abnormally large animals including a pig with enormous testacles, a cow, a horse, and an alligator that looked like a light snack for an Australian saltwater crocodile. But here’s the cow, for your viewing pleasure.

The remainder of our night consisted of more food, some grossly overpriced Budweiser, and the eventual feelings of sickness and guilt over having eaten so much greasy food. Our final day in Phoenix was a bit of a special occasion, and Fallon whipped up a batch of fantastic dak galbi to go with the kimchi and Hite that Tim had brought along. Our Korean feast was accompanied by a UFC PPV, and then it was time for a bunch of goodbyes.

Our trip to Arizona was done, and while I didn’t get to visit the OK Corral or ride a donkey down to the floor of the Grand Canyon, I did plenty of other memorable things. And now I’ve just got an excuse to visit again someday!

The incomparable Tim and the gorgeous Chloe

Links

Beaver Street Brewery

The Grand Canyon

Walnut Creek Canyon

Arizona State Fair

Pita Pit

An Ode to the Wingman

It wasn’t until the rise of Barney Stinson from How I Met Your Mother that the wingman began to get the credit it had long been due. What is a wingman?

Urban Dictionary defines it as a guy you bring along with you to singles outings who helps you out with women. I guess, at its most basic level, that is a pretty accurate description of a wingman. A good wingman definitely does help you meet and potentially seduce a woman of the female variety.

But there’s more to being a good wingman than simply tapping a girl on the shoulder and shoving her in the direction of your bemused friend.

A good wingman has his friend’s (hereafter referred to as a ‘bro’) interests at heart in all things. It’s not just about finding a girl for your single friend to talk to – it’s about protecting him from undesirable attention; keeping him from getting tangled up with an ex girlfriend; making sure he has a drink in his hand; and ensuring he’s never left to sing at karaoke on his own.

I talked about Dean in my last entry – and he was most definitely the first guy I recognized as my wingman. For a few weeks in South Korea, the Podgestar was the guy who bugged me to come out on a weekend and shoved me in the right direction – which just happened to be away from my ex girlfriend.

Wingman Fail - Matching outfits

But there had been good wingmen before him. My housemate and good friend Dave had saved me from the attempted seduction of a neighbor on several occasions by luring my drunken ass into the house with the promise of two minute noodles. An old high school friend, Magro, had once piloted me and a single female friend of his onto the same couch and instructed us to make out to great effect. And my housemate immediately before Korea, Ben, was one of the people who pushed hardest for me to quit my job in retail and take the plunge in Korea.

Things not to do after eight hours of drinking...

I’m not sure if girls have a similar kind of friend. I’d be interested to find out. Are there wingwomen out there who protect their friends from undesirables, point out eligible bachelors, and keep the cosmopolitans flowing? Inquiring minds want to know!

But back on topic.

A wingman is a particularly valuable thing to have when abroad. When there’s a language barrier to be dealt with, sometimes it takes two or even three guys to have a coherent conversation with that pretty Korean girl at the bar. When there’s only so many bars to choose from in the city – it’s the company rather than the venue that makes for a good night out. And whether they’re plying you with drinks at the local haunt or encouraging you to hop a train to Seoul at the absolute last minute so that you’ll have a fun story to tell the next night – they’re the guys who ensure that no one weekend is like the one before it.

In my last year in Korea I was lucky enough to have not one but three wingmen of the highest caliber. Paul ‘Pope’ Bishop, Jamie ‘Sorbet’ Corbett, and Brad ‘Stinson’ Andrews were the guys who got me motivated to suit up in true Stinson style, learn a new karaoke number to belt out, and scrape together my spare change so I could afford one last whiskey and Coke.

Jamie and Paul were the engineers of the spontaneous Seoul junket on which we were propositioned by prostitutes in an empty Russian bar. They were the guys who tagged along with me to a random party at the home of a girl I hardly knew. I met Fallon that night. They were the ones who dragged me to smoky Korean night clubs and smacked some sense into me when I was pining over an ex rather than paying attention to the girl right in front of me.

Suited up with Jamie and Brad
Smoking up with Grantski
Byron, Jamie, and I belting out some Backstreet Boys

Getting into a relationship and doing a different kind of traveling meant that my wingmen took a back-seat, and it’s only a year on that I realize how important good wingmen are to a good time.

It’s a good wingman who arranges a bachelor party pub crawl of Sydney’s oldest pubs. It’s a good wingman who pushes another beer in front of you just as you’re eying your empty wallet.

So this is a tribute to the wingman. A tribute to the guy who shouts you drinks or the guy who asks ‘Have you met Chris?’ This one’s a slap on the back to the guy who rushes across the bar when Tenacious D’s Fuck Her Gently begins to play or who is on hand with their best scary look when some drunk clown decides you’ve offended him. He’s the one who offers to pay your fine for reckless littering.

The one they call Magro

In two and a half months I’ll be without my best friend for the first time in nearly two years. And then it’ll be time for me to find a wingman again. The bar has been set pretty high.

Lads, I salute you!

Getting Dirty at the Boryeong Mud Festival

Coming out of my shell in South Korea

I can’t pin-point the exact moment that I fell in love with travelling. The first six months of my time in South Korea had been packed with moments that might have been triggers along my road to wanderlust.

There were drunken nights out that only ended when the sun came up and the money ran out. There’d been visits to fog shrouded temples and wind-swept beaches. There’d been first kisses and drunken 4am KTX rides and my first brush with real snow.

The sun sets over Unjusa, an isolated mountain temple outside of Gwangju.
The sun sets over Unjusa, an isolated mountain temple outside of Gwangju.

But as I bobbed in the warm water of the Yellow Sea and marveled at the fireworks blossoming overhead like fiery flowers, I experienced my first real awareness of just how much I loved my life. It was one of those surreal moments in which you are completely aware of everything that is going on around you – yet at the same time you’re above it all marveling at the fact it’s happening to you.

fireworks
Fireworks explode overhead. A moment of clarity ends.

The crowd of foreigners back on the beach had become a low murmur of noise punctuated occasionally by a crack overhead, and the lap of dark water around and below me was a soothing backdrop to it all.

It was at that moment that I realized just how far I’d come and just how lucky I’d been to be there. A year earlier I’d been in my cold bedroom in Glen Innes playing World of WarCraft while Channel [V] blasted generic pop into my room. The house outside of my room would be empty while my housemate was out drinking. I worked a job I basically slept through, had no social life, and couldn’t foresee a bright future ahead.

Pre travel CWB. What a mess.
Pre travel CWB. What a mess.

A year on I was on the other side of the world recovering from what I thought was heart-break but what was, in hindsight, little more than a mild bruising. Somewhere off in the darkness to my right, Dean and a few other foreigners were horsing around. The splashes of their drunken wrestling eventually brought me out of my mini coma and back into the moment.

I can’t think of the moment that sealed it for me or the moment that I realized this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life – but I do remember that moment well. The moment that I realized that all the break-ups, bad days at work, and financial worries didn’t matter. I was doing what I loved, and it would always be there for me to do.

Heartbroken Boy Arrives at Mud Festival… Cue Punchline

The sun was barely over the horizon and I shivered as I approached Gwangju’s bus terminal. It was the jumping off point for a great many adventures during my two years in South Korea, and on this particular morning I was met by Rebecca, Cass, Tracey, Brenda, Zaid, and Dean. I hadn’t told them I was coming – having only decided to ignore my cold and tag along at around 4am the night before.

“Stay away from me,” Rebecca, ever the sensitive soul, warned, “I don’t want what you’ve got”.

Zaid took charge as soon as all of us were there, leading us to the departure gate and guiding us onto the bus that would take us to the biggest party of the foreigner year. Boryeong’s Mud Festival, regardless of what it might have been founded for, had become the yearly equivalent to a drunken orgy for sex and sun starved foreigners across the Land of the Morning Calm. It would have been criminal to miss it.

Zaid’s ‘short cut’ proved to be anything but, and we stepped out of the bus four hours after we’d boarded it – seeing people who had left two hours after us. It was a scorching hot day, possibly one of the hottest of the year, and I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one sweating like crazy by the time we had collected our bags and made our way out into the streets.

dirty foreigner mud festival
“Dirty foreigner! Dirty, dirty foreigner!”

I imagine Boryeong is almost a ghost town most of the year. Its streets on this particular weekend were clogged with people making their way down to the festival. After six months of relatively cool Gwangju weather and modestly dressed Korean women, it was a veritable feast of flesh as girls from all over the country took the opportunity to squeeze into their bikinis and soak up some sun.

I was fresh off a break-up with a certain South African girl and, as fate would have it, her group of fellow South Africans was the first group of foreigners we encountered. In a city swarming with drunken merry-makers from across the peninsula, it seemed a tad cruel that we bump into her right away.

Still, I had good friends at my side and the entire beach to lose myself in, so I didn’t let it get to me as we began to search for a place to say in earnest. Minbaks are essentially rooms you rent to sleep on the floor. The good ones will offer up pillows and blankets and even a kitchen – the cheap ones it’s just a pillow and a sheet or two.

Seated on the floor, our band plays some Phase 10 at the 2009 Mud Festival.
Seated on the floor, our band plays some Phase 10 at the 2009 Mud Festival.

We looked at the good ones, decided that our money would be better spent on alcohol, and instead settled for a ramshackle shack not too far from the beach. The bigger and cleaner room had already been claimed by a Korean family, and so we six settled into a much smaller side room. We hadn’t come all this way to sleep though, and so we dropped off our stuff and changed into our swimming gear before heading out to tackle the city.

Rumbling stomachs warranted a pit-stop at a tent restaurant – the kind that seem to spring up in empty lots across the country. We gathered around a table and ordered a round of ice cold Hite and some BBQed eel. The waiters assured is, in broken English, that these were good for ‘men’s stamina’.

It wasn’t a fancy meal, but it hit the spot. BBQed eel wrapped in moist lettuce leaves and garnished with garlic, samcheong (bean paste), and various seasoned vegetables ensured we had the energy required for the day of drunken debauchery that lay ahead of us.

Getting Muddy

Our first stop of the day was a body painting stand. The Boryeong mud isn’t regular mud – but the kind women pay good money to have lathered onto their skin in hopes it will decrease signs of aging and all that jazz. Dean and I, not being particularly concerned with skin care, were far more interested in making muddy hand prints on the backsides and chests of our female traveling companions.

Dean and I posing with Cass before our first coating of mud was applied

 

While Rebecca sunned herself on the beach, the rest of us got into an impromptu dance and drinking circle with a bunch of middle aged Korean men. Being a hairy and slightly chubby guy, I was a source of particular amusement to them – but by this point I’d already consumed 1.5 liters of watery Korean beer and my self esteem issues were a distant second to my rising urge to find a place to pee.

Dean and I soon discovered that the best place to relieve ourselves was the aptly named Yellow Sea, and so made our way out beyond the swimmers and found suitably isolated patches to do our business. Korean lifesavers, whose ability to swim I learned to seriously doubt, waved frantically at us to come back in lest we be swept out into the sea by the tame current and waist high waves. Maybe it’s just an Australian thing to be completely comfortable in the ocean – but neither of us was particularly intimidated by the conditions.

Our seedier business done, Dean and I returned to apply more mud to ourselves before the girls collected us to do some actual sight-seeing. This basically entailed pushing our way through the crowd choked foreshore street and glancing briefly at various market stalls ranging from completely out of place (farming supplies) to delightfully Korean (colored mud for girls to paint themselves with).

Time to hit the water? I think so

After six months of being excited to spot a glimpse of white skin in a crowded street, it was almost overwhelming to be so surrounded by fellow waygookin (Korean for foreigner or stranger). US servicemen on ATVs revved their way through the crowd while pasty English girls in bikinis teetered around on the slippery streets. A loud group of South African guys wrestled over a half full bottle of Cass, while a couple of Americans threw a pigskin around down on the beach.

Dean and I soon lost the rest of our group, but didn’t find it hard to make friends on a beach full of drunk people. After a quick game of touch football on the hot sand, we again hit the water and floated out beyond the breakers with a wonderfully buoyant bottle of beer by our sides. Before too long the sun was again beginning to bake our skin, and the sight of a few mud wrestling pits farther up the beach lured us back in to the shore.

I give a triumphant roar and show of my muscles in the Yellow Sea.
I give a triumphant roar and show of my muscles in the Yellow Sea.

We met up with the girls once again and headed back to our Minbak via Lotteria (a Korean burger chain that birthed my post drinks obsession – the European Frico Cheese). While the girls took turns cleaning their feet in the cold shower, a few of us were invited into the larger of the two rooms by the Korean man whose family was staying there. He had us sit in a circle and pass around soju to shot. Before too long we were well into our second bottle of the potent spirit and munching on his offerings of dried fish and prawn flavoured chips. It was a surreal, ‘I love Korea’ inspiring moment. All the while we drank and acted like idiots – his kids were locked in the back room and shouted at if they dared poke their heads out to sneak a peak at the half dressed and very inebriated foreigners.

After saying our goodbyes, it was time to once again hit the streets.

Of Kisses and Fireworks

On the way we met a chubby Canadian girl who we dubbed Irish (she had shamrocks on her bikini top) – who insisted we smear mud all over her. She then attempted to lure us back to her minbak by plying us with free beer, but we discretely lost her in the crowd and went off in search of less intimidating game.

Posing with the wee bonnie lass, one of the coolest people I met in Korea

We eventually came upon a pair of girls from Seoul who were to become our companions for the remainder of the day. The sun had gone down and the beach took second place to the main stage that dominated the foreshore. K-Pop bands began to play and a crowd began to form on the steps to dance and drink.

Not long after that the heat and the mud necessitated another visit to the ocean, and I was still out there when the fireworks began and the realization that life was pretty damn good settled over me.

chicken fights

The rest of the night was a pleasant blur. A kiss with a pretty new girl, chatting with new friends, and finally creeping back into our minbak in the wee hours to snatch what little shut-eye we could. In a room crowded with foreigners and without air conditioning, that proved to be very little. I was still a bleary eyed (and very hungover) mess the following morning when it was time to stagger back to the bus and ride back to Gwangju.

That afternoon was the afternoon of the greatest shower I ever had. You can read more about that one in my Ode to the Shower.

We tried to recapture the wild, crazy magic of the Mud Festival the very next weekend – Dean and I journeying back down to meet up with our new Scottish and American pals. There was more drinking; the invention of the Mudfest Mudslide (soju mixed with a cookies & cream milkshake in a bag); my vomiting out of a fifth floor window; an argument I don’t remember; a shower I definitely do; and a criminally expensive minbak that we didn’t even end up sleeping in after finding a more comfortable patch of carpet in somebody else’s room.

It was an eventful weekend. A fun one. But it wasn’t a patch on that first Mudfest weekend.

Second weekend – Drunker than the first

I’d had a great many adventures in Korea already that year, and the not too distant future held my trip to China and a slew of trips to Seoul. But Mudfest 2008, even two years on, still stands out as one of the best times I had in my life – and the first time I realized just how much I loved the randomness that only travel (and a healthy dose of alcohol and spontaneity) can bring.

Your Say

Can you remember the moment or experience that prompted you to fall head over heels with travel?

 

Top 10 Favourite Bars

Last week I counted down my favourite cities in the world. This week? This week I’m covering something much more important – counting down my favourite watering holes. Whether it’s a karaoke bar in which I sang my heart out to Aerosmith’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing’ or a seedy dive where I sank suds and searched in vain for a pretty girl to make a pass at – you’ll find it here.

10 – The Lucky Country, Newcastle, NSW

I’m pretty sure it’s been closed down for operating without a liquor license, and the place was often crawling with cockroaches – but it offered cheap beers and even cheaper shots, and that’s about all an unemployed Novocastrian could hope for on a Saturday night.

In 2004 I was strapped for cash and at the very lowest point of my social interest. If the popular ones are social butterflies, I’m not sure what that made me. A social moth? A social blowfly?

But every so often Mark, Randy, David, and I would head on out to the Lucky Country and we’d see where the night would take us. More often than not the answer was ‘King Street McDonalds’ for burgers, but sometimes it lead to an adventure. The one I remember best was the night that I pretended to be Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. By all that is good and holy I probably should have been killed by the real deal, but I somehow managed to not only pull it off – but impress a pretty young girl into giving me a goodnight kiss.

I only saw the lass one more time, and she was far less impressed with me when I had a thick Aussie accent on and didn’t recognize her – but it was a fun night and makes for an even funnier anecdote.

9 – The ‘Stro, Armidale, NSW, Australia

 

Three likely suspects enjoying an Armidale night out

During my years at the University of New England in Armidale, the ‘Stro was just about the highlight of the week. We might not have had the money to afford more than a drink or two – even at the Uni bar’s reduced rates – but that didn’t stop us from having a good time.

Rather than use our meager savings, we’d pitch together on the classiest of beverages – a four litre cask of Fruity Lexia or dry white. The party would start early in the evening to maximize our drinking time before it was time for the drunken walk up the hill to the University. It’s no small wonder I managed to lose weight over the two years of hauling my ass up the steep UNE hill.

Games of Shithead, Asshole, or even Uno were used as drinking games and then there was the infamous ‘Circle of Death’ that guaranteed at least one of us would be going to the ‘Stro with the smell of vomit and white wine on our breath.

From what I hear the ‘Stro isn’t what it once was – but I’ll always have fond memories of the place. From drunken making out with complete strangers to long deep and meaningful conversations in the haze of smoke that hung permanently over the porch out back.

The entire night was often capped off with the drunken walk home. A few of us would inevitably end up at the all night service station at Girraween and wolf down sausage rolls before crashing out praying that we’d be able to make that 9am tutorial we had the next morning.

8 – The New England Hotel, Armidale, NSW

How many Saturday nights did I spend at the ‘Newie’? How many bad dances did I have? And how many of those nights out ended with a pie from the bakery across the road and a long, drunken walk home alone? For the better part of three years, the Newie was the best place to be on a Saturday night. Whether you were out on the dance floor or just sitting out on the chicken wire wrapped balcony – the Newie was the highlight of a pretty quiet social calendar.

Why was it significant? I found out that my first girlfriend liked me during a Newie visit. I kissed girls ranging from scary to passable at the Newie. I tested the greatest pick-up line ever (which none of us can remember anymore) and had it succeed beyond my wildest expectations. I got a girl’s number despite having ripped the ass out of my pants.

Notice a trend here?

The Newie wasn’t the coolest place in town nor did I ever have a particularly amazing night there – but I had a lot of good ones there, and that counts for something.

7 – Soul Train – Gwangju, South Korea

Doing my best panda impersonation in early 2008

When I first decided to head to South Korea, I did what any traveler to be would do – I went out to a bookstore and I bought the Lonely Planet edition for my future home. While I am a huge lover of the Lonely Planet books, their entry on bars in Gwangju was a little sparse – with only the Speakeasy and Soul Train rating a mention.

I remember stumbling down the stairs and into the near abandoned Soul Train bar early in my tenure in Korea, having agreed to meet a few new friends there. The bar staff, a mixture of cute Korean girls with good English and Korean guys who seemed less inclined to chat, were super friendly as they welcomed me in and ushered me to a booth. The girls at the bar sported cute names like Christina and Alexis and flirted shamelessly with any foreign male to grace the establishment – and that went a long way towards prolonging any stay there.

While Soul Train dropped off of my drinking rotation as time passed, I had a lot of really good times there in the early days. New Year’s 2008 was spent there with my best friends. Many games of pool were played, many Korean girls were flirted hopelessly with, and the slippery walk across ice caked streets to the cab rank was always an interesting challenge. And watching the bar’s owner pour a birthday shot is a sight to behold. Think techno music, juggling, a tower of glasses, and set it all on fire.

I hear that Soul Train has found its way back into the good graces of Gwangju’s foreign inhabitants, and I’m glad for that. It’s a nice change of pace from the usually loud, crowded bars we tend to frequent.

6 – The Fitz, Vegas, USA

 

Say what you will about the glitz and glamour of the Las Vegas strip, but I fell in love with Fremont Street and ‘Old Vegas’ during our four day visit there in October 2009. I would walk the crowded streets at night with a $2 Corona in my hand and indulge in a bit of people watching. Then there was the surreal moment every hour when the lights would go out and the roof over the street would light up in tribute to Queen or John Denver or Don McLean. It was like something from a horror movie as everybody came to a complete stand-still and just stared slack-jawed up at the roof.

We drank in a lot of casinos during our visit, but my favourite would have to be the Fitzgerald Casino. With its cheap beers, affordable food, and a balcony that looked out over the street – we six whiled away many an evening up there where the air was cooler and the beers were just a few feet away.

When you’re in Vegas by all means hit a show, buy a $12 beer at New York New York, and do a bit of shopping on the Strip. But make sure you pay a visit to Fremont Street and when you do, swing by the Fitz and have a beer on the balcony. You won’t forget it.

5 – Abey, Gwangju, South Korea

 

Ribald tales over hookah at the Abey

 

I’m not sure if it’s just Gwangju’s foreigner population who can be fickle about their hot spots or whether it’s a global thing, but for a short while this ultra hip hookah (flavoured tobacco) bar was the high point of the drinking week.

I first encountered the dimly lit interior of the Abey on my first weekend out in Gwangju. A high school friend had traveled down from Seoul and brought some friends along to ensure I didn’t spend my 24th birthday alone, and the Abey was the place where I rang it in. It was the first time I’d felt truly at home in Korea, and later that night I would make my first local friends – Liz and Kirk, whom I still speak with today.

Midnight was about to tick over and I took another pull from the apple flavoured hookah we were sharing. I felt delightfully naughty smoking, and I remember asking that the photo not be put on Facebook in case my mother saw. Heloise turned to me and asked me what my birthday wish was, and before I could answer everybody leaped to their feet and showered me with streamers as party poppers exploded. I don’t know when they found time to go out and buy them, but it’s a gesture I’ve always appreciated. I knew then that I had made the right decision by uprooting myself and traveling halfway across the world.

Later in the year the Abey would gain further significance for me as I romanced a South African girl I’d met at Speakeasy (appearing farther down the list). The bar had since been taken over by the irrepressable Joe Wabe, who had turned it from a well kept secret into a popular foreigner haunt.

You’d descend from the loud, well lit streets above and into a cool, candle-lit bar full of secret alcoves littered with pillows and blue and purple curtains that shifted delightfully in the breeze. Fairy lights hung over the bar and occasional belly dancing display added to the exotic appeal of the part. Joe would occasionally offer free shots to anybody who would populate the dance floor – but it was the quiet moments stolen in the secluded corners of the place that I remember with the most fondness.

It couldn’t last forever. Joe eventually moved on (although he’s now back with a vengeance and managing a Mexican themed bar called Tequilaz) and the last time I saw the Abey, it was all but empty as it returned to being a less foreigner friendly bar. But damn, those were some good times while they lasted.

4 – Ground Kontrol, Portland, Oregon

It’s not a happening night spot and the beers on offer aren’t particularly good, but Ground Kontrol earns a mention for the nerd factor alone. I like a good beer and a lascivious glance across the bar as much as the next guy, but there’s something supremely awesome about finishing three player Sunset Riders with a beer in hand. And who cares that it cost you $5 in quarters when the beers are only $2?

The entire bottom floor of this very cool establishment is crammed full of old arcade classics ranging from Mario Kart and the original Donkey Kong to pin-ball machines that look like they might have been considered old even when my parents were wasting their pocket money on them. Dance Dance Revolution in particular offers up a great spectacle as inebriated girls stumble and stagger their way towards an abysmal score.

All in all, it’s the kind of unique experience that you don’t get very often when drinking – and that alone gets it in the top half of the list.

3 – Camel Toe Lodge, Couer D’Alene, Idaho

It doesn’t have a liquor license and its hours are restricted to the whims of its owner, but for one or two nights a week the shed out back of the Perry’s house is just about the most happening place in Idaho. That’s meant to be high praise, although I’m sure it doesn’t sound it.

While spending six weeks in the Pacific North West, I spent a good number of nights in the most pimped out shed I’d ever seen. A pool table, a full length shuffleboard table with attached scoreboard, and even a popcorn machine like you see at the circus! The fridge was always full of beer and with the Perry’s being owners of a Papa Murphy’s franchise – there was plenty of delicious pizza to chase the beers with. I learned a new respect and love for shuffleboard on those drunken nights, and Diamond Rio’s ‘Beautiful Mess’ will always hold a special place in my heart after drunkenly practicing some swing dancing moves while the adults sang at the top of their lungs.

I still wear the shirt with pride (I’m actually wearing it as I type), and while it looks like I’ll never get to pay a visit again and I doubt an invitation will be extended to many of my readers, it was still a helluva good time.

2 – Shark Bar, Sydney, NSW

I want to take you to a gay bar

I’ll be lynched by my co-workers for not mentioning the Madison, but the Shark Bar is the closest I’ve come to a haunt in Sydney. It’s a bit of a backpacker destination, but 9pm every Thursday night it turns into the best karaoke bar I’ve had the pleasure of visiting. I fell in love with singing rooms and noraebang in South Korea, but there’s an extra thrill in belting out ‘Gay Bar’ by Electric Six in front of a crowd of drunken people whose interest levels range from indifferent to creepily enthused by my mock gyrations.

As if karaoke wasn’t enough, the $9 buffet is heaven for anybody on a budget. And they give out free drinks to everybody who sings! Not a bad incentive to put your self consciousness on the back-burner long enough to work on that ‘Endless Love’ duet with your best mate.

=1 – Mike and Dave’s Speakeasy, Gwangju, South Korea

Suiting up Stinson style at the Speakeasy

The first of a two part winner, ‘The Speak’ is almost certainly the first bar most visitors to Gwangju will come in contact. Started up by Michael Simning and Dave Martin, the Speakeasy was recently voted the fourth best bar in all of South Korea by a horde of booze swilling foreigners. That’s a pretty ringing endorsement when you consider that drinking may just be the #1 pastime amongst expats.

I’ll be honest, the Speakeasy isn’t much to look at. After hauling your ass up the stairs and shoving open the door, you’ll almost certainly be hit in the face by the hot smoky air that there’s no escape from no matter how many windows are open. You’ll need to weave your way through a minefield of tables and booths to get to the tiny dance floor and the bar, and the unisex bathroom affords anybody outside an excellent view of anybody using the single urinal.

By all rights it should be the kind of bar you avoid like the plague, but it’s the closest most of us will ever come to being a cast member on Cheers. I made countless friends in that tiny bathroom, and if having to pee in front of a dozen of your closest friends doesn’t loosen you up, the tunes out on the dance floor and the cheap spirits certainly will.

What made and makes the Speakeasy so awesome is that it’s run by foreigners for foreigners. From time to time there’ll be a concert or an open mike night, and on other occasions there have been charity auctions (yours truly was bought for a handsome 50,000 won) and even private parties. People have bade farewell to Korea there and people have (believe it or not) celebrated their wedding there.

Dave’s back in Canada now and Mike’s moved on to other projects (like raising a family and battling leukemia) – but the place is still going strong under the watchful eye of Derek and Tony. The staff are always up for a chat and there’s even merchandise for the die hards. I still have my Speakeasy shirt.

It might have been surpassed by trendier spots of late, but the Speakeasy will always be the hot, smelly, and lovable heart of Gwangju in my eyes.

=1 – German Bar, Gwangju, South Korea

German Bar bringing people closer together

It was a pretty sweet bit of kismet that the two best foreigner bars in Gwangju just happened to be right beside one another. If Speakeasy was a bit dead or the place was crammed to the rafters with grabby serviceman in from the nearby military base – you could just skip over to German Bar and see what was on offer there.

Song, the owner, might have been a bit eccentric and a little inappropriately touchy with females of the pretty variety – but the man brewed a good beer and ran a pretty good bar.

It might have lost a lot of its luster when the very groovy Sang Young called it a day, but when the noisy confines of the Speak proved too claustrophobic, the German Bar’s open spaces and obnoxiously loud karaoke were a welcome change of pace.

Offering up cheaper alcohol than its neighbor and a decent selection of ‘German’ food, Songs was the perfect starting point for a fun night out. By the time you were liquored up on a crisp Weissen or a dark Dunkel, you’d probably already warmed up your vocal chords with a few songs and it would be time to move next door to the Speakeasy for some drunken bumping and grinding.

The two were a pair made in heaven. I can’t wait to get back to them.

——

What about you? Do you have a few favourite bars of your own? Share the knowledge!

Vivaz!

As those of you who know me personally know, yesterday was my lovely girlfriend Fallon’s birthday (check out her blog here by the way) and my gift to her was a fancy dinner out at a restaurant of her choosing. Over the course of our relationship I’ve come to understand and appreciate her love for the Latin culture. She’s turned me from an occasional eater of tacos or nachos into somebody who appreciates a good pico de gallo, loves the humble black bean, and struggles to look past an ice cold Dos Equis with a wedge of lime in the neck. Hell, she even had me taking Spanish lessons with her earlier this year so I could broaden by vocabulary beyond Tengo un gato en mes pantalones and Los ochos banditos tienen mi hombre. Estoy rabioso!

Points to whoever knows what I said there.

So, we donned our Sunday best. In Fallon’s case this was a brand new outfit she’d spent the better part of two weeks putting together and in my case it was borrowing a shirt and jacket from our housemate, Grant. I have just one suit with me in Sydney and it’s this fetching number.

Even I can't pull off this look

I think we cut a far finer looking couple for her big night. After posing for the photo to the right, we boarded the train downtown and made our way to our destination – Vivaz! The restaurant had caught Fallon’s eye after being included as one of the potential venues for her work Christmas party – and while she’d immediately been intrigued by the idea of a salsa restaurant with a churrasco buffet and sangria by the jug.

Yes, I feel awkward dressed up

Right off the bat I could tell that Vivaz was a place that catered to a different crowd than a couple out for a romantic dinner for two. The group directly in front of us sported the faux horns and matching t-shirts of a group of girls out on a hen’s night, and we quickly spotted another two tables of girls out with their friends for one last hurrah. If the matching outfits hadn’t given it away, the penis shaped drink bottles and various kinds of S&M accouterments made it pretty obvious.

The staff were polite as they showed us to our table, and if the crowd hadn’t confirmed my suspicions, the tiny table and plastic chairs wedged against a supporting pillar certainly did. Not that it was a major issue to squeeze in between the two groups of loud bachelorettes. We were both in a good mood and the party atmosphere of the place was actually pretty infectious. Sure, it was a tad annoying to contend with people shuffling behind you constantly, but I somehow doubt you’d find that personal space would be a common thing while dining in a genuine restaurant in Brazil or Mexico.

The cocktail list looked impressive, but Sydney prices of $14 turned me off the idle thought of ordering a daiquiri or mohito for myself. Instead, we contented ourselves with sticking to tradition and ordering a big jug of sangria. At $21 for the jug, it definitely presented better value than a cocktail – and we actually found ourselves struggling to finish it before we left an hour later.

As far as sangria goes it was pretty good, and the addition of chopped apple was a nice touch. Fallon was a bit disappointed that it lacked the more traditional fruits – but it certainly hit the spot.

Oh, a note for potential diners – have your credit card or cash at the table. Although you pay for your meal before you leave – you’ll need to pay for your drinks as you order them.

After our drinks had arrived, we snatched up plates and made for the buffet. The scent of the fantastic tequila BBQ sauce had been tempting me since we’d walked in, but I had to make my way past the salads before I’d be able to sample its deliciousness.

The buffet is a tad pricey at $45, but the spread is impressive and there’s plenty of selection. I was particularly impressed with the rich, spicy chili; the selection of salads and dressings; and the fantastic selection of meats. In addition to some wonderful beef and pork cuts, there were also spicy chicken wings, and a particularly tasty fish dish. By the time we’d finished our first plates and made our way back for a second tilt, they’d also mixed things up a little with the addition of a few new salad options and some churizo sausages.

Did I eat $45 worth of food? Almost definitely not. But it was a satisfying and delicious meal.

Unfortunately by the time we’d finished eating the live band had ceased playing salsa music and it had been replaced with chart dance and pop music, which put a dampener on our plans to do a little dancing. With a belly full of food and sangria though, I was actually a little relieved.

We decided to pass on dessert, which was probably the only unimpressive part of the evening. Fruit salad and an unappetizing looking chocolate mousse didn’t exactly stir anything in my stomach.

But the food was good, the atmosphere was fantastic (particularly while the band was playing), and the sangria was good value. And while our table didn’t afford a great view of it – I’m sure the lucky ones near the window would have appreciated the stunning view of the Opera House.

As a romantic night out, Vivaz probably isn’t going to be everybody’s cup of tea. It’s loud and not particularly romantic, but it has plenty of good food and a good selection of booze. For a fun night out with a special someone or a good night out with a group of friends, it’s definitely a place I’d go again.

Links

Vivaz