OSCAR MIKE
SPRING 2011
WHO IS OSCAR MIKE? The name Oscar Mike comes from the military phonetic alphabet (O M) and is used by the military to indicate that a unit is “On the Move”. As Adelaide surfers we are constantly on the move in search of waves and good times and the majority of the photos and stories in this mag are from trips interstate or overseas. OSCAR MIKE is a magazine produced by a group of South Australian friends used an outlet for creativity. It is intended as a medium for us to share stories, images and ideas with no censorship. This magazine is a chance for us to let our creative juices flow and have a bit of fun. Hopefully you’ll get as much enjoyment from flicking through these pages as we’ve had creating them. You can follow us on facebook, just search for [OM] OSCAR MIKE, your feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you like what you see and want more from Oscar Mike add us on facey :) Lots of love - Oscar Mike
2
CONTENTS
4
10 18 26 30 32 42 44 46!
Henny
and Sumatra
4
Henny is a genius. He’s one of the smartest guys I know. He got near perfect scores for his TER and got accepted into an extremely selective degree at the Wollongong University. Despite this he doesn’t seem too interested in Uni and would rather travel the globe in pursuit of perfect waves and good times. In 2006 I went to Bail for the first time and caught up with Henny in the Kuta vortex. He had been to Bali the year before and had already sussed all the best/cheapest places to sleep, eat and party. He’s the perfect travel companion and an absolute guru. In the 2 weeks I spent with him in Bali he pretty much learnt basic conversational Indonesian. He’d be propped up in his bed till late at night with this tiny little Indonesian/English translational pocket book studying away. Guaranteed the next day he’d be high fiving local Indonesians in the street and cracking jokes with them. He’s also one of the friendliest guys I know and is always down to muck around and have a laugh. His mates and even his parent used to joke that Henny would never come home from Indo. So when I heard last year that Henny had been living and working in Sumatra as a surf guide it came as no surprise. I sent Henny an email recently to hear what he’s been up to and how life in a Sumatran surf camp is treating him.
What Surf Camp do you “work” at and how long have you been there?
I live @ Secret Sumatra and this is my second season as number one surf guide in Indonesia ha How long has it been running and how did you end up with the job there?
Sixth season. Chance meeting with one of the owners/friend while surfing in Sumbawa early last year. What is your role at the surf camp?
Snake the guest for the best waves of the session. Forecasting, surfing and just making sure everyone has a good time. Not the hardest task in the world when people are on holiday :)
Who make up the majority of your guests?
Well the Reef models come here at least once a month and then just scandinavian sluts wanting to learn to surf. Aussie’s of the male variety from the frothing groms to the baby boomer generation most of whom definately enjoyed their youth :) Have you become a member of the local Indonesian community? Have they accepted you? If so, what made it easier to assimilate?
No I’m yet to convert to Islam.... The local community and Indonesian’s in general are a very welcoming people and making friends is as easy as striking up a conversation outside a Bakso stall. Speaking the language has helped me gain a better understanding of the Indonesia mentality....... of which anger is looked down upon and Nongkrong (chillen/relaxing) is of great national importance. Things take time in Indonesia, pick up this vibe and run with it :) What are the waves like?
Filth
What are the crowds like?
Secret Sumatra mate!
Describe a typical day at “work” in Secret Sumatra:
Surf, eat, sleep, play pool, visit the markets, snorkel, chess, hammock and some special alone time ;)
6
5 best aspects of working at a Sumatran surf camp:
Indonesian food Benchongs (ladyboys) Nongkrong (relaxing) with my friends who consume more coffee and cigarettes in one day than most of us would in a year. Spending all day in a sarong Waves 5 worst aspects of working at a Sumatran surf camp:
none
Advice for Australian surfers looking for work overseas:
Language..... Local knowledge Ability to adapt
What is the strangest and scariest place/situation you’ve found yourself in while working at Secrets?
Driving the six hours from the airport to the camp....... Russian roulette when your not using our drivers. Last week, a driver for some mates of mine staying up the road fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a mosque. Nobody was hurt but hectic times indeed.
8
SA GREAT
selfportrait misfireon the long drive west
Mexico Late last year my mate Jack took off from Adeliade with a $12k loan on a hard earned holiday after slaving away at Uni for 4 years. He only had 3 months to live it up before returning to Adelaide to start his career and live it up he did. During these three months Jack traversed 4 continents and surfed, snowboarded and parited himself stupid. He was kind enough to send me a few photos from his trip which we’ve featured here.
12
NEW YORK & MY BROKEN HEART Biggie Smalls, Mafia, East side vs West Side. It used to be so Gangsta! If any Mafia bosses still lived here they’d own a boutique store selling handmade jewellery on the side. Hipsters wearing glasses with a focal point of infinity ride single geared bikes through the streets in the evening. I’m jealous because I’m not as cool as them. My day involved sitting in a plane for 8 hours waiting for snowstorms to clear. I lost my laptop at the airport. I walk down the street. It goes bar, bagel shop, convenience store, bar. Repeat for all streets. Nobody owns a car because they don’t need to go anywhere, everything they need is right here. I’m staying with a girl that works at a handmade jewellery shop not owned by the mafia. I met her for 1 day last year. She is mad hipster. She used to be a journalist. And she is hot, so hot. Mmmm, Imagine... “Hey I’ll meet you at this bar, come in and I’ll find you, let’s party!” Everyone I meet takes photos for a living, or makes documentaries, or is the creator of Adult Swim. They’re living the life, and things are exciting. They’re living in a little niche of the world where it’s possible to do whatever you want. I wish that I was older and an accomplished videographer. My clothes feel awkward compared to what they’re wearing. I meet up. Kate is real cool, but so is Norm. Australian Norm who came back to New York and arrived an hour before me. He is at the same level of hipster cool as everyone else. But Norm has a girlfriend already. Yes! But he and Kate still sleep in her room that night. Zero prospects. The next few days I ride the subway, take photos of things and go to small red-lit bars and restaurants. America’s cool. Everything is cheap, alcohol is half price, and people are blunt and friendly, or look like they want to beat you up.
14
Kate is cool. I can’t be myself around her because she’s so cool. I want to say things that would impress her, but can’t think of anything. And the whole time Norm is hanging around like a bad
KATE & STUPID NORM
smell, so I have no chance anyway. She tells me about how everyone plays kickball in the summer, and goes to the beach for beach parties. New Years is a hell of a time, my flight leaves at 6am the next day so midnight is the cut-off point. Stupid Norm isn’t there; he’s at another party with his girlfriend. FourLoko* is flowing freely. Around 11pm I’m talking to a girl, she’s really pretty, and we kiss at midnight. I walk into the kitchen and see Kate. I ask her if she kissed anyone at the start of this so far awesome new year’s eve. “I had no one to make out with!” “Oh that sucks, who would you have macked?” “I was kind of hoping you...” “ “ She leans up to kiss me and the new year gets even awesomer. Spread love, it’s the Brooklyn way! She hasn’t been sleeping with stupid Norm because he has a girlfriend and she wouldn’t do that. I apologise to the pretty girl and then Kate and I go home because I need to catch a plane in a few hours. On the way home we meet a guy who was just at a rooftop party with Lady GaGa. Then I’m standing on the stairs and she says “Why don’t you delay your flight?” I make the call, and $400 later I’ve changed my flight and we’re lying in bed. She is such a babe. But I don’t have protection so we go to sleep.
GROUND ZERO
The next morning of the awesome new year she tells me she feels so bad for Norm that we shouldn’t have sex. And don’t tell Norm. Then Norm comes and hangs out. Kate asks me if it’s cool and I say of course. Such a pussy. The next 5 days I’m living in the shadow of my giant vagina, which follows me as we all hang out. Jealousy sucks. I feel out of place, I wouldn’t be interesting enough to live here permanently. I catch the plane out of there 5 days after I should have. NY is a cool place, I want to come back in the summer. When Norm isn’t there. He’s a nice guy, and I hope that him and his girlfriend never read this. Stupid Norm.
*FourLoko: An energy drink that’s now banned in the States because too many people died from drinking it, but you can still find it in convenience stores that haven’t sold out. Apparently 5 is enough to kill someone, not from the chemistry of what’s in it, but the fact that people do such stupid things after they’ve drunk enough that they injure themselves and die. Maybe it is because of the chemistry. There are songs written about this drink. 12% malt liquor, Guarana, CAFFEINE, a bunch of other herbs, and probably ecstasy. Drinking one can of this gives you that energetic feeling in your legs that harder drugs strive to achieve. This is the drink of choice for watching the movie Black Swan.
16
12 thousand dollars & 4 continents in 3 months
18
VIEW FROM THE COLOMBIAN SURF
Page 33: Jake & Colombia Jake is a bloke that doesn’t fuck around. If he wants something he’ll get it. It could be his friendly, laid back nature, his sharp mind or his stalker inducing good looks that allows him to get away with this. Whatever it is, it’s working for him and for the best part of the last 3 years it’s allowed him to travel the world with nothing more than a smile and a bodyboard. Over this time he’s experienced some incredible things and met a shit load of amazing people. We contacted Jake to get him to share some of these moments with us through OSCAR MIKE, enjoy!
JAKE DEAN SURFING IN C OLOMBIA YOUR parents and most other elders, upon hearing you’re heading to Colombia, will most likely tell you it’s too dangerous, despite them never having been there. Mates and other crew your age on the other hand will probably say something hilarious about how you must be going there to stuff your facial full of coke. “Make sure you don’t burn a hole in your nose mate,” they’ll say with a wink and a shit-eating grin. Good one bro, you’re the first person to make a joke like that to me. The chances of anyone asking about the surf there are zero to nil. It’s easy to write off places without a visible surf scene as not having any waves, I know because I almost did it myself - I was only in the country to pass time waiting for my flight to Europe for a long-overdue reunion with the missus. My friends had smashed through Colombia in less than two weeks, bypassing the coast in favour of some vicious partying. I don’t blame them - they’re all single and the majority of the country’s female population is blessed with macking sets of breasticles. But Colombia is blessed with two coasts - the Pacific side and the Caribbean side - which was evidence enough for me that there’s waves around somewhere. Have you seen Taylor Steele’s Castles in the Sky? Dave Rastovich’s section? If you can get perfect tubes in India you better believe there’s some gems out there in Colombia. And I stumbled upon one of them.
HEAVY COLOMBIAN BEACHY
20
JAKE DEAN SURFING IN C OLOMBIA The Pacific side is where it’s at - I’ve seen photos of waves there doing very good Indo impressions - but this coast is remote. There are a few spots with a growing surfing scene but to find the gems would be tough going, the infrastructure just isn’t there. The region is also synonymous with bloody armed conflict between paramilitary groups, guerillas, drug traffickers and the army, which probably wouldn’t be super fun. The waves gracing these pages however, were snapped in the country’s fickle Caribbean side, at a surf camp owned by two Canadian brothers no less. Good waves in Colombia at a surf camp owned by Canadians. Saying that statement out loud makes my surf trip seem even more incredulous. Admittedly, it didn’t get over 3ft but after a couple weeks on the sauce it was a welcome return to the water. And if you can’t still summon grom-like stoke for 3ft glassy barrels then your’e either a jaded old fool or Laird Hamilton. Picture the most beautiful white sand, palm-fringed beach you’ve ever laid eyes on, the water temperature is that of a not-too-warm bath, and there is not a soul in sight amongst miles of peaky A-frames. One late-arvo session I had out there was so beautiful it looked as if I was surfing on another planet. There were the faded yellow and green of the palms, the dull blues and purples of snowcapped mountains behind them and the pink hues of the evening sky reflecting off the silver water creating molten rose-coloured barrels. And to think if I hadn’t have searched I never would have found them.
COLOMBIAN SUNSET
SOME RANDOM SNAPS FROM JAKE’S 2011 SOUTH AMERICAN ADVENTURE
22
PERU AT DUSK
HUNTING MUSHROOMS & HIDING FROM MONSTERS
W
INTER IN ADELIADE IS AN EXCITING TIME… the blessed Northerly winds start caressing the South Coast, pubs switch their taps from Cider to Dark Ale and we get a shit load of rain followed by cool sunny days. The last of these changes creates perfect conditions for tiny, slimy mushrooms to start sprouting up out of pine needle covered hills in Adelaide’s south. Most people I have talked to in Adelaide know about these mushrooms but many are reluctant to gorge themselves on these psychotic episode inducing fungi. But rather than blab on here about my view on the subject (which is that magic mushrooms should replace Mars bars in every 7/11) I’m just going to list the pros and cons of magic mushroom hunting and sampling in Adelaide and let you make up your own mind.
PROS: Get some exercise and see some beautiful places you wouldn’t usually see Have a crazy good night laughing your head off Great day out with some friends or possible arvo date… free drugs Legend status amongst your mates CONS: Pick the wrong mushies and end up in hospital getting your stomach pumped Issues with the law Find 0 mushrooms and trek for hours in a wet dark forest Spend the night hiding under your bed covers telling a giant green monster to fuck off Get called a bogan druggy by the babe
24
going to a dress up party on mushrooms is always going to be a laugh
SARA JAYNE PRINCE ADELAIDE PHOTOGRAPHER
One of the first times I met Sara was at my mate’s gig on a balmy night in a dingy bar in Adelaide’s south. It was stinking hot in the bar so I bailed into the beer garden to enjoy an ice cold beer and get some fresh air. I had briefly met Sara a month or so before and I noticed her on the other side of the beer garden. At this stage I didn’t realise she was a passionate and talented photographer, all I knew about her was that she seems to always sport a huge grin and is down to party. She approached me, teeth sparkling and hair bouncing with a cheshire cat like smile plastered across her face. “Hi, I like your tee shirt” she commented. “Cheers… You can wear it if you want?” I replied. “Really? Ok, why not” she said. So we sneekily swapped clothes and I spent the rest of the night in a light green dress crowd surfing and being fingered in the bum by my mates while she bounced around in blue jeans and a massive teeo. Sara is fun, random and smart which she expresses through her photography. I caught up with her the other day and asked her a few questions for the mag...
me and Sara, outfit swap, Glenelg
26
If you like what you see check Sara out on facebook
SARA-JAYNE PRINCE
28
CHAPEL CLUB - PALACE
DIGITALISM - I LOVE YOU, DUDE
Every now and then you will come across a great band that you feel deserve some air-play. Chapel Club; a London indie rock 5 piece recently released their debut album “Palace” and apart from some online hype (mainly on UK sites) they are yet to receive much attention here in Australia. Palace is a great album that is full of potential hits in alternative music circles. The album opens with Surfacing a dark anthem not dissimilar to something by The White Lies with the line “bodies swinging in a sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me” repeated in a haunting manner. It's not completely dark though; there are a lot of up-beat tracks on Palace with some great guitar riffs.
O Maybe I was the first single released for this album and it's a fun track that ponders whether one should “settle down to a quiet life” or go out and “fuck around with someone else’s wife” For a new band I feel Chapel Club have a lot to offer and it will be interesting to see what the future holds for them. For now though Palace gets an honest
6.5/10
30
(is the album name good or shit? Who cares its about the music, dude) Is the second album from the Hamburg twosome. The opening track Stratosphere seems to pull you into the album and in a way gets you ready for the rest of the album, its like “okay here's the new album, get ready ears” its a pulsating lyric-less number that sets the bar in an honest position for the rest of the songs to reach. 2 Hearts is the second single released for the album and it's a new direction for the band. Its an energetic pop song with lyrical help from Sparkaia's Alex Burnett. For most part, the rest of the album follows suit with catchy tracks like Circles & Forrest Gump (feat. Julian Cassablancas). But there is still a few “Idealism” (first album) moments, the first single Blitz and Antibiotics are good examples of this; lyric-less throbbing tracks that would make a gym session or some hard labour pass that little bit quicker. Just Gazin' is definitely something different for the band; an ambient late 90's sounding track that is a good song but just for me doesn’t seem to fit the album. Over all, I like the album but I don’t think anyone will be calling it the album of the year... It has catchy tracks that appeal to a large audience but the audience just isn't begging for more – but I'm sure punters will give it another listen and even enjoy it, dude.
7/10
FOSTER THE PEOPLE supported by Guineafowl Sunday 24th May
Well I should probably shut up about the full venue and talk about the music! If I can be honest (which I can) I don't LOVE Foster The People's album "Torches". Sure it's jam packed with fun happy hits, but I feel it has no edge. For me there is nothing that makes it stand out among the hordes of indie pop groups that are around at the moment, having said that I LOVED the gig on Sunday night. Frankly, it was amazing. Their opening song Warrant had the back half of the room wondering who was providing the vocals for a few seconds until it noticed Mark Foster sitting on a stool playing the keyboard and singing. His vocals skills are incredible, sounding exactly as they do on the album - and not just for the first few songs, for the whole show! A few songs later the five-some tore into Call It What You Want one of the highlights from the album for me and seemingly the rest of the punters. It absofuckingloutely went off and it was really that song that got everyone in the mood for the rest of the songs. During Call It What You Want the band were playing each other’s instruments, Mark Foster was smashing the drum-kit with his own set of sticks and babes were clambering onto their boyfriend’s sore shoulders.
I love it when you don't expect too much from a night out but it turns out to be something great. After a 4 hour middle-of-the-night drive to Yorkes on Friday for a bit of barrel hunting on Saturday morning followed up by way too many beers & jugs of cocktails Saturday night, the last thing I wanted to do was see a band on a Sunday night… Neither of us said it but I know both me and my girl were ready to boycott the gig for a cuddle/fuck session. However, I found my left testicle and with the help of my favourite drug, caffeine, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and even got my froth on for some live tunes. We got to The Gov just as Guineafowl got to the stage. I hadn't heard much from the Unearthed band aside from their song "In Our Circles" which Triple J has been spinning for a while now. I was surprised by the amount of people getting into them and having a boogie to their literally unknown songs, a great thing to see in Adelaide - a city that bands often clip due to the lack of attendees at their gigs. This was definitely not the case tonight: I have NEVER seen a venue this packed! Anywhere! I think they might have oversold the tickets and by the time Foster The People took to the stage The Gov had become a sardine tin full of hipsters and music lovers alike. It’s so nice to see a sold venue on a Sunday night in the middle of winter and I suppose we can thank great bands for that and they can thank us - the punters.
It was smooth sailing from here on in for Foster The People having won over the crowd with their music. They even started to receive a few compliments including, "woo complements" which one fan yelled. Closing their set with Pumped Up Kicks everyone’s favourite and the first song we heard from them which they played flawlessly: almost sounding as if it were being played straight from the record. After about 10 seconds of accelerating hand claps they returned to the stage for the obligatory encore starting off with a surprising cover of Neil Young's classic Heart Of Gold, which went down a treat with the drunkards in the crowd slurring out the lyrics. The set ended perfectly with their second single Helena Beach being banged out as perfectly as Pumped Up Kicks but with the instrument swapping and drum-kit bashing of Call It What You Want. It was one of those gigs that you just don't want to end, no matter how big you went the last couple of nights! If i have one thing negative to say about their performance it is that some of the songs sounded TOO perfect. I like to have a bit of randomness going on in a live set for a bit of excitement, a perfect gig is often one that doesn't go so perfectly. All in all – brilliant! I even bought a t-shirt. 9/10
32
MAROC
sydney boy Luke getting preped for a big night out in Agadir
MAROC
Morocco is a Muslim country on the north western tip of Africa. Its long, narrow geography is bordered by the Atlantic Ocean to the west, the Atlas Mountains to the east and the Alboran Sea to the North. When I think back on the glorious and extremely relaxing 6 weeks I spent in Morocco three words spring to mind: tagines, Germans and hashish. The food is bullshit. It’s everything you imagine it to be: full of flavour, diverse, mouth wateringly tasty and cheap. I only had one bout of food poisoning which of course took hold on the morning which hosted the biggest swell of my trip. Tagines, couscous and Moroccan salads became my staple diet. But ‘western’ food is easily accessible, especially in the more touristy areas. Pizzas, pastas, burgers and all your favourite fast food chains can be found in Morocco’s big cities if your stomach starts feeling home sick. There is a huge range of landscapes to see and activities to do in Morocco. My main focus on this trip was to sample Morocco’s famous surf destinations, including the legendary Anchor Point. Morocco is characterised by long, rolling right hand point breaks. The surfing mecca in Morocco is the tiny, dusk covered town of Taghazout and is where I based myself during my 6 week vacation in the country. This small surf town wasn’t exactly what I expected. My assumption of Taghazout which was moulded by numerous surfing articles was that it would consist of your more adventurous, committed surfers: mainly from Australia and America. However, when I arrived in Tagazout (chauffeured by a Moroccan in a light blue 1982 Mercedes taxi, which I would soon learn are the cause of over 1,000 deaths in Morocco each year) I was welcomed by swarms of young beginner German surfers. These ‘fuck heads’ as they were soon affectionately referred to loved nothing more than dropping in on more experienced surfers. Would you call yourself a surfer when the only ‘wave’ in your whole country is on a 1 foot standing wave on a river which you have to line up to have a go on? The only two good things about German tourists is: 1. The German guys provide entertainment on the beach with their hilarious choice in shitty Hawaiian floral shirts and boardies and
MAROC
2. Most German girls seem to have a life long goal to hook up with Australian guys. There’s a strange situation in regards to drinking in Morocco. Loads of people drink alcohol, but none of the restaurants serve it and bottle shops are hard to come by. At Moroccan restaurants instead of alcohol everyone drinks mint tea. This mint tea is stuipdly sweet, even sweeter than our beloved Farmers Union Iced Coffee. It’s served in decorative, shiny brass tea pots with long skinny spouts and it seems to be a Moroccan custom to pour the sweet, hot tea from the elaborate tea pot into each glass at stupid heights. At one restaurant the waiter placed each glass on the ground and stood on a chair to get maximum height when pouring. This show of skill was met with boisterous cheers and violent high fives upon successful completion. It seemed to me that many Moroccan’s view on alcohol is similar to our view on weed. And our view on alcohol consumption seems to be similar to their view on the smoking of hash. Hash is almost a way of life to many locals and tourists in Morocco. It seems to almost be a form of currency; it’s extremely cheap and accessible. In contrast, booze is expensive and quite hard to come by. Even in Taghazout (which consists of around 70% western tourists) no one and I mean no one sells alcohol. This fact lead myself and my Aussie mates to the billiant idea that we would attempt to become the beer barons of Taghazout; stock piling booze in our beach front apartment and selling it to tourists and locals for exorbitant amounts through our kitchen window. The first phase of the plan went swimmingly. We drove our hire car into the relatively nearby city of Agadir and loaded it up with a tasteful assortment of alcoholic beverages: beers, wines, rum, gin, scotch, vodka and bourbon. We then drove back to our tiled man pad and piled the booze into our empty, quietly humming fridge. The only problem was that we hadn’t done any advertising to the Taghazout populous. We hadn’t informed anyone that we had this stock
سلطألا لابج يف دورقلا
زوملا ئطاش ىلع لبإلا pile of booze that we were willing to sell. So no one came to our kitchen winway to relax after spending the morning cramped in a hot bus. After drinking a dow whispering a request for booze. So, guess what happened to the booze... we few customary mint teas we were ushered down a set of stairs and into a small, fucking drank the whole lot. The next 8 nights were a drunken blur and shit got damp concrete room where a Moroccan woman stood, completely saturated, weird. wearing black tight clothing, filling up a bucket full of steaming hot water. She asked both of us to undress and sit while she washed a concrete bench and filled up more buckets with hot water. So after knowing Timmy for 1 day I found One week into my trip and the surf had been flat the whole time. 2 ft weak as myself in a small, dark, wet room buck naked with the guy. We quickly got over piss beachies were driving me mad so I decided that I would bolt inland to the any feelings of self-consciousness and just went with it. After coping the buckets cultural hub of Marrakesh. The day before leaving I was greeted with a refreshof water to the face and back and having a layer of skin scrubbed from us we ing surprise at the surf camp I was staying at: a non-German accent, in-fact a were instructed to put towels on and go upstairs to another room where we were Queensland accent. After the usual small talk to test that this guy was in-fact a meeted by two massage tables and two smiling Moroccan women. legend and not a rugby loving wanker (which Timmy passed with flying colours) I explained the swell situation to him and he agreed that a 3 day trip to This room looked much more comfortable and inviting, we sprawled out on the Marrakech and the surrounding High Atlas Mountains would be great. tables and let the women cover us with sweet, floral smelling oils. The massage was great but after about ½ an hour the masseuse lifts up my towel and starts So we caught a series of hot, stinky buses to the nation’s capital and quickly bepointing at my knob whispering “massage” raising her eye browns suggestively. came familiar with the famous Marrakech souks (crowded rabbet warren like I stutter and shake my head, “Ummm, no… no Shakram” (Shakram is thank you markets). We stumbled across a traditional hammam which is basically a Moin Arabic). Blood rushed to my cheeks and my forehead was sweating. Meanroccan version of a day spa. In Portugal I had heard from a Belgium bloke that while Timmy is only ½ a meter away and oblivious to what I’ve just been ofthe opportunity to experience a hammam in Morocco cannot be missed. So fered. The rest of the massage was the most awkward 10 min of my life. After we Timmy and I decided that we’d spend the afternoon being pampered. What we thanked them awkwardly, re-dressed and left, I turned to Timmy, my eyes wide didn’t realise is that it is normal for a man to massage you in a hammam for male open and spat out; guests. We weren’t real keen to be washed and massaged by a bloke and so we “Did you get hit up for a wristy?” searched for ½ an hour in an attempt to find a hammam where a woman would “Na man… did you?” Timmy shot back. do the pleasures. Eventually we found one such hammam where we were invited “Yeah… I’m pretty sure” I replied. in for a mint tea. It seemed like a great place to spend the afternoon and a great “Shit, and you turned it down? Why didn’t I get an offer?”
34
MAROC
MAROC
MAROC
MAROC If you haven’t experienced 6 weeks on the Moroccan arid west coast in a town full of German surfers and zero attractive females, let me explain to you the situation. The first couple weeks in Morocco are fantastic. After being in Western Europe for the previous 3 months I was glad to finally have some alcohol free days and spend more time in the water than in bars. However by about the 1 month make I was starting to crack. Hell, let’s be honest here, I was horny as a 14 year old boy at a school swimming carnival! And so girls who used to be 5/10 suddenly become 7 or maybe even an 8/10 after a few beers. It’s like waking up wearing beer goggles every day. So at the end of the fifth week my housemate at the time Timmy suggested getting loose and going to a club in Agadir for the night. Everyone went and got traditional Moroccan shaves, haircuts and purchased the finest cologne 100 Dirhams could buy.
get a beer while a couple of the boys pounced. They had already zeroed in on targets and were clearly on a mission. Before I’d even finished my first beer the lads were back, with their tails between their legs and and the hearts smashed and scattered all over the dance floor. “Mate, they’re all prozzies” was their only comment. “All of them” I queried. “Every single one, trust me mate, we quizzed them all”. However, this was only a speed hump (or shudder bar to all the kiwi readers) in a potentially awesome night. We weren’t going to let a few hundred classy looking prozzies get us down. So we spend the next 5 hours grinding and twirling prostitutes. One of the guys was making out with one of the prozzies in the corner of the club and some how got away without paying apparently due to the language barrier! So by about 4 in the morning we all stumbled out of the club and piled into another excuse of a cab and shared yet another near death experience of a lift home.
I was feeling suck (sick) and I thought I’d get a cab home. A cab pulled up with 3 hot Moroccan babes and a huge man mountain un (in) the front seat. The man mountain sed (said) that I could get a cab ride home and the 3 girls for the equivalent of $40AUD. What’s a guy to do? I had no choice but to take him up on his offer. However, I didn’t have 40 bucks on me so I sed (Said) if he came to Taghazout with me I’d get my wallet from the boy’s car and pay him there (This kiwi had been living out a van with two of his kiwi mates which they had driven from England all the way down to Morocco over a 5 month period and where sleeping in it in Taghazout for the week). We arrived an hour later at the van, it was locked and I didn’t have the keys. The girls said that they would happily retrieve it for me and they then broke into the van to get my wallet. I thanked them and paid the man mountain. At this point I figured I’d gone this far I may as well go all the way. So I was half way through ‘playing cards’ with the 2nd prozzie when the other kiwi lads arrived. They were like, “What The following morning was horrific, luckily the surf the fuck”. I spastically tried to explain the situation was poo so we didn’t feel guilty for watching ‘Take and they simply replied with “cool” and joined in. We him to the Greek’ on repeat and laughing about didn’t realise in our drunken haze until the morning nothing in our stinky hung over state. Then it sud- after but the prozzies had stolen everything from the denly hit us. One of the Kiwi boys left the club only van: our Ipods, cameras, wallets and phones.” an hour after being there... no one knew where he went or where he was. We started to freak and were I guess the moral of this story is: hire a hotel if you’re planning a recon mission to Agadir when in walked going to mess around with prozzies. the Kiwi with a huge bottle of coke and a sorry look on his face. “Mate, what the fuck happened to you last night; we thought you might have been kidnapped!” I questioned.
We all crammed into our man pad and descended on the last of the beer baron stock pile. By 9pm we were all sloshed and messy. We went onto the main drag in Taghazout to find a taxi driver to chauffer us on the 1 hour drive into Agadir. We arrived at the club pumped! Violent high fives were the flavour of the night. The boucers didn’t even check us for ID’s and apparently blond shaggy hair gets you free entry into night clubs in Agadir. We stumbled and rolled down the flight of stairs into a dim, musky smelling, thumping paradise. There were gorgeous Moroccan beauties everywhere! I swaggered over to the bar to The kiwi replied, “Well, I left the club bro because
36
TOP LEFT: MARREKECH MARKETS AT NIGHT BOTTOM LEFT: MOROCCAN OLD BOYS
38
MAROC
TOP RIGHT: ANCHOR POINT BOTTOM RIGHT: PARADISE VALLEY HIKE
Silvey Goldy’s top albums of 2011 The Horrors – Skying Glasvegas – Euphoric//Heartbreak Foster The People – Torches Jack Ladder & The Drm Landers – Hurtsville Frankie and the Heartstrings – Hunger Austra – Feel It Break Friendly Fires - Pala
ARMYthe dark horse Ben ‘Army’ Armstrong is a character; he’s one of a kind. He’s been called many things but a photographer is not one of them. The guy cops a lot of shit but dishes out even more. There isn’t one aspect of his life that his mates won’t have a stab at him about which might be why he’s hardly told anyone that he was pretty into photography for a few years. Come to think of it he’s that quiet about it he may still be into photography. In 2009 Army and Jake were on a trip to Indo together which is where Army took the following photos and Jake wrote the following piece. Prior to this trip Army spent 30 days straight locked in Adelaide hospital testing pharmaceutical drugs, during this drug induced stint I went to visit him a few times and we played a couple games of chess. On these visits I noticed that next to his bed alongside a heart rate monitor Army had a pile of photography books. The following photos are evidence that being trapped in hospital for a month reading photography books can allow you to take some dam fine snaps.
41
ARMYthe dark horse
42
I N D O D O G S I'VE ALWAYS seen in the mangy mongrel dogs of Indonesia, parallels with human beings. The younger ones – the puppies and those equivalent to canine teenagers – while often still incapacitated by some horrid disease, parasite or disfigurement still cling to the hope that there is good in the world and promise for the future. You can see it in their eyes. These Indonesian puppies, they roam around searching for rotting scraps of food in gutters and on the beach, same as their older, crustier compradres. But there's a spring in their step, youthful exuberance and those innocent eyes. If you get a chance take a close look and you'll see. They are too young to comprehend the dire situation they're in – that chances are they'll either perish after a slow painful death from their numerous ailments or be hit by a speeding car or motorbike and be left to die a lonely death in a ditch somewhere. So these puppies, they trot around without a care in the world, playfighting with the other dogs and chasing crabs on the beach. But at a certain point, I'm guessing when they reach the age of about twenty-eight to thirty-five in dog years, they become resigned to the fact that they're fucked. That spring in their step is replaced by aching bones, debilitating skin conditions and major organs shutting down from years of neglect and a tough life on the street. After being trodden on by people and life itself for so long they begin to realise it's all downhill from here and all hope for a better life is lost. And in their sullen, glassy eyes you can see an infinite sadness. It's probably the reason they won't even bat an eyelid, let alone move out the way when you're tearing towards them on your motorbike at eighty clicks an hour. They just don't give a shit anymore. It's the same with humans. I reckon these older dogs that have given up are much like the guy in his 30s or 40s who is stuck in a mundane job and a lifeless marriage and looks around at his mates wondering how he ended up with such a sorry bunch. His best years, his carefree and fun-filled 20s, are behind him and he knows it. You'll find those same depressing eyes on the drunken heads of countless men at the local pub or TAB on any given night. Here's hoping I've still got a fair few puppy years left in me.
Plastic Fantastic You may have heard that Holga is causing quite a stir in the photography world at the moment, and has been for some time. For those of you who are just getting on to the Holga buzz, you may be wondering what all the fuss is about. Well hopefully this will help you on your way. 10 reasons to buy a Holga camera right now: 1. The Price of a Holga 2. Characteristic Light Leaks 3. More Detail On Film 4. Light-weight and easy to carry around 5. The Dreamy Vignetting Holga Lens 6. The Square format 7. The Holga is easy to Hack 8. The Unpredictably Of The Holga Camera 9. Compositional Benefits 10. Above all, its Fun To read more on Holgas visit: toycamerashop.multiply.com/journal/item/2
44
Photo taken using the Holga 120N and 120mm black and white film
Photo Holga 120N and 35mm colour film
46!
failed surf missions
failed surf missions You drive for 4 hours, arrive at the beach at 1am to the soothing sounds of swell tumbling into the shore only to wake up 6 hours later to shit house surf. It’s a sad reality of being one of the few Adelaidians stupid enough to fall in love with surfing. It didn’t take long for me to realise that being a surfer in Adelaide is like being a homo in Afghanistan: there isn’t much of what you’re after on offer. But by this stage I was already hooked. I have a constant itch for the sudden rush of blood to the head that only slotting yourself in a hollow cylindrical tube can provide. I lie awake at night and spend most of the working week drifting off with only the images of perfect, wind-blown A-frames etched into my subconscious. The only relief is to pile up the commy with boards, beers and boys and hit the road in the slim chance that we’ll be met with a carbon copy of the perfection that we’ve dreamed up in our heads. The other day we checked the buoys and noticed the slimmest chance that we could score decent waves at a fickle ledge which has ended the life of my mate’s eardrums and surf boards. We awoke early as the sun was rising to sheer disappointment. All the beaches were closing out and cross shore. But when you’ve been staring at a computer screen all week you’re chomping at the bit to squeeze into your wet wetty in the close to freezing temperatures and get out there. After a couple of hours of pulling into close out after close out and getting thrown from pitching lips into the knee deep shallows I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to paddle in and play around with a camera. It was cold, bone numbingly cold, windy (and not the good type where it’s offshore) and rainy. To top it off six Laird Hamilton wanna-bees were buzzing around towing into 2 foot waves and then hooting and yelling at the top of their lungs, “I just got the sickest pit”. Faggots. Despite the single didgit temperatures, rain and close outs I’m still glad I went. Even if the surf ’s average you can’t beat jumping in a wagon with your mates, talking shit, listing to tunes and having a few laughs. At the end of the day we still had pearly white smiles on our faces and salt crystals on our eye lashes. Satisfied stillness envelopes you and you’re stuck with this goofy looking smile after a surf mission, even if the waves weren’t that good . And it’s that feeling that I’m chasing constantly and what I think defines Adelaide’s surfing community. We have a hunger that you don’t see in surfers from other Australian cities. And as long as I can still paddle out and scratch into a couple I’m gonna keep doing the surf mission, even if it means lucking out occasionally. On the bright side, It’s still a whole load better than playing footy :p