Story
Fare-fucking-well, Latimer Primrose
It’s 2am in Paris. We haven’t slept or eaten properly in over 30 hours and the De Bercy bus station greets us with the scent of dank mould and urine.…
Why I Returned to Timor Leste
The flight from Darwin to Dili takes barely an hour and a half. Cabin service starts before the seatbelt light’s switched off and descent is announced as I’m extracting the…
Secret Diary Of An Au Pair
Screaming, crying, cursing, and shouting. Dried up shit in the toilet, on the loo roll, and on the walls. Toys everywhere. This was my life now. This beautiful Bondi beach…
Yet Still You Wander
“Another trip, then?” “Yep.” “How long’s this one?” “Not sure yet—three months, maybe.” “I can’t get you scripts that’ll cover you for more than two; you’re also going to need…
A Date with Indonesia’s Thriving Punk Scene
The taxi comes to a halt outside Gimme Shelter, an underground rock’n’roll bar in Canggu, Bali. The booze I consumed pulses through my bloodstream and my fried eyes sting and…
Night Fishing in Tokyo
The Sumida river flows through Tokyo the way the memory of Fisherman Yoru (night in Japanese) will course through my head, reminding me about the joys of being alive. Months…
I Fucked Around Like Donna in Mamma Mia, But All I Got Was This Damn UTI
Like many young women who’ve watched the Abba-inspired Mamma Mia! films, I was recently struck by the urge to relocate to Europe and have unprotected sex with three strapping lads before…
I Still Don’t Know Why I Ran With the Bulls
There is nothing noble, nor brave, about running with the bulls. Nothing of the sour smell of drunkenness and strewn-out drunkards in the early Pamplonan morning, the stench of rotten food…
The Indo-Japan Driver Exchange
Prologue Two lanky gentlemen are standing in a visa application line at the Japanese consulate in Delhi. Mr Sajjan: “Mr. Sharma, remind me again why we’re exporting Indian drivers, of…
Journey to the Auckland Islands
“One hand for the ship, one hand for yourself… or two hands for the ship. That’s even better,” the voice boomed through the walls. God, is that you? I thought,…
Teremoking in Saint Petersburg
It’s a glorious spring day in Saint Petersburg, Russia, and the bright restaurant is over half full. Yuri Milokovich pulls a chair out from an unoccupied table, motions to his…
How Not To Change Your Menstrual Cup in an Airport
I’m mid-flight, well into the notorious Sydney-to-Doha 15-hour leg, and I know it’s time to change my menstrual cup. I procrastinate, dreading the tiny cubicle and the terrifying sound of…