In the land of Plenty.

Watching the sunrise on Cottesloe beach, six a clock in a shady dawn. I see the kids having the time of their life, just riding waves and the elders going for their morning walks, it's so beautiful that I just have to cry. Listening to the most amazing tracks of Arcade Fire, watching the waves greet the shore. I smile as the locals pass me by.

Waking up in the early am, I am confused as the night lies quiet above me. I should've trusted the moon as I wandered off the traintracks, the moon would never lie to me. The sweat on my back has dried and the wind has been hazzeling me for hours, it makes for a very chilly promanade. When my legs are broken, my shoulders are sore as fuck, my brain hyper active and finally I find what I was looking for. Very tired and very hungry I beg the manager of the Ocean Beach Backpackers for a room, he smiles and says: "Well of course mate!"

It is hard to appreciate your origin when you know you can't go back, you love your country and your friends there, but it's just fucking shit. Here they care about what you do, they honestly care about things. If you throw bottles in the ocean or on the beach, you'll get a fine, if you make a bonfire on the beach, you'll get fucking deported. They just love this place, as does everyone who visits. Everyone, accept the Abbos, are just immigrants moaching of the island. All the people that I come a across are all travelers in some way of another, we are the same in the eyes of the government, equals, as we try to find our own little place in the big wild west. Call it New California, call it what you will, this country is growing like crazy, it will be huge some day, fucking humongous.

And in time, I will have my piece of it...