So I was staying at this party hostel in the heart of King’s Cross Sydney. Two weeks previous my local friend had taken me to King’s Cross, patted my shoulder and declared that I was now standing in possibly the most dangerous place to in Sydney on a Saturday night. I looked at prissy girls in heels that could kill small animals and thought that no way anyone could run away from danger in those. Apart from drunken brawls, this place was as harmless as my home town. Probably even more harmless, since my home town once was in the top three municipalities in Finland with the most violent crimes in relation to the population number. Now that’s something to be proud of.
Two weeks later I switched hostels and ended up in the core of this oh-so-perilous suburb. I was mildly amused. The most dangerous thing I ever encountered there was hungovers and losing my passport to Gangnam Style – but that’s a whole different story.
|Sydney, Australia. The longer you stare at the thumbs up, the more it turns into finger guns.|
The new hostel was The Cool Thing for The Kool Kids, and they were really, really kool. If you wanted, there was a party every night – and oh boy did I want that! I had been a backpacker for two whole weeks, and I thought that backpackers were the best people in the universe. I was fresh and full of energy. One night we went out to do shots with German people I only met at the bar and whose names I had forgotten by the next tea pot full of green something; the next to a paintball party with pretty much two blinks worth of sleep. (By the way – paint party isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds if you consider the fact I still have remains of paint in some of my things.)
A regular Tuesday night, or Thursday, or Monday, the hostel crew decided it was time for the World Bar again. The night started out great, until the ghosts of last night’s drinks started to creep up to haunt, and one by one they disappeared, until there were three of us. The last two told me they’d go out for cigarettes, but they must have been smoking Hulk-sized ones since I lost sight of them for maybe the next hour. Well, no problema, I’ll just keep dancing. At some point I was going to make my grande escape, but a great song came up and I went 180° and continued dancing. Remember folks – a good song can save a girl’s night.
Still no sight of my friends, thought, There were a lot of guys on the dance floor and at first I thought it was flattering how many of them wanted to dance with me, but I just couldn’t lose them. No matter where I went, along came an arm to twirl me or swirl me, until two gentlemen in their (rather sweaty) armours appeared from the party crowd and told me they could pretend to be my boyfriends if there was any more hassle. (Which, of course, is any independent girl’s nightmare – to have to play the damsel in distress. But I was a damsel and there was slight distress, so what the heck.)
|The World Bar; Sydney, Australia|
So these two became my force field under which I could enjoy a night of shenanigans. One of them had a girl’s name and the other a name of a character from Lost and I couldn’t stop bantering them for that. At some point a new DJ was announced, and the crowd went bonkers. The other guy yelled a name at me and after the third time of gloriously failing to hear anything I just tried to look like this was the best thing ever. I didn’t mind the music much – it was all rap, and I’m not a great fan of rap – but there seemed to be a general air of excitedness, people taking pictures and having a jolly good time. So I just went with it.
After the bar closed, we went to another for one more hour for dessert whiskeys like all cool people do, and this is where I finally could properly hear the boys say the name of Usain bloody Bolt. The fastest man in the world just dropped some Jay-Z tracks my way, no biggie. Also, no pictures.
What do we learn from here? A) Do your research and find out who is playing beforehand. B) Learn to recognise famous people. C) Ge better ears.
Also, I swear that deejaying must be a word by now.