Hi there! I'm sitting in a cute little London apartment. I’m in Stoke Newington to be precise. It is the first and third stop on my grand tour of geographical and personal discovery. My name is Jen Kerrison. I'm a 29-year-old Sydney sister and I've been living, drinking, working and playing in Sydney's pink bubble for just about my whole 29 years. A few years ago it became glaringly obvious to me that I really needed to get out and see the world. Spread my wings as they say. So with my life's savings, backpack, friendly smile, broken heart and the sexiest hiking boots money could buy, two weeks ago I took flight from Sydney airport. Destination: The world!
One of my oldest and best friends generously gave me this trip as a gift. Poopy works for Qantas and, as a way to get rid of me, listed me as her travel companion, which entitles me to any international or domestic flight of my choice for a meagre 10% of the usual price! However, there is a catch ... with this massive saving also comes the fact that every flight I book is not guaranteed. That's right, no matter where I end up in the world, no matter where I want to go, every flight I want is stand-by all the way, baby. I expect to be sleeping in most of the world’s international airports over the next few years. For a control freak like me, that’s the very first challenge. But this trip is all about letting go, so bring it on I say!
All the goodbyes done, all the parties partied, I found myself sitting at Sydney airport with Jodie, my ex-girlfriend, waiting to find out if I was on my 5.50pm flight to London via Singapore. The flight as over booked, and there were 13 staff including me waiting to find out who was going to get lucky and make it to the mother country. Then, in the slurred slow motion of a tape being caught in the tape deck I heard a woman from the airline call my name! With my nerves so great about what I was about to embark on, I couldn’t help wonder if I’d won or lost this crazy game. Not quite sure, I hurried over to her and took my boarding pass. She smiled at me and said “Go as quickly as you can to gate 31, the flight is about to close.”
We ran as fast as we could to the departure gate, had one last kiss and a wee cry, then I was off through the glass doors. I half expected there to be a golf buggy waiting for me on the other side as it felt like I’d just been evicted from the Big Brother house and had only seconds to exit! No golf buggy in site, no roaring crowds, so I made my quickly past the customs desk and to the gate.
I boarded and wandered through the aeroplane looking for my seat. A hosty noticed the boarding pass in my hand and stopped me. “Oh honey, you're in the wrong area” she guffawed. “You really don’t want to be down here with these guys.” And with this, she ushered me back up to the front of the plane, all the way to BUSINESS CLASS! Whoop! It was then that I knew I’d been evicted from the Big Brother house because those Qantas sky beds are almost, just almost, as good as sitting next to Gretsky on the BB couch! Seriously, my place in the inner west was no hovel, but we didn’t have lounges at home as comfy as those sky beds! All of a sudden the tears subsided and the red wine kicked in. I felt I was in the right place at the right time and everything was going to work out for me in the big wide world.
Thirty hours later, after a few feeds of gourmet Neil Perry cuisine and red wine of a quality far better than my usual BWS clean skins, I arrived at Heathrow. God, I felt like I was an explorer facing the final frontier! My pink Sydney bubble had finally burst! I honestly had never felt more Australian; I even stopped to watch an ad for the Wallabies with patriotic interest. Remembering how much I hate the patriarchy, including Rugby, I flinched and soldiered off to find my way to meet Ves, my host of hosts.
London’s pink district, Soho, is nothing like I had imagined. Despite my vast and wild imagination I had mistakenly pictured Oxford Street. There is a quaint little Pommy pub on every corner and on not one could I find any of the usual homo tribal rainbow markings informing me it was a safe, or even welcoming space. Wandering the cold drab streets of London looking for a place to warm my liver, I was amazed at how few people appeared or sounded to be London locals. London is a cultural melting pot and the sounds and streetscapes really had me feeling like I had just been beamed onto the set of The Bill. Then I found it, my first London lezzo bar, appropriately called ‘First Out’! (52 Giles Street). After some quick calls I caught up with some Aussie mates who live in London, and we were off like a bride’s nightie on my first London pub crawl! The Candy Bar, GAY, the Edge and Rush. All with in a short walk of one another, and all catering a very different and discerning lady crowd. Be careful when boozing on in London though, with our exchange rate, you can quickly drink your world trip budget in one night!
The pubs in London aren’t big and ostentatious like our Sydney pubs; each is more like a café that serves grog. It allows each different venue to have its own unique style. I really think Sydney is going to benefit from Clover’s new licensing laws if we can start to see smaller spaces pop up like London’s.
With London conquered, I was off to Gay Paris! Where I drank and ate and smoked like a true Parisian! Word to the wise, Paris is a city for lovers, smokers and coffee drinkers. It’s not where you want to head if you’re trying not to avoid these three delicious pleasures.
I wasn’t sure what to expect on my fist visit to the city of love, the most romantic city in the world, but when I walked up the stairs of the Metro at St Germain Des Pres, I was overcome with a visceral reaction, an emotion that I’ve still not been able to label.
Every corner you turn in Paris takes you to a new set of the movie you are starring in! Paris caters to every sense, with the sights, sounds and smells something to behold. Music fills the subways (called the Paris metro), streets and of course in this city's countless jazz bars. I couldn’t help but wonder if music is a compulsory subject in their schools as every person seems to have a fine appreciation of the smooth sounds of the sax and the very Parisian sounds of the piano accordion! Paris's views leave your eyes stinging! The vista of this 2000-year-old city from the butte, Montmartre home of the famed Moulin rouge, stops you in your tracks, as do the Parisian women! Let me tell you, even the ugly people in this town are beautiful!
This city has the distinct aroma of coffee, cheese, bread or cigarettes. And, no person is this city is scent neutral; if you live in Paris, there is a law that you must leave the house each morning smelling of either designer perfume or body odour!
Next stop Latin America: cold cervesas and lezzos who all look like Carmen (bring her back The L word!) I’ll be blogging again around 20 January, so check in while I keep you up to date with my shenanigans as I cruise through Central and South America. I hear it snows all year round down there for only aroundAUD$2! I may well be writing to you from a Bolivian jail, but I’ll be in touch regardless.
Have a rocking warm Christmas, love your loved ones hard and have lots of fun!
Toodle pip!
Kerro
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Hi there! I'm sitting in a cute little London apartment. I’m in Stoke Newington to be precise. It is the first and third stop on my grand tour of geographical and personal discovery. My name is Jen Kerrison. I'm a 29-year-old Sydney sister and I've been living, drinking, working and playing in Sydney's pink bubble for just about my whole 29 years. A few years ago it became glaringly obvious to me that I really needed to get out and see the world. Spread my wings as they say. So with my life's savings, backpack, friendly smile, broken heart and the sexiest hiking boots money could buy, two weeks ago I took flight from Sydney airport. Destination: The world!
We ran as fast as we could to the departure gate, had one last kiss and a wee cry, then I was off through the glass doors. I half expected there to be a golf buggy waiting for me on the other side as it felt like I’d just been evicted from the Big Brother house and had only seconds to exit! No golf buggy in site, no roaring crowds, so I made my quickly past the customs desk and to the gate. 
With London conquered, I was off to Gay Paris! Where I drank and ate and smoked like a true Parisian! Word to the wise, Paris is a city for lovers, smokers and coffee drinkers. It’s not where you want to head if you’re trying not to avoid these three delicious pleasures. 
