Ten Years On: Moving Overseas

A Kunstmuseum. That's what's in Liechtenstein - a kunstmuseum.

Before anyone writes to complain, I should point out that the German word for art is "kunst", so a kunstmuseum is quite literally an art museum. So stop tittering, it's culture you heathens.

I got to learn a few fun facts about Europe during my last few months in Port Douglas. As part of the preparation for the training trip we had to complete worksheets about each country and city we travelled to. This would make building our spiels a hell of a lot easier as well as forcing you to do some fairly decent research. It was while doing this that I found out about the aforementioned Kunstmuseum, as well as that just about every country in Western Europe produced sugar beets as a major crop. How this could possibly be interesting is beyond me, but the boss wanted it so I wrote it down.

While the workload wasn't all that great - 11 country and 31 city information sheets completed - it was important to me to complete it all before I left Port Douglas as I knew that when I got to the UK my focus wouldn't be on filling out pieces of paper so much as bending the elbow at the pub. It would also give me something to read on the long flight over.

The remainder of my time in Port Douglas went in a blur. Highlights included a Christmas trip out to Mossman Gorge, where while relaxing in the rockpool I saw the most unbelievable sight. Ahead of me the swimming hole dropped off to reveal the most stunning vista of rainforest-covered hills, a scene that never failed to put me in a great frame of mind. In the foreground this time around though, three hands holding VB cans emerged from the water as some travellers looked to get their beers across to the other side.


EVENTUALLY it was time to leave the tropics for a new life overseas. I had a return ticket to London even though I wasn't sure if I would indeed be back - call it the "in case of emergency break glass" back-up plan. Mind you, that back-up went out the door when I discovered the crumbled remains of the paper ticket in my jacket after doing my first bit of laundry in the UK.

Was it a sign? I didn't care - I was having way too much fun. I'd ended up back at the Generator in London after a week at a mate's place in Cheltenham and got to know a few of the crew in our dorm. We were mostly young Australians and Kiwis that took full advantage of the £1 pints before 9pm. At one point we'd all gone up to the bar and ordered the maximum four each just before 9; soon afterwards bar staff circled the bar trying to find where all their pint glasses has disappeared to.

Then March 28 was upon me. I moved from the Generator to the St Christopher's at London Bridge, then got ready for the first official day of training.

How would training go? Would I get along with everyone? Would I be able to handle it?