Sunny days, long nights

Please note: Parts of this blog that are bolded have been 'edited' for quality and classification concerns. If you are reading this, you are also entering into an agreement not to tell my beautiful, innocent nonna anything incriminating.

I come to you today from my Chicago hostel 'the getaway', fresh from a long run along the North Avenue Beach, feeling fatigued, old, a little sun burnt and, most importantly, happy. Content.

I have a really, really good feeling about this place.

Today is my first day on the east coast and what should be a whole new experience compared to the last two weeks spent under the sun and bright lights of the west coast and Las Vegas.

My time on the west coast was like one really long Beach Boys song.

San Diego provided everything I hoped it would. Beaches, new friends, great times with old contiki friends AJ DePaolo and Max Carpinelli and an intimate hostel that featured poker nights, pub crawls and enough drinking games to permanently damage my liver.



Los Angeles provided all of the cheesy tourist attractions, crazy people, beautiful sights, another good hostel, fun theme parks and more great people.

I've passed the halfway point.

My bank account is just holding its head above the water, my suitcase has just about kicked the bucket and my t-shirts are beginning to look like they've been washed by a 25-year-old guy with no idea about how to correctly use a washer and dryer. Despite that, Holiday Dom and I are soldiering on.

I was sitting in a restaurant last night, looking at a slightly out-of-shape American guy, who was holding hands with his beautiful girlfriend.
While I sat there, trying my best not to storm over there and shake his hand, I had a thought.

This guy, who was also sporting a ponytail and wearing a Star Trek t-shirt, has clearly used all of his luck (or money) in life getting that amazing girl, who had a smile that lit up the whole room... have I used up all of my luck on this trip? Or can I carry this on for a while longer?




Time (and maybe a second Collingwood premiership in five weeks time) will tell.

Talking of the need for luck, I turn to my four days in Las Vegas... what I remember of them.

After a month of solo travel, I was joined by my cousin Ross Marotta in Los Angeles and armed with enthusiasm, pluck and that excitement that I now know comes from ignorance and stupidity - we flew out of LA and on to Vegas early on the morning of August 28.

I think the best way to provide a commentary of the trip is in running diary form. Without further adue...

Day 1

10am: Arrive in Las Vegas. We are greeted by slot machines, excited elderly people armed with their pensions and advertising for machine guns, sex shows and David Copperfield - that was all before we can make it out of the airport.

Arrive at the world-famous Bellagio.


How can I put this in perspective... after four weeks of staying in hostels, sharing bathrooms, bunk beds, mysterious smells and 'do it yourself' breakfasts, this hotel was what I'd imagine heaven to be like. The artwork and surroundings were intricate and breathtaking, the service was beyond anything I've seen and the lobby was filled with people in quiet awe.

12pm: After doing a few adult things like jumping on the bed and trying on the robes, we decide that it's time to gamble.

12.34pm: We get drinks for free at the table. Dear lord in heaven, we get drinks for free at the table!

4pm: After a short stint of gambling and a high-priced lunch in which we paid $8 for a glass of tap water, we head out for a bit of shopping and spend my some of my first winnings.




It's at this stage that we got a sharp reminder that we are in a city that's been crammed into a desert. It has to be at least 45 degrees (celsius) outside. The heat hits us like a punch to the face.

6pm: Now, the plan was to have a little flutter, then go to a local night club... but we never got that far.

7pm: After tracking at about even for an hour and enjoying the free drinks, I go on the run to end all runs. Every decision was the right one, chipping up was always the right move, every big bet pays off and somehow, in amongst bumping fists with the dealer, celebrating with the rest of the table and tipping everyone that came within five metres of me, I look down and see that I'm around one thousand dollars up.

10.22pm: As we bump fists with the dealer, she remarks on how soft Ross' hands are. For the rest of the night he was 'soft hands' Marotta.

10.40pm: I become 'that guy' at the table. I can't lose. I've never had a run like this in my life. Everything I touch turns to black jack. I'm in the gambling zone. We are not leaving this table to go to any night clubs. I'm not leaving this table ever again. I'm going to buy a house and raise my kids at this table.

12.30pm: The casino decided that enough was enough and changed dealers on me. Around $1200 in winnings turned into around $900 so it was time to see what else the town has on offer.



1am: So, armed with a little over $900, free drinks and a high from a night of fun and success, Ross and I decide that enough is enough for one night and that we should hit the sack early. I have a few glasses of water to make sure I'm not too dehydrated, I then stand up and complete my straight and competent walk back to my room. We don't go anywhere else, I don't spend any of my winnings on silly things.

Day 2

11.30am: Where am I? Why is there an un-eaten pizza over there? What time is it?

12pm: After having the night recounted to me and finding most of my $900 in winnings still intact, I decide that it would be a good idea to take advantage of the lavish hotel gymnasium, which is complimentary to guests.

Doing a workout the morning after your first night in Vegas? Mistake.

4pm: After some more rest and a little gambling, we hit up the hotel buffet.
Following weeks of Subway, hostel barbecues, cheeseburgers and whatever the closest vending machine has to offer, this buffet was like a gift from God. Lobster, pastas, prawns, juicy steaks, fresh broccoli - I filled my plate three times and only stopped eating when the button on my pants broke.

7pm: We get ready for The Lion King Musical. Luckily enough, the show was in town and it's something I've always wanted to see.

Good sign.

The show is amazing. The intricate costumes, the atmosphere, the performance - the whole thing transformed me into an excited 8-year-old kid again. After the show finishes, we head back to the Bellagio.




10.30pm: More free drinks, more gambling. It's at this stage that I realise how much fun it is to gamble with the casino's money. That big win on the first night has allowed me to have stress-free fun in a place that can easily eat up your life savings in a haze of drinking, attractive waitresses and the hope of hitting that jackpot.

11pm: Ross returns from the ATM: "Even the bloody ATM machines, the one machine that is SUPPOSE to give me money, won't do it. I'm done for the night."

Day 3

5am: "Dom, wake up. Dom... it's 5am. Get up."

5.50am: With the winnings from the first night, I was able to comfortably afford a limo and helicopter service that would fly us over the city and on to the Grand Canyon.

The limo arrives at 6am to pick us up and we pile in like a bunch of excited, sleep deprived, hungover primary school kids.




7am: After checking in at the airport, we meet our pilot and I bravely get in the helicopter.



The flying over, then landing inside, the Grand Canyon is one of the best things I've done with my life.



Once you reach the floor of the canyon, there are no need for words. You shouldn't waste any time talking when you have to take in the perfection of the natural phenomena. The pictures taken will never do the site true justice, but God help me, I thought I'd try anyway.

A small meal is consumed and we confidently get back in the helicopter and fly back to the strip.

10.30am: With the last night in town ahead of us, we catch up on sleep and re-charge the batteries for one last big night.

7pm: Starting our tour of all the hotels and casinos on the strip, we make it around to three or four before settling in at the Paris Hotel, playing black jack with dealers that were modestly dressed women.

4am: After five solid hours of drinking and gambling, it's time to go. Vegas is done. We head back to our rooms and catch our last few hours of sleep before jetting out of town the next morning.


Vegas. In one small dose, I had an amazing time that I'll never forget. But even though there was so much we didn't do, staying there for any longer than three nights would be too much. Too much on my body, too much on my wallet, too much for my sense of decency.

There is just too much of whatever you want on offer. There's a reason why everyone walks around with that look of quiet awe - Vegas is a fantasy world that we aren't suppose to experience in any kind of extended dose, unless, like the Star Trek fan with the ponytail, you have a lot of luck on your side.

Imagine

The problem with writing about your travels is prioritising your stories and deciding what's worthy.

I could write about individual experiences over the couple of weeks, talking about all the sights, attractions and people, but I'd end up with something 6000 words long.

So the question becomes, what do I write about? What makes the cut?

The 35 minutes of panic and horror at the Seattle International Train Station I experienced when I thought I had lost my passport? Or the embarrassing place I found it after notifying security?

The mystery surrounding my suitcase. How is it getting heavier each day when I haven't actually added any items to the luggage?

What about the incredible tale of getting into San Francisco's Alcatraz prison despite it being completely booked out for a month in advance?

I think airports, flying, delays, getting through US customs and how to keep yourself busy while waiting is probably worth a blog all on it's own for another day.

No, I think I'll save those tales and just remain really generic and aimless like usual.

I write to you today from the floor in one of the hallways of my San Diego hostel - Lucky D's.

The hangover I'm nursing is the stuff of legend. I have sore spots on my body, but no idea where they've come from. The German girl next to me, Lina, has been skyping her dad back home.

German is such a beautiful, angry language.

Whoever is running the hostel has been playing the soundtrack to my life from 2006-2008. It's just been one amazing song after another. Appropriately, John Lennon's Imagine just came on. If I didn't think I'd throw up from the effort, I'd probably get up and break into song.

Imagine all the people, living for today.

Lina tells me that the movie Up is playing in the common room. One of my inspirations for adventure and travel.

Good sign.

I'm now past the three week mark of the trip and I've had a revelation.

This is it.

This is that period of time that I'll look back on for the rest of my life as my prime.

The escape, the fun, the life lessons... I'll never top this.

Sure, one day, maybe, if I can trick a girl into taking me, there could be kids, houses and a goldfish that we'll forget to feed. But, as far as adventures go, I don't know how to top this. I don't know how to go back to the rat race after living like this.

The US has certainly been a different experience to Canada, but no less fun.

The buildings are bigger, the cars are bigger, the servings of food are bigger and, by extension, some of the people are a LOT bigger, but I've felt incredibly welcome everywhere I go and certainly enjoyed the cheap(er) food and drinks.

My ever-expanding stomach says hi.

Seattle provided great sights, good people and a solid platform into the west coast.

San Francisco provided some of the best people I've met on the trip and a vibrant city filled with fun.

Early days in San Diego have been amazing. It's going to be tough to leave.

The most exciting thing is that I feel this way and I may be yet to reach the best part. Vegas, LA, NY and the east coast are still to come.

The good signs have continued to come. Things on the list have fallen into place.
Apart from a few cold days in San Francisco, the weather has been perfect.

I have no one to argue with. Anger, frustration, depression - I left those emotions somewhere on the plane between Melbourne and Toronto.

My meager attempts to travel semi-healthy have fallen away. Subway has been replaced by cheese burgers. Water replaced by "your coldest beer please" and exercise replaced with hangover recovery.

My body and I are not on great terms right now. It's disappointed that I fell asleep on a Vancouver beach without sunscreen on. It's angry I keep drinking and eating. It doesn't appreciate the sleep deprivation.


So, I made a compromise. I bought a pair of runners and in doing that, I've made another discovery.

Running in a foreign city turns a normal, unfit person like myself into a world-class athlete.

I no longer feel pain when I hit the 10km mark. How could I when I look to my right and see a sunset, beautiful park or marina.

My lungs take in more air when the backdrop is not a familiar, depressing track in Cranbourne.

I don't need to convince myself to push on anymore - I have to convince myself to stop.

I imagine this is how Forrest Gump must have felt when he went on his journey.

All this talk of exercise has made me hungry. There is a sports bar and cheese burger with my name on it downstairs.

Next stop: Vegas baby.

Me time

Whether it's in sport or life in general, when you have a dream start, things have a way of slowing down.

I've been waiting for my trip to slow down, but it hasn't happened.

This week there is no sporting brilliance, long-lost family or old friends to write about, but, against the odds, the fun has raged on.

I've found myself running out of words I can use to describe the experience.

The one that comes to mind now is overwhelmed.

The fun, excitement, adventure - it's all happened so fast and with such intensity that it's hard to take in.

I think travel is one of the only things adults can do to capture what it's like to be a child again. You know, if a child drank and ate too much and spent money like it was going out of fashion. When we grow up, we stop experiencing things for the first time. Travel is the best way I know that can get that back.

Three weeks on the US west coast awaits. The tour will feature stops in Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, LA, San Diego and Las Vegas.

As I type now, I'm on a train from Vancouver to Seattle. My Canadian stay is temporarily over.



This is one hell of a train ride. Watching the sun slowly set on a coast lined with soaring pine trees and cosy little towns is a thing of beauty, as is having wifi and cushioned seats.

The guy on the seat next to me, Cameron from 'Seaaattle', has flaunted every 'stop talking to me' sign I could put up. Wearing headphones didn't work, reading a book didn't work and trying to look busy on the laptop hasn't worked. After the third time he accidentally spat in my face while asking me questions about kangaroos and koalas, like those jokes were a new concept he just thought up, I got up and went to the dining car.



After six days of fun in Vancouver meeting great people, if Cameron is my punishment, i'll happily cop it on the chin, especially if I have a view like this one when I look to my right -->

Canada, I am in your debt. Don't ask me for any money though because I've spent it all.

Toronto was followed by a stay in the picturesque Montreal, then the fun of Vancouver. Again, I've been able to find good people to spend my nights with and again, I've been able to entertain myself during moments of solitude with beaches, restaurants, fireworks, exploring and some unbelievable sights along the way.




Things on 'The List' are slowly and entertainingly getting ticked off one by one. I'll save those tales for the final blog.

Now, after an amazing two weeks, I can provide all the cliches that everyone has heard before.

I'm learning about myself. I'm inspired. I'm free. I know it all has to end so I'm enjoying every moment.. etc etc etc..

That's all true and when it does happen, it's an amazing experience. But, it's the other things that I'm picking up along the way that interest me just as much.

These are some of life's new lessons that spring to mind.

Self reliance - Dominic Ciconte is the only person I can rely on to ensure I make my next flight. There is no one to bail me out. Ciconte is the only person who can make sure I stick to a semi-reasonable budget. He is the only person that can help in times of crisis.

This is the same guy who could get lost driving in a car park. It's the same guy who has 'misplaced' his wallet three times in the last 18 months. I've seen him panic, crawl into the fetal position and weep on many occasions.

Is he trustworthy?

To say I'm sceptical is an understatement, but so far, touch wood, he's doing ok.

Photography - There are no words to describe the beauty of a photo that features my shoulder, a close up of my face and an out-of-focus landmark in the background. Can't wait to show you all.

Freedom - It's liberating to wake up every morning, have no responsibilities or commitments and then go and do whatever I want for the day.

There is no compromises, no debates, no deadlines, no rules (except the legal ones set by the Government) no limits and no one to answer to. It's just me.

Rat race? What rat race?


Solitude - Despite all the friends you make, the nature of travel is that eventually you have to move on. More often than not, you're alone. Alone with your thoughts, alone with a book or alone with your music.
Being alone is never fun, but getting past the clingy attachments and need to be constantly surrounded by family and friends is also a good thing. It makes you appreciate the time you spend with them more.

Carpe diem - Actually taking moments to stop, breathe and think about where you are and how you got there can be inspiring.
The sights are beautiful, the drinking is fun, the people are great, but it's those little moments in between the bigger ones that make traveling worth the trouble. Those are the moments you have to seize.

The best moments of this trip, for me, will never make their way on to facebook for everyone to see. I won't be able to do them justice when I try to convey them through dance, as I like to do with most of my stories.

And with that point comes the pitfall of solo travel.

I don't get to share.

Ample 'me time' is part and parcel of the gig.


Sometimes, unfortunately, maybe because of body odor or horrible personality, it's just me.

When I see parents walking their child on a leash like a dog, when I see a homeless man with an hilarious sign that reads "smile if you masturbate, then give me money", when I trip over nothing and eat cement in front of a big crowd of people (may or may not have happened) I can't turn to my left and laugh about it with anyone.

I still think travel is a game for couples. I know this because I see them everywhere - asking me to take a picture for them.

There is only so many sunsets, waterfalls and romantic moments a single solo traveler can take!

But, in the big scheme of things, those moments are a very, very small price to pay.

I'd take them over Cameron.

Good sign

I'm a "It was meant to be" kind of guy.

I like to look for life's little signs to help justify my big decisions.

This year, more than any other, has been a year for some pretty big decisions - going overseas, resigning at work, ending my delicious relationship with KFC and a litany of others.

I'm slowly building my way up to responsible adult decisions. It's all about baby steps.

Sometimes you can get all the positive signs in the world and the end result is still heartbreaking. But, if you're willing to follow them, they will look after you more often than not.

Now, when I say signs, I'm not talking about the alien crop-circle movie starring Mel Gibson that no one should ever watch on a farm, at night, alone with the lights off like I did...

I'm talking about the perfectly-timed song in the background that speaks to you, chance encounters with people thought long gone, personal messages within advertising or the right quote at the right time.

If you're paying attention, these signs should make you pause, tilt your head to the right and rub your chin. Smoking a pipe and having a long white beard is optional.

So, after arriving in Toronto for the first leg of the trip four days ago, I was looking for signs to convince me that the trip would be a success. That I wouldn't regret another big decision.

Toronto delivered.


The city provided a benchmark for fun that will be tough to top. I don't really know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

In amongst the beauty, the hospitality of the people, the incredible sights, the vibrant atmosphere, the jaw-dropping power of Niagara Falls, the drinks, the girls, the partying and the sleep deprivation were a few signs worth sharing.

The friends, the family and the catch.

The friends
If you're willing to sacrifice some privacy, some sleep and some water pressure during a shower, hostels will reward you with like-minded people, new friends... and the occasional bed bug.
To be back in an environment where everyone is free from responsibility and looking for adventure is liberating.
Instead of being in a shared room with a group of three or four friends and having to weasel my way into picking up some drinking buddies, I found myself in a room with two lads in the same boat as me - travelling alone. An Englishman, an Irishman and Aussie - no one understood us, but we had a ripping time.


On top of this, I'm treated to the amazing hospitality of Canadian friends made while travelling through Europe two years ago. Nadine Green, Andrew Brandt, take a bow - They absolutely went above and beyond to show me an amazing time. Couldn't have asked for better tour guides. I was picked up at the airport at 1am, wasn't allowed to pay for anything despite my protests and was given a 'behind the scenes' tour of the city.

Good sign.



The family

Travelling alone for 60 days, I was sure I would be saying goodbye to a decent home-cooked meal and the fun banter of Italian relatives trying to one-up each other around a table until I got home.

How wrong I was.

Through the magic of Facebook, we found direct relatives that lived in Toronto some time ago and I was lucky enough to stay in touch and meet up with them when I arrived.
Tom Ciconte, his wife Liz and son Luke picked me up On Saturday and drove me out to another relative's birthday party near Niagara.

With a little research, Tom had informed me that we were related directly through our grandfathers, who were brothers.

When we got to the party, I was introduced to the birthday boy, Richard Paola, who, somehow, recognised me.

"You're Gino's boy right?" he asks casually.
"What!!?? How do you know dad?"

Turns out Richard had visited Melbourne 20 years ago, visited all of the family and took an interest in following the entire family tree. It was incredible to listen to a relative in another country who you've never meet talk about relatives you grew up with.


The night was fantastic, I felt right at home, laughed all night and didn't want to leave.

Canadians just know how to host.

Good sign.

The catch

This is the sign to beat all signs. It's actually more of an open slap to the face. I'll never top this for as long as I live.

Nadine and Andrew surprised me with a baseball game on my first day in the city. The Toronto Blue Jays were hosting the Baltimore Orioles at Rogers Stadium, which is an incredible sight at night with the CN Tower in the background.
After getting a pre-game beer at a nearby sports bar, we arrived at the beginning of the second inning and the Blue Jays were batting.
Our seats were incredible. Second level above home plate, cushion seats, beer and food a few metres away.
As we sat down, we quickly saw one batter walked. A Blue Jay named Eric Thames came to the plate. The first two pitches were balls, the third was a foul ball hit hard in our direction.


As soon as it came off the bat, I knew it was mine. I stood up, beer in left hand and caught the ball with my right hand clean as a whistle. Those who have seen me field in cricket may not believe it, but it happened. I plucked the ball clean with one hand, without dropping a sip of my beer.

The reality of what happened took a few seconds to register. My first baseball game, the fourth pitch I see and I catch a foul ball. The crowd around us cheered, we laughed and I stared at the ball in disbelief.
Nadine and Andrew were on the phone, shocked, telling family and friends. I had a quick chat with Andrew's dad that went something like this:
"Ive been going to baseball games my whole life and I've never caught a foul ball. My father went to baseball games his whole life and never caught a foul ball. You sit down for your first at-bat and catch one straight away! Where's the justice?"



First night of the trip and I end up with a souvenir that I will cherish for life.



Almost like it was meant to be.

I don't want to jinx anything, but...

Good sign.

A holiday from real

As I sit at home, unemployed, bored senseless, watching my bank account take more hits than a girl dating Chris Brown, I feel the time is right for the self-indulgence of a blog.

Dom still has work to do to become an adult - revelation #32: It's one thing to make big life decisions. It's a whole other thing to actually follow through and live with them.

That, unfortunately, is the reality I now face after turning my life upside down in the pursuit, foolish or not, of inspiration during my holiday.

The first step before taking a long holiday: Unemployment.

Unemployment. The word itself is shameful to say.

For many people, a job isn't just about a wage and 9-5, it's how we define ourselves, it's how we differentiate ourselves, it's how we give our lives meaning. You don't even have to like your job, a purpose and goal will do for most.

The alternative is not a pretty picture.

Sure, my decision was made with a holiday in mind and I won't have to worry about finding work for a few months yet, but this preview of what's to come is not an attractive one.

I knew unemployment would eat into confidence and identity, but I never realised how much it would sap energy levels.

Doing nothing is incredibly tiring.

Today I made one phone call to my insurance company and wrote an email to a friend. I had to sit down afterwards and have a drink of water because of the unbridled effort it had taken.

For the past four years, I dreamt of sleeping in till 11am and watching DVD's in my trackies till the sun went down. Let me tell you, that gets old after about two days.

Laziness is creeping in. You know you're becoming a lazy person when you start to justify and believe your own lies.

You were right not to get off the couch for three hours, that spider on the ceiling could have been provoked by movement. You were right not to go for that run, you could have caught a cold. It's normal to wear the same trackies for four days in a row...

Goals you set for yourself while unemployed are so much smaller. Things you would usually cram into two hours on a Saturday all of a sudden take the best part of nine hours. "Today I'm going to get my hair cut and walk the dog. May god have mercy on my soul."

I'm needy, I'm lonely and I have way too much time alone with my thoughts. I feel like these are the pre-requisites to a flaming skull tattoo or mental breakdown.

The second step of a big holiday: Remembering why you planned the big holiday.

Amid all the planning, last-minute booking and reflection on everything I'll be missing while I'm gone, doubt had crept in.

What if this turns out to be a flop? What if I can't do it on my own? What if they find the 72kgs of cocaine strapped to my waist?

There was even a time when I didn’t want to go. Things were piling up that I couldn’t leave behind, change was scary and I had everything I wanted at home.

It's been so long since I travelled that I forgot why I wanted to do it.

One day, when I’m an old man, I'll wake up, pee four times in 15 minutes, then, I won't wonder what it would have been like to travel the world in the prime of my life. After I'm finished not wondering, I'll pull my pants up to my waist, complain about the younger generation and be genuinely concerned about a report on dodgy supermarket meat I watched on A Current Affair.

Apart from the adventure, inspiration and escape, there's another, much bigger reason for this trip - I just don’t know it yet.

In amongst the copious amounts of alcohol, pub crawls, new sights, new friends, weird accents and freedom from responsibility and commitment, I think it will reveal itself.

The third step of a big holiday: Going.

I’m a week away from jumping on the plane. It’s actually happening.

Here’s the plan, I'm putting together a list of things that I must complete before coming home. If I can get them all done, I'll deem the holiday a success.

Here they are, feel free to add any ideas.


Drink beer out of a red cup
Start writing a book
Attend a baseball game and any other US/Canadian sport in season.
Drive left-handed car without crashing
Give a homeless guy money
Win a game of beer pong
See a live gig
Get lost in NY - disgustingly lost
Full day on the beach doing absolutely nothing
Hit 26 black on roulette in Vegas
Have a Chicago deep dish pizza
Supersize something
Learn a new drinking game
Don't get shot
Don't get robbed
Eat a NY pretzel/food cart hotdog

Bon Voyage all, I’ll keep you updated with the blog as I go.

If anyone sees holiday Dom before I do, tell him to throw some beers in the fridge.

No such thing as a travel bug

A few weeks ago, I followed through on months of planning, took the plunge and purchased an overseas flight.

At 24 years of age and as one of the 27 remaining men in Australia without a sleeve tattoo, I’ve decided to run away and spend an indefinite amount of time in Canada and the USA.

It’s not a smart decision. It’s not a logical one. It’s selfish. It’s immature.

With the money I’ve saved, I could put a deposit on a house, invest money in a horrible company or buy some magical beans.

In 20 years time, 45 year old me is going to read this blog, shake his head and go back to bed with his supermodel wife in a really shitty mood.

If you’ve ever travelled, you may understand my stupidity.

You can always tell when someone has been on a great holiday. When they try and recall their trip, they can’t finish full sentences without doing one of three things.

1) Pausing and looking into the distance longingly
2) Break out into tears or random bouts of laughter
3) Talk way too quickly for human comprehension

When I last travelled overseas two years ago, I told friends and family that it would be my ‘last adventure’ before I grew up, read the business section of a newspaper and got angry at kids walking on my front lawn.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

In the winter of 2009 I saved up all my pennies, borrowed many more pennies and jetted off to Europe for two amazing months with two great friends.


Every night was memorable. Every moment felt better than the last.

Sights and sounds live forever in your memory. Experiences last a life time.

You push your body to another level because the only alternative is to miss out on the best time of your life.

It's beautiful because it has to end. It's legendary because your only option is to make it legendary.

The thing you miss the most is the people. Strangers who you share your most amazing moments with. Instant friends who leave a lasting impression in the brief time you spend with them.

I did things I didn't know I was capable of. I reached a level of fun I didn't know existed. There was never a regret, never a hesitation. It was everything I hoped it would be.

While I was over there I met this one guy, his name was Holiday Dom.

Holiday Dom didn’t have deadlines, nor responsibilities. His liver was in pretty bad shape and his fitness was fast-approaching John Goodman-type levels — but damn that guy was having fun. He was happy.


I wanted to bring him home, but he would have nothing of it. He was happier behind the waterfall in Switzerland, playing beer pong during a Prague pub crawl and sitting under the Eifel Tower in Paris.

Disappointed that I had to leave, Holiday Dom made me promise that I'd visit him again. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.

People talk about 'catching the travel bug'. Well, I'm here to tell you there is no such thing as a travel bug. Don't get me wrong, if you're not careful, you may catch a bug or two, but I know now why people feel the need to travel again when they come back home.

They travel to see their holiday friend again - the one who’s free from burden. Life seems better when you're with them.

So, if you're sitting back now, wondering if you should take the gamble and travel overseas this winter, go, go now! Don’t look back.

And when you meet that friend, tell them Dom said hi.

Deck the halls

People are driving around with reindeer antlers on their cars, grown men are in shopping centres with fake white beards and my neighbours have started their annual 30-day stretch of being nice to each other – either Christmas is days away or marijuana has been legalised in Victoria.

Once upon a time, a young Dom Ciconte, full of optimism and hope, thought that Christmas morning was the Holy Grail.

Us Ciconte kids would battle through school, Mum’s torturous Saturday ‘clean-up days’ and the utterly ridiculous, unnecessary daily demand to have our beds made up, all for that sprint to the lounge room on December 25th so we could un-wrap our presents.

My mum was once a brilliant gift-buyer. She would somehow know everything I wanted before I even had a chance to throw around hints. Transformers, Lego, Super Nintendo games, a new footy – that was my childhood in a nutshell.

Unfortunately, my memories of Santa were not great. The guy gave us average gifts every year, almost like he was trying to make my mum and dad look even better.

A wooden dinosaur that I have to assemble myself? What the hell is this guy smoking? Mum, next year, tell Santa not to bother.

Christmas day would only get better from there. We would travel to our big family lunch, go wild with our cousins, get more presents from relatives and literally overdose on happiness.

And then we went and got old. What a stupid thing to do.

The 6am sprint to the lounge room has been replaced by a 10.30am stumble out of bed. The toys replaced with CDs, DVDs, clothes and vouchers. The overdose on joy replaced by an overdose of food and my Nonno’s wine.

No matter your religion or belief, we have a great excuse to come together, eat, drink, argue and look back on the year.

Even though it’s not as fun as it use to be, Christmas is what you make of it.

Just don’t force me to make another wooden dinosaur.

Merry Christmas