Sebastian is a lucky boy. He is off on his first parental-funded Contiki tour. A journey his father hopes will make up for the lifetime of neglect and hopefully make him less of a pencil-necked little goober that is forever sullying the family name.
On his flight to London, he banters with the collection of Linkedin profile pics who he calls friends. “We’re going to bag a chick from every country lads, yeh the boys!” A cheer that could single handedly be the catalyst for total population collapse through pure disinterest in getting it on.
While in Paris, Sebastian heads out with a group of girls he met on his tour that wouldn’t look out of place popping a squat next to a pink stretch Hummer in the Swan Valley.
Their Seltzery-squeals sends shivers down the baguette of the French waiter as one pursues the wine list and asks, “does this one taste like goon or nah, mate?”
They merrily mock the French accents as they do their best to lower the reputation of Australians even further in the eyes of our European friends.
Now, as Contiki is all about ticking cities off your superficial wander-list, Sebastian only has 1 night to seal the deal. So he invites the lass on a bro-mantic walk down to the Eiffel Tower.
Upon arrival, Sebastian’s stomach gives up like a shrivelled peen during a 6am dexie-fueled pooning, and he unleashes chunks all over the revered French landmark.
She finds the way he makes Australians look like tools abroad hot. Even hotter than the time he chucked a slash on the Colosseum. “You are such a lord Seb”.
Alas, the apple of his eye has a long term boyfriend back home. He has two choices, accept it or attempt to be a lunch cutting sack of shit for the remainder of the 14 days. Naturally, he chooses the latter.
The remaining 4 weeks play out as expected, and by the end of the trip, he has avoided having a meaningful conversation with a single European local.
Why attempt to get to meet the locals in a new country when you can forge lifelong bonds with a group of Aussies that you’ll never see again? Checkmate, culture seekers.
Back home, he stares at a friend drinking a coffee. “I could never drink Aussie crap again, I’ve had espresso on the Riviera”.
His pretentiousness is ignored as he launches into a story of how most travellers wouldn’t have the balls to walk the streets of Krakow on a pre-organised 2-hour tour like he did.
On his way home he walks past Flight Centre and sees a special to Bali. He turns to his mate, “um that awkward moment when you think Bali is a real international holiday”.
Ah Seb, what are we ever going to do with you?
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?