Olly goes on a Burger Quest

Following his adventures buying weed in LA, Oliver Heath goes in search of the perfect burger: 

The only food at the whiskey bar was peanuts. Hungry, and on our way to get the kind of burger that only a drunk should eat, we stopped at an amateur art show looking for cheese. My friend Ben spotted a cake, and no sooner had he taken a bite, a girl howled, "whhyyyeeeeee?!" Confused and still chewing, he was too distracted by the audible crunch of the cake to pay much heed to the girl. "Wwhhhyyyyyyyyyeee??!!" the girl screamed again.

Now decidedly disgusted by his mouthful, Ben spat out the cake and looked at the girl, "What?" ”You're such an arsehole!" and she picked up the cake and stormed off, teary. Next to where the cake had sat there was a little card that I read out: “Bran, Shellac, and found objects". Like some kind of accidental art vampire, Ben Frost had just eaten some young hopeful's artwork. "That cake barely touched the sides, lets get a burger."

The burger chain across the road was host to drunkards, munters, and the occasional homeless person. This night, it included the dregs of a nearby nightclub could that easily be called Emo if that was still a thing. Too mallrat to be goth, they looked like they were about to audition for Idol "just for the publicity for their band." The burgers there were generally barely warm and rubbery, but I liked this joint because they hired immigrants rather than spotty teens, so there is less chance of having your burger spat in.

Ben was busily snapping photos of the consumer kitsch rows of burgers and fries while we waited for our meals. The tiny lady manager snatched the phone from him - "No photos. Get out." Clearly it was crazy day. "Give me my phone!" "Give me my burger!" we said in unison. We got our burgers and the phone back and the tiny woman escorted us out of the store. Sitting in the park, I wondered 'why are we eating these shitty burgers?' Were we being punished for eating the art? Or was eating the art also part of a greater punishment for an earlier crime? All I knew is that when I ate a good burger, I’d know we were back on the good path. There must be somewhere -a burger Shangri la- where your food is hot, affordable, spit free, and you don't get robbed of your personal effects by management. Harmony must be restored. A burger quest was in order.

I had heard that such a place, the best burger place, was In-N-Out Burger in Los Angeles. It was mysterious due to the (not so) secret custom menu. I ordered a cheese burger 'animal style', a 50/50 shake and fries. I was able to take as many snaps as I pleased while I was waiting. The burger was wrapped cutely and unlike other places the whole tray looked like the perfect food in TV ads. I took a bite and realised my mistake, I had been hoping for the best burger, and it was good burger and perhaps the best fastfood burger I have ever had, but it was still a fastfood burger. It wouldn't make sense for it to be as good as a burger 4x the price, but in a land of $1 tacos it was not going to become a staple for me.

The next part of my quest took me to the other hyped LA fast food burger, Astros. I went through the Drive-Thru with my mate Lee who swore by the place - “you can get avocado, avocado is good for you”. I took my cue from him and ordered a burger with avocado, zucchini fries and an iced tea. The burger was good, not great, miles ahead of the big chains, but still a fast food burger. The zucchini fries were too oily. I'd rather go to In-N-Out and get a perfect fast food burger, and although Astro's may be a step toward healthier, it's still so far in fast food territory that it just seemed like a less perfect example. But both definitely good burgers.

Still hoping for a perfect burger I sought out a more expensive food chain with table service. Drawn by the 50s dinner styling I went to Johnny Rockets. The sloppy combination of bread, meat and cheese they served me was honestly some of the worst food I've eaten in my life. I took one bite and gave up, revolted. I stayed and got as many iced tea refills as possible to maximise value/keep from vomiting. The staff was the same age as the high school students that made up half the clientele, the other half were senior citizens. I couldn't help but think of Beavis and Butthead and all the horrible stuff they do in their burger joint kitchen and started to wish that I'd opted for vomiting after all. I got another refill and put some money in the little jukebox. I selected Here Comes the Sun, the fitting mixture of static and deranged clipped verse that came out from the malfunctioning unit caused me to laugh so hard at the complete shithouseness of this place that any iced tea that didn't get snorted up my nose wound up spat all over my plate. "Cheque please."

Not willing to admit defeat, I went upmarket and sought a restaurant. Because of its proximity to New Image Gallery where Anthony Lister was showing, I went to a WeHo BBQ place called Baby Blues. I ordered the sliders so I could sample a few of their many kinds of burgers (I love sliders) and a happy hour beer to wash it down. The staff were awesome, I’m pretty sure I fell in love with one of them, and they were playing great music. I got a mini version of their regular burger, a pulled pork slider and one with tri-tip steak. On the side I had a mixture of sweet potato and regular fries. The burger was the best I'd had in a while, the pulled pork was good, but the tri-tip was the best piece of meat I had ever tasted in bread. I place it up there with my best steak experiences full stop. There was some serious mojo happening in that BBQ flavour. My journey was complete.

Like any quest there was a lesson: I was reminded that I like street food and restaurants but can do without most of the stuff in-between. If you have a hankering for some fast food, get a taco from a cart; if you're fixed on a burger get In-N-Out, it's perfect fast food. But if you want the best burger you need to fork out more cash or make your own. I had thought the In-N-Out experience hadn't left much impression on me until many months later I awoke hungover craving it. Bizarre - like having a sex dream about a woman I didn’t realise I was attracted to.

Words and pictures by Oliver Heath

Olly goes to the Weed Shop

Oliver Heath gets his smoke on:

I assumed a medical marijauna prescription was difficult to get in LA, a token gesture to avoid the bad press of incarcerating the cancer ward that had no impact on the availability of weed for everyone else. When a friend that worked in a dispensary told me it was much looser than this in the wild west, I figured she was exaggerating. I was wrong.

LA is rife with pot. From a distance you can’t tell if you’re smelling ‘skunk’ or skunks anymore. It’s everywhere. There are billboards advertising doctors who specialise in marijuana medicine; it’s gotten to the point where the competition is so fierce that there are policies of price matching for consultations. Capitalism is a strange beast -you can go to a hospital in LA, wind up with a bandaid on your finger and a bill for $600, but you can get a pot prescription for less than $40.  The long list of things it can be prescribed for range from Cancer and AIDS to Anxiety and Insomnia. The dispensaries you buy your medicine from vary from heavily barricaded medical white to places that have a yuppie chill vibe like day spas.

Smoking bongs in my teens, I realised that being spaced out drooling on the couch wasn’t a good time, and gave it up. I’ve since wondered if my negative reaction might have had as much to do with dosage as anything else. I read a while back that in some countries there was pressure to reclassify chronic as class A, as it now has 27x the concentration in THC as the 70s bush weed that the hippies smoked. All I can remember of varieties was that there was bud/not bud, getting catnipped, and the stuff it was widely considered bikers had sprayed with bug spray and peppered with amphetamines. My curiosity was tempted when my friend mentioned that, beyond these categories based on strength and the honesty of your hookup, there were different sub-species; Indicas and Sativas, hybrids bred from the two, at a limitless variety of strengths and flavours. I began to wonder if I could get prescribed weed.

I was assured that there were doctors on the street at Venice beach that handed out prescriptions like they were stripper club flyers but this seemed like a likely way to wind up with issues with the law. Anyway I was in LA not Bangkok and unless it’s a taco I don’t want the street vendor experience.  I sought the advice of a couple that would surely be in the know, one a bartending babe the other a musician about to go on a 38-stop USA tour. In unison they insisted I go see the “sexy doctor!”

“The sexy doctor?”

“The sexy doctor from the billboards”.

The doctor’s waiting room was red and draped in velvet, behind gilt caged windows two babes took care of reception. I was handed a clipboard to fill in my medical history. There was a snack vending machine, Mission Impossible 3 playing on repeat, and a sign advertising a 420 love match service. My friend insisted that this was a cover for a dealer referring service, I disagreed: 1) because all the weed you want can be bought from shops, 2) call me romantic but stoners deserve love too... and don’t get off the couch as much as they should and 3) the doc had an Indian name and online dating is crazy popular in India.

“Oliver Heath” was called, and I walked around the corner to be greeted by the doctor herself. I hope my jaw didn’t drop, she’s was alarmingly good looking, even for LA. She led me into a small consultation room that had a combination of furniture and wallpaper that could only be described as boudoir. I’d normally feel like a pervert for writing about how a doctor looked but seriously the whole thing was visual overload. As far as I can remember she was wearing some kind of dress that, for a less elegant woman, might have been evening-wear and a white lab coat. I say as far as I can remember because I was lost in her eyes. Aesthetics aside, the interview was entirely professional. I was asked my medical history, the ailment I was seeking treatment for, and the contact details for my regular GP. At its conclusion I felt like I was on set at LAs ‘other video industry’ when she asked “is there anything else I can help you with?” In response I simply giggled. Not my most manly moment. She probably thought I was stoned.

I went to the counter and told them I also wanted the optional patient ID card to “assist with law enforcement issues,” and paid my $60. The prescription itself looked like a merit certificate from special needs school - complete with gold seal. The weed card had my photo on it, a patient number, and my doctor’s details. The card doesn’t carry any official legal weight itself but the idea is that they have the info to call your doctor and confirm your prescription. But strangest of all, even larger than my photo was a photo of the Dr What-a-Babe.  I’ll have to get her to autograph it for me next time.

From what I’ve gathered the prescription empowers you to grow a limited number of your own plants. When you go into a pot shop you’re essentially empowering a co-op to grow on your behalf, but beyond that technicality it's like any other retail experience. LA is full of weed shops. Most with white walls and green medical crosses that become quickly as recognisable as golden arches, a strange mix of a heavily barricaded pawn shop and a chemist. I wasn’t keen on the violent institutional vibe of these stores... the security cages scream crimescene and with the liberal Californian gun laws that’s a risk I’d rather avoid. There had to be something deluxe. I heard that a shop in WeHo was the place.

In contrast to the sterile barricaded paranoia of the run-of-the-mill co-ops, this place had that day spa vibe. Glad someone remembered what Cali is all about. After a quick new client interview where I provided my credentials I was given a sticker to identify me as a new customer and handed a menu. I sat waiting to be ushered into the backroom overwhelmed by the scores of choices before me.

When it was my turn, the weed shop dude was very helpful. He explained that the positive vibe inside the co-op was important and echoed my thoughts about the other shops - maybe they are weed Shangri-La inside but it’s nice to go somewhere that looks welcoming. He pointed out that while pot shops are the target of robberies, so are gas stations and jewellery stores and they still have windows. Maybe it’s a stigma/privacy thing for some but I don’t care about that, and this place is nice, still batshit-you’re-buying-weed-in-a-shop bizarre, but nice.

The menu was no help, but that was my fault - it takes me five minutes to select a brand of toilet paper in my local supermarket. I told the dude that I like that mellow 70s bush but he didn’t seem amused. He said “we have the strong medicine here.” I said I like mellow smoke. He happily played weed Willy Wonka and showed me a variety of Indica, Sativa, Hybrids covered in crystals, edibles, hash, lollipops and sodas, practically singing the virtues of each. He looked at me like I was missing the point when I asked if there was any herbal chop to mull it up with. I left with grams of God’s Gift Indica, Pineapple Kush Sativa, some O.G. hash and a vegan chocolate pyramid. I stayed clear of the hybrid because I was already confused enough, and was hoping that I’d get a gauge of what all this different stuff was like. He put it into a brown paper bag along with a glass medicine jar, and a glass pipe that looked more like it was for crack.

I stopped by a service station for some snacks and sat down at home to begin my experiment in earnest. I had guessed that I would like the Sativa upper weed the more than the Indica downer stuff, the hash most of all and the chocolate varying on strength. I’ve found edibles in the past to either be chill like a Nimbin cookie or heinous like a friend’s mum’s home made mountain brownie that left me worried that I’d forget to beat my heart.

To my surprise I liked the the Indica downer weed better. The Sativa upper stuff brought on the horrible skin itching and morbid thoughts that’s been another contributing factor to my dislike of weed. The hash didn’t get enough attention because after I discovered a friends Volcano Vaporizer I was huffing weed bags like nobody's business. Totally managed my insomnia and pains with my natural medicine. Like a boss.

Vaporizers use dry heat to extract the THC from the weed without burning it and being the deluxe model rather than a hookah like pipe the volcano has a bag. At up to $1000 it’d want to be pretty sick, and it is. It’s a totally different weed experience, I don’t smoke tobacco so it was a welcome difference for me. Highly recommend. On a side note, the current version of catnipping someone is selling already ‘vaped’ weed. My glass ‘crack pipe’ was useless but I got a small ceramic one that looked like a cigarette and was a popular discrete way to take your medicine in LA. The chocolate was fun for a while but ultimately left me stupid and feeling like I was wrapped in cotton wool, couldn’t wait for it to end. The feeling finally passed when I had a dump so I guess you absorb it all the way down your digestive tract.

So what did I end up thinking about it all? In effect, it’s legal in LA and that seems civilised to me. It’s still not something I’d personally seek out, but it’s good that others can. I met many people that smoke regularly and were hard working, law-abiding citizens and it’s good that they weren’t criminalised, stigmatised, or funding violent criminal organisations.  The medical applications aside (look up glaucoma treatment and/or appetite stimulation if you’re interested), I don’t see how recreationally it’s any worse than alcohol. Some would try and argue that it’s better, especially with vaped weed taking the smoking factor out. You can point to cases of THC use triggering pre-existing mental conditions, or heavy misuse being demotivational but it’s undeniable alcoholism has all those kinds of problems and more. We need to be able to moderate our own use.

LA seemed much more peaceful to me than it was in the 90s with all of its gangs and riots. I couldn’t help but wonder if the aggression had gone up in smoke, all the Gs turning their AKs into gangster bongs and their 9s into pipes. Hard to do a drive-by when you’re balls deep in a scooby-doo marathon. I also wonder if I might have gotten this article finished quicker if I hadn’t smoked so much weed.

Words and pictures by Oliver Heath. 

The Bobby Six Guide to Budapest

 
There is a saying that is pretty much banned at Bobbysix. It is used by people with the imagination of a puddle when they see a building that is a bit grungy and adorned with graffiti. They will turn to their friends and loudly proclaim, "Oh, that is so Berlin," as though they are the most well-cultured and worldly person when in truth they only ever spent two days in the German city on a school trip.

However, on this solitary occasion, it's hard to think of a better way to sum up Budapest in a nutshell than to compare it to Berlin. That's not to say it is a poor relation. Rather, it has its own identity and wonderful idiosyncrasies, but the Hungarian capital undeniably has a similar mix of heavy history, buzzing nightlife and fascinating architecture as its German neighbour.

Just like Berlin, Budapest has a particularly interesting past and it is one which stirs conflicting emotions. On one hand, there seems to lie a certain level of guilt at how helpless the country was to stop Germany from completely dominating the nation's policies and decision-making during the Second World War. While this is explained away unconvincingly in the National Museum, it is spelled out in damning terms in the museum at the Synagogue (below). However, mixed levels of negativity towards such utter subordination during the conflict contrasts massively with the pride that Budapest feels at the revolution against its Communist dictatorship in 1956. There are monuments all around the city to this landmark uprising, from statues of Pest Kids (think a Hungarian Gavroche from Les Miserables) to the national flag with the Hammer and Sickle crudely cut from the centre, which flies above a grave in memorial to the hundreds who perished in this watershed fight for freedom.

 In truth, Hungary wasn't truly free until the late 1980s. The '56 uprising resulted in a move towards a 'soft dictatorship' but free voting only became reality in 1989. At such time, all Communist statues were finally removed from the city. They have since been relocated to Memento Park (pictured above and below), on the outskirts of Budapest, which stands as a constant and stark lesson about life under a Communist rule. Visiting these giant reminders of a bygone time is a must for any visitor, and taking a guided tour - while nearly doubling the cost of entry - is highly recommended, as it brings colour and context to the story. It is remarkable just how deep the propaganda ran. Be sure to visit the exhibition centre just outside the entrance for an easily digestible chronology of the '56 revolution too.

Stepping away from politics, yet sticking with the Berlin comparisons, Budapest offers all manner of amazing bars. Indeed, the drinking dens here are arguably even better. You can barely turn a corner without chancing upon an open door behind which lies unknown adventure. Following warm lighting and a murmur of noise will lead to, for example, a watering hole the size of a living room, a pool club with insanely cheap beer or an old garage turned into a pub. A good way to discover some the city's countless drinking spots is to plan to visit a handful of the official ruin bars - dilapidated old buildings that, rather than being ripped down or regenerated, are now supercool boozers - and then walk between them. In trekking the cobbled streets, you are sure to chance upon places that aren't in the tour guides. You'll end up drinking in a beaten up old car in the middle of the beer garden, lounging on a hammock, sipping tequila in a tiny Mexican eatery, playing ping pong, stuffing your face with hummus or almost setting fire to yourself with absinthe (as happened to this intrepid reporter).

A good place to start is on Blaha Lujza tér, on the corner of Jozsef and Rakoczi. As with most ruin bars, there is no facade, but when you reach some yellow-shirted security men standing outside an open door, you'll know you've found it. Aside from the dodgy music (an interminable mix of those tiresome mash-up songs) this place is wonderful, and strikes an uncanny resemblance to former Bobby Six headquarters, Sydney's Hibernian House. Climb the graffiti-ridden stairs and watch the pink sunset from the rooftop before venturing further into the city. If you return later in the evening, expect the chilled vibe to be replaced by a banging party but expect, also, to have to queue to gain entry.

Clear your hangover the next day with a hike up Gellert Hill to visit the Liberty Statue - known to locals as the bottle opener (work out why, above). This spot offers stunning panoramic city views (below). A more touristy area but with equally fine vistas can be found further along the river, peaking at the Fisherman's Bastion. Elsewhere, Margaret Island in the middle of the Danube River doesn't offer much in terms of sights, but is a quiet and green spot to escape the bustling city for a picnic on a sunny day. Not too far from Margaret Island is the simply stunning Parliament building (below), which was inspired by the design of Westminster Abbey. Visit at night to see it resplendent in floodlights. It is here that you will find the aforementioned holed flag and grave.

If you have a morning to spare, then try to venture to some of the districts that sit away from the centre (the reliable, interchangeable and cheap bus, tram and metro system will get you there easily enough). While you may not find any specific tourist attractions, some of the buildings are beautiful, dominating thin streets with paint flaking from their Gothic fronts while impossibly boxy little cars sit out front. If you want a snapshot of the real Eastern Europe, you'll find it by taking such a trip. Stadium nerds might also like to check out Puskás Ferenc Stadium, named after one of the world's greatest ever footballers. Walk the perimeter of the ground to find entry to a raised concourse for a fine view of the stadium.

Of course, no visit to Budapest could be complete without heading to the thermal baths, where potbellied hairy Hungarians rub shoulders with foreigners across a labyrinth of baths and saunas of varying temperatures. The most popular of these bathhouses is Szechenyi, which celebrates its 100th anniversary in a couple of years time. After checking out Hero Square en route (an important site in the story of the revolution), bask in the sun at the baths before dipping into 38 degree water in one of the large outdoor pools. To achieve ultimate relaxation, be sure to let the powerful jets of water massage your shoulders. For a truly invigorating experience, hit up the downstairs saunas which reach up to 100 degrees and then, when you can no longer stand the heat, step out of the sauna straight into the freezing cold bath next door. Your body doesn't know if it is coming or going, but when you've done it you'll feel strangely amazing.

And that, actually, is probably the best way to sum up Budapest. Strangely amazing. Its summer days are hotter than hell, it's evenings cool. At times it is a sensory overload, other times serene, but whether you are there to party, to breathe in its colourful history, or both, you'll find what you are looking for.

Budapest is certainly one of Bobbysix.com's favourite cities in the world and can be accessed by air with Easyjet or by bus with Eurolines. Need somewhere to stay? The Mandarin Hostel is well positioned, cheap and has excellent facilities. 

Words and pictures by Bobby Townsend. And you can see heaps more photos from Budapest here.

The Bobby Six Guide to Prague

In the first of a new series here at Bobbysix.com, Celeste Macdonald does her best to avoid the puking Brits as she takes us around Prague:

If, like this tourist-hating traveller, when you think of Prague, you think of drunk Englishmen on stag weekends in matching footballs shirts and hoards of Japanese shutterbugs blocking your path at every angle, well, you're partially right.

Upon first glance, the Old Town Square and Wenceslas Square appear as an overcrowded tourist trap, filled with restaurants, tacky tourist shops and vacuous crowds staring at the Orloj Clock, an admittedly beautiful ancient astronomical timepiece. Push past the masses towards the Charles Bridge, passing an array of portrait artists and buskers and follow the steady flow of tourists up the hill to the Prague Castle, the world's largest ancient castle. Ideally, attempt this journey in the late afternoon, the crowds have dispersed slightly and you can appreciate the spectacular view as the sun sets.

While the main attractions of Prague are a must for visitors, those who are looking for an untouched paradise will be wholeheartedly disappointed. However, take the time to scratch below the city's touristy exterior and you will find a host of chic bars and pubs, leading examples of art nouveau architecture and modernist sculpture.

Take for example the Czech Republic's heralded sculptor, David Černý, whose controversial, provocative modern treasures are hidden throughout the city. You can easily spend a day absorbing Černý's sculptures, notably, his cherub-esque faceless babies can be seen climbing the Zizkov Tower, which serves as a stark reminder of Prague's Communist history.

A great way to spend the day is by taking a trip to the Kampa Modern Art Museum, where you will see a variety of modern sculptures against the picturesque setting of the Vltava River. It's also a chance to see Černý's famous faceless babies up close (below). Wind down with a picnic lunch in the park outside. Finish the afternoon with a stroll through the Jewish Quarter, an ancient area which plays hosts to cafes, bars, galleries and shops and is also the birthplace of Frank Kafka. The Jewish Museum and Old Cemetery are well worth a visit for an understanding of the rich Jewish history of the Czech Republic.

Daring to wander further than the town centre is a must if you want to discover the real Prague. Additionally, you will find that beer prices are usually less than half of those in and around the town centre. A must see venue for mingling with locals in an uber-cool setting is the Cross Club, a chic, arty bar with a welcoming, laid-back vibe. Such an atmosphere extends to many of the bars in Prague and is perhaps a result of the Czech Republic's decriminalisation of drug possession.

Nearby, in the suburb of Žižkov you will also find Bukowski's Bar, named in honour of Charles Bukowski, the famed American poet. The crowd is a mix of locals and expats alike.

One thing you will inevitably notice about Prague is that it only requires a short amount of time before you feel as though you have seen everything. All the main tourist attractions can easily be visited in one long weekend. This rule doesn't apply where the awesome Clown and Bard is concerned. This quirky little hostel with its own bar, just outside the town centre, draws backpackers in with the promise of cheap accommodation in a friendly atmosphere. Foolishly, most book a two-night stay and vanish into the cloud of smoke, emerging several days later, dazed and confused, with new friends and an impossible-to-avoid appreciation for foosball. To quote Joe, the bearded barman: "It's dangerous having a bar in your living room."

One important warning: as hard as you try to avoid the Old Town Square, you will inevitably find yourself inadvertently stumbling through one of its various entrances, the intense smell of grilling meat subconsciously dragging you in. Don't let it disillusion you, away from it there is an entirely authentic side of Prague waiting to be found.

You can access Prague by air with Easyjet or by bus with Eurolines. 

Words by Celeste Macdonald. Pictures by Celeste Macdonald and Rob Townsend.

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The Smirnoff Nightlife Exchange - Bangalore review

India. It is a country of oppressive heat where, in the cities, the streets bustle with people and noise, kids hustle tourists, cows saunter down the middle of the road and car horns soundtrack Tetris traffic jams. Thrilling chaos and mayhem rules ok. A visit can be quite the culture shock to foreigners. On Saturday 27th November, however, the people of India experienced a culture shock of their own when the world swapped nights as part of Smirnoff's ambitious Nightlife Exchange Project.

Bangalore, a beguiling mix of red dirt on its outskirts and typically hectic city life, played host to the Indian leg. So, while the best of the county's nightlife was packed up and shipped to Canada, Bangalore, for one night only, partied Canadian-style.

I know what you're thinking, what does Canadian nightlife entail exactly? Watching ice hockey and being generally affable, maybe? Well, that wouldn't make for much of a party really, would it? So, instead, the Smirnoff party revolved around certain iconic themes while some Canadian artists travelled halfway around the world to entertain a crowd comprised of lucky competition and giveaway winners.

So, upon entering the venue, punters were greeted by Mounties and led through an icy tunnel into the main room, where a traditional Canadian dish awaited them. Poutine is comprised of chips with cheese and gravy. Healthy? Nah. Yummy? Heck yes. Complimenting this local delicacy was a specially-designed Smirnoff Mule comprised of 40ml vodka, 10ml maple syrup and 2 fresh wedges of lime and ginger ale. Other variations of the Mule were available too, whereas luddites were able to order vodka and cokes.

Across the maple leaf-littered floor was a large stage, upon which female dancers dressed as Mounties (well, if Mounties wore really, really tiny shorts) drew the attention of the camera phones. Okay, so their dance routine seemed to involve gyrating while waving their arms around in a way that was completely incidental to the music and to each other, but still, you couldn't knock their enthusiasm.

And so to the talent. The night was headlined by Max Graham, who played a dance set that didn't take many risks, but then why would it? This guy has been around for long enough to know how to please a crowd. And so it proved. Before him was Zara Taylor (below), the voice that has launched a zillion dance tracks, including Sunlounger's Lost. On her debut appearance in India, she showcased an epic vocal that belied the sore throat she was suffering as she belted out deep and emotion-tinged lyrics over a dance/electro backing. Earlier in the evening, DJ Sultan (pictured at the top of the piece) ripped through a high-energy set that went way beyond simply warming up the crowd and that was the highlight of the night. Later, he would find himself mobbed by fans requesting photos and autographs; even a trip to the bathroom took 20 minutes, as the dreadlocked DJ stopped and chatted with a cavalcade of fans.

It would be easy to sniff at an event such as this that has a name like Smirnoff attached to it. Big corporation, big event, big yawn? Well, no actually. To put snobbishness and cynicism to one side is to discover something much more pleasing. The thing that the Nightlife Exchange Project and all of Smirnoff's recent events offer is that they really seem to put a huge amount of care and work into attempting to create something unique and special. They are not in the business of lazily sponsoring an existing event, but rather seem really keen to be fully involved and to get their hands dirty - from the ideas stage until the last of the ticker tape has been swept away. They are clearly very proud of these occasions and, therefore, what they create is something that feels genuine, organic, unique and innovative. When else would Indians get to party Canadian-style in their own back yards? At would other time would Argentina get a taste of Irish nightlife?

Add to this the fact that this particular event rolled into Bangalore, a city drenched in religion that is not necessarily one that would jump to mind when thinking of party towns, and it is clear that Smirnoff are keen to bring the fun to as many corners of the globe as possible.

You might say it's easy to praise the vodka company from the comfort of the VIP bar. Therefore, the most telling image of the evening came from when I wandered back past the velvet rope and down to the front of the stage. It was early - maybe 8.30pm - and yet people were going absolutely mental to DJ Sultan's set. Loads of them. Dancing their legs off and their hearts out. As the evening started to wrap up, three hours later (Bangalore has quite the strict curfew), the same people were there, joined by plenty of others, and were going just as crazy, having as much fun and dancing as exuberantly as they were three hours previously.

Of course, Smirnoff is a business and they want to make sure that their product sells, but this event once again proved that their manifesto goes well beyond the desire to shift units. It is apparent to anyone in attendance of this event that Smirnoff, more than anything, want to be synonymous with fun and with offering people unique opportunities and experiences that they will never forget. Judging the unabashed enjoyment that the crowd was displaying on Saturday night, it was mission accomplished.

Check out my mate Addie's outstanding photos from the event here.

Bye Bye Bangkok

Yesterday saw the end of BobbySix.com's jaunt to Bangkok with the Smirnoff Nightlife Exchange Project and I was sad to leave the city which had drawn me in with open arms. The thing that impressed me most about Bangkok was that, while the live music scene may not be as buzzing as I had expected, the level of creativity and get-up-and-go about the young people there was incredible. Unlike in Sydney (for example), the hipsters in Bangkok don't walk around acting as if their shit doesn't stink - like many Surry Hills rats do with absolutely no justification - but rather manage to be super cool sans the attitude, while, at the same time running their own businesses, making music, art and generally offering something exciting and tangible to the world. The positivity and 'can do' attitude about the place was truly inspiring and should act as a lesson to the hipsters from other cities that talk the talk without walking the walk.

Now it's time to see what Mumbai offers, so keep an eye out for posts from there. For now though, here are some snaps from Bangkok.

BobbySix.com arrives in Bangkok

Bangkok. It is a word that makes my friend Ellen laugh every time she hears it. It is, essentially, the coming together of the words 'bang' and 'cock', after all. It is also a fantastic, sprawling city, drenched in both oppressive humidity and an infectious vibrancy that picks you up and throws you screaming into its heart.

Of course, we're here for the build up to the Smirnoff Nightlife Exchange Project, enjoying the culture, the nightlife (obvs), the food and the insanely spectacular firework displays (above) before heading off to Mumbai and then to Bangalore. Over the next few days here at BobbySix, there will be interviews with artists who are playing at the big events and all manner of other related stuff too. Maybe we'll even bore you with some of our holiday snaps. For instance, I took a photo of a sweet little cat today. He was just chillin' at the markets.

If you aren't fortunate enough to be going to one of these big events in various locations around the globe on Saturday, then you can get involved live and online, as different countries will be showcasing moments from the experience to create one globetrotting nightlife journey. Oh, and in keeping with the idea of a virtual experience, here's the view from my hotel room. Nice, huh?

Moving Pictures

Once upon a time, I was known to piece together the occasional video of my travels. Then I broke my camera and I lapsed out of the habit of making movies (other than occasionally appearing in front of and shouting orders from behind the camera for David Ford). However, keen to finally hoist my body back on the horse (and dazzled by thge sights that surrounded me), I have pieced together some live footage from my trip to Johannesburg. Check back at bobbysix.com tomorrow for a full review of the Mashup Street experience.

Swinging Soweto

I arrived in JoBurg yesterday for the Smirnoff Experience South Africa. Keep an eye on Bobbysix.com throughout the week and early next week for interviews and reviews of the event. You can find blogs about my trip elsewhere if you're interested. I'll also be posting plenty of photos and tweeting my heart out.

Today I went to Soweto. Here are some snaps.