ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
With his 30th birthday approaching at the speed of light, a comically-underemployed local youth set his heart on a move overseas next year.
One thing you’d know about Dylan Carmichael if you knew him would be that he’s one of a kind. A unique, happy-go-lucky local with a smile larger than Pharlap’s steroid-stretched heart and a sense of adventure they’d make Douglas Mawson look like a man-boobed Young Liberal afraid straying too far from his leafy postcode – unless it’s to the airport.
“London only makes sense if you’re going there to work in finance, corporate law or trade,” he said.
“Otherwise, you’ll eat shit and probably die.”
Dylan sat opposite our reporter in a French Quarter cafe this morning. He seemed animated and excited. The customer service professional hopes to further a more artistic passion of his in Europe next year.
“So naturally, choosing easy mode and moving to London or another English-speaking city like Dublin or Amsterdam would be detrimental to my dreams. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t roll your eyes but I’ve decided on Berlin,”
“It’s really easy to get a visa, it’s a good mix of German-speaking and English-speaking. It’s not a monoculture like Sweden or Denmark. Plus you don’t need to have any real skills to move here. You can just turn up and go wang,”
“I just think it’s more me. It’s more of a challenge. It’s not like moving to Paris where they actively despise you and laugh at your attempts to speak French. Or moving to America where you have to live under fascist rule,”
“My goal for the first year is to make friends with a real Berliner. Someone who was born there, which makes them cool as shit in expat circles. I don’t know! [laughs] I just want to grip life with both hands and shake it! I feel so fucking cagey in this fucking six-horse town! Get me out of here! [laughs].”
By now, most of the people in the cafe were looking at our reporter’s table.
Dylan sheepishly apologised and bid The Advocate farewell, bowing and waving nervously as he left the cafe. He put his beanie on and stepped back out into the 43-degree afternoon here on the fringe of the Simpson Desert.
More to come.
