No Tour, One night in Perth

Soundtrack: a Lady Gaga medley

This one’s for the work folks who said I should write about going out on a Friday night, so blame them.

Well, it sounded like a silly idea, writing a travel blog post about a night out in a city I’ve lived in for the best part of a half century, and maybe it is. To be honest, I spend more time overseas than I do Friday nights in Northbridge, so stepping out of the carpark onto James Street felt a bit like going back to somewhere I’ve been before. Sure the geography, in terms of the street layout is the same, but the shops, and in some cases the buildings themselves, aren’t so familiar.

I think perhaps there are two places on James Street between Lake and William that have survived from the time of my sometimes mis-spent 20s when I frequented here regularly. There are others are still thematically similar, just new names.

The Asian food court, Old Shanghai, has been there for as long as I can remember, but the crowd of stalls with baine marie offerings that somehow avoided breeding new strains of E. coli have thinned, making for a quiet shadow of its previous self. Pretty sure there was a little sushi place up the back for a while, which I figured would be great for a quick dinner, but sadly no more. There was a dim sum stall, but the prices seemed a little high (though in hindsight probably not much more expensive than I was paying in HK, but when there’s no conversion calculation it just feels more expensive). Wanting quick, bite-sized convenience, the Indian, Indonesian, and Vietnamese offerings didn’t tempt me, so I headed back out onto the street.

So why was I in Northbridge on a Friday night? Why was I out in the rain, when sensible folks were tucked up at home with takeaway and a glass of wine or two (or in L’s case, bellydancing)? Pretty much the same reason I end up in nightclubs around the world, a drag show. In this case the Divine Divas, three of the Philippines’ fiercest performers (that I hadn’t had a selfie with yet): Precious Paula Nicole, Vinas Deluxe, and Brigiding. Precious was at O-bar the same night I was, but managed to duck away from the throng before I could get my phone out. Call it a bit of a coda to the 7 Nation Noodle Tour, a last gasp before having to face up to the holiday being over.

Sadly let down by Old Shanghai, I walked the familiar street with the unfamiliar stores. Gone is the Gelare waffle place, and Plakas kebabs. I settled for a vaguely Korean-style fried chicken place, it made sense given the Philippine theme of the evening, though I was really more interested in getting some deep fried cauliflower, the healthy option. Sadly they were out of cauliflower (and regular cocacola), so it was fried chicken, sprite, and a long wait instead. It happens a lot around Perth these days, moreso than anywhere I recall on my travels, where fast food places are sadly understaffed, trying to serve both in-store customers and various delivery drivers too. All too often the delivery orders get priority, probably to stop people leaving bad reviews on whatever app, leaving folks like me to wait 40 minutes for a plate of fried chicken. Given I’d bought a meet and greet show up early ticket, it was looking like I’d go hungry for a while. When the chicken arrived it was okay, it was chicken, fried, the batter had some crunch, the chicken wasn’t dry, but I was more focussed on eating fast and heading next door to the club.

I did spend that 40 minutes looking at the street, watching the rain come down, noticing that there was a new nightclub in the place that sat vacant for untold years after a fire sometime in the early 90s, looking up at the new hotel. Watching the people walk past: even though it was before 6pm, there didn’t seem to be many folks who looked like after-work drinkers. There were a few people who might have been tourists, but otherwise the bulk of those I saw looked either like they were geared up and ready to party, or those who had no where else to go.

I’ve seen poverty, homelessness, and inequality throughout my travels, the held out hands, the missing limbs, the hand written signs, and I’ve generally tried to avoid putting them into this blog: not to necessarily hide, ignore, or gloss over this, but to avoid coming across as judgemental and hypocritical, some all-knowing great white patriarchal arsehole. It’s a bit harder to gloss over this stuff when it’s my home town, where I have a say in how the less fortunate are treated. Where I’m part of the immigrant population that have treated its first nations people so poorly, and continue to do so (as I was heading back to my car I walked past an exchange between two seated first nations women and four standing police, and while I have no idea of the full story, certainly the visuals spoke to me — fortunately as I left the carpark I saw the women further along the street so at least they weren’t being arrested). Maybe this blog isn’t the appropriate platform to be voicing this kind of thing (watch me change the world with my 20 readers), just know you’re unlikely to see me taking any other country to task about poverty while the “lucky country” is simply not looking after its own.

Maybe it was the effect of the rain, but the street felt a little sad and dark, a path of lost promises and broken dreams.

I have a dream that one day I will go to a drag show that starts on time. No, that’s a lie, I long ago resigned myself to the inevitable: bands, queens, and performing artists do not start on time. My dream is at least of venues that will open their doors at the time it says on the ticket, so if the show starts late I can at least be inside, with a drink, and working out the best place to stand or sit.

Technical issues, which could be anything at all, from the ceiling collapsing to a queen having an accident with a hair straightener, use your imagination, but this general catchall meant us eager meet and greet folks spent an hour waiting for the doors. I didn’t need to rush my chicken. About the same time as me arrived a couple of ladies who looked like Filipinas, and we got talking and ti turns out they were. G and G were both from Manila, but have been living and working in Australia for a number of years. We had a great chat about food, the Philippines, and crazy traffic, before being joined in the queue by C, from Indonesia. At one point on of the organising team came out and asked if we could all do mini-interviews about why we were here for their promotions, which we went along with. I’ve had less pleasant experiences waiting in a queue.

Eventually doors opened, and it turned out we’d all been allocated to the same table, at the front. I tend to prefer to be not-front, especially when it’s the end of a long day — it’s my fear that one day I’ll get dragged up on stage and look like an idiot when I can’t quickly respond to some banter thrown at me. As things were running late, instead of doing the meet and greet at the front of the stage, we were ushered behind the curtains to meet the queens there. I gave them my best “Mabuhay!” and we had a quick chat about the Philippines, and how they are just awesome and awesome performers, and then sat back down and waited for the show to start.

The show was hosted by legendary Filipina queen Gigi Era, who (from what I understand) is now based in Australia and organises tours with Filipina queens. Looking around the crowd I was both impressed and saddened: in some ways it was like being at a show in south east asia, the vast majority of the crowd were asians, predominantly Filipino, likely looking to see entertainment from back home. I think it’s awesome that there are shows like this to give them this kind of experience. At the same time I was a little saddened that there weren’t more caucasians, because when I go to other shows in Perth they definitely make up the majority. I’m hoping that it was just a case that this show, having a smaller promoter, just didn’t have the same marketing reach (the main organiser of Australian drag shows basically emails or SMSs me almost weekly). The part of my brain that thinks the worst in people wonders otherwise that these white folks weren’t interested because the performers weren’t from the US or Australian teevee franchises. I’d like to hope not, because I can assure you that there are queens performing throughout south east asia who are as dedicated to they art, as talented, and as driven, as performers elsewhere. They are also as awesome, and as deserving of support.

The show was every type of fabulous, Precious, Vinas, and Brigiding performed amazingly, interacting with the crowd, speaking both English and Tagalog (and lip-synching in both languages too). The front rows got some attention but the only time I needed to think with any speed was when Precious lobbed her cane to me during her Lady Gaga Mayhem medley (because of course “Abracadabra” made an appearance). They were entertaining, endearing, and seemed to love the crowd as much as the crowd loved them. I tipped Brigiding in leftover Philippine Pesos which got a smile.

All too soon the show was over, the last selfies were taken, and I was back on the street, my heart lifted from living in a world where awesome queens are able to showcase their talent. I could have stayed and partied, like I may have if I was still travelling, but on this occasion at least the idea of going home, sitting on the couch with L and our dog, was just more appealing. I guess it’s the difference between going back to a hotel room and a suitcase, and going home.