(Kinda) Learning Mongolian

thumb_P1010389_1024Learning Mongolian is not easy. I have been studiously attending lessons every Monday after work with another Australian since arriving (and a weekly skype lesson while I was in NZ). Our teacher is endlessly patient, listening intently as we nut out a sentence, stuttering out bits of language that we hope sounds like something, anything, that a Mongolian person might understand. And I think we are (slooooooooowly) getting somewhere!

Learning Mongolian Cyrillic was only jumping the first tiny hurdle. Cyrillic was introduced in the 1940s when Mongolia was the Mongolian People’s Republic under Soviet rule. So if I go to Russia I will be able to read the street signs, but I will have no idea what they say. Here is an example: пицца.

Can you read it?

п- p

и- i

ц- ts

ц- ts

а – a!

It says pizza!

Anyhow, there do come times when all this effort is so worth it. A few weekends ago I went to an exhibition called ” Tale of Two Cities” put on by an NGO called the Ger Community Mapping Centre. The Ger District is a part of UB that is very low income, with people setting up their Ger homes on mish-mashed bits of land with no running water nor plumbing. The NGO seeks to make sense of all these plots, and to empower local communities through community mapping, for sustainable urban development.

Similarly, a Mongolian man saw an opportunity in this community in an old quarry, whose stone had been dug to build some of the cities most famous structures. People were dumping their rubbish in there until one he bought it, emptied the rubbish, and filled it with water. This serves as an ice skating rink for the communities children in the winter time, a sort of pond playing area right now in the spring and a park in the summer. He has aspirations to turn the whole space green. Such. A. Legend.

Down there in the quarry I got talking to some kids. In Mongolian! чи хэдэн настай вэ? I asked, How old are you? тав, one little girl said excitedly holding up 5 fingers. She is 5 and I could understand this. Weeeeeee so cool! The other kids came crowding in to hear me speaking rudimentary Mongolian. чи хэдэн настай вэ? One was 6 years old and one was 4. I hear them ask for some мөнгө – money. Cheeky little shits! байхгүй, I say – nope have none.

What is this I said, pointing to a tiny girls shoes. гутал! What is this? оймс! (socks) I point to a man in the photo of the exhibition. Энэ эмэгтэй байна үү? Is this a woman? They all crack up laughing, silly white person.


Last night in a shop, the shopkeeper asked me Чи ээж ааваа санаж байна уу? Fark, what does that mean? I lean in and signal him to say it again….. санаж….. that sounds like Сайн which means good. I get the other bits. You mum, dad something is? Are my mum and dad good? Bit of a personal question from a shop keeper, he doesn’t know my mum or dad….. He starts to mimic looking sad, patting his heart and drawing a tear sliding down his face…. so is my mum and dad sad that I am here? And then it clicks, сана not Сайн. These sound really similar to an English speaker like saaanaj or saaaaan. Do I miss my mum and dad? Yeah sure, I miss em.

At work, if I try and speak Mongolian my colleagues laugh (with me not at me) because I sound like a little kid speaking. Last week I tried to ask what kind of cake is that? “What kind” (ya-ma) sounds exactly the same to me as the word for “goat” (ya-maaa) and once again everyone cracks up laughing. At least am here to amuse! This is why the kids were so good to speak with, they’re just happy to play. And now I can see why (geeky) people fall in love with language learning because while I am here I have (kinda) been able to have experiences speaking with local people I have never had travelling before. I could even hear the crazy taxi driver ask if I was single. Well at least that’s what I think he was saying……



The tube and the foot – Би хөлөө хугалсан!

I have been a little quiet since the New Year. I am currently in New Zealand and have been for the past month. Many of you know exactly why but for those who don’t let me regale you with another story of stupid stuff that happens to me.

Winter was upon us and my Callum was in Mongolia for a visit from China, so we decided to travel up north to Lake Khövsgöl, the largest fresh water lake by volume in the country. The trip started off grand. 5 of us squished into a bus that would take us there in a mere 14 hours. The bus was filling up with petrol fumes as soon as we sat down, threatening to gas us all before we even took off. The bus was also filling up with more people that you would assume would be able to buy tickets….. more and more people and boxes and bits of luggage were starting to crowd the aisle… I asked in my amateur Mongolian where the man who had parked in the aisle next to us was going? … “Khövsgöl, Khövsgöl” he says. Nooooooooo, we are cramped enough as it is without having 20 more people packed into the aisle. Some kids were slotted into each other next to us, one guys back to the other guys front, legs splayed. They were all sleeping like that in this horribly uncomfortable train. One of the guys had his hand on my leg while we slept. Not in a  creepy way. There was just literally nowhere else for this kid to put his hand. This bus ride oscillated between hilarious and the worst thing ever.

After that exercise in extreme discomfort we made it up north. The lake was pretty bloody amazing we had to admit. It was this massive expanse of frozen water, which was sometimes terrifying to walk on. Every now and then you could here a deep resounding crack where the ice was forming and moving around and it was eery and amazing. We went horse riding and the Mongolian herder dude led the horses over the ice so we could get a good photo. Ah man. That was terrifying. The horses did not want to walk over the ice AT ALL. The were recoiling and trying to turn around until the men ushered them onto the lake giving them no choice but to follow. The ice was then cracking and spooking the horses while I was shitting myself atop one of them. Is this adventure tourism? (well for the weak hearted among us sure)

On New Years eve the driver/owners brother named Ganbat at MS Guesthouse (which we highly recommend!) found us a blow up donut to slide around the snowy hills. Expert snowboarder Tim went off to make a jump to muck around on and us girls stayed to play around on a little sled and the blow up tube. Anastasia goes down first, quite fast might I add. She rolls off before hitting the sturdy AF wooden fence at the base of the hill, like a smart person. My turn next. I climb up a bit higher than Anastasia even and start to slide, getting faster and faster and then suddenly I need to either jump off or dunno and then SMASH. I crash into the fence with one foot. I was honestly trying to slow myself down and then got scared and froze and then suddenly I think I am going to vomit because my foot hurts SO MUCH, possibly the most pain I have ever felt in my life.

Luckily, my excellent friend Celia is a nurse. She is moving the foot asking if I can feel this and that and then I’m bundled up in the van off to the towns medical clinic. Poor Ganbat had just taken us out for a fun time and some dumb white girl has now properly hurt herself. Long story short, we arrive at the clinic, the shoot me up with tramadol and 20 minutes later I am way calm. Celia did tell me this would happen. She said Jacinta, in 20 minutes you will calm down and the pain will ease. I am lying on this table shivering and crying and moaning cause I am a massive pussy and cannot handle pain in any form. 20 minutes later I come to my senses ahahahaha. Anyhow, another thing happened in that emergency clinic. A suppository had to go in my bum because it was the only anti-inflammatory they had.


Luckily I have lovely nurse friends aye 😉

The whole time MS Guesthouse were so lovely and concerned, they organised a taxi at 6am New Years day so we didn’t have to take the devil bus again. We had a really beautiful New Years Eve meal with the family there. The kids were really cute, putting their big winter coats on at 11.30 so they would be ready to light fireworks at midnight on the dot. I fell asleep at literally 12.10 after the fireworks (and wine and vodka shots).

Also quick mention to the toilets. I didn’t see them on the way back but I was told. They are just a massive hole dug into the ground on the side of the road, with a little shack around them and wooden slats on either side to squat on. The shit and wee would build and build freezing each time until you get a huge shit pyramid, the peak threatening to touch the bum of the squatter.

Fast forward to the current moment. I am typing this at my lovely Mum’s house in Thames, New Zealand. The back doors are open and I can hear general wildlife chirping and buzzing. I saw it got down to a blistering -38 degrees in UB a couple of weeks back and Tim told me it had been -42 at night. So shit. That is pretty cold. BUT I am still keen to go back once this foot is all healed up to finish my time there but no more injuries for me thanks!

Happy New Year! Шинэ жилийн мэнд хүргэе!


Happy New year from Mongolia! As it gets colder and the pollution gets worse the holiday vibes ramped up and I realised the Mongolians know how to celebrate in style. As Mongolia is a majority Buddhist country, New Years is celebrated as the main holiday event, not Christmas as we do in the West.

In the lead up to New Years our work did this thing called Monitor. Everyone got a random person in the workplace to buy presents for. It is like a secret santa for the entire workplace, it has a different theme every day and we have to find a way to deliver the presents in secret. The theme for the first day was “soft.” I was delivered a jammy Russian cake by the lovely cleaning lady and I had her sneakily drop my Monitor some baby food. At this point I cannot decide whether Monitor is a joke or a serious present buying activity…..

Day 2 of monitor is themed 18+. So of course I received a pair of lacy red undies…. from a colleague. I love this country! I just don’t think this hilarious gift would be acceptable in an Australian workplace. Or mobilising 50 people to buy gifts for another person everyday for a week straight. In Mongolia however, no problem. Me and my colleague bought 2 mantuun buuz, big fluffy Mongolian bread dumplings, and arranged them on a picture of a sexy lady to look like big boobs. Comedy. Gold. The rest of the week was food and lollies and little cards delivered back and forth, themed “red”and “from the heart.”

Then the New Years party came around. Colleagues had told me that this is a night where Mongolians dress up. I had brought a full length silk dress specifically for this occasion, as well as getting my hair and makeup professionally done. We were allowed to leave work at 11am to go get ready….. and the party was on a Tuesday night. This would have to be the most effort I have made since my high school ball.

Well oh lordy! People were dressed the the MF nines. All the women donned full on ball gowns, down to the ground, professional up dos, amazing makeup, a lot of sparkly jewelery. They looked sooooooooo pretty. And suddenly in a floor length dress and makeup I am totally underdressed.

We get to the New Years party a little late because we had Christmas drinks at the Australian embassy before this. Me and my colleague Bogi rock up when the NY “tokens” (videos) are being projected on a huge screen in a ballroom, while a three course meal is served as we watch. NY tokens were a thing I didn’t really understand before they were played at the party. I only get what is communicated to me, so when Bogi asked if she could speak on my behalf in these token preparation meetings I literally had no idea what she was talking about and said yeah sure.

They were amazing. Groups of my colleagues had dressed up and staged Mongolia’s Got Talent (a super popular show here), filming proper edited videos, having met on the weekend to attempt the winning performance. When it came to our teams video, I suddenly see my big head imposed on a puppet doing the Macarena, a massive dancing monstrosity. Everyone cracked up laughing. I guess you could see that as funny…..

At the party a jolly and rather drunk colleague made me swap my dress to the traditional deel she was wearing. As in, she took off her deel and made me put it on. At first I was really reluctant. I thought it would look like I was taking the piss, trying to play dress ups, and as I was the only non-Mongolian there I would stick out like a sore thumb. However, she promised me she would make me a deel of my own before Tsagaan Tsa (the other New Year Mongolians celebrate in February). Surprisingly, I actually got the best reaction. People kept coming up to me to tell me how good I looked in the deel, that I looked beautiful. I’ll take that aye.


I have to say the night ended pretty drunkenly on my behalf…. I may have gotten on the microphone trying to be funny, telling the whole room that they smell on the assumption that they couldn’t understand me.

Like this “Hey everyone, who can understand me?”

small, barely audible “wooh!”

“Well thank you for welcoming me into your organisation and having me in Mongolia”

small, barely audible “wooh”

“You guys all smell bad!”

Gah. Happy New Year aye.




Winter things!

This weekend I spent 3.5 hours in a hot sauna while the winter cold existed outside without me. I was fully, entirely, unclothed. Naked as a new born baby. I was there with a friend, who was also naked, and we alternated between the shower, sauna and scrub table with a bit of plastic in tow to sit on, shielding your bum from the stools. There it dawned on me that I have probably never seen any of my other friends fully naked. Maybe an accidental nipple or cheek here or there when changing, but not absolutely starkers. I loved it. Not in a pervy way, it’s just freeing. You only ever see two types of body in Australia – your own or dem skinny b$tches in the media. In the sauna you see heaps of different types of body, women living their lives with boobs and bulges and flat bits and stretch marks and I think if we had more naked saunas in Australia/New Zealand we might have some more body love around. Just a thought.

The weather here is really cold now and it has only just officially clocked into winter. This morning it was -29 when I left the house and I have to say I feel like I am handling it like a damn champ considering all the worrying I have done about how cold it is going to be. The weather is a main topic of dinner conversation around here, among all the Aussies at least. How cold it is, how cold it will be, when is it warm again? how you constantly oscillate between way too hot and kinda okay and freezing because the heating inside is amazing and so when you put your coat on in the morning you heave and sweat until you get outside. And then it’s arctic outside and your face muscles feel like they are partially freezing under your skin and you have to move your face around to thaw them out. Yesterday I posed for a photo outside and I couldn’t hold the smile cause my face muscles felt actually frozen.


The weather is cold yes but now there are winter things to do! And I have never in my life been a person to endorse winter. In fact, I have been the most vocal of complainers, an eternal advocate for summer. But on Sunday I went snowboarding and it was so sick. Admittedly we had a snowboard instructor with us so that helped a whole damn lot. I think you can learn anything at all with a good teacher. Sliding down a hill on a slippery piece of wood where you might fall over and crack your skull at any minute is so much better than hiking. Sorry hiking, I tried you out, you sucked, snowboarding wins.


Tim – the excellent instructor


And there are other winter things too. There is dog sledding out in the national park which is meant to be ridiculous fun and ice skating on the river which freezes fully over and there is opera and ballet to attend and beer to drink!

True, there is horrible pollution in Ulaanbaatar that hangs over the city, a big dirty dusty cloud that makes you cough and smells awful. Unfortunately, the people living in the poorer part of town (the Ger district) have to burn cheap and dirty coal to stay warm at night. I can’t blame them. I bet the coal plant generating the heat for my lovely apartment doesn’t do wonders for the air either. Also, the traffic is wretched, you really do want to walk less when it is freezing, so the cars line up in long unforgiving jams with their exhausts, puff, puff, puffing away.


Anastasia with her pollution mask on

So, in conclusion. Winter (so far) is way better than I gave credit to/anticipated. I may be getting way too ahead of myself. We learnt how to say, “ask me after the winter” in Mongolian class: өвөл дуусахаар надаас асуугаарай!




Some lessons from Mongolia

A few lessons from Mongolia for my lovely loyal readers:

Horse meat should be eaten cold, not hot. Hot horse meat is of course disgusting. I am surprised you didn’t already know this.

The stairs are a perfectly reasonable place to have a sleep. I found a very drunk young man asleep in the stairwell of our apartment building.  It is so incredibly cold outside now that the jagged stairs are of course a better option than the street. I gave him some water and saw him upright in the morning. Better luck next time mate

Marmot meat is very delicious to Mongolians, although when my workmate offered me some today I felt so guilty. Marmots are on their way to extinction. Unfortunately, the little things have their taste against them. If they tasted like hot15183907_10153922752347750_243121340_o horse meat they wouldn’t be so sought after now would they?

I haven’t been paying enough attention to cleaning behind my ears. I realised what being clean behind the ears is when I had a full body scrub with my colleague. The scrubber puts her full weight into it, sanding you down like a fat naked piece of wood on a table. Like a beached whale isn’t a bad analogy either since she chucked buckets of water on you intermittently to wash away the dead skin like you would do a whale who is stuck on the sand.

Mongolian women aren’t as squeamish to be naked in the shower/sauna/scrubbing table as I am.

What cold is. I now know what true freezing cold is. Cold is -35 and you can’t get a taxi which is suddenly much harder to do than when it was warm and didn’t seem so URGENT. When you walk for 35 minutes in -35 you learn what cold is. -35 is fucking freezing. It’s like someone is smooshing a block of ice against your face and legs. That kind of cold stings. Even Mongolians would call -35 cold. It is the year of the monkey you see. I am told winter in the year of the monkey is always harsh.15134198_10153922752417750_35558273_o-1

That I need to wear more clothes when it is -35.

That at such temperatures your snot freezes. Out there it constantly feels like you have a booger.

That other cultures will just call you out if you’ve put on weight. Twice now I have been told I’m packing it on. Like directly, hey you are getting fatter. Well maybe if the food here wasn’t all fried and tasty and full of meat and fat. Oh and beer.



Massage in Mongolia


A few Wednesday’s ago there was a public holiday in Ulaanbaatar due to the local elections. And because it was election day alchohol sales were prohibited for the day and the one after (!) foiling my plan to sink beers and go bowling.

We decided on a massage. And what a massage it was. Mongolian massage is the most thorough I’ve come across. I love getting a massage. I am a massage fiend. I will take a massage from anyone.I’ve had massages in Australia, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia, India, and now Mongolia. I buy them for other people as gifts with the completely unselfish hope of getting one in return.

Anyhow, I digress. The massage. She instructed me to strip totally and don a pair of disposable undies and a hair cap and lie face down on the table. So far so good.

She started at the shoulders, all pretty innocent. Quite hard but enjoyable nonetheless. Shoulders and back are my favourite because I’m hunched up at a desk all day and they get stiff and sore. Everyone loves a good shoulder rub right?

Next was the neck. Oh BOY that hurt, it hurt heaps, really painful. It was like she was like trying to get in under my skull, give my brain a good rub just to make sure she had covered all ground.

She then…. oh god…. she then…… pulled down my undies, and massaged my bum. My bum! I mean it felt good but is everyone else’s bum just fat like mine?

Then it was the thighs and calves and feet, tick and tick and tick.

Turn over to the front. A boob rub. Bare boob rub. A tummy fat jiggle…… Cringing quite a lot now.

Then back to the trusty thighs, calves and feet.

Up to the head. This was pretty awesome actually a lovely head massage.

Then a proper rough head scratch.

A back crack.

She even got inside my ears. You heard.




So now me and the masseuse share some kind of very weird bond because that makes the amount of people that have had their fingers inside my ears a grand total of two. And I am #1. In fact the only way she could have been more thorough was if we had had intercourse right there on the table.

I’ve had hard massages in Thailand, where the masseuse pulled my whole body back and up by my arms (an assisted yoga pose apparently) while whispering “fly home” in my ear.

I’ve had a Thai massage in Australia which was so awesome. The best massage I’ve ever had. But I suspect it’s like butter chicken in Australia. Originally from the country but manipulated to suit the Australian palette.

And that one I had in India? I had an Aruveydic massage in India that was really gentle, and quite beautiful, using Ayurvedic oils  to massage out the barnacles of tension and distress our bodies apparently pick up when moving through the sea of life. I have to shamefully admit I found it pretty hard to relax for the first half because I had followed this lady down an alleyway, by myself and into a little room when she left and told me to strip and lie on the table. I kept thinking this would be the perfect way to rob a lone dumb tourist. I’m not going to run out naked onto the street in India….. anyway I felt bad for thinking this because she was extremely professional in getting the barnacles.


Hampi, India – where I followed a woman down an alley in search of a massage

So what does the Mongolian style of massage say about the country?  I guess you could say she’s no fuss, she’s sturdy and she’s thorough.

Mongolia thus far


So I have been living in in Mongolia for nearly 2 months and I haven’t updated this blog I promised to maintain with writing and photos. It is not particularly hard to understand why, I have been busy setting up a new life in a new city, and my friend Rob said no one wants to read about other people’s lives anyway. But I’ll draw a picture for y’all just the same.

Mongolia is really different to anywhere else I have been. It is has an alpine look that I have never seen before and when it snows (it snows!) the mountains are blanketed white and the city gets icy and I love to crack the puddles with my boot, releasing the leaves and dirt and ciggie butts trapped beneath.

It is getting colder. When we first arrived the air was warm and it was impossible to dress because I kept thinking it’s Mongolia! it’s cold! And then the day would increasingly build in heat until I was boiling hot leaving me cursing the wooly tights I kept wearing in preparation for the cold. Well, it is cold now. Colder than I have ever lived in and besides the one time I went to the Snowy Mountains (in Australia), it is colder here than I have ever experienced. Luckily, I bought a good duck down jacket when I visited my sister Breanna in Canberra. This stops the piercing wind getting to my torso and I am still pretty comfortable. I’ll do an update this time next month regarding the cold, I doubt I will be as blasé. It get’s down to an unimaginable -30 here. Oh Lord, what will become of me?

The mountains in Mongolia are stunningly beautiful. Annoyingly, these are peppered with vodka bottles and empty ciggie packets and bits of plastic that people seem to chuck from car windows. Ignore that and the landscape is vast and just….. amazing.


I have been hiking one time in the Bogd Khan sacred mountains just 20 minutes from Ulaanbaatar (UB) city. I was pretty enthusiastic when I first got here about all the outdoorsy stuff I was bound to fall in love with. I was certainly going to become one of those people that loves to sweat and struggle up a mountain for a quick squiz at the view, some lunch and then not complain about the thoroughly uncomfortable trek down the hill.

Well…… I wanted to quit literally seven minutes in. I could still see the carpark and was adamant it would be better for everyone if I just fucked off down the hill and waited patiently for the hiking club to return. I’d make some friends down there, maybe have a nap, perhaps negotiate a taxi back to my couch. The men behind me dismissed this with a chuckle. You’ve started now honey. I heaved my way up, enjoyed the view, hated the descent, but felt excellent the next day. I’d say I will go again.

There is some poverty in UB. On a night out I took a homeless boy who was begging in front of the bar for some food. He scoffed down the fried chicken I bought him with all the enthusiasm of someone who hasn’t eaten a hot meal in some time. He was trying to entertain me before the food came with a little dance and after we ate he used the money I saw him begging for on a teabag to make a me a cup of tea. That is the Mongolian hospitality we hear about. What a lovely kid. I hope he is okay in the winter.

People who don’t have anywhere to go in the winter have to go underground and live next to the hot water pipes that snake under the city and provide the apartments and office buildings good quality central heating. World Vision came in a while ago to try and get the kids out from under there. It’s certainly a desperate place and there were reports of rapes and other such things that plague miserable places like that. So I really hope that little kid has hooked up with World Vision and doesn’t have to squat down there when the temperatures plunge to those insufferable lows. I look for him every time I walk past the bar.

Anyhow, more stories to come! Mongolia is really a beautiful and interesting place. Having a good time, have made some nice friends and everything is сайн! Here are some photos.

Love Jazz



My talented AF friends – Lola Sola



I have a lot of talented friends. I have lived with painters and designers and entrepreneurs that churn massive piles of enviable cash and also my sister, whose cake making skills are as impressive as they are delicious. It is enough to make anyone feel a little insecure, surrounded by all these magnificent artists and visionaries! But fuck that I love it, their art and their ideas make my life better.

Today I want to brag about my long term lovely friend Lola Sola. Now this is a young artist you should be paying attention to. I’ve always believed that she will be famous and have already made her promise that I can come back stage when she plays Coachella.

The title track of her album, Walking Back From Hell has these lyrics that kinda scare me a little bit. I can actually see her trudging back from some inner hell with no shoes on, feet a bit singed, and jeez thank god she escaped from that terrifying place. This is songwriting at it’s best. Her music is personal and inviting and hell catchy to boot. Swim is perhaps my favourite track on the album. It gets stuck in my head every time I hear it and the lyrics excite me. When she proclaims in that lovely voice of hers “All I want…. is to swim with you…..” I can totally pretend she is talking a about me. I bet everyone else in the room is doing the same. Papermen is a rather haunting depiction of struggles with depression while Hooked In tells the story of some downward spiral she got herself stuck on. Each song is a chapter in the songwriters life, still evolving. With every track she’s telling me a story of an interesting if not sometimes rocky journey and I am totally hooked.

Lola Sola’s songwriting is personal and triumphant, a bit depressing and really exciting at the same time. And I can also testify that you won’t get sick of seeing her perform live, having seen her play approximately 1000 times.

Check her out her new album on bandcamp now.




Travelling solo!

I have to say I am totally digging this travelling solo situation. When I say solo I mean I have no friends with me, no one to go to lunch or dinner with and no one to get up for in the morning. To be honest it is glorious. This is not to say it is not hard to find people to eat with. This morning I had breakfast with a French man from Paris ( who evidently works in social enterprise, the very thing I am here studying) and an Indian fellow from up north who is in the midst of a quarter life crisis…… he has moved to Mysore to check out the yoga scene, see what that does for him.

Anyway, I met a random on the street, we got to talking and he proposed he show me around the city. Well heck, why not? Mustafa was his name and he wanted to take me to the old market last night but I though I better stick to the daylight with the random men hangs. Anyhow, there he was 9am to pick me up this morning, ready to take me to Chumundi Hills as promised. I had roped the French and Indian guys to come with and up we went. What an excellent experience this was. It was the last day of a Hindu festival and there was A LOT of people on the hill.

We dropped the boys off to the hostel and Mustafa and I ate lunch, had a look around the old market, he took me to an incense and essential oils shop (where I spent 1000 rupees, a pretty penny here), to see the men carving  ornate wooden tables and bed heads out the back of some alleys, and to a jewelery shop where I am ashamed to say I bought some wares….. my question is, are you being ripped off if you like it?


My bro on Chumundi Hills

My bro on Chumundi Hills



Roadside tats FTW


Roadside tats FTW