I've finished my first day of work and am wandering the grounds of The Ekka. The smell of deep fried food, diesel, and horse manure mingle delightfully in the air. At one point, walking through the midway, assaulted by flashing lights and blaring sounds, I get a little misty-eyed with bliss.
Sally described the Ekka as "perfectly mediocre."
Perfectly mediocre.
Who would want it any other way?
***
Earlier that day, I inadvertently snuck into the Ekka.
I was to meet Tom at Gate 1 and he'd give me the necessary day pass to get in. I follow my Google route from West End through the centre of Brisbane, past The Valley and kinda-sorta around a barrier-type thing. No one bats an eye and I coast by what look very much like Exhibition-esque buildings and stands.
Almost as though I were inside the grounds. Huh.
After a few requests for directions, I'm at Gate 1, calling Tom to come get me. He finds me leaned up against my bike, shades on, looking all kinds of chill, on the Ekka side of the gate.
"You're inside already? How did you get in?"
"Oh... oh! Yeah, I thought maybe I was... I don't quite know how; I just sort of ended up here."
What's funny is that it's true on multiple levels.
***
The Show crowd -- Queensland country folk and bogans a-plenty -- don't know what to make of the organic doughnut concept.
I'm informed that it is essential to my Ekka experience to consume a Dagwood Dog with sauce -- essentially, a mega corndog smothered in ketchup, in all its beige-y glory.
I don't.
I do, however, visit The Showbag Pavilion to further my understanding of the Show Bag.
And try my hand at hustling some fellow carnies on Sideshow Alley.
And I love the Ekka, in all its perfect mediocrity.
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