I woke up today, and I use the term very loosely. I did not sleep due to the incessant snoring and vivid night terrors of Mr. Brooklyn. I left super early, grabbing an Uber to the bus station, then a bus to the airport so I could at least get a little sleep. I got to Adelaide with no issue, arrived at my hostel and dropped off my bag. I then headed out for the main reason I made this stop, my Porchetta sandwich.
It might seem a little strange to make a stop on this international journey explicitly for a sandwich. However, there is a story involved; I made a promise. When I was driving for Uber back in New Orleans, one of my fares was a man that I picked up from a too wonderful dinner at Arnaud’s, a fabulous French Quarter restaurant. He was an older man and, in his aged years, confessed his processing of alcohol less than optimal. As I drove him to his hotel, I asked about his accent. He told me he was from Adelaide, and the subject naturally went onto my trip. 
Since it was only about a 10-minute drive to his hotel, we arrived just as the conversation was getting started. When I dropped him off, he whirled around and told me that I needed to promise him I would go to Adelaide. I should then go to the central market and get myself a Porchetta sandwich, in his estimation, the best sandwich in the world. He could sense my flippancy. He stopped again, bobbing like a buoy on an ocean of G and T’s, commanded I look him in the face, and promise him I would get one. Being a man of my word, I needed to fulfill my promise.
I walked to their central market, much like Victoria Market in Melbourne but smaller. After about 30 minutes, I discovered the little stall in the back selling the famed Porchetta sandwiches. For the uninitiated, a Porchetta sandwich is a seared crackling pork loin served on a roll. They were indeed worth the trip.
After lunch, I decided to walk around Adelaide. I was on the main street next to their smaller war memorial when I witnessed something incredibly strange—first, a little backpacker lingo. Much like the hobos of yore, backpackers have an idiosyncratic and unique vocabulary. Since most are strapped for cash, either because they are working or just spending all their available funds on travel, getting drunk the quickest and cheapest way possible is ideal. Since Australia is also home to many a splendid winery, the blends that do not sell are then combined and sold in a rather large box wine containers. The boxes are then eschewed for a more robust and transportable plastic bladder of wine, known colloquially as Goon. It is not only backpackers that are looking for the most expedient ways for inebriation; it is also for the homeless. And in Australia, the native Australians or Aboriginals are predominantly in this maligned group. It was here that I saw a group of four, right in front of a local government building, were having an altercation over several bags of Goon. One of the group, a woman, was pushed out into oncoming traffic because of it. As she left the sidewalk and fell in front of a bus, she dropped her Goon bags, and the other three scooped them up. Luckily, the quick reaction of the bus driver kept her from becoming another statistic. Watching this unfold was disheartening, but it was over as quickly as it started. It then put a whole question of the current Australian experience in my mind. However, there were more significant things to digest.
When I arrived back at my hostel, through breaking news reports on the screens, I learned that an Australian man shot up several mosques in Christchurch. The mosques were close to where I was staying. It was quite a shock, but unfortunately, this would not be the only black cloud following me on my travels.
The next day was my last full day in Adelaide. This was just a short stop on my adventure, basically to add both another Australia city on my belt as well as that fantastic sandwich. I had breakfast, relaxed a bit, then headed back over to the market. I had the Original with Slaw instead of cheese, which was still just as good. I then walked back and crossed the river into North Adelaide. There was a cricket stadium over there, and apparently, someone very important was making the rounds as there were several large limousines there. I walked a little farther, past a cathedral, then stopped and had a beer as it was quite hot. 
Walking back from the bar, there was a wedding procession just leaving the cathedral. Coming home, I rested a little, trying to stave off a cold that Mr. Brooklyn probably gave me. I headed back out and the streets were awash with people as my visit just so happened to coincide with Adelaide’s Fringe Fest. I had a Cubata or Cuba Libre with my favorite Havana Club, and just people watched for a good hour. I was still tired, so I headed back to the hostel for the night and just relaxed. I watched the news, and apparently, Adelaide and Christchurch are sister cities. Also, some government minister got hit in the head with an egg.
I ended up just reading and going to bed. So, that’s how big my night went. I got some of the included breakfast, put my bags in the storage room after checking out, then headed to walk around Adelaide for the last time. Unfortunately, the Porchetta stand 
was closed, so I just got a coffee in the central market. I then headed to Victoria Square, where a lady asked me for directions. I helped her the best I could, seeing how I had traversed most of the city in my two days. I then noticed there was a bit of a ruckus as hundreds of students were walking the streets with signs concerning climate change. I then went back to the hostel, got my stuff, headed to the airport, and flew to Perth.
