Ghostgarden Part 1

In the outskirts of the Royal Botanic Gardens, we ask directions to Rathbourne Lodge. You would think that would be simple enough. Yes, we had tried, unsuccessfully looking for it numerous times on the map. But the bleeding place wasn't listed, nor even freaking signposted. And when that failed, we were forced to ask someone, god forbid. So we tried this British chick, thinking, hey, she's been sitting here for hours, surely she would know? She points us in the general direction, saying there's a left and then a right.

We're walking a while, not seeming to get anywhere. Spotting this couple, carrying what we were seeking, we accost them, demanding to know where they got those devices from. The guy says, why, it's just on the other side of the fernery. We're surrounded by fernery ya fool. Alright, calm diddly down.

We go on our way, coming to a fork in the road. Giving directions is a dying art form. We take our chances and walk through rainforest and grasslands, becoming increasingly frustrated by the heat and the lack of signage and people who can give proper directions. Finally we come to this restaurant, where I just had to ask this woman where the hell is this Rathbourne Lodge, as politely as I could manage.

Well she'll show us, she says. It's just through that way. Alright, that's it. If we don't find this god damn son of a bitch place in the next minute we're fucking going home.

And there she was. A little kiosk with a few people. We came all the way for this? God, I'm gonna give someone a piece of my mind, that's for god damn sure.