So... Thailand

So Thailand, I hear you've decided to rain on my holiday. To trap everyone indoors with only the hum of the air conditioner and crackly CNN for company. In fact, you know what else I've heard, Thailand? I've heard you don't want us here. It's the only logical explanation for all this. I bet that's why you've made boat trips and beach visits pointless and swimming dangerous. I think you're bored of us already, Thailand, and you just want us to go home and cry. 

Is that right, Thailand, huh? Is that what you really think? 

Well guess what Thailand! Screw you! Screw you and your mama because we're going to have fun anyway! We're going to get soaked and ride in tuk tuks and argue with shop owners about whether or not we should be allowed to stand under their awnings! We're going to watch the State of Origin with a cold cider and a crowd of screaming Aussies (go the Blues, by the way). We'll take long, scenic day trips and make use of every patch of sun we get. We'll take overnight trains and avoid any mention of ping pong at all costs. We'll clamber through trees and do battle with food poisoning and maybe even win. Because that's what we came here to do. 

And even on the days when it's clear that the rain has won and the day seems wasted, we'll still enjoy ourselves. We'll drink overpriced coffees and convince friendly drivers to take us across town for a fraction of the cost because it's the nice thing to do and we'll be trapped otherwise. Maybe we'll see shows or go walk in the wet sand. We'll write long emails to family, create inventive facebook posts and seriously consider getting tailored suits. You never know. Because as moronic (but cheap) as it may be to go to Thailand in the rainy season, we're still having the time of our lives. Because that's what we came here to do. We're awesome like that.

Barcelona for beginners - Five travel tips for novices

It's fine and dandy to blog about abstract concepts and vague themes but us travel bloggers are occasionally obligated to return to the actual basis of our expertise and blog about an actual place that we've actually been to. After all, we can't expect you readers to live vicariously through us if we're not actually going anywhere. And so, to Barcelona I went.

Were I a braver soul, my flight may have involved me annoying fellow passengers with football chants (Barcelona FC style) and attempting to converse with EasyJet's very British staff in Spanish, such was my excitement. However, shy and retiring wallflower that I am, I contented myself with an imported Frankie mag and the conversation of my travel buddy. After all, wannabe Geordie I am but wannabe Geordie Shore I will never be. 

A Spanish holiday tends to end up being either a glorified art gallery tour or a foodie/wino's dream of sangria and paella. I attempted to mix both together and it all ended up a bit higgledy piggledy. Trust me, if you're not absolututely obsessed with Gaudi; craning your neck to stare at his buildings does get old eventually. 

And so, for the average joe travellers of the world: Here's my guide to enjoying Barcelona.

1. Try and stay relatively close to the city centre as the metro and buses are going to cost you two euro each time you step on and a long walk can be a miserably hot affair. We stayed at Ona Barcelona which, whilst being a liiiitle noisy and a bit boring, was in a brilliant location, had very friendly staff and was absolutely, spotlessly clean. I definitely recommend staying on the fifth floor if you can where it's hotter, but much quieter. The showers on our floor (and really the bathrooms in general) were the best I've ever come across in a hostel. Ever.

Ever the Work-In-Progress: Gaudi's Sagrada Familia

2. Pick and choose your Gaudi carefully. The buildings are lovely, the church is lovely, the park is lovely, but after a while it will all start to seem a bit sameish and frankly garish. With costs of entry being around 15-20 euros, I'd hate to see you all bored by him. I recommend the park, which is free and makes for a nice bit of exercise if you've been ordering one too many tapas dishes for your table. The others can all be happily viewed from the outside without feeling you've missed out on something significant. Of course, when doing anything outdoors in Barcelona: be prepared to feel like you're in the middle of a friggin dust storm.

3. Practice your Spanish, but be prepared for some scathing looks. Still brimming with pride from last year's very successful South American trip, I felt my basic spanish should at least be up to par for ordering food. Yeah, turns out not. It wasn't pretty. I still maintain it's far better to try and fail, but unlike many other countries where attempting the language gets you smiles of appreciation, here it seemed more to annoy. So feel free just to point to things on the menu and save yourself the embarrassment, but try not to resort to too much English. At least remember to say por favor and gracias. It's quite literally the least you can do.

4. Explore the Gothic Quarter. Hands down, this was my favourite part of the whole trip. All those tiny alleyways, all those beautiful boutiques, all those quirky folks and eyebrow raising artworks. Absolutely darling. Fab. Spend an afternoon there if you can and seek out La Clandestina when you're ready for a tea/coffee/fresh juice break. Best cafe in the whole city. I won't tell you exactly where it is because I truly can't remember. Right at the green door, left at the ruin and past the tattoo parlour I think? Or was it left at the museum? Whatever, I'm sure you'll find it... eventually. 

5. Ask first, order later. The Santa Caterina Market is definitely worth your time, if only to check out the ruins beneath before heading on to the Chocolate Museum (Best museum idea ever, by the way. I mean, you get to eat the entry ticket!) but watch out for those wily fruit sellers. Make sure you ask how much something is first even if it's labelled. Otherwise you'll have it wrapped and bagged with your money already changing hands before you'll find out it's suddenly ten euros for a tiny punnet of raspberries. Good luck getting your change back at that point. 

Birthdays Abroad

It's been a week of milestones over here in ye olde England. A twenty-second birthday, a seventh month in the UK and eighteen months of being a Him and Her, rather than a singular unit. Gosh, it's just excitement after merry excitement in my life. Oh, and the weather finally broke. 

With the sun shining, the birds singing and the heating finally getting switched off; it's dang hard to find anything to complain about. Mornings are spent wandering the streets finding vampire rabbits (aaahh!) afternoons are spent in sunny beer gardens, evenings spent baking cupcakes and nights spent... booking flights and accommodation in Thailand. That's the problem with us young folks - we're absolutely impossible to please. When they dubbed us the Global Generation they truly weren't kidding. So what shall I do til I'm twenty-three? Enjoy each patch of sun whilst it lasts, then move on to the next one. 

Why We Run

There are some universally acknowledged truths about travel.  All backpacks inherited from parents will fall apart the first time you go to repack them, that creepy guy from your first hostel is always going to have the same schedule planned as you do and all in-flight meals will be about as palatable as laminate floorboards (yes, Qantas, you get to claim exception from this rule). One truth that is perhaps more meaningful, if not a little spiritual, is that all, all travelers -no matter what they claim- are running away from something. Really.

This isn't some self justifying, generic commentary provided by jealous relatives. It's fact. It can be as simple as running away from boredom and monotony or as fear driven as running from an ex lover or a horrendously painful breakup. We run from childhood, adulthood, and the urge to settle down. We run from graduations, family homes, real careers and choices that actually require us to risk failure for once. Whether we acknowledge it or not, there's always a reason, there's always a motivation, there's always something to fear in slowing down. Staying still.

But regardless of what we think, our true motivations do not invalidate our choice to travel. To run. Our minds know exactly what it is we're not ready to face. To travel is to build up a resistance, an immunity. Fleeing takes us out of the path of one challenge and throws us directly in the path of other, greater ones. By facing and defeating these challenges we're building up the strength and knowledge we need to go back and face that first demon we left behind. That whole "life experience" thing old folks talk about isn't as pointless as they make it sound, you know.

So my advice to all of you is to run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Run to discover as much as to escape and don't stop until you've reached some magical and enlightening place where everything makes sense again. I hear it's wonderful there.

  

Songs to run away with:

Architecture in Helsinki - Desert Island

Foster the People - Pumped Up Kicks

Metronomy - The Look

The Head and The Heart - Lost in My Mind

Gotye - Heart's a Mess

The Maccabees - Mary

It's beginning to look a lot like winter

I'm told by locals on a near daily basis that this has been an incredibly mild winter. Terms like "sunbathing weather" are thrown around with the casual nonchalance that only true hardweather boys possess. But what these crazy northerners are forgetting is that the rest of us (sane) folks are not used to this kind of climate. Whilst I was sadly deprived of the White Christmas I've dreamt of since childhood, I can no longer deny that winter is well and truly here. Snow has fallen, melted and fallen again, matches are regularly postponed for weather, the sun doesn't rise til it's almost time for it to set again and the walk down the hill to the bus stop becomes more and more treacherous every day. Black ice, as it turns out, is very likely to be the cause of my early demise. 

A wariness of spending too much money before I've received some decent sized paycheques means there will be no fancy skiing holidays for me. A trip to Edinburgh was the highlight of the new year so far but with southern England buried in snow and sitting at a comfortable negative seven degrees; it looks like I won't be doing much tourism for a while. So the question becomes: what is the humble traveller to do when leaving the house comes with oversized coats, frostbite and horizontal sleet flying in your face?

Winter can still be a grand old time of year for those of us who are sensibly unwilling to risk pneumonia. The humble thrills enjoyed back home can still bring comfort abroad. Restaurants, movies, bars and cafes are just as enjoyable. Museums, galleries and shops are still open and whilst good television seems to have gone on hiatus lately, a night in watching one of the many award ceremonies that kick off during February is just as fun here as back home. One of the difficulties modern travellers face is getting over the belief that you have to be doing something every day in order to justify your trip. Sometimes simply enjoying yourself is more than enough.

A World of Cliches

Well, just about two weeks have passed in Britain and so far my days have been an unending stream of British cliches. Villages are filled with tiny roads and identical houses, all the homes have decorative fireplaces, everyone is obsessed with football and train stations are tremendously huge and overly ornate. 

Oh look, a castle!

Days and nights have been both rainy and chilly and I'm told it will snow soon! And as promised on television: the Brits speak in a variety of dialects that range from classy to posh to adorably quaint to completely impossible to understand. The British coast is long and pretty but seems to be without the sand and sun I typically associate with the seaside. Castles are big and majestic and old and... full of old stuff. Halloween (Not just an American thing! Who knew?) promised small children in teeny tiny monster costumes but instead delivered dodgy teenagers with jackets over their faces trying to bung some free candy. Bonfire Night involved a dangerously large fire and a disracting display of fireworks to make sure everyone turned their backs on the blaze to give it a chance to get out of control.

British pubs contain cheap beer (or cider if you're me and therefore weak) and jolly locals getting scarily hammered. Tea rooms are staffed by middle aged women (probably the jolly locals' wives) who bake cakes and slices by the dozen and serve tea in pretty china pots. Oh, and Sunday dinners are epic. 

All in all, it's been very gratifying to know that my vaguely insulting expectations for this country are coming true. It's always nice to be proven right, over and over again. Although it's not helping the dear boyfriend's attempts to make me stop calling the UK a quaint, itty bitty island. But hey, he can't win 'em all.

Getting sick on holidays

As someone whose health has been consistently and fondly described as tragic for the past who-knows-how-long, vacations are usually just an excuse for me to go and test out the health care system of various countries. Singapore: yay, Cambodia: nay, Britain: not sure, but I'll bet you $100 (stupid computer not having a pound symbol) that I'll be able to tell you within a month or two. 


It was at a fairly young age that I perfected the quavering smile and self effacing chuckle all sickly youths use to earn the title of 'Brave Little Tyke', but in reality I'm still a total sook when it comes to illness. At the merest hint of a sniffle I will immediately move to take refuge in the relative safety of my mother's home and couch for a few days, from where I moan and groan whilst being provided with endless cups of tea and vegemite on toast (nature's cure-all). Sadly, however, this is not an option that is available to me when travelling. My first solo trip overseas resulted in a mostly untreated bout of whooping cough, which very nearly sent my dear mama half way round the world just to drive me to the doctor. 


In the years that followed this; I've become better and better prepared for the many ailments which seem to always find me, wherever I happen to be. Things like vaccinations and insurance (neither of which have ever really concerned me in Australia) suddenly take high priority when you're travelling. But there are other things I've figured out over the years. Learning how to say things like "emergency" "sick" and "doctor" in whatever the local language happens to be, taking note of where hospitals are so that you can direct "lost" taxi drivers and making friends with hostel owners so they're more likely to think to check on you if you're looking sickly are three good examples. Don't take your "sickness planning" too far, though. You do need to be careful, but make sure you don't get too carried away and miss out on half your trip out of false concern for your own health. 


For example: unless there's an actual health warning out, you can probably forego the face masks and -whilst it's always a good idea to be careful of your water supply and keep clean hands- you can pretty much take it for granted that at some point you're going to eat something that won't agree with you. An upset stomach won't kill you and avoiding local food just means missing out on some of the best made food in any country. 


The only other tip I can really give is to have a contingency budget. Planning a $3000 trip to fit within your $3000 of savings is going to leave you in deep, deep trouble should something go wrong. Your insurance won't kick in the very instant you get sick and in some cases, you won't be able to get any treatment at all until you have the insurance funds to pay for it. Make sure you've got at least $500 in extra savings that you can call on, whether you just need to visit a GP for antibiotics, or whether you need to pay for immediate blood tests  or xrays. It might mean you wait longer to take your dream trip, but it will be far less painful in the long run.

Travel reads

This post is being crafted out of the sorrow and loss of having dropped my Kobo (like a Kimble only cheaper, nastier and apparently more breakable) yesterday evening. Usually, this would be sad, but not big deal. But, I'm moving to a foreign country. I sold all my books a few weeks ago before I left Australia. And I've got 18 hours in transit, starting today! See, I'm a massive bookworm and now with literally nothing left to read; I'm left to rely on in flight entertainment to keep me... well... entertained. 


So, as an homage to my lost Kobo, here's two lists. One list of my top travel related reads, and another of the films currently showing on flights which I really don't want to have to watch.


Travel themed books that you may want to read:
In Patagonia - Chatwin
Turquoise: A Chef's Travels in Turkey - Malouf [Tasty, tasty travels]
Assassination Vacation - Vowell
The Motorcycle Diaries - Guevara
Almost French - Turnbull [Please note that you really do have to be female to enjoy this one]
The Belgariad - Eddings [I'm justifying this one with the fact that all epics are travel related. Did you never notice how much walking went on in The Lord of the Rings?]
Perfume - Süskind [For the murderously inclined traveller]


Movies I really didn't want to watch (that are currently on most flights' entertainment selections):
Bridesmaids
Monte Carlo
Xmen Origins
Red Dog [I'm sorry, Australia, but this looks like a Tourism Australia ad, and we all know how bad those have been for the last decade or so]
Arthur
Pirates of the Carribean 4 [In fairness, this is on the list because I've already seen it... twice... okay, so I like pirates]
Green Lantern


Why, oh why, can I not be flying during Oscar-baiting season? I'm only a month or so off!

People I want to take on holidays with me

5. Marieke Hardy
Because she is the shizzle. And super, super awesome in a variety of ways. And she writes very clever tv shows. Okay, so in reality I've got no idea if she'd make a good travel companion, but as my personal idol (marry me?) she earns a spot on this list anyway. We all owe our idols at least that much. Bare minimum, she'd be great to get drunk with.


4. Daniel Radcliffe
No, no, I'm not a 13 year old girl in disguise, but I have to admit this series always brings out the inner geek in me (don't judge me... or at least, not too harshly). The idea of travelling the world with "Harry Potter" ticks a couple of awesome boxes in terms of ridiculous sounding stories I could later tell. Plus, have you heard the guy sing? I can't imagine better partner for hostel karaoke nights. Plus, he's tiny! We could probably fit him in one of the suitcases. He'd be like the trip mascot or something.


3. Bono
Okay, so he might end up being a bit of a downer, what with all the constant talk about starving people and he might get jealous of Daniel's awesome singing (and mine, of course) but hey, he'd still be a great one to take along. What with the meaningful volunteer work with private jets to fly in and out, who wouldn't want to hang out with him? You get to live a life of total luxury and still feel good about yourself (in a "must be patronising to everybody else" kind of way). Win.


2. George Orwell
Okay so he's long dead, but I think the idea of a world circumferencing jaunt with him is just about as likely as one with Bono. Heck, let's take Hemingway, too. Proving Georgie's predictions of the future wrong would probably be very satisfying (although considering the state of the globe, he'd probably just change the title to 2084 and stick with the same story) and if there was ever a guy who knew the ins and outs of Paris and London, this would be him. 


1. David Attenborough
Now admit it, as soon as you read his name, you knew I was on to the best idea ever! This dude is awesome. His accent is adorable, he certainly travels enough to be used to the hardships, and he knows everything about flora and fauna. Hiking trips would never be the same again. Need another reason? Well, he is getting old (was he ever not old?) and if there was ever a perfect way to give David Attenborough a last hurrah: a nice holiday without video cameras sounds perfect. What I'm trying to say is that I'm totally not bringing him along just to ask him to narrate everything back to me. Totally not. I would never! I'm just a nice person, you know?


(Apparently I would also like to take my boyfriend because he is being a little girl and crying about me not wanting to take him on holidays. Don't worry so much, sweetie, I absolutely love you and all that wussy stuff. Totally.)

Something about the rain

I've spent close to two weeks in Singapore so far and if there's one thing I now know about this place; it's that they're not hurting for rain. My god this country is damp. With rain close to 300 days of the year and lightning storms on 170 of those days, you learn quickly to accept that you're unlikely to go through a day without getting a little bit wet. So here's some suggestions about what to do on rainy days during your travels.


1. Stuff the rain, go out to the streets/parks/whatever-unsheltered-area-you're-interested-in anyway. If you're in a warm country, this shouldn't be a miserable experience for you, but rather a new chance for some great photos and activities with tiiiny queues. Just don't wear heals, soft shoes or white clothes.


2. Ride around on public transport all day. Unless you're in a city with underground trains (or sometimes even then), taking public transport back and forth can give you a pretty great look at parts of the city you might not get to see otherwise. Plus, after a few trips, you'll never get lost or flummoxed by ticket zones again.


3. Find a nice cafe and catch up on emails. You know those friends you promised to send photos to? You know that mother who complains that your emails are too short and infrequent? You know that boyfriend who's getting all paranoid that you might meet someone else? Here's your chance to make every last one of these folks think you're the greatest. A couple of facebook posts, some pic uploads and a lengthy email or two and you'll be the most popular person you know!


4. Do all that cultural stuff you claimed you were planning on but have yet to make time for. Museums? Art Galleries? With all the valuables inside, these are usually the last places where you're likely to get rained on. The catch is that everyone else knows this, too. Expect larger than normal crowds.


5. Reenact your favourite movie scene. Let's face it, Hollywood loves a good drizzle. So get out there and dance off lampposts, run screaming from serial killers, declare true love, kiss strange girls, have a martial arts fight in fancy suits, whatever! You could even make your own movie if you wanted, but that could just be me being overambitious. I'm like that.

Careful Wording

Our vocabularies are forced to breach the norm when we travel. We insist on describing every market we enter as bustling or perhaps thronged, we call a meal we don't really understand (or like) a delicacy or a bonne bouche and we come up with words like rustic and agrarian to avoid having to mention that we're in the middle of nowhere. Truly, it seems we are all wordsmiths. Sadly, having stretched our creative streaks further than we can usually manage, we tend to start repeating ourselves outrageously. And we get terribly snootish when this is pointed out to us.

The art of living dangerously (or How to be an idiot)

I met a guy once in Cambodia. Let's call him Liam. Liam was one of those lifetime backpackers- already in his late thirties, never settled down, never stopped travelling, a little bit pitiable but also rather funny and incredibly knowledgable. There are many Liam's in the world.

 

I met Liam in a bar, where he was convincing bunches of people to sponsor his drinking and making plans to get across to Laos the following morning in some guy's truck. His stories were the kind of stories I hoped to one day tell. The kind of improbable, hair-raising, smile inducing, incredible memories that all travellers are jealous of, including me. Or at least I was until I witnessed how he picked them up.

 

Liam left us quite late into the night and I expected that was to be the last I saw of him. He wandered nonchalantly back into the bar about twenty minutes later and we soon learnt there were about thirty locals waiting for him outside. It turns out that moments before this, Liam made a business transaction with them (i.e. he got himself some coke) and had sampled what he was given and decided it wasn't strong enough... and refused to pay. If you're ever reading this, Liam, this is why I didn't add you on facebook.

 

Long, slightly threatening story short: Liam was forced by the bartenders to go pay for his goods (a full $10 I believe... outrageous!) and then went on his merry way. Now, one day, he's going to tell that story to other folks and they're going to think it's amazing. But it's not. In fact, it's an easy way to end up getting curb stomped by twelve year old asian drug dealers. Never fun.

 

Now I'm aware that I'm supposed to say that the moral to Liam's story is "Don't Do Drugs, Kids" but instead I'm going to go with "Don't Be A Stupid Moron, You Moron". Have a blast, do stupid things, make an idiot of yourself... but try and live to tell the tale. Dumb luck runs out for everyone eventually.

How to demonstrate your stupidity in any language

Want to prove your own stupidity to foreigners, but don't know where to start? Why, it's simple! Just follow my easy to read list of tips below!


Speak really loudly... 

Dang foreigners could speak English, they're just not listening properly. I mean, I always understand words better when they're shouted at me by a guy who's so close I can taste his spittle.

Offer them money... 

See, if you wave shiny dollars in people's faces, they're much more likely to spontaneously learn English. After all, you're surely richer than everyone you encounter. I mean, you're white!

Speak only in cultural stereotypes... 

The most cringeworthy moment of The Amazing Race Aus was when one charming contestant ran around China saying “Shanghai ladee? You have clue for me?” in a confusingly inappropriate accent. Seriously. That's just ridiculous, anywhere.

Speak... really... slowly...

So the shouting thing didn't work, huh? No worries, just speak reeeeally slowly and accompany your words with hand gestures. Then they'll get it.

Throw in random words in spanish... no matter what country your in... 

Do you hablo English? No? Damn. Now how am I going to order my burrito?

Mime... 

This is one I'm actually guilty of, but in truth, sometimes it does work. Mostly, though, you end up looking ridiculous trying to mime “electricity” by jiggling on the spot. Then they call a doctor for you and you're left feeling more than a little foolish. 

Try and make English words sound more foreigny...

Where can I findo a vendo machino? Do yu haav any chocolato?

Speak only in douchy quotes...

The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it's taken place.

George Bernard Shaw said that one. :)

So help me I want a puppy

And I want one badly. I want to hug it and walk it and occasionally put kibble in its bowl whilst sobbing with guilt about what a terrible non-feeding pet owner I am. But I can't have one.

See, whilst the world is open for the traveller, the pet stores are closed. No one is going to let me have a puppy if I intend to ship off overseas on a regular basis. It's just not going to happen. And if I tried to lie to the puppy sellers, my mum would probably take it upon herself to get the dang dog taken away and have me fined for animal endangerment. She's a cruel, cruel lady, my mother. (love you!)

Now, some of you may think I'm limiting myself. After all, half the fun of keeping an animal is burdening other people with the task of looking after it [and that's a rule that applies to child ownership, too] but I already task my flatmate with the job of taking care of my one plant in my absence and that's nearly ended in disaster a number of times. Most of my friends and family live in rental properties and are probably too wussy to sneak my pets in under the noses of their landlords, and the others are all liable to fall in love with my dog-thing and would never return it to lil old neglectful me. Jerks.

I know, I know, if I reeeeally wanted one, I wouldn't be letting logistics stand in my way. But since pet ownership is also expensive, I have instead opted for the lazy and totally free way of owning pets which involves giving personality to old soft toys.

Stop judging me!

The Patriot Virus

The patriot virus exists in many forms around the world. There are soldiers, housewives, creepy extremists, sports fans, primary schoolers and everything in between. Most people have a least some pride in their country (even if it's just happiness that you have nice weather) but for some reason, travel brings this out in a whole new way.

You can have as many issues with your country as you want. You can hate the government, you can wish your hometown was more lively, in fact: you can get outraged over any cause you like. But as soon as you step off the plane and onto foreign soil; you come from the best dang country in the world! Your morals are not completely compromised, of course. You don't change your mind about any of your preexisting opinions, but once you meet someone from another nationality, Australia/Britain/America/France/Name-Your-Home-Country-Here immediately becomes paradise on earth. The best place in the world to live! You're thinking about travelling there? Oh, you definitely should, it has so much to offer visitors!

God help anyone who talks bad your homeland in your presence.

This strange travel bug presents its strongest strain in groups of three or more young men. With these sufferers, it moves on to cringeworthy and dangerous extremes. These youthful representatives embarrass their fellow countrymen with open and loud declarations of their country's greatness. They ridicule the country they're in and any other foreigners they encounter. “You're French? You're french! Guy's it's a frog!”

[Side note to the lads: this kind of behaviour is not going to help your attempts to “bang a local”]

At its worst (I know, I didn't think it could get worse either) the virus may even become lethal. The sufferers are prone to fights, both verbal and physical. Should they encounter another group of young, male sufferers from a different country? Maiming ensues.

This of course is something to be avoided at all costs, but in it's simplest form; the patriot virus can be quite helpful. Belief in the greatness of one's own country helps foster homesickness and will convince the wayward traveller of the need to eventually return home. You're welcome, Mum and Dad.

Shove it in their faces

I love the travel sceptics. I adore them. They're my inspiration. They would get the dedication in any book I wrote. They make me what I am today.

Why? Because I'm the kind of person who doesn't take well to disbelief. When I mention places I want to go to and get that funny reeeeally with the raised eyebrow in reply: well, that's what makes me go. One of the only reasons I can actually motivate myself to go anywhere is to prove wrong any doubters. Shut up, you. I'll totally go! Look, I'm finding tickets on my phone right now! So nerr!

The issue, of course, is that most of my friends are way too lovely. I've got no reason to go anywhere when you're all so supportive! I'm too lazy to motivate myself! So I've starting creating my own little travel sceptic. I keep him locked away in my head until I start to daydream about another trip. And then I bring him out to tell me I can't do it. Go on, buddy. How much do you want to bet me I can get there within a month?

The Home Front

I am pants-peeing excited to be going to Melbourne this week for a little local tourism. I get to trip through unfamiliar streets and visit new bars, take photos and dork out, make comments about my 'adventurous spirit' and ask strangers for directions... but I only have to sit on a plane for an hour and a half to get there. Lovely.

Being a traveller in a semi-familiar environment is really loads more fun than any other kind of travel. The risk level drops substantially, you pretty much know beforehand whether something's worth getting to, and you almost never get lost. And if you're as disorganised and vague as I am: this makes a nice change.

With this in mind, I'm making the trip down for a few days to blend with my southern neighbours. Plus, I get to have the darling boyfriend on my arm for the first time in almost two months. Tis making me quite smug, show off that I am.

Joy.

La Trobe Street, Melbourne

Public Transportation: The Real Enemy

This might just be because I'm home again and want to have a bit of a dig at cityrail, but isn't public transport just a little bit terrifying?

It's not just the smelly passengers, or the over representation of crazy f***ers, or the suspicious looking stains, or any of these side concerns. It's that trains and buses seem to be purposefully messing with us. The inexplicable delays? The sudden slowing right when you're moving between carriages? The button that magically stops working right when you're about to pass your stop? The buses that suddenly slide too close to the curb and nearly hit you in the face with a mirror [I swear this happens to me every other day]? I don't trust these beasts anymore! It's purposeful! There is no doubt in my mind about this one: I'm absolutely sure that public transport wants us all dead.

That slow building sense of mistrust we've all been developing since the first time we were allowed to ride the bus to school? We should be paying attention to that! Instead, we accept these little oddities as mere frustrations. They're expected by now! My theory: this is what they want. Eventually, we're going to start hearing about deaths on the bus. Suspicious vanishings between one train station and the next. And we'll start to accept that, too! As another frustration! Just the risks of public transport!

They'll take us out one by one, until the only folks left are those with their own cars. And that's when the humble automobile will turn on us, too. It's not robots who are going to take over humanity: it's cityrail. And all the others like it. 

You have been warned.

Architecture - South America

Well, hours in transit haven't allowed me much energy for writing. So here are some photos of buildings instead. Because hey, that's awesome.

Cordoba, Argentina

Montevideo, Uruguay

Montevideo, Uruguay

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Leaving (for) home

On the penultimate day of quite a long trip, you would think feelings of either relief or devastation would be passing through me. Strangely, neither emotion has made an appearance, and my casual approach to completing my journey seems to be ticking people off. The nerve!

It seems I missed the memo that the ending of a trip must be accompanied by fanfare and dramatics. People are oddly perturbed when I don't tear up at the idea of leaving them behind or burst into sobs of joy because I'll see my friends back home. Don't worry (dear friends), I do love and miss you, but does it really bother you that much that I don't base my entire existence around your presence in my life? Really?

Seriously. You're not that great.

Uruguayan morning tea- another thing I'll miss

What I have missed, and what I am going to miss is food. I miss home cooked meals so badly that my first may leave me in fits at the dining table. I miss baking, I miss cooking, I miss the cheap Indian place near my house and I miss my normal supermarket. But my god I'm going to miss Argentinian icecream. Holy crap! This stuff's so good it would make Adriano Zumbo say “holy crap this stuff's so good”. (Yeah, the Z-man and I are tight)

What I won't miss is the smell of mate. Mate (the E is audible) is a herbal tea everyone here drinks at every possible opportunity. It's foul. The smell haunts me in my sleep. Hate hate hate hate hate.

But you know- it's cultural, so I guess I'll have to pretend I miss that, too. Otherwise more strange looks from fellow backpackers will result. Jeez.