backpacker illusions

Getting greasy in Greece....

2012-06-11T16:31:00.000-07:00

The thought of 5 star holiday treatment had me dripping at the mouth. Yet it was the 28deg heat that really had me releasing bodily fluids faster than I could replenish them. Greece, you turned it up, even though things are looking pretty down.

I've not long returned from a much needed break away to an idyllic island getaway, with horizon stretching sea views and passing pods of dolphins, stocked mini bars and bubbling jacuzzis, bling bowling alleys and all you can eat 5 star cuisine, secluded private beaches with glass elevator entrances, pool side cocktails and lazy loungers...

The classic 'country cliches' were funny to watch unfold over the lazy 7 days, much of it were spent mooching around the pool and beach, a place where people still play out their idiosyncrasies, even when half naked.

The Germans lived up to their classic towel-bandit behaviour round the poolside. They love getting dibs on the loungers and god forbid you move a towel, all scheisse breaks loose. My girlfriend and I had the pleasure of watching some middle aged lady go sicko at some dude who obviously didn't speak a common language.

She appeared outa nowhere and I hadnt seen her all day, yet someone had moved her towel. Call the Gestapo, its not like theres at least 12 other empty loungers around! Figures out, she had miscued it altogether, wasn't even 'her' lounger, it was 5m away to the right. Take a chill pill lady and use it to park your fat ass, cos the sooner you take it outa the way of my sunlight here, the better!

The Belgians loved to have a wee chit chat, talk about the Brussels and the Euro crisis, but were quite stiff when it came to etiquette. Sliding doors separating the outside diners from the inside, were monitored by the Belgians. They didn't like to mix their space with the alfresco dinner air and made a few unruly scenes over it.

An observation that annoyed me came from an overly demanding young Indian couple. They annoyed the shit outa me with their constant pestering and bickering of the waiting staff. Hounding them with orders of freshly made dishes, (there were over 40 options to eat from as it were, all cooked fresh) requests that appeared out of thin air, no menus in sight, clicky fingers, and having worked in hospo for many years, nothing gets me more wound up than clicky fingers.

But their attitudes to people and the world in general annoyed me. They left rubbish strewn wherever they parked up, expecting others to pick it up after them, when a bin was ever only metres away. The way the dude wore his jocks around the pool also had me in stitches, but sick stitches. They looked like he wore them all day and all night, day in day out, and the dude was flapping about in my pool? Sicko. Get some swimmers on, I dont care if you wanna crank out the budgie smugglers, the board shorts or the in-betweeners, but dont roll round in your bloody sweaty ass jocks and then go dip your bollocks in the stagnant water we all share. Come on man, take your head outa your ass.

I hate going somewhere and at least not being to say a couple of words of the spoken dialect. The standard pleasantries is usually the bare minimum, however rubbish it sounds rolling off the tongue, its an effort to relate. The week had me thinking on the dynamics of the European Union and how there were so many languages and cultures, so many mannerisms and ways of dealing with situations, that observing several countries all trying to enjoy themselves, was entertainment in itself.

The English were reserved, polite and did their things without too much bother. They thoroughly enjoyed the selection of 'full english' accompaniments at breakfast times. Although, if I were to make an observation slightly more interesting than the normal cliches, the only women to roll out the fake plastic racks of boob were three independent English females... what does that say, someone please enlighten me.

A group of young Scottish girls were loud and boisterous and were an entertaining conversation to overhear in their booming scottish accents....
'oh, aye, looks like I rolled in at 3am lassies, ive got a txt here saying 'im langered goin home', youse hussies must of stayed til morn'
They were backpackers in a 5 star. Partypackers giving it the large one every night. Had obviously scored the same sweet deal we did on Groupon ;) Although, we arrived on the Flashpackers ticket. Preferring to swap the hungover slept-in mornings with an ocean swim and a 4 course breakfast by the pool to start our days.

The only North American accent I heard all week echoed out from the bar, a solitary guy, sitting there talking to anyone that would listen. He was out buying property. I switched off after that.

The funniest episode came when an Eastern European man, of about 55yrs, waltzed into the pool arena and started entertaining three big boned women, who all seemed to know him. I had them down as Romanians but it was only a guess. Anyways, this old dude is strutting it in a pair of saggy speedos and his 'package' just seems to be abnormally big, it was seriously the first thing you noticed when he spun round, spose it didnt help that he was flapping his arms around like a bird, and squatting with his arms out like a 'im a little teapot' dance.

He broke into a aerobo class and started punching the air, Jackie Chan styles, followed with the grunts and sharp yelps. He had everyone quietly laughing, but it seemed like he was in his own little world, we weren't even there, him and his harem of 3 big elderly companions just cackled away, squealing and hollering with old mate taking running jumps to land himself in between 2 of them on the loungers. He was hilarious. Whoever and where ever he came from. He was my poolside hero of the week.

So obviously I had too much time on my hands to poke fun at country cliches whilst indulging in the sweet sensation of 5 star treatment on an island getaway.

To everyone else, we probably looked like a pair of smuggy bastards, talking a mish mash of english, spanish and portuguese, always munching on food and drink, making strange noises to each other, the couple that made sandwiches at breakfast to eat for lunch, who were always on the verge of laughing in the elevators, who always thanked in Greek, who farted in an elevator as they jumped out to waiting dinner guests, who bought beers at the local shop across the road and drank on their balcony, who played music in their room, who played pool at the run down local taverna down the road. But to that I say................. nada. Cos we cleaned as we went, we acknowledged as we went, we tipped as rolled and smiled as it all unfolded.
But I see how that can be perceived as smuggy. But as long as its done humbly and with conviction, its cool.

And that is what traveling has taught me. Be humble, and if you do something, do it with conviction.

Efharisto Greece for another lesson in travel.

#lovestreetdogs

Inspiration Initiative

2012-03-31T15:05:00.001-07:00

The traveling enthusiasts over at @easyJetHolidays have initiated a cool little game of pass the parcel within the travel blogging community. The theme is centred around Travel Inspiration. (hash tag #InspireTravel for those with a nose for more prose)

(Paul Downey - Creative Commons Licence)

Travel in itself is inspirational, the offshoots of these experiences shape our characters and define who we are today. We all blog because we love travel. But Easyjet have dug a little deeper and probed the big 4 - the Who, the When, the Where and What has inspired one to travel...

Without further a dooo heres my who....

Who

This guy kept talking to me. Incessantly.

Telling me there existed frontiers where buffalo roamed in their hundreds. I was nose deep in a law degree at the time and the thought of roaming buffalo across wild frontiers was an elusive illusion.

A backpacking illusion.

I asked my friends, my family, lecturers and classmates. They all thought it was a crazy idea midway through my studies.

They were right.

It was so crazy that it changed my life. I listened to that guy, taking his advice in the face of a wall of unanimous opinion advising me not to 'do it'

That guy was me. I inspired myself to set off alone into foreign lands in pursuit of elusive dreams, and in doing so, I was and still am my personal inspiration.
(Ha, hero alert)

When

It was somewhere in between Tanzania and Zambia on a long and narrow, dusty baked red-earthed road. The midday heat was creeping up and a bluebird day perched high above me. The empty road ran onto the horizon in each direction. There was no one, or no-thing within eye shot.

(Geezaweezer - Creative Commons Licence)

I had a 1/4 bottle of water. A banana and $1US dollar.
No passport, no pack, no phone. No nada.

I stood there contemplating my direction. Contemplating my life. Contemplating this whole travel thing.

I had been robbed and now faced the simple decision of heading for my final destination, 3 countries away and 2400km to the south, or a 800km mission back to my origin.

I thought for a second about my travel experiences so far in my life. Real gritty story-telling travel experiences - I couldn't draw on any in that momentary lapse of thought in the stifling heat.
I had inspired myself to travel and now here I was standing on a country road in the depths of Eastern Africa, stripped bare of all my possessions, alone, confused and with no one insight to turn to for assistance.

Before me lay an experience I knew would either shape me or break me.

I made a call that day. And that was to keep traveling, no matter what circumstances life dished up at me.
And so I headed south.

Where

Last frontiers have always fascinated me. I often wish I was born a couple of centuries earlier so that I could of lived a life of frontier pioneering. That somewhat selfish sense of glory when you discover a secret gem of a place is a hard one to disguise.

Places where only few travellers have ever visited are indeed gems amongst a well worn planet. There are very few places untouched by the rathe of the traveling human being.

I do however hold one place in my heart. Its a slice of paradise. Even the few inhabitants who live there call it paradise.

It is an idyllic couple of bays that nestle into a jagged coastline with a rolling blue sea behind it. There is brocoli-blanketed lush rainforest melting into a mountainous backdrop. No roads, no power lines. Access by boat only. Coming in from the rolling sea, its like descending upon heavens gates.

Unfortunately its a secret I cannot share, even for a competition ;) But it is undoubtably my most inspirational place on the surface of this earth.

What

And so we travel.

Through changing worlds and shifting sands
over high seas & foreign lands
and what stimulates our emotions
as we cross these oceans
staring at the stars
and walking the land
carved from gods own hand

It must be the people
in the smiles
in the faces
of all earth's glorious races

We breathe & we see
we do & we be
but theres nothing quite like
being free.

And so we travel...

#inspirationinitiative

In the name and vein of inspiration, the 5 travel enthusiasts who I wish to pass this parcel to are...

Neil www.backpacksandbunkbeds.com
@packsandbunks

Christina www.thetravolution.com
@thetravolution

Emma www.sparkyseestheworld.wordpress.com
@Emma_Sparks

James www.backpackerjam.com
@backpackerjam

Victoria www.pommietravels.com
@PommieTravels

---------------------------------------------

Easy Jet Holidays www.holidayblog.easyjet.com
@EasyJetHolidays

Life. Looking back...

2012-03-11T13:28:00.001-07:00

Be bold and courageous. When you look back on your life you will regret the things you didn't do more than the ones you did.

(H.Jackson Brown Jr)

What if you could go and lie on your deathbed for a moment. Just a moment to steal that opportunity to glance back at your life....... to ponder the good and the bad and feel the pain of the regrets wash over you....

Its a sobering thought if you fast forward yourself to your closing moments of your life.

Internet obsessions aside, as far as regrets go, they dont get more insightful than this. An Australian nurse spent several years caring for the dying and she's put together a book with her observations and interactions with those on the way out of here.

There was no mention of sex or bungee jumps, these epiphanies rock your socks to the very core. They are a sober reminder of why we need to constantly check ourselves before we wreck ourselves.

Here they are, top 5 regrets from the dying...

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

- the most common regret of them all. This comes down to the choices you make in life. We often fall victim to societal and family pressures. Its a shame, cos so many dreams and aspirations fall by the wayside as one marches down the road of life...

2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

- all the men she nursed talked about their regret spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence. We weren't put on this surface not to enjoy everyone and everything else that was put here with us. Sometimes we are so busy we bypass the most simplistic pleasures in life. Time. And people. And peoples time.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

- people carry a lot of baggage with them on their journeys through life. Theres a lot of shit one has to wade through to keep afloat, harbouring bitterness and resentment are painful pills to swallow.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

- I think this one I can relate to a lot. I value true friendships. I think it is one of the most simple and beautiful things we have in this world. The ability as humans to connect with one another on levels that sink deeper than most emotions.

The Nurse heard too many stories about regrets of not giving friendships the time and effort that they were worthy of. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying....

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

- probably the most unexpected of the 5, but according to this nurse, its one of the most common. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. Too many get wrapped up in patterns, habits and roles, and their emotions adapted accordingly. Deep within everyone loves to laugh, to have silliness in their lives and smile from the inside out. Happiness is a state of mind.

And on that note, heres the Dali Lama with the closing ceremony....

Consider the following. We humans are social beings. We come into the world as the result of others' actions. We survive here in dependence on others. Whether we like it or not, there is hardly a moment of our lives when we do not benefit from others' activities. For this reason it is hardly surprising that most of our happiness arises in the context of our relationships with others.

(Dali Lama)

If you want to read the full article get a slice of it here...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/feb/01/top-five-regrets-of-the-dying

A, B, C yeah you know me...

2012-02-23T03:46:00.012-08:00

So, it seems I've been slapped with the olde A,B,C 'yeah you know me' tag game that is circulating the travel blogging community...

Much thanks to Niel Niel orange piel (sorry its childhood thing for me, much like hearing denis the penis) from BackpacksandBunkbeds for his tagging prowess and the insight into his wild roving life as an intrepid traveler. Mucho appreciation big man!

So without further ado...

A: Age you went on your first international trip

Call it the beginning of the end. I took the international plunge at quite a late age of 20, midway through a law degree. Feeling like there was more to life and that I needed some form of direction rather than being coerced along by societies norms and doing 'what was expected of me' I ventured far and wide.... Living in little olde remote NZ often means we are late starters on the travel scene but when we go, we go....

B: Best (foreign) beer you’ve had and where:

I possess a nostalgic love with Quilmes in Argentina. It comes down to purely the good times with good people.

C: Cuisine (favorite):

Back home my nickname stems from my affiliation with a particular 'fush n chup' shop but this fails the cuisine test. So im gonna go with Spanish food. Or Indian, or Italian. Food is a god I worship regularly. Feed me now thou great jehovah.

D: Destinations, favorite, least favorite and why:

For selfish reasons I choose not to disclose my fav destination in the world, its a very remote, untouched and unspoiled slice of paradise that few travellers have visited. I wanna keep it that way :p

Least fav, uhm, downtown Tegucigalpa on a dark night is not that desirable.

E: Event you experienced abroad that made you say “wow”:

Surviving near death experiences always bring out a bit of 'wow' factor as you gasp at the reality of a dicey/crazy situation.

F: Favorite mode of transportation:

Train. Punto Pelota. Paul Theorouax summed it up when he said... "I have seldom heard a train go by and wished I was not on it" (forget inner city london)

G: Greatest feeling while traveling:

Freedom is a beautiful feeling. People in the past have died for it, luckily I have been born into a world where I only have to travel to get that feeling.

H: Hottest place you’ve traveled to:

Living in a tent in the tropics of far north Queensland was pretty hot. Altho, the extreme heat was offset by being in the only place in the world where the rainforest meets the reef. Primo.

I: Incredible service you’ve experienced and where:

The Quantas lady at Johannesburg airport when I staggered up the stairs a broken man after a journey of 3500km overland through 4 countries with no passport and no food for 3 days. She 'saved the day' bringing perhaps the most loco journey of my life to a close.

J: Journey that took the longest:

Probably that one.

K: Keepsake from your travels:

Different things have different meanings from different places and different people. Too many to go into. Lets just say Ive got bits and bobs scattered around in safe keeping spots around the world.

L: Let-down sight, why and where:

The equator. I couldnt see it.

M: Moment where you fell in love with travel:

Would have to be my first travel experience abroad. It was a feeling that I had longed for, I knew more to life existed than outside the walls of little olde NZ. And the experiences I had over the period of year traveling by myself were life changing. I feel in love with travel and harboured a love for all things international.

N: Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in:

A bling love hotel. It was....yeah.... nice?!

O: Obsession—what are you obsessed with taking pictures of while traveling?:

Actually Im obsessed with 'not' taking photos whilst traveling. After leading around tour groups who couldnt do anytihng but take photos, my obsession with 'not' taking photos fostered out of the frustration of seeing people miss the real experiences/essence of travel in replace of snapping photos.

(put your F%3k!n camera away and enjoy the moment dickwad)

P: Passport stamps, how many and from where?

On my second passport, thank fuck. A passport full of stamps has given me incessant ball ache at immigration checkpoints around the world.

Q: Quirkiest attraction you’ve visited and where:

Maximum security prison in Quito. Quirky, edgy and just plain olde slim shady.

R: Recommended sight, event or experience:

The experience of traveling solo. Its such an enriching experience, you really get to know yourself, test yourself, challenge your values, nurture your morals...

S: Splurge; something you have no problem forking over money for while traveling:

Street food. Im a sucker for it...

T: Touristy thing you’ve done:

I used to be a tourist guide.

U: Unforgettable travel memory:

There have been many. But if I had to choose one, Ill go with one of my first. I know its cliche but its a memory that has stuck with me ever since. It was the first time in my life that I was put in a situation where I really realised how fortunate I was and how many opportunities in life I actually had. It changed me fundamentally, my first experience living in the shoes of others. One could say that the empathy values within me were awoken...

V: Visas, how many and for where

The V word. Its taunted and teased me for the past 6 years. Visas can wax it.

W: Wine, best glass of wine while traveling and where?

Australian Goon.

X: eXcellent view and from where?

Beneath the worlds tallest waterfall in Canaima National Park. Like any amazing view, its a bit of a mission to get to but its spell binding...

Y: Years spent traveling?

Give or take 7 years. In fact my time in London is the first time i have stayed in one place for longer than 6 months since I left uni many moons ago.

Z: Zealous sports fans and where?

A derby football match in Rio de Janiero at the Maracana or a match in Buenos Aires between Bocas and River Plate. Adrenaline is feverish.

Coolio. Thats my A,B,C of traveling Me. Tag, your it....

@TravelApprentce

@latinabroad

@digidrift

@BackpackerBecki

Bon Appetite.... its Bon Iver....

2012-02-20T01:16:00.003-08:00

I just couldnt help but post this on my blog.

Such a sick session. These guys never fail to deliver passion and authenticity to their music. 24 min of beautiful tunage...

Time of your life with .... Facebook Timeline

2012-02-05T05:32:00.007-08:00

Facebook Timeline. The time of your life. Your life story...

Uhmmm, no, no its not.

Its not my life and it doesn't come close to providing a snapshot of my life either. So wax it Facecrack. Im not down with it. I aint 'liking' this....

So, sorry bout the vent, but if you dont know already, Facebook is rolling out the new timeline across the board. Awesome, cant wait. Actually, I can. And I have. Resisted the non existent temptation to turn my Facebook content into a peeping porthole. A bit cynical...?! I dont really care what you think anyway...

Time line. A revolutionary way of displaying ones past for the vogueruistic pleasure of others to drool over. Pass me the Facecloth please...

Awesome, well no, not really, im not a big fan.

Or am I?....

Timeline exposes nearly every recorded piece of data you have ever been associated with in a fancy pants new skinned design. The photos are breezy and the content scrollable, its now like flicking through a file, yet that file is a persons life.

Ok so for some, they love it. Hurrah! Its the tool that just sums up large segments of your life and voids any cognitive function to communicate on a level we had once been accustomed to. Long before this thing called Facebook, there existed electronic mail, and to be frank, (or murray) thats all I keep my Facebook account open for these days. Instant messaging to a very wide radiance of acquaintances.

You see, I think its all gone a bit pete tong. Facebook now has morphed into a living and growing organism. It retains all information, owns all information ever uploaded to it and can use, duplicate and display that information pretty much how they please. The recent floating of Facebook onto the internet has sent stock markets and financial analysts scrawling in attempts to actually 'value' this company.

Its been valued alright, a whopping $90 billion but a lot of this value is placed on the information that Facebook actually holds. As a user, that automatically sets off my alarm bells.

I have for some time, restricted my personal use of Facebook. I havent uploaded any photos, very rarely use my wall to write or post things and again, rarely engage in conversations with my 'friends' unless it is via direct messaging service. Thats just me, Im starting to withdraw from certain social action as the old cliche goes, once bitten, twice shy...

I can recall a few years back when some photos were uploaded of a farewell party for me. The party was comically coined 'Big Gay Dens Big Gay Leaving Party' on a big painted banner, the self proclaimed 'jokers' I had been working with in the hostel thought it was a hilarious title to theme a party. 'Gays n Lesbians' was the get up, and get on up the party got.

Needless to say there were some classic and compromising snapshots uploaded to the F.book over the following days. A couple of photos featuring me walking round with an inflatable penis tied round my waste (doing drunken silly things behind peoples backs) made it back to my mother and unbeknown to me some of my little cousins had copped it also.

God only knows how people digest things, but in hindsight its probably not the type of photos you would whip out on the coffee table around a family get-together. Esp from the conservative roots that my family heralds from. "No mum, everyone is just acting, they're not gay, im not gay, she's not gay, he's not.....well maybe he's a bit gay....and yes thats a tattooed penis on my bicep and forehead..." Wtf, I thought, why am i even trying to explain this...?!!

This episode was followed by another F.book blip, when i casually listed my then girlfriend as 'my wife' or 'married' i think it was. Again, this trailed back through my family and they were disgusted that after 2 years I hadnt seen them I had the audacity to get married without telling them.

I learnt my lesson. Some people live and breathe what is posted on Facebook. 1 million miles away the harmless banter that can seem jovial and at the very least comical at the time, you gotta realise that that shits viral, aint no firewall protecting your granny from viewing that tagged photo of you and your mate in a mankini. (for the books, i wasnt in the mankini!)

I guess in a way it has something to do with the shear number of 'friends' I have on Facebook as well and the different value that I place on the respective levels of friendships. I am aware of privacy filters and have a few attached to my profile, but this recent move by Facebook of compulsory roll out of the timeline has seen me shut off pretty much all information that I wish to share with this massive corporation.

I had a conversation with a mate the other night, about Facebook 'friends'. The conclusion we came to was, if hypothetically, tomorrow or in 5 years time, I was in their town (and had time up my sleeve) and chose not to call/see them, then, really, are they are 'friend'?!

The recent flutterings in the internet winds has sent a warning shiver down my spine with the encroaching influences of ACTA and SOPA and the localisation control implemented in other corners of the internet. The world of free flowing information is now being quietly coerced, controlled and manipulated behind the scenes. If anything, Im erring on the side of caution when it comes to uploading personal data on the web in general.

So for me, is it creepy or beautiful?! I spose when your made aware of the creepy habits of some whom use this telescope of time it starts to loose its novelty.

Its beautiful in the sense that we are all guilty of a bit of voyerguism in our own rights, but theres nothing beautiful about privatising personal information.

The web is changing, it is about as obvious as climate warming, but again, too few people actually give a shit and the big bizos continue to grind the turning stones.......sharpening some form of futuristic leverage on us all....

This was an interesting 12 min documentary that explores friendship and communication in an era where privacy is a rare commodity.

#HeyBackpacker....

2012-02-02T15:01:00.000-08:00

#heybackpacker is a trending hashtag on twitter at the mo, circulating the travel tweeps like an STD outbreak in a Peruvian Hostel.

It begs the question, what is a backpacker? Funnily enough, I named this blog that exact question a few moons ago. It was a phrase that my mind boggled over for quite some time. Until I came to the conclusion that I didnt really care what constituted a backpacker, per se, tou-che.

A backpacker has obvious traits. Similarities in character and particular traveling values that set backpackers apart from other "types" of travellers. They proudly refuse to be placed into the 'tourist' bucket.

Yet they struggle with the stereotypes often associated with a backpacker, the pot smoking, song writing, unwashed, tree hugging, unshaven long-haired friends of jesus.

Where in reality, the picture of a painted backpacker is a far cry from these stereotypical labels.

The rise of the Flashpacker has turned heads within the travel industry.

They are now a marketable bunch of travellers that hoteliers and boutique hostels are scrambling like eggs to get their business.

Flashpackers share the same independent spirit of a backpacker, which is to travel the road less traveled in a more independent manner.

They are usually a bit more cashed up and are generally there to get the maximum out of the minimum time frames they have on their travels.

They are a new breed of backpacker, growing by their thousands. But they are not the only offshoot of backpacker, other DNA strands have taken to the road, stamping their unique style upon the paths they walk.

The eco warrior backpacker has emerged from the bushes. Fiesty and righteous and deservedly so, they practice what they preach and are one of the few types of travellers that actually walk the walk after talking the talk.

These are the backpackers who offset their carbon footprint. The type of traveler that turns off the lights as they walk out of an unused dormitory. Its the little things, but as we all know, its the little things that matter....

They are in my opinion a new breed of positivity in the backpacker scene. This type of traveler engages with the wider social and cultural developments that occur around them. They are not one for thinking that someone else, some other day, will pick up the pieces or clean up the mess. They are positive engaging people with positive engaging attitudes towards travel.

Its a refreshing buzz to see this level of consciousness out on the backpacking scene. Travellers who actually give a fuck about the sustainability of the environment that they are lucky enough to experience.

Community driven and globally inspired, these aren't your tree hugging hippie travellers. Rid your perceptions of these misconceptions, Ecopackers possess a huge amount of respect for the social, environmental and cultural aspects of travel. And in turn, they ought to be respected for their effort and contribution to making travel the beautiful thing it is.

so #heybackpacker, check it before you wreck it. Take a leaf from an Ecopackers book.

Leaving on a jet plane...

2011-12-30T15:24:00.000-08:00

ive just endured a big boy journey. a 38 hour UK to NZ long haul with a couple of stop overs. the joys of buying cheap seats and flying on xmas day aye?! i never really had another option. but its cool. i like it. i often boast that if i had a good book and my laptop and an endless supply of airline food and beverage, i could fly to nz and back again. people look at me strangely. but thats alright. im alright with being a little strange.

throughout the trip i pondered a few things that annoy me on long haul flights.

the first being airport announcements.

they are often an incoherent dribble in an undetermined language, rattled out over tinny speakers that ruffle my fuzzy airplane head.

ive had the unfortunate pleasure of falling asleep in some muggy equatorial airport and drifting in and out of consciousness like i was fluttering through a dream where my name was being broadcasted across a sea of people in a crowded space.

it wasnt a dream. i missed my flight due to the incoherent smack the attendant was dribbling. the speakers were shit. my name was severely distorted and i was left stranded with $2.50 in my pocket and no ticket out of a hole that i desperately needed to crawl out of. airport announcements, i know your trying to be helpful, but fuck, slow down, speak clearly and upgrade your bloody speakers so that they are audible.

the second thing that grates me are muffled farts escaping down the aisle.

the pockets of mouldy mustard flavoured waft casually linger around the aisles, bouncing off the compressed air compartments with no where to disperse.

come on. i know, in fact we all know, how good it feels to let one slip, in fact, the smell of ones own farty aroma is a pleasurable indulgence,a guilty pleasure, but christ, to gas out a windowless box with innocent fare paying strangers less than 5 cm either side of you.

come onnnn!!! cop on. dont drop it likes it hot. airplane food is rank at the best of time. after its passed through your bowels its even more vial.

say no to flatulence at 30000 feet. its far from flattering and it flounders...

that brings me to airline toilets.

no matter where you go, its usually a bombshell. the tiny cubicles inside the cabins, theres no room to swing a cat and certainly no room to drop a bomb.

theres no escape from an asian airline meal thats just been flushed down the loo at 30,000 feet. they should have neutral odor spray or something.

have you ever had to sit opposite the door of a toilet on a long haul flight? torture. you need a WW11 gas mask with industrial earplugs to stay sane.

and finally, babies on board.

yup. up there with the worst. upon boarding a plane and making my way to my allocated seat, my eyes are cast upon the seats around me, wheres the kids? the inevitable screaming little munchkins that are going to pierce my eardrums for the entirety of the journey. wails and high pitched screeches.

im acutely aware for little babies its a result of eardrums being tested so i concur its tough. but its not just the crying or the babies, its the kids kicking the seat behind me. its the constant bullshit chatter and niggly little arguments they get into with their siblings. its the waking up at 3am to watch the cartoons and talk about them until breakfast is served.

but i made it without loosing my cool. its all part of the parcel. long haul flights on a budget airline. you get what you pay for. fun and games....minus the console on air asia....

2011-12-13T10:38:00.000-08:00

This made me laugh...

This made me smile

Will be back on the writing bandwagon pronto....stay tuned....

Been busier than this panda bear.....

Visual treats on a sunny Sunday morning...

2011-11-27T02:02:00.000-08:00

Ive been mad busy lately smashing out assignments, assessments and even a couple of dirty 3 hour exams. Got plenty more on the horizon with the next couple of weeks sending me back deep into the books. Good times tho, learning is a beautiful thing. I like watering plants as much as I like feeding my brain.

Needless to say Ive been writing loads, but my blog has been neglected. So on this sunday morning with a pile of work ahead of me, I want to leave you with a few visuals. Sometimes more powerful than words themselves.

The man who rarely spoke, speaks louder than words...

Bit more upbeat, hitchhiking trip around the world...

Walking down portobello road yesterday with my sister, I noticed this, you gota love the bluntness of Banksy. He hits it where it resonates....

And lastly, people are awesome.

The Anticipation of Travel.

2011-10-29T16:29:00.000-07:00

Its an itch that scratches red raw. An urge that jolts me from my sleep. A reoccurring nightmare that I want to relive, over and over again.

Life in this city is great. Its vibrant and bustling with almost too much to do and see. If feels like there is a whole world on your doorstep. In reality there is. This is a crazy world, within the world. Its an assault on the senses upon walking out your door in downtown W1 London. But what my senses really crave is a true sensory experience. A real escape to a self-prescribed utopian land that dreams are made of. Whoever said 'We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us' couldnt of been more right.

Life escapes the majority of us. We wake up daily and get on with the days proceedings and then we rest our head down again later that night, wrapping it all up and storing it in the memory bank, appropriately labelled 'yesterday'. This process rolls like a tumbleweed across some peoples lives and thunders down the tracks like a snowball in others. We all play this game of life with a different twist. We all escape daily. Its just that the boundaries are different for all of us.

For that Im eternally grateful. My self imposed boundaries on life have been cast wide. I fostered an early desire to travel when I first possessed the means to be able to do so. It wasnt imposed on me, it was a choice. A desire. A relief to a personal itch.

I have travelled extensively. It surpasses anything I have ever done in my life due to the experiences Ive had, the people Ive met and the places Ive seen. I have attempted thus far in my short time on this earth to not let life escape me.

The days pass quicker each year however. I look behind me and see my youth slipping away in the dust that Ive kicked up. Settling over the roads that Ive walked upon, etching the memory of my footprints into history. My history as a human being on this earth.

Im a lucky man. My footprints have been left in some pretty amazing places. But the traveler within me knows that my feet would love to walk again. Theres only so much walking around London one can do.

But its not all melodramatic. Christ, youd think Id been padlocked to a wall for the past year. Ive walked the shores of Spain, France, Ireland and New Zealand and I feel like I havent even put my shoes on. I spose its that undying want for what you cannot have in a way. Cos if i had my way, Id eat peaches every day...

I have worn the dust of many foreign streets, but to brush it off would surely be a crime.
I have the memories of many foreign adventures, but to forget them, would surely be a sin.
So, breath in the dust, and keep the memories in.

- Rowland Waring-Flood

Walk on...

Carpe Diem

2011-10-13T00:29:00.000-07:00

Flashpacking at a music festival...

2011-09-13T06:14:00.000-07:00

Boasting & roasting the accolades for the 'Best UK festival for 2010', understandably there were high expectations for Bestival 2011 and suffice to say, they were all met.

Apart from maybe the blue sunny skies, but hey, where are we again....yup, the Poo-K.

Last year, 55000 people set the Guinness World Record for the most people dressed at any one event.

This year, there were easily over 50,000 people and Saturday was reserved for the best dressed with all the beasts coming out of the bushes in their Sunday best.

There were countless highlights, but musically I would have to bow down to the legendary set played by DJ Shadow in the big tent, kudos to Chromeo for some old school quality.

Magnetic Man pumped out a fizzer and a comical Village People set were but some of the highlights.

Gutted I missed Primal Scream but thems the breaks at a festy loaded with numerous stages, tents and many many musical gods.

Our crew were all classically dressed in all sorts of outfits, until the heavens opened and the jackets came out sending us running for our.....wait for it.... "Boutique Camping zone"...

Yeah yeah I know, cringe cringe, whats that about. But this was a plan well-planned and as for the execution, well, it was kinda messy, but executed nonetheless....

The Octopad, was a saving sanctuary only 5min from the main stage, with its own block of clean toilets, warm showers and food stalls.

All of these amenities were seriously milked over the course of 4 nights, with 2 of those nights experiencing really shitty weather.

The Octopad (on the right) came with 4 beds and mattresses, wooden floors with carpet and electricity. Ha. Loose.

This was definitely Glamping at its best. 'Glamourous Camping.' An extension of Flashpacking ideals, this is camping with all the bells and whistles.

Now I realise I am getting older and with it comes concessions. I passed my 31st birthday whilst out 'Glamping' at Bestival. Whether the two are interconnected is something I will ponder over the days that will unfold before me.

I suppose I will just have to wait to see if my next travel adventure involves touches of Flashpacking. Only then will I succumb to the fact that things are seriously changing in my life hahaaaaaaa....

But until then, its good to try new things. Mix it up. Take an Octopad over a wet pup-tent.

Take a poo on a clean seat.

Choose life.

Choose a job.

Choose a career.

Choose a family.

Choose a fucking big television.

Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers.

Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.

Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments.

Choose a starter home.

Choose your friends.

Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.

Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.

Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.

Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.

Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future.

Choose life . . .

Shit Happens... (in Colombia..)

2011-09-01T14:25:00.000-07:00

The backpacking road is full of surprises.

And sometimes, shit happens....

Journeys of potential-bliss can turn into freakish-nightmares in a matter of minutes.

Such was the situation I found myself in on a sunny-Sunday afternoon staring out the window of a Colombian bus on a 22-hour journey towards Ecuador.

It all started back in Bogota at the Platypus Hostel as I was stuffing the last of my belongings into my backpack.

I was out in the courtyard in a hurry to say goodbyes to fellow backpackers that I had befriended during my brief stay. Familiar faces, smiles and waves. That goodbye-blur on a Sunday morning in a foreign hostel.

No one really wants to engage you, its too early, its Sunday, acknowledgements are sufficient.

The unspoken backpacker code murmured and nodded. Respect, keep calm and carry on.

This Dutch dude pokes his head out of the door, I recognized his face hazily, I had seen him around, perhaps we had chatted, shared a few brews around the courtyard with the many other backpackers that stayed in the infamous Platypus Hostel in central Bogota.

It was a Partypackers hostel, the type of place you meet some of the Gringo trail's interesting characters.

"Hey man, you going to Quito?! its a long trip man, take these, they'll help.."

and with that he stretched out his hand from behind the half-opened doorway. I shook his hand, instantly noticing the press of a small packet in my palm at the same time.

"Sweet mate, cheers, good luck on your travels"

and with that I was off to Ecuador...

Before long I was on the bus, belting into the lush countryside in the early hours of a relatively quiet morning for Colombian standards. We zipped past the outskirts of Bogota and into the wider green countryside of Colombia, or Locolombia as its often referred to by its inhabitants.

I had the blessings bestowed upon me to sit besides a young women and her fat chubby son.

El Gordito, he became quickly registered in my inner thoughts now spiralling out of control.

‘Fuck it’ I thought. He was restless. Big and burly. A right handful for his young mother. A notable presence wedged in between the pair of us.

"This little fatty bom bom is gonna piss me off"

I caught myself quietly muttering out loud in plain english. And as if he heard my cue, he proceeded to drive his toy car up the side of my leg. A shy smile from the young mother and I found myself rebounding back her smile. He's cool, just a harmless youngster. I looked out the window from the aisle seat, only 21 more hours to go. Shit...

It was two hours and thirty minutes into the ride when my hangover really started to kick in.

The cumbia music thrashing out in the tinny speakers somehow had eluded my attention thus far, now it was grating the side of my tender head.

I hadn't taken sleeping pills before on a long distance bus journey, but somehow the next few hours of fatty broomm brooomm driving his toy car up and down my leg and this ear piercing music was not going to cut the mustard.

The trump card came in the form of two white pills. Small and tablety. Knock-out-nuggets of savior in this hour of need, several hundred kilometers from Quito in a loud rickety bus with the stifling midday heat creeping up on us all.

I reached into my pocket, leaning up on one arse-cheek hanging out the aisle, and in one smooth motion, dropped the pills in my mouth as I chugged on some of my luke-warm apple postobon.

'Later gator' I smurked down at El Gordito...

My head must of lay dormant for a period of ten minutes, trying to shut everything off and slip into sleeptopia. I flipped over to look out the window.

And the cumbia band played on.

It felt like an hour and my pill action had bore no harvest, I was still awake. Fatty brroomm brroomm had been restless as per usual and the cows were still passing in the blurry rush outside the finger-marked window.

I felt hungry but I felt sick at the thought of food. A wave of nausea swept over me. Ahh, could this be it I optimistically pondered, I dropped the shutters on my eyelids and lay my head back to rest.

No matter how much you butter it up, there is no way to describe the feeling when a sudden surge of diarrhea grips you.

An inferno roars within you, tears through your innards and shoots down through your intestines at a lighting pace. Your stomach tightens and your sphincter is overcome with a sudden urge to relax, to release the immense pressure building up behind it.

And its that very urge that you must combat and defeat within the 10 second onslaught of a flush of instantaneous diarrhea.

If you let your determination down, you can kiss your dignity goodbye.

No, this cant be happening, I frantically tried to regather my composure. The young mother and Andreas (fatty bom boms real name) had looked up at me, I must of lurched, squirmed or maybe even let out a terrified yelp. They smelt something coming...

I was so focussed on keeping the back door locked that I lost any sense of my movements and/or vocals.

It took me 1.5 seconds to not only realise the gravity of the situation ahead of me but the catalyst responsible.

I had been done. I had slipped down a double dosage of laxatives.

The joke was on me. My thoughts were climbing over top of one another, I tried to sit up straight, I started to smile, I gripped the aisle hand rail, I took a deep breath.

Thats actually quite funny I thought. I bet they are pissing themselves with laughter right now.

This was going to be the mother of all battles. Fighting off a double drop dosage of laxatives whilst sweating out a hangover with loud music on an uncomfortable bus with an irritating seat partner driving his toy car up and down my legs every few minutes.

I took my breathing down and tried to scramble some thoughts together for a plan of action.

I needed a toilet. This was no flashpacker bus. That luxury didnt exist.

Sweat started to gather on my brow. I needed toilet paper. Nah first things first. No amount of Colombian one ply toilet paper is going to mop this badboy up if the dam bursts.

Another surge started to swell within me. The tide started to turn somewhere deep in my tummy. I started thinking, this is it Den, your all over here, its the 'laxative-express' hurling down the tracks hard and fast.....

A million thoughts crossed my mind. Kiss goodbye to all the dignity you have stored away whilst on this trip Denis, in fact, explain to the raging bus driver in your fumbling spanish that his seat is soiled. Explain to those around you who are pulling out handkerchiefs faster than you can scramble your words together.

Look the young mother and Andreas in the eye and say 'sorry, i shat myself.'

I clenched my dignity with all my might....

And it burned, burned burned....that ring of fire... that ring of fire.....

To Die For...

2011-08-22T04:21:00.000-07:00

On the morning of the Battle of Big Horn, Crazy Horse rose early to meet the dawn and paid homage to his creator. He then turned to his brave band of Indians and said ..

"Today is a great day to die....”

Is today, or any day for that matter, a great day to die?!

It is, if you believe enough in what your doing....

As the Rebels close in on Tripoli....an all too apparent realization washes over me.

They bid goodbye to their families and joined the mobs of men heading to ‘liberate’ Tripoli and dispose of the Gaddafi Regime. They were from all different backgrounds, tribes and professions, but they all shared one thing in common. They were there to lay down their lives for their belief in what they were doing.

They were prepared to die.

It has always fascinated me. Men, women and children who are prepared to die for what they believe in.

Those of us growing up in developed westernized nations may find it hard to relate to. We all live in relatively cushy worlds, rebellions, revolts and revolutions dont really exist. Laying down your life for David Cameron or dying for your belief in capitalism is just something that we are not really prepared to do.

Take religion out of this equation and you are left with men and women who are described by some as ‘Freedom Fighters’ and by others as ‘Terrorists’.

Similar words are thrown around, separatist, liberator, revolutionary, vigilante, militant, paramilitary, guerilla, rebel even patriot to name but a few. They all fascinate me because they all have something in common.

The willingness and commitment to die.

The aphorism is all too cliche, ‘One mans terrorist is another mans freedom fighter’.

So as the rebels march forward on Tripoli, the sons of Libya are risking their life for a post- Gaddafi life. A single sniper bullet could end their lives instantly, a tank shell could blow them to pieces any second, but they march on.

Death may scare them, but death is the ultimate sacrifice for ones freedom.

“They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freeeeedom!!!” - William Wallace.

I have made a list of current conflicts around the world that severely hinder travel on a domestic level around the world. There you will find, men women and children who are believe that today, may just well be, a great day to die.

(Note that I have not added to this list any religious based organization or groups who have been criminally inspired)

Rebels in Libya

Colombia - FARC and the ELN

MEND in Niger Delta of Nigeria

Philippines - New Peoples Army

Northern Ireland - IRA, UVF

Spain - ETA

Peru - Shining Path

Turkey - PKK

Every day the members of these groups wake up, they are prepared to die.

I wonder what today has in stall for them.

London Riots

2011-08-16T07:08:00.001-07:00

"wat u lookin at?" ..... was the response a little old lady got when she inquired about what the local youths on her street were up to.

In a separate incident on the other side of this city, an elderly man was smashed in the face and landed face first on the concrete, instantly sending him into a coma, then the afterlife, after he too, confronted the youth on his life-long neighbourhood street.

London cut loose.

Its loose ends were burning, wildly and dangerously, flapping about in the air like an electrical cord igniting and exploding. There were sparks, there were flames, there were deaths and there were stunned Londoners left wondering what just unfolded on their doorsteps.

I had the unfortunate experience of living close by to the madness that consumed parts of London last week

I was following the mayhem on twitter and watching out the window. It was the first place I instinctively turned to following the revolutions across the 'Arab Spring'.....but sadly, this was no revolution, this was no uprising, this was just disgusting, this was just mindless violence and a spontaneous crime spree.

Now the dust has settled, the windows being repaired, there remain many deep rooted questions that must be addressed.

Its a given that Politicians will slander each other, propose preposterous proposals and sing a tune of righteous and order. But behind the words, cracks remain. Scars that wont heal with a parliamentary inquiry, embers that wont extinguish with empty rhetoric.

London, madness arrived on your own doorstep last week.

The shutters came down and hoodies came up. Worlds collided.

Which begs the question, what kind of world do we live in when elderly ladies get mocked and elderly men get punched in the face on their own doorsteps?

London has stirred. It was ugly. But it was real, we weren't dreaming. It makes me think, that bigger things are on the way. Bigger riots, more feverish anger, greater force, deeper wounds, deeper divisions.

Life is not sustainable at the moment. If you read my last post below, I mentioned the fact that we will need 27 planet earths like this one to sustain the worlds growing population if we plan to survive without killing each other off.

I dont see us pulling 27 earths out of the magic bag anytime soon. I do unfortunately, see a lot of death and destruction on the horizon.

However morbid it sounds, however painful and disturbing it is to ponder on that thought, i think the slap of reality across the face we just experienced in london is a wake up call....

Change is inevitable...

The World as we know it....

2011-08-04T04:10:00.000-07:00

I watched a documentary last night called ‘Man on Earth’ it was simply about that, mans time on earth.

The droopy old dude who was narrating the whole saga wasn’t nearly as exciting as the revealing of Mother Earths resilient and adaptive nature. Mother Nature, Planet Earth, The World, Gaia, Pachamama, Home, ........ whatever you call it, she’s as gentle and humbling as she is tough and unforgiving.

I dunno why I inherently call the planet a She. Maybe it has something to do with a womens resilient spirit, her sensitive nature or simply because of the direct correlation with the ability to reproduce.

The theme olde Tony was reiterating throughout the documentary was simply that. Mother Earth, our Planet, reproduces. She adapts to conditions. She has been around for hundreds of thousands of years.

But the Earth is sensitive to external forces and reacts sharply, not always with such speed, but with a consistent and almost methodical, calculated reaction.

I think this is definitely why I call the planet a She.

Cue the topic ‘climate change’.

Yeah yeah, blah blah, its a two word phrase thrown around more than the the 90‘s classic, ‘ya mumma’.

But it is a fact. Climate change occurred 7000 years ago. The World adapted to the external forces it was forced to endure.

The entirety of Africa was once abundant with natural resources. Awash with such distinguished features such as lakes and rivers, covered from coast to coast with pristine rain forests. That all disappeared due to Mother Earths reaction to atmospheric conditions. Climate change.

Now the north of Africa is peeled back, the lush green fertile surface erased and now there exists nothing but sand, hot dry crusty sand.

From the Atlantic ocean to the Mediterranean sea, fucking hot sand.

Random fact. The Sahara is over 9 million square kilometers of desert. Say what?! Must suck being a camels toe. (Hot sand ;)

Climate change is occurring now. This minute, all around the World. The Planet is reacting and Mother Earth is buckling under the pressure.

Cracks are showing. Literally. Like the ones in the roads of downtown Christchurch, New Zealand.

There are three easily identifiable issues staring down the barrel at Mother Earth.

Population, overconsumption and inefficient resource use.

It is claimed that if humans don’t sort out these issues by 2050, just 40 years from now, then we will need 27 other planets just like this one, to be able to support ourselves. If that is, we continue to use and consume the Worlds natural and non natural resources at the rate we are going and reproduce the way we are reproducing.

Astonishing aye?! The kind of startling fact that makes you not want to bring up kids in this World, for their sake.

There is not doubt, with us ants (humans) affecting the atmospheric conditions of theWorld, the knock on affects every living organism that clings to Mother Earths skin. Ok thats not fair, cows also need to look at the amount of farts they beef out. This has a massive effect on the ozone layer.

Cows fart 4 times more than humans. If that is anywhere near how many my girlfriend can pop out on a good day, thats some serious gas.

So whats the answer?!

Probably not.

I ride a bike everywhere, but thats almost suicidal on a good day in London. Don’t buy Mcdonalds in places like Brazil where cattle are farmed on irreplaceable Amazonian soil. Conserve the precious amounts of finite fresh water we have....turn off unnecessary lights....the list goes on and who am I to blast these ideals down your throat?! Im certainly guilty of simple pleasures, although I did secretly tell myself I was a dirty rotten bastard when munching down a cheeseburger on the streets of Rio de Janeiro.

What I think every human being occupying space on the surface of this Earth can do to affect climate change is quite simple.

Be conscious. Be conscious of how your actions in your everyday life affect others, not just those in immediate vicinity, but those in far away lands also.

Sounds like some sermon delivered to you by new age Buddha Backpacker Boy here, but its not. Nor am I preaching to the choir, singing REMs ‘its the end of the world as we know it...”

Im just welcoming you to our world like Roy Orbison would. This is reality. The world around us is changing.

Our planet is hanging on a thread. Its a delicate world out there. Your world can be turned upside down at any moment.

Better book that ticket to Timbuktu then.....

If you haven’t yet seen this dazzling documentary, filmed over the course of 10 years, shot aerially over 75 different countries, then lock it in. The entire thing is free on youtube, as the famous Yann Arthus - Bertrand did not want to make any royalties or cash from this labour of love.

This he says, is something we all need to see.

World's worst places to backpack #2

2011-07-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

Iraq. One of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements on earth.

A turbulent mash up of ancient civilization and cave men with guns. This is the region once described as the 'craddle of civilization', the birthplace of writing and the wheel, where the hanging gardens of Babelyon lie....

Iraq, its on its knees. Theyre bleeding rivers of blood, too thick for a backpacker to swim through.

After 10 straight years of indiscriminate killings, of rife and ugly secteriran killings, suicide bombings and assassinations.... the people are broken, the country plunged back into the dark ages.

Its certainly a dark enough place at the moment.

Enduring the despotic dictatorship reign of sadistic Saddam must of been tough for the average Iraqi, then comes the gulf war followed by the invasion of the 'coalition of the willing'. In between foreign intervention and tyranny there's the bickering civil wars, the relentless acts of daily violence...where does it end for Iraq? Actually, where and when does it even begin...?!

Iraq has gone past the point of anything that resembles normality. No matter your race, religon or nationality, somone will find an excuse to kill you.

Torture is something you can buy down at the local market. It comes in a multi-pack containing a sack, duct tape and a humungous-sized machette. Hang around the market long enough and you might even catch the rough end of a good olde fashioned 'market blast'

Hostage taking is just what happens.

Heres a list of the known foreign victims, living and perished .... but just remember, for every 1 foreigner kidnapped 12 Iraqis succumb to the same fate.

The only cool thing about Baghdad is the fresh air on the open-roof bus tours. The roof-top rips open when you pull on the cord beneath the seat...

Travel in Iraq is possible.

There does exist a budgetpacker style of travel. But it can be only found in the north of Iraq. Iraq Kurdistan is different.

Thats northern Iraq, a region that is actually considered one of the up and coming destinations in the world, according to the New York Times. The Kurds are known to be very hospitable people and food and lodging is cheap.

There is a saying, every car in Iraq is a taxi. But watch yourself, not every man is a taxi driver.

(A bizarre clip on whats really going on in Iraq.....)

Just last week, a mass grave containing 900 people was unearthed. Nearly every day, the daily headlines murmur something about death and misery in this god forsaken and forgotten land.

Theres plenty of other places in the world that have sun and sand.

Beat it. Iraq aint for kids.

Nor flashpackers, fuck that.

Iraq, #2 worlds worst places to backpack.

World's worst places to backpack #3

2011-07-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

A discombobulated country on the horn of Africa. Affectionally known as 'the land of spices'

Somalia. Its certainly hot and spicy.

A backpacking trip through here would guarantee a bit of a rush. The experience would leave you with the hair permanently standing up on the back of your neck. Or just leave you.....

Its a country when pretty much anything goes. The reality of day-to-day life in Somalia is the stuff hopelessness is made of.

Without a functioning government in this country since 1991, the country has gone through a bit of a turbulent time of late, a bit of a free-for-all.

And by that I dont mean freebies or free-dom in any sense..

The large land mass that was once home to the largest army in Africa during the 80's, has now barely enough soldiers to protect the fragmented capital city of Mogadishu.

Corruption and extortion seem to be the very threads that hold together the fiscal policy of the country.

The entire economy is based upon these two pillars of power abuse.

From the barely audible or rarely visible government to the dare devil rooky pirates, there's plenty of characters in between who are just as shady.

Al-Shabab fighters control the southern and central parts of the country. Proudly charging round on camels sprouting their religious and political ideologies. They even have the odd crack at taking Mogadishu, the country's capital city, also known as the 'city of death'. The transitional government only controls a few square blocks of the capital city. The remainder is controlled by rogue war lords, powerful clans and/or extreme Islamic-inspired militias.

Odds are, you could probably haggle on the price of your hostel room, playing them all off on each other.

'ah come on...willy the warload said he'd do it for a fiver...Al Shabab don't have any mixed dorms available.....and your the government, surely you could offer me a bit more of a 'discount'

Loosely interpreted, the name Al Shabab can mean 'the youth' and as it happens to be, there are no girls in the gang, so they are also known as 'the lads', or at least thats what they call themselves.

Standard sharia law applies in the southern and central regions and 'the lads' are known for their no-nonsense responses, you don't really don't want to be cracking out the skimpy bathers down at the beach.

(This photo of a dead US solider being dragged through the streets was taken by a journalist whose collagues were only days earlier beaten to death for taking photos)

If your volunteerpacking, be very wary of the stats stacked up against you, in the past two years, 42 relief workers have been merked. Goneski.

Paul and Rachel Chandler, a couple of greypackers traveling around the world got mixed up in the madness, to say the least. The couple now hold the accolades for the longest held captives by Somali pirates, a cushy 400 days at the hands of these ruthless thugs and criminals of the high seas.

They were released a couple of months ago. Needless to say, don't think they'll be going back anytime soon.

So basically, any form of independent backpacking adventure would basically classify as suicidal. The only way you can even think about moving about is with armoured guards, private security or Ethiopian or official Somali troops. It is likely no matter which one of these options you choose, you will engage in some form of street battle.

Pack a bullet proof vest. And your hanky. There might be tears.

Worlds worst place to backpack #4

2011-06-15T11:10:00.000-07:00

Its certainly not on the top of the list for tourism destinations. In fact, its almost at the bottom of my list. Coming in at number 4 of the worlds worst places to backpack is Chechnya.

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Chechnya is a federal republic within the borders of Russia. It has its own president, parliment and consitution. Its ongoing conflict with Russia since the break up of the Soviet Union in 1991 has been the bane of its existence.

There has been pretty much an ongoing war since its inception onto the global stage in 91.

Human Rights Watch rencently issued these comments....
"If you are detained in Chechnya, you face a real and immediate risk of torture. And there is little chance that your torturer will be held accountable,"

You'll want to watch your antics in the bedroom whilst traveling in Chechnya. If your caught in the act of, or even accused of sex in the bum, your better hoist your pants up and run for the hills.

Article 148 of the Criminal Law Act punishes "anal sexual intercourse between a man and a woman or a man and a man" by caning and then if your caught again, death. Death comes in the form of stoning for women or beheadings for men. Tough love.

Chechnya is famous for its traditional knives and daggers. This is probably the first thing youll need to buy upon entering the country. English is spoken by pretty much no one so good luck there.

Flashpackers may be slightly enthused to know that you can enter by plane 3 times a week from Russia. For the slackpacker there exists a weekly train route but its prone to hijackings and bombs. But forget it. Seriously. The regions of Dagestan/ Chechnya / Ingushetia are notorious for kidnap risk. One of the highest rates in the world. If you dodge that, you have to deal with the worst of the worst in corrupt cops, i dont think even the Dalai Lamas patience and supply of $100US notes would hold up. The 'officials' tip off the local gangs who then either rip you off again, or simply kidnap you and eventually rip you off for more, or blatantly knock you off. Mass graves are like recreational parks in Chechnya.

(Local Kindergarten..)
Partypackers wont be so enthused to know that there is not a single disco or club in Chechnya. Its not a dry country per se but dont try and look like your having fun.

(Leave the kids at home..)
There is only one hotel to stay, a random 5 star bang smack in the middle of war torn Grozny. Its most famous guest of all time was Mike Tyson. Ha, aint nobody gonna mess with Mike. The Hotel Arena actually steamed in with a classy review on Trip Advisor, check it out...

http://www.tripadvisor.ca/Hotel_Review-g494957-d1895749-Reviews-Hotel_Arena_City-Grozny_Chechnya_South_Russia.html

If somehow your still convinced on traveling to Chechnya, watch this famous Russian film, called Voyna, literally translates as 'War'. Funny enough the capital City Grozny translates as 'terrible'.

Worlds worst place to backpack #5

2011-06-06T20:19:00.000-07:00

Pakistan - Hitting the headlines for all the wrong reasons.

The numero uno wanted hombre in the world was recently taken out underneath the noses of the regime. A lot of questions remain in the dust and dried up blood. The dilemma backpackers face is simple.

Is this a safe country to travel or is this a safe haven for extremism?

Pakistan is situated in a very volatile region of the planet. Its bordered by Iran, Afganistan, China & India. Pretty much screwed on all sides in terms of niggly little armed conflicts and geo-politik tug-o-war.

Its safe to say that Pakistans long and windy roads are no longer the same as the famous backpacker trails of the Silk Road.

Those days are gone. Long gone are the free wandering hippies, goneski the tourism infrastructure, however loose it was back then, its looser now. The only thing left that remains from the free floating 1960s are the drugs.

Pakistans current tourism campaigns seem to be directed at all the wrong people. Theres no Flashpacker accommodation anywhere in Islamabad. Theres no party scene for those Partypackers in Karachi.

Slippery Osama had evaded the most intelligent intelligence in the world. He was a mythical figure, a mystery man, a man who was supposed to be hiding out in a cave. But nah, he was kicking it Pakistan. Living the dream with the million dollar pad, couple of attentive ladies, watching dvds with popcorn on the couch. Sounds like your average hungover day in an inner city hostel?!?

Lets not get carried away.....

Anti US and Johnny Foreigner sentiment is running at fever pitch. Coupled with the constant onslaught of Drone attacks in the countryside, its not such an inviting place at this time.

The only fun thing youll find in Pakistan at the moment is a game of cricket in the street. It could turn ugly real quick though. And never, ever, high five anyone.....

Stay cool, stay clear of Pakistan.

Freedom Camping & Backpacking

2011-05-31T22:18:00.000-07:00

It boils down to R E S P E C T.

Respect for mother nature and the environment and respect for New Zealand and the people who live there.

If you decide to take a pee, or worse, rustle up a number 2, just outside your campervan or behind your tent, you may think nothing of it. I mean, it will wash away with the rain, perhaps even bio-degrade or melt away. Its human waste, surely it will erode into the organic waste that makes up your surroundings....

Well sadly no. Think about the collective actions of the next 63 people who camp in that exact spot over the next 2 weeks. If they all emptied their bowels into the same spot there would exist a pile of human feces or a small river of yellow pee enough to fill a couple of buckets. Empty those buckets into the soil, which leads to the river. Game over clean water.

The Department of Conservation do a great job in supplying long drop toilet facilities and even running water. All for a measly $6NZ. To blatantly ignore the good work that goes into allowing the tens of thousands of campers who visit the same areas we all do, would be a slap in the face for yourself.

One of the key things you quickly learn when out on the road traveling, is that you rely on the local environment and local people to keep it the way it is. Perhaps 10,000 people will stand in the very spot you happened to stand in and take that beautiful photo you have on your desktop. Before you drop that candy wrapper from your pocket, or take a quick pee besides those bushes, imagine for a second if even half of those 10,000 travelers who will visit that exact spot, did the same. It wouldnt be the same. The flies buzzing around that mould of human poo behind the rock would get in the photo. It wouldnt be the same for your friend who visited the year after you.

Its a messy one. The dropping of number 1’s and 2’s has become a national problem.

But there is a simple philosophy being mooted at the moment throughout the country. It seems to be one of the most logical steps towards making freedom camping work. The notion is that every campervan should have a toilet that captures waste that can be emptied at designated spots all over NZ roads.

New Zealand Tourism Website www.camping.org.nz

Its feasible. If you dont posses the means to take your pee pee and poo poo with you, then you cant camp wherever you want.

If you do, then camp where you want and enjoy one of the great aspects of traveling in New Zealand. The freedom to camp.
A clean camper is a good camper.
Camp New Zealands’ way, not your way.

Travel with a collective conscience and enjoy the freedom of camping.

---------------------------------------

This story is funny, well kinda....

http://www.stuff.co.nz/nelson-mail/4519468/Couple-left-to-cower-during-machete-attack

Worlds worst place to backpack #6

2011-05-24T01:41:00.000-07:00

Syria - Whats with the freaky dude and all his posters?

Dont be distracted by the hotness of his wife beneath that warm fuzzy coat. Does this mans face scare you?!

He scares me. Everytime he flashes before my eyes, I see an evil man, a man with a nasty side. His power yield certainly displays a nasty side.
His loyal and well paid military and security forces have beaten, killed and tortured the Syrians every single time they have tried to voice their opinions publicly.

Its atrocious whats going on. It reminds me of an olde quote of Noam Chomskys, the acts of state terrorism are far worse than acts of individual terrorism.

This man is a terrorist in all sense of the word. Over 11,000 people have gone missing or are simply dead. Bells must be rung, sirens must go off. The alarm is beeping and the world pressed snooze.

Syria is a country where 22 million people live....the country has been living under a military republic since 1963. I thought those days past with the 50's and 60's but seems not.

Life is tough under the regime. Take your own laptop flashpackers as every comment anyone posts in any type of forum in a public internet domain, is recorded and viewed by authorities. Sounds like a very scared authority. One afraid of the implications social media and the internet in general can have upon a society.

Travel is restricted and watched under a close eye. Jimmy Foreigner has personal assistants, although sometimes Jimmy doesnt know about them.

Your average Syrian is lovely. Nice people with moderate standards of living in relative terms. Billy the backpacker would love wandering the old city of Damascus, the Roman ruins of Apamea and the layrinith mystery of Aleppo.

Unfortunately the people of Syria no longer use facebook. The authorities have out smarted them and are one step in front. People dont even use cell phones to send messages. Happy to say however, for those backpackers that do venture, Skype does work and is widely used as a safe channel of communication.

So Syria, with its daunting security presence and its dominating heavy handed authorities comes in at #6 on the worlds worst places to backpack.

Dont stop asking questions where those 11,000 people went......

Pack it or stack it?!

2011-04-21T15:41:00.000-07:00

What to pack, what not to pack, that is the question!!

http://www.stuff.co.nz/travel/4916289/The-secret-of-travelling-light

Worlds worst place to backpack #7 ..... continued....

2011-03-27T02:10:00.000-07:00

Following on from my list of the worlds worst places to backpack, I had ranked Libya as #7. It now seems like that was a gross under estimation.

This video speaks for itself.