What with sailing teeny tiny boats across huge oceans, and riding dodgy motorbikes, and eating strange insects I’m sure I’m responsible for more than a few grey hairs! So this month I made the decision to focus on the good things in life, you know, the heart warming stuff. And so it was with that in mind that I entered Vietnam absolutely determined to find lots of nice things to talk about… and then I witnessed the murder of a small frog.

Our jaunt around Vietnam lasted a grand total of three weeks which might lead to you to think that it was one of my favourite places. Think again mi amigos; I have been ripped off, lied to, misinformed, misled and woken up by blaring music at 5am. In fact I have been so frequently angered by Vietnam that I started to indulge in fantasies of buying a taser and introducing my own form of aversion therapy.

Does this bus go to Hoi An? “Yes”, does this bus go to Hue? “Yes”, well which is it?! I know this is your second language but really, stop trying to be agreeable and actually think about it…zap goes my taser. A little over the top you may think but when you deal with this sort of thing on a daily basis it can start to wear you down.

Excuse me, but you appear to have short changed me, “yes”, you want twice as much money for no particular reason? “yes”, you’re going to sqeeze me for everything I’ve got simply because I’m a tourist? “yes”. Bring on the taser. And I haven’t even started on the beeping!

Grab a stopwatch, and some sort of horn, count one minute and simultaneously honk your horn as many times as is humanly possible. You are not even close to recreating the noise in Vietnamese cities, nor do you have the variety (I have so far counted eleven types of horn), but perhaps you have an idea of the noise that invades your life here. In fact, for the time it takes me to compose the rest of this paragraph I will place an asterix every time I hear a beep *, and in fact if you honk your own horn each time you’ll see how annoying *** it really is. An interactive blog post for our pleasure. *

And the funny, or indeed excrutiating thing about it is that more often than not there is nothing to beep at, as it seems that beeping is merely * used ***..* , **, as a replacement for everything else traffic * related ** such ******* as using your mirrors, ** or indicating, ** slowing down, * or obeying traffic lights ***. It hurts me emotionally to even think about (”I’ll give you beep you beeping beepers, why don’t you all beep off?”).

But in conclusion: Vietnam = noisy. Taser. As you can see my attempt to focus on the lovely things has failed in every way and I am on the verge of drowning in a pool of my own bitterness. I was ill for a week, trod on a sea urchin, and witnessed a few robberies. But don’t be fooled, I’m still having a ball despite the frequent assaults on my sanity and have been getting up to all sorts of trouble [note from editor - I have added some pretty pictures Kate took to prove that she did actually see some lovely things!] .

I’ve been continuing my culinary adventures and have eaten a plate of clams, and one of snails (nicer than the crickets if you’re wondering), discovered my new favourite fruit (the almighty mangosteen, a delicious explosion of lovliness) and eaten all manner of eye-ball type lychees as well as the seeds from the head of a waterlilly which are much like a common garden pea.

There is also a possibly I’ve eaten some tripe and maybe even some dog but I thought it better not to ask, British manners eh? I’ve also had my fill of rice, noodles, and the vastly different rice noodle. I’ve seen all manner of things carried by mopod including an actual kitchen sink and the carcasses of two huge pigs.

I’ve enjoyed watching the people of Hanoi play roadside badminton at 6 am, and those of Ho Chi Minh doing Thai Chi. I clambered though the tunnels of the infamous Vietcong, visited the tombs of various ancient kings, dodged jellyfish in Halong Bay, saw a water puppet show in the capital, and drank 30p beers on the roadside.

I even got up exceedingly early with a hangover (from the aforementioned 30p beers) to file past the embalmed body of the big man himself Ho Chi Minh. A very strange experience which involved rather a lot of queuing and a very brief glimpse of a what looks much like a wax work. So in fact, in spite of the frog murder, and the numerous attempts to take my money I have not been forced to turn my taser on anyone and will look back on the whole drama as a great adventure.

There are some things though that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. For instance the fashion among young men to grow one exceptionally long fingernail, and cultivate long whiskers from a mole on their faces. Research has revealed that both of these are status symbols, the mole being lucky and the fingernail showing that you are wealthy enough to have a long, clean and inconventient weapon growing from your forefinger. I’ll grant them that one, afterall you couldn’t do much in the way of manual labour with one of those badboys. So just for future reference ladies, if you’re looking for a man in Vietnam, keep your eyes peeled for one with whiskers and long nails, much like a werewolf, what a catch. And to think our fashions include skinny jeans and suspicious hair-dos; who are we to judge!?

My time in Vietnam came to an end with a 5 day wait for a Chinese visa in the capital and delightful visit to a waterpark. I was the only white woman in the entire complex and let me tell you that you aint been stared at until you come flying out of a slide in an inner tube amidst a sea of locals! Or so I thought, for what awaited me in China was staring like I have never seen.

But before I get into that I feel it my duty to admit my biggest travelling failure of all time. Arriving at the border town of Lao Cai in Northern Vietnam Vicki and I were in a fit of giggles over our inability to find China. “Cross the bridge and you will see the border control” says the guidebook, but as we crossed the bridge we saw rather a lot of Vietnamese flags and came to the conclusion that perhaps we were at the wrong bridge. You’ve never felt like so much of an idiot until you have to ask where China is… we were within a miles radius of one of the World’s biggest super powers and indeed the fourth largest country in the world yet we just couldn’t find it, much to the amusement of everyone we asked.

Finally we got a promising answer and made our way into the departure gates for Vietnam only to discover that our visas had run out. This is a pretty shameful admission but we hadn’t actually checked our visas when they were granted and had assumed (wrongly it seems) that they were for 30 days as we had requested. Of course with the benefit of hindsight and thanks to my experience of Vietnam I should have known that the embassy might have lied in order to get more money from us.

And so off to the interrogation room we went, not laughing anymore I’ll tell you. We were faced with a $100 fine, eeek, and a stony faced immigration official! But thanks to some excellent persuasion, and the fact that we a) had almost no money and b) look as though we have almost no money, we managed to barter the price down, first to $50 and then to $21 (all the money we had on us at the time).

But before accepting the money the official reported to us that he had spoken to his ‘leader’ (his words not mine) and it had been agreed that we should not come back! What?! Never come back to Vietnam, had we actually been blacklisted from an entire country?! That would be a first. But thankfully no, a little bit of miscommunication again, in fact he agreed that we should not go to the bank and that $21 would have to do. Perhaps he thought we’d run off into Vietnam never to return. Phew, crisis averted.

And so to China, where staring at westerners is a national pastime, and you can buy lamb placenta tablets at your local pharmacy. In less than a day we have been pointed at, and laughed at, and had babies held up to the window of a restaurant for a better look. We even caught four teenage boys playing rock,paper, scissors to see who had to come and wave at us. What a treat for the eyes we must be, everything we do is a curiosity, perhaps we ought to start charging, watch us cross the road $1, eating a meal $2, we’d make a killing.

If you’re reading this post it means that the magical anti-spy, anti-communist, anti-thought control software that is passed like gold among travelers is working and I have escaped uncensored into the World Wide Web. But if you don’t see me on facebook for a while assume the opposite. I may or may not have been interned in a Chinese prison for anti-State opinions. Only time will tell.

Editor’s note: Kate has successfully made it through China and will soon be regailing us with tales of yaks in Mongolia as she starts the final leg of her epic adventure…

Can I interest you in some sheese, shoup, or perhaps some ships? In fact, perhaps you like the fried chicken lag and scrambled bread, with a side of meat mould or maybe the anger stew? That’s right folks, we’re in Asia where menus have evolved to a higher level and street kids climb you as if you were a tree. Your anti-malaria tablets will give you dreams worthy of an acid trip (lego man hands anyone?) and you will constantly be accosted to buy a book, a bracelet, a ride in a tuk tuk, some drugs, maybe you’d like a prostitute, or to see a shocking sex show…no? really, are you sure? Perhaps I should ask you an additional twenty times just in case you change your mind.

But these things are mere trifles in comparison to the many varied opportunities for serious injury that come your way. Crossing the road is a logistical nightmare, involving rather a lot of running, jumping and praying for your life. You are actively encouraged to get drunk and fling yourself from 20 foot rope swings into a raging river whilst an eight year old lifegaurd watches over you. And what with spider bites, drunken taxi drivers, blood banks, allergic reactions, near dislocated shoulders and ill advised Tomb Raider army rolls inside crumbling temples I’m lucky to still be standing. Breathe parental structure, I’m ok…just, and frankly I brought most of it on myself. But before I go on, are you quite sure you wouldn’t like a ride in this tuk tuk?

When I left you I was bound for Thailand’s infamous Koh Phangang in search of my soul amid a mass of vodka saturated, glow in the dark backpackers. And guess what?! I actually found myself, who needs culture, it turns out that all I really needed was a plastic bucket full of whiskey, dirty dirty house music and a flaming skipping rope. I’m found. And to think I wasted all this time getting cultural and trying to get off the beaten track, I’ve wasted my life. Jokes aside, there was plenty of banter, I mean who can really complain about a four thousand strong rave on a tropical beach, but I must admit that I after watching the sun come up through bleary eyes I was happy to get myself off to more far flung corners. Authors note: since the influx of tourists to Thailand, there are very few ‘corners’ left, we had a bash at finding them…and failed. Do not come here if you’re hardcore. There is a plague of Brits.

The next few weeks was an adventure in alternative modes of transport (I really am an advert for my own values aren’t I?) There have been buses, and boats and trains, and bicycles, and night buses, and night trains, and mopeds and motorcycles, a slow boat, a long boat and an elephant. I love it! I’ll show you airline companies, I can go wherever I want and I don’t need you, in your face! My first moped experience was a scream. Literally. And involved rather a lot of dodgy swerving and erratic acceleration. The teeny tiny Thai lady who rented me the bike didn’t seem remotely concerned that I had no experience what so ever, nor did she have any helmets.

But it’s ok, I substituted conventional safety gear with a bikini and a flip flops so it was totally safe Mum; knee pads, helmets…pah!. And I had aviators, so I was pretty much the coolest person who ever lived, maybe. You should have seen us, we surely were the pace setters of the whole island, not even remotely wobbly. At one point I went so fast that I was able to overtake a small child on a bicycle and, wait for it…a parked car!

Just for the record the moped is now my vehicle of choice, although it seems I am not alone. The very funny people at www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com point out that “as it stands, every single white person on earth either owns, has owned, or is dreaming about owning a Vespa Scooter…They are Italian, feature vintage design, low emissions, make the rider look more sophisticated, and they carry a little bit of risk. In fact, were it to have a liberal arts degree and a steady income,  a Vespa scooter would possesses every important quality that a white person looks for in a spouse”. So it’s decided, when I move home I am going to marry a Vespa. Lovely. But I digress.

The month of June involved lots of very interesting (even if i do say so myself) and funny (of course) stories. But as I’m often chastised for writing insanely long emails I won’t bore you with the all details. Don’t get too excited though as I rarely do as I’m told. In fact perhaps you’d like to go and have a tea break now, and maybe a small nap, tuk tuk??! Just checking. But just so you know what you’re missing out on there was an incident with an elephant slapping my friend in the face with its trunk, deep fried crickets, long next tribes, and a few ill advised three on a motorbike taxi rides. If you want to hear more about these stories please send a stamped addressed envelope to Kate Andrews, Room 19, A dodgy guesthouse in Asia. It’s the one with lots of motorbikes parked outside, you can’t miss it.

In conclusion Thailand was not really mine or Vicki’s cup of tea, we’re less organised tour, more see what happens sort of girls so we weren’t too fussed about waving goodbye to the beaches and getting ourselves into Laos on a very slow boat. And so began our love affair with the mighty Mekong River. Running for almost five thousand kilometers I’ve seen it almost everyday since one way or another, and I’ve probably swallowed a few litres of the brown muck by accident too. Our two day boat ride took us to Luang Probang where we got involved with some serious waterfall jumping, and watched monks in safron robes collecting alms in exchange for blessings at 5am. Very cultural me thinks.

After all that Lonely Planet stuff we thought we’d try something no-one else has ever heard of. We went tubing. Only joking, this may be the single most talked about activity on the entire SE Asia backpacker trail. But like the Full Moon Party you can’t knock it til you’ve tried it. So we donned our compulsory ‘Beer Laos’ T-shirts and headed to the Mekong where we swang from rope swings, zipped down zip lines, and slid down slides. As you do. Didn’t actually fancy paying for a inner tube so stuck with good old fashioned swimming to get me between bars but had a blast anyway. Although I will take this opportunity to point that no matter how much whisky you’ve drunk it is NEVER a good idea to attempt a mid-air “Brucey” from a 20 foot swing.

For those of you not familair with the Brucey here’s an activity for you (I told you a nap was a good idea). Try it your self. Stand up, put your left arm forward and place your clenched fist to your forehead, a la ‘The Thinker’. Now take you right hand and place it on your back in a ‘I’m a little tea pot’ manner. And there you have it, the Brucey. Do not attempt while falling from a great height. I honest to God almost put my arm out of its’s socket. You have a lot to answer for Mr Forsythe. But plenty of fun, and if I’m honest I’d do it again.

After a day of recovery we braved a ‘VIP’ bus to Vientiane. In this instance VIP does not stand for very important person but very inconvenient position, as seats are designed for midgets and air conditioning comes in the form of hastily opened windows that allow a slight draft. Sweaty much? But it got us to the capital. Although Vientiane doesn’t hold much appeal with a small gang of mates and some rented motorbikes you can have at least one day of fun. Herbal Sauna…get in! One hour massage for a dollar, yes please. Big park full of Budhas and Co. why the hell not? And all while wondering whether I could crush my friend with my thighs as I sit on the back of the bike. Seriously I reckon I could break a rib given half a chance. All kinds of fun I tell thee.

So that was Laos in a nutshell. But there was also some low rider style cycling to Khmer era ruins in Champasak, a night bus with beds designed for teeny tiny people, a seemingly drunk tuk tuk driver who honestly almost fell asleep at the wheel and had to be screamed at (don’t know how we survived that one). Four Thousand Islands in the South (not to be confused with the salad dressing) offered hammocks and happy shakes (a very bad idea; laughed until I cried then lost the ability to form sentances, freaked out and had to go to sleep, never again). And so to Cambodia.

Right this is the penultimate paragraph I promise. Concise is the sister of clever they say, seems being clever aint my forte. Cambodia: I have been here for twelve days and although I have visited the spectacular Angkor Wat where my inner Lara Croft came out in force, and seen some Aspara dancing, and balled my eyes out over the hideous history of the Khmer Rouge, I have mostly been volunteering at an orphanage in Phnom Penh. One day became two, then three, and before you know it you’re an English teacher and you are simultaneously in love with 40 small children and will give up all your plans in order to be there as beautiful orphaned 6 year old reads The Little Mermaid. I am so moved I could cry. Maybe this is my calling. I am officially hooked. Take a look at see where I’ve been working: www.savechildreninasia.org, give money, send books, help! Plans to venture south have been abandoned and I will be going again tomorrow, and possibly even the next day, aaaaahhh!! Lucky we have a Russian visa with a fixed date or I may have been in danger of

staying indefinely. The Cambodian people are amazing, I cannot emphasize how much I am enjoying myself, I’ve even donated blood at the children’s hospital, now that’s love, I hate needles. This may actually be my favourite place I’ve ever been, although Nicaragua and Guatemala are still putting up a good fight.

And that’s that. My tubing scars are fading, eating crickets wasn’t really that bad (although they were a little leggy), and I’m getting quite adept at hanging on to the back of a motorcycle taxi as it speeds through traffic, and red lights without helmets or mirrors. I am almost totally unharmed, although I’ve got some way to go before I’m in the clear. And in fact as I write this there is storm of biblical proportions going on outside, and quite a lot of it is dripping through the ceiling onto the monitor. Granted it’s atmospheric but the sofa cushion which a kindly member of staff has draped over the PCs vital organs doesn’t fill me with confidence. So before I recieve a nasty electric shock and you die of starvation, or fall asleep, or your eyes fall out from reading too much I will love you and leave you.

Applying for a Russian visa is best described I think, as a hoohah (for those of you not familiar with the term, Webster’s dictionary defines it as “a disturbance: a disorderly outburst or tumult e.g. ”they were amazed by the furious disturbance it had caused, what a hoohah”). And amazed I was because Russia would like to see you jump through hoops, while juggling fire, and possibly riding a unicycle, so unlikely as it may sound, that is exactly what I did.

First you need to work out an itinerary, Russia isn’t interested in going with the flow, they want to know what you’re up to, every minute of everyday, so get a map and guide book and make a plan. The people at www.realrussia.co.uk are mighty helpful and very capable when it comes to answering queries about train times and all that jazz. They also have the benefit of offices in Moscow and St. Petersburg so they really do have their ears to the frosty Siberian ground and can give you some accurate estimates of travel time and price. Obviously once the visa has been issued you have a little more freedom but the consulate doesn’t reward laziness so just make a plan; places to visit and stay, things to do, trains to catch and don’t forget to factor in insanely long train rides in between destinations.

Then you have to score yourself an invite. The Ruskies don’t want any old riff raff galavanting around their fair state, after all you might well be a 007 esque, exploding watch type spy of some description. So play the game and take your self to www.myrussianvisa.com or www.visatorussia.com and apply for an official invite. These can only be issued by registered travel agents each of whom has a unique tour operator code which will appear on your invite. This part is relatively painless and will only set you back aournd 20 quid for a standard issue 30 day tourist visa, which is normally emailed to you within a couple of days. You can ask to have a hard copy posted to you for an extra 45 quid but my advise is to simply print the document straight from the PDF, it should print out on one page so make sure it comes out as it appears on screen because the consulate won’t look kindly on any dodgy comic sands font or borders falling off the page!

So now you’ve got an invite you can bask in the joy of reading your name in cool Cyrillic letters, and gather your strength to apply for the visa itself. Some of the online agents can apply for the visa on your behalf and although this is tempting it is usually twice the price of applying directly to the consulate. Do not be afraid, anyone can do it so long as you read the document carefully and maybe complete it in with a pencil first. Fill in all the fields and check in the instructions which will come with the application as many forms ask that you ‘N/A’ any questions with do not apply to your circumstance e.g. please list any relatives you have in the Russian Federation. You will also be asked fill in your invite number and travel insurance policy number (remember to take hard copy of these with you to the border as they may be asked for).

So that’s it, now all you have to do is wait anxiously for 3 weeks while someone has your adventure, and your passport in their hands. Depending on your nearest consulate you might drop the application off in person, or send it along with a prepaid return envelope (I would recommend registered post, a little more expensive but it will save you a fortune on manicures after all that nervous nail biting). Despite the aforementioned fire juggling my application was fairly painless. Just get organised, be patient and you’ll be laughing all the way to the Kremlin.

Image courtesy of quinnanya

Last time I wrote a big fat mammoth post I was grappling with the harsh reality of re-entering the modern world after a brief spell as a barefoot, pig farming wife in Tonga, and an ever shorter spell of being a hardcore, fish catching, shark wrestling sailor in Fiji.

But the delights of Big Bald Bob and his teeny tiny speedos, or limbo competitions and serious snorkel action in a tropical paradise are far behind me now, and I am once again well versed in the joys of safe tap water and double beds. Today I face the prospect of making the even harder transition from straight hair, high heels and cocktails to bare feet, dorm rooms and carrying my evil monster backpack.

In short, I’ve been so busy being fabulous in Sydney that I have gone a bit soft. My wrists are free from beaded shell accessories, I don’t even own an anklet and frankly, my pedicured feet are just too damned pretty to go without some sort of silk slipper at the very least.

But before we tackle that bad boy let’s take a look at what the bejesus I’ve been doing with myself for the last 9 months. Well, after suffering a sequence of small seizures due to things like shopping centres, dress codes, and rush hour traffic, I pulled myself together, like the proverbial drawstring on the duffel bag of life, and got involved in some serious city living.

I got a job, in a pub, and I worked really hard, but it was fun, and I accidentally don’t have much to show for it! That’s because I simultaneously rediscovered the pleasure of frivolous consumer living; skinny jeans, live music, clubs, pubs and delicious cheese from the deli counter. I went to the beach…a lot, and broke a world record for the most number of people floating on inflatable flip flops on Bondi beach.

Sydney was a blast, and that is why I accidentally lived there for 9 months. But lately I’ve been sort of thinking about contemplating maybe missing England a bit, it has been almost two years after all so I decided it was about time I got back on the road.

I have decided to undertake the last leg of my trip not by sea, but by land, and believe me this overland adventure is going to be a beauty! Although I normally like to (not) fly by the seat of pants this one requires a little more on the organisation front, especially since I will officially be going behind the iron curtain, into a world of scary scary vodka swilling Russians.

So I’ve been busy looking at maps and calendars and have devised an all-mighty plan that should see me home in early October for a great big party of monumental proportions with candy floss, and a big band, and a ticker tape parade, maybe even a lion tamer, you’re all invited…sweet! But before I get carried away with that I have to tackle the small challenge of getting all the way from Singapore to the UK, and once again get used to sweating profusely while lugging my backpack around unfamiliar cities and battling foreign transport systems.

Having said that, it would be pretty sweet to move at an incredibly chilled pace all the time, and here at Loco2 we are all about extolling the benefits of that kind of approach to life. It is exactly this subject that is being tackled at the forthcoming ‘Slow down London’ event, taking place in a week’s time on 29th April at the Southbank Centre.

The event features the legendary Ed Gillespie of slow travel fame in conversation with a Financial Times journalist who writes the ’slow lane’ column (which I must admit I’ve never read but I’m sure it’s great). Tickets cost £7.50 and can be bought from directly from Slow Down London. I should be going along so if you are too and would like to meet up to talk about Loco2 or anything else slow travel-related, then feel free get in touch.

The event is part of a wider initiative that is encouraging Londoners to generally slow down. What a marvellous idea.

With so many great festivals out there, it’s hard to know where to start; do I go for Eastern European madness at EXIT, a sunsplash in italy, or naked Scandinavians at Roskilde? What a dilemma!

Whilst the people, the music and the sun-to-rain-ratio are all major factors affecting my decision, what I would really love most of all is to lose myself in the music, and happily dance away all day and night with the knowledge that the organisers were doing as much as possible to reduce the environmental impact of the festival.

So dearest Loco2 friends, here’s the low-down on my top Green Festivals 2009.

I think I might just have to go to all three!!

WOOD, Oxfordshire UK
15th - 17th May 2009

I would strongly recommend the second annual WOOD festival which takes place on the 15th, 16th and 17th May 2009 in the beautiful surroundings of Braziers Park, Oxfordshire.

They’re a funny bunch - so I’ve left the WOOD gang to persuade you to partake in all things woody themselves:

The organisers behind TRUCK festival, the UK’s coolest small-but-perfectly-formed summer festival, have created a new kind of music event, powered by bicycles, wood-burning stoves and the sun. The aim of the festival is to celebrate music and nature, so naturally it’s called… WOOD!

We should say ‘here’s the first purpose-designed green–eco-sustainable festival’ but we’d sound like ‘Dave’ Cameron - we prefer to keep things simple, natural and… woody. Things made of WOOD include the composting toilets, the showers heated by wood-burning stoves, the campfire, the guitars, the yurts (yes, you can hire one) and, of course, the solar-powered stage. The food will be cooked (by our friends from Oxford’s famous Vaults & Garden Café) in a wood-fired oven, and we’re making all the performers do a song by our patron saint Woody Guthrie.

As well as a strong and diverse line-up of (mainly) acoustic acts on 2 stages, there will be opportunities for everyone (from children to grandparents!) to participate, with workshops covering singing, woodcraft, making wallets from orange juice cartons, and everything inbetween.

Artists already confirmed include:
SPIERS & BODEN, MEIC STEVENS, PO’ GIRL, JIM MORAY, DANNY THE CHAMP, STORNOWAY, JONQUIL, CO-PILGRIM with plenty more still to be announced.

For more info and tickets visit the WOOD website.

ROSKILDE, Denmark
2nd - 5th July 2009

Roskilde Festival is on a par with Glastonbury as one of Europe’s biggest festivals, but adds a very naked Danish twist to festivities. This may also be the only festival in Europe where you can dance in the shadow of a giant wind turbine and camp in a carbon neutral camping area. Excellent.

Winner of the Green World Award in 2008, the Green’n’Clean award in 2007 and a Microsoft Excellence Award in 2008 for an electronic system for collection of festival garbage Roskilde has always had a strong environmental focus. And they’ve most definitely cranked it up for Roskilde 2009 with a campaign called Green Footsteps.

Green Footsteps focuses on how Roskilde Festival can shoulder their part of the responsibility for solving the potential climate catastrophe. Part of the Green Footsteps campaign is the creation of a Climate Community at Roskilde ’09.The Climate Community is a centrally located camping quarter primarily running on CO2-neutral energy. The energy will be generated thanks to the festival-goers’ efforts, e.g. through pedalling on energy-producing bicycles and ditto dance floors - as well as from renewable energy sources. To reserve yourself a camping spot in this area you must leave 3 Green Footsteps - low carbon travel to Roskilde ’09 will leave you 1. The second can be left by supporting windmills in Malawi when you buy your ticket and the third is left down to your imagination!

As well as a climate caravan tour, a sustainable stage, and a humanitarian refund collection for Bangladesh, Roskilde will be leaving their own Green Footsteps to reduce the greenhouse gas-emitting activities.

* We a doing a CO2 account so that all emission from Roskilde Festival can be calculated.
* In the energy section, we are looking into the possibility of buying windmill power and getting generators running on vegetable oil or solar energy instead of diesel.
* We are working on having more “in-season”, locally produced food as it is more climate-friendly. Furthermore, production of meat is climate-damaging, so we are also looking at increased promotion of vegetarian food (however, the meat eaters need not to worry – it is always a matter of choice).
* We are also working on recycling as much garbage as possible, so that we can reduce incineration and the following CO2 emission.

For travel to Roskilde see our low carbon travel itinerary here.

ELECTRIC PICNIC, Ireland
4th - 6th September 2009

Electric Picnic is the best festival in Ireland to be sure. Easily rivalling the slightly larger Oxegen, it is imaginatively structured and has a strong personality. We can’t think of a better way to end the summer.

Winner of the ‘Green Festival Award’ 2008, the Electric Picnic has always had a strong environmental focus but this year the gloves are off to tackle the festival’s impact on Climate Change.

A new area, the Global Green, is being launched at this year’s festival which will be the place to relax and reflect on critical issues. The Global Green will feature Cultivate’s Re-Think Tank, Amnesty’s tea and bingo tent, sustainable fashion with Re-dress the Science Gallery and more, Trocaire’s flower garden, Friends of the Earth, green crafts, EmissionZero, Stop Climate Chaos, Change and others will be creatively communicating a positive message and help get you active.

Aiding Electric picnic to ‘Eco-Librium’ are environmental consultants EmissionZero who will measure, reduce and offset the carbon emitted as a result of the picnic. Over the course of the festival, the eco-consultants will be analysing all sources of CO2 in order to reduce emissions and maximise energy efficiency. EmissionZero aim to reduce the Picnic’s Carbon Footprint by 25% over the next five years.

For travel to the Electric Picnic see our low carbon travel itinerary here.

Green Grass photo on homepage thanks to Chad Johnson.
WOOD logo thanks to Chris Bennet from TRUCK.

If you haven’t already checked out their site I would recommend doing so. It includes lots of excellent ideas on how to live sustainably, presented through the medium of short, amusing videos.

And for those of you (like me) getting rather depressed about the fact that it looks like voting Tory at the next election might be a good idea, I raise a glass to you, and I’m sure that during 2009 we can help each other deal with the blues (the blues. Get it? Chortle chortle I am a comedy genius).

Only joking! As if I’d refer to myself in such terms. But that is pretty much what the Observer did when they featured Loco2 over the weekend as part of their ‘Bright Young Stars of Travel for 2009′ feature. You can read the article here. It reveals a bit about what we’ve got planned for Loco2 in the coming year, plus spurs us into action to actually get the work done.

If you’ve stumbled across Loco2 recently and you like what you see, please do share Loco2 with your friends (you can use the ShareThis button below) so that we can continue to build momentum. Thanks!

Tintin on the Pacific

As I type this the laptop screen rocks slowly back and forth with metronomic regularity, swaying in time with the desk, the floor and the entire room.

I gaze out of the window in front of me to take in the view: mighty waves slipping by; crests breaking; clouds drifting across an azure sky. And endless, endless water, stretching to the horizon and far beyond.

It’s not the most typical of sights. But then isn’t the most typical of surroundings. We are on a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Having travelled most of the 21,000 miles we have covered so far by land (with the odd ferry thrown in ) we now take to the water, hitching a ride for 15 days aboard a container ship bound for LA, from the far east of the Pacific to the far west.

The Pacific Ocean - the very words conjure up images of ambition and adventure, it’s a byword for the exotic, the far-flung, the unknown. The neon-lit waters of Hong Kong harbour to the to the surf-bound coast of California - sounds far more interesting then Chek Lap Kok to LAX.

No identikit airports and long, dismal queues, no leg-crunching seats and foul, plastic food. No predictable movies or no 9/11 paranoia, no screaming babies or snoring adults.

Just the two of us and a few crew on a big boat. On an enormous blue ocean. With no land for days.

My primal fears still to stir inside. Drowning, shipwreck, seasickness, scary monsters in the depths below and ferocious storms in the skies above.

Too late.

We’ve hauled the anchors now, cast off the ropes. We’re heading out into the unknown, the unquantified, the unpredictable. There’s no way out at sea. No one can hear you scream…

Deep breath.

Take a look at our surroundings. It’s palatial!

As the only passengers we’ve been given the owner’s cabin - a bedroom, large living room and en-suite.There’s a TV, DVD and Hi-fi, plus a fridge, a desk and large sofa. 15 days in which we can live out of cupboards and drawers rather than the cramped confines of a smelly old rucksack.

No dodgy Chinese wiring here, no leaking toilet or dripping taps, no filthy sheets or cacophonous street sounds. Just a gentle hum from the engine, and the steady rock of the ocean. There’s a laundry and mess room, where we dine with the officers. Three hot meals a day, served to us at our own table. There’s a a small gym, with exercise bike, weights machine, table tennis and darts board. There’s a sauna for Lara and even a mini swimming pool.

We’re are treated as honoured guests: the officers go out of their way to guide us around; the crew invite us to sing karaoke (I wisely turned down), play basketball (I was resolutely thrashed) and ping pong (ditto).

In between eating and fraternising we doze on the deck, stretched out on sun loungers or dip into the boat’s impressive DVD collection.

All the time we little moving world sways gently around, sometimes placid, sometimes vigorous.

This can present certain challenges: how to eat soup in a swell for one, and how to sleep when the boat’s rolling and pitching.

Other challenges lie ahead no doubt, but in the meantime I admire another sunset and gaze at the horizon.

I feel like Tintin, my hero, the daring young reporter.

He regularly set off on his adventures by boat, where exciting events would take place: Snowy would get attacked by a shark; Thompsons would wear old-fashioned bathing costumes and Captain Haddock would invariably get drunk on whisky.

And always there was some shady type on board, a stowaway, or a crooked crew member, usually a shifty Balkan-looking type with crossed eyebrows and a dodgy ‘tasche.

Best keep an eye out. After all, anything can happen at sea.

Wednesday

Whenever we lose track of days we usually find it is Wednesday. On this Wednesday we were given an extra day; Wednesday 3rd December 2008 literally happened twice.

The first third of December started like most others on this ship - the alarm went off at 07:45, with breakfast at 08:00. We have recently discovered porridge on the menu, which makes a refreshing change from the fried meat of the last week. It was a warm, sunny day with a large roll factor. The rolliest we had experienced so far which made doing everything either an uphill or downhill struggle that eventually got the better of my digestive system. The swell was in fact so strong that the front of the ship was damaged, but the ship ploughed on.

I went through the usual routine of writing in the morning, eating at midday, reading and snoozing in the sun after lunch followed by yoga and the exercise bike before dinner at 17:45. The regular evening DVD screening was Son of Rambow (****½) and Bobby (***).

At 22:30 we crossed the International Date Line, 180° longitude, and the day started again. So when we woke we opened the second third of December window on our World in Slow Motion advent calendar.

It has taken tins of peanuts, circling torches, diagrams and protracted discussions with the Navigator for me to understand why my life will always now be a day longer than stated on the calendar. It’s something to do with standardising time so that night is always dark and day is always light the world over and so that everyone is living the same day as in Greenwich, London. But perhaps more importantly, every step eastwards is now a step closer to home.

The second third of December began like the first. Alarm at 07:45, porridge at 08:00. It was cloudier and windier than the first third of December but the nauseating rocking had subsided. Everything carried on pretty much like it had the first time round except that the reading and snoozing took place indoors as there was no sun.

After the gym the day took an unexpected turn. A note on a chair inviting me to take a stroll to the bow was followed by games in Morse code and signal flags. Then I was led to the edge of boat where surrounded by nothing but Pacific Ocean on three sides Tom got down on one knee and popped the question. I took my chances and said yes.

That evening we celebrated with the Filipino crew who gave us Spanish brandy, a serenade of George Michael and sang love songs to us on the karaoke machine. The German Captain shared his private stash of Nutella with us. You can’t beat that for history repeating itself.

You can read past blog entries here.

Loco2 would like to say a huge CONGRATULATIONS to Lara and Tom on their engagement!

…Our adventure began with the desire to be the change we wish to see in the world. Our passion for a safe climate future motivated us all to try a low carbon approach to traveling to this year’s climate talks and the journey was a great success!

Our main objectives were:

* to show the difficulties of low carbon travel in our current system, but that it is possible

* to connect with the global south and an interconnected youth movement who will be central to the global transition to a just future

* to utilise the media in education and inspiration

What’s more, we achieved…

* an enormous reduction in our greenhouse gas emissions by choosing not to fly, of 40% in total from door to door (this includes the flights to get to Singapore - the reduction would have been much greater without).

* we learnt how to organise overland travel

* and we experienced an adventure as a team, which no airline can provide, connecting with the people and the environments of every country from Australia to Poland.

We recognised that it was idealistic and ambitious, but that is what we, the youth, do best.

Before we started, I was very concerned with the value of our trip. I had great concerns about the time it would take to travel and to organise, the financial strain, our ability to deliver our message and the responsiveness of audiences. What’s more, my friends and family in my immediate community, who I rely on for support, provided me with a mixture of encouragement and discouragement. Some responses included, “Of course, I can’t do that,” and “Just catch a plane.” I questioned the real value of what we were doing. Some even said it was “crazy.” In all honestly, I very nearly pulled out. Looking back now, I am glad I left Brisbane on a bus.

The trip was long and at times it seemed strange that it would stop. We traveled nearly 23,500 kilometres for over 40 days through 11 countries, 10 border crossings, using 8 trains, 4 buses, 6 different visas, a few taxis, a few tuk-tuks, 10 bags, and a lot more books.

It was a terrific experience, unlike the piecemeal and relatively disconnected way I had traveled previously. For the first time, the world really felt like a continuous flow of people, environments and cultures. The cities were buzzing, the rural landscape was largely being cultivated - I sensed the earth as alive with human activity.

When we arrived, we were welcomed first by our other members of our delegation, those who had flown out of Australia, and I wondered if there was a meaningful difference between me and them. I was praised and congratulated, but I didn’t feel like I had earnt it, nor that I meant to. When we met other youth delegations at the Conference of Youth in the days leading up to COP14, the praise continued and so many people asked me how my experiences were, but frankly, I was surprised they were so impressed. I did not feel any distinction between myself and the other youth delegates that could explain the extra attention.

This morning, at the International Youth Meeting of COP14 on Wednesday the 3rd, held for the first time in an official function room, another youth delegate shared her pride in the youth caucus for having Australian delegates who had done the necessary journey overland. She had attended a transport conference the previous day, where the main speaker acknowledged that all the delegates present had flown to Poland. The main speaker went on to say that no-one would catch a train from Australia, with an assumed air of authority, when the youth delegate present spoke out. “Uh, Actually, we have 5 Australian youth delegates who made the journey overland. It took them 40 days and they are now here at COP14.” According to her report back to the international youth meeting, the transportation conference broke out into applause and amazement. She said that the speaker wants to meet us and assist us with media and funding in returning, overland, to COP15.

The great unknown delegates to the UN climate talks had applauded us. On hearing this it dawned on me that I had changed whilst on the surface journey. Before I left, I was skeptical too. My community was uninterested and my doubts dominated my plans. But my outlook has changed. I now feel differently. The journey was not hard, it was easy and fun; It was more aligned with my wish for a safe climate future; I can share it with others and I will do it again. The paradigm I was working within has changed and I was lucky enough to observe that. Everyone knows that it starts at the individual level. I now feel more empowered to enact my agency for change.

Nic Seton at Poznan UN Climate talks.

P.S. There are now plans for a ‘Copenhagen Convergence’ where 500+ may travel overland and oversea to the UN next year, from all nations around the globe.

You can read past blog entries here.