7 Times I’ve Been Conned While Travelling

You’ve got to keep your wits about you when travelling. Especially when you visit a poorer country, as a tourist you are a walking wallet. When the average local earns roughly a hundredth of your wage, you can’t really blame them for occasionally trying to relieve you of a few coins. I’ve thrown together a few of the various backpacker scams I’ve come across on my travels. I’d love to say I was too witty and wily and outfoxed the devious local populace but… come on. It’s me. I’m a half wit.

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Racism in the UK

I’ve been unable to write for days, because I’ve been despairing at the news surrounding Britain, and I know I’m not alone. Whichever way you voted, it has been a dark few months for our nation. We’ve torn ourselves apart, and brought shame upon ourselves. Let’s get some pride back, not just as a nation but as a people. You can play this song while you read, if you like.

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Berlin Part 1: Hobo Poetry

Well, I’ve found my happy place.

In May I visited Berlin. Flying into Tegel airport (which is shit), I bumbled my way into the city to meet my friend, Michelle, at Leinestraße. I’d not seen her in a year. She’s a little sassy French girl with delightfully tussled hair who parties harder than anyone I’ve met. Her appetite for dancing is never ending. She’s cool. Continue reading

The Benefits of Ridin’ Solo

 

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ESdn0MuJWQ&w=560&h=315]

Listen to the immortal lyrics of master songsmith Jason Derulo, from the 2009 hit single ‘Ridin’ Solo’, in which he vividly recounts the new-found benefits of the single lifestyle, and the dizzying pleasures that can accompany the sudden revelation of newfangled emotional liberation.

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Post Cuba

Actually no, that title’s shit. Need something edgier.

Cuba: A Look Back In Anger

No that’s wank.

Reflections

Jesus.

Erm.

Dan After Cuba

Oh forget it.

So. Assuming you have now read all 15 days of my diary (God bless your patience), you will now have an idea of why I find it so hard to sum the country up in a nice little manageable sentence. Two weeks after the first manic taxi ride took me plunging into the jaws of the mysterious communist island, Cuba belched me back out again, shivering and bewildered and wondering what the hell I’d just been through. Continue reading