Warning!
This post features light drug use. If you are offended by the idea of a human being ingesting a small amount of plant and feeling a little woozy, here is your moment to recoil in horror, let out a ghastly wail of terror, slam your laptop shut and fling it out of the window.
We were driving through Arizona, although we were passing through states so quickly I found it hard to keep track, especially with all the lack of sleep and the bottles of wine I was putting away at a rate that would draw a lopsided smile and thumbs up from Gerard Depardieu. Over endless miles of highway we sang songs and played games and drew on the windows with wipe clean pens. We laughed at each other’s gaping mouths when we took naps, and we disagreed on who should get to be in charge of the radio. (Nobody else wanted Meatloaf, dammit) The rocks around us steadily turned red as we headed south. We stopped at a deserted little settlement, some depressing metal huts in the arse end of nowhere. Navajo people sat in the huts, browsing magazines with disinterest, all kinds of Native American bric-a-brac stacked around them. Daggers, bows, arrows, necklaces. I hobbled straight past all of it and found a bathroom; the first we’d had passed in hours. Thank god. Continue reading
Travelling alone tests you. It’s shit at the time, obviously, but when you look back on it, wrapped in the warm blanket of hindsight, it’s a beautiful thing.
I was in New York in August, 2014, at the end of the best three months of my life. During those three wild months I had visited Vietnam, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, and had travelled the whole width of the USA. New York was the end of the line, and I was due to fly home in a couple of days. I was the most tanned I’ve ever been, my hair was long and curly and bleached by the sun, and I was horribly unfit after months of partying and boozy adventures around the world.
I realise I could have lied to you then, and made myself sound more charming, but… meh. Continue reading
I’ve decided to begin a new series, focusing on cool people I’ve met while travelling. It doesn’t matter where you go, how beautiful the beaches are, how cheap the beer is, or how golden the sunsets, if you’re in bad company, you’ll have a bad time. The people you meet out in the world are crucial to everything I love about travelling. It’s the people you meet that will change you, more than simply the places you visit.
So here goes. First up, we have Fernando Pacheco. Continue reading
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.
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 friendliest country in the world!”, the flimsy in-flight magazine exclaimed, as pretty hula girls beamed at me from its well thumbed pages. I was skeptical as my plane banked towards the impossibly green islands of Fiji. Continue reading
[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.
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
