Tag: adventure

Giethoorn – the ‘Venice of the North’…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Europe, Netherlands

I moved to the Netherlands in June 2014 and vowed that I would do my utmost to visit as much of the country as possible if I was going to call it home. I soon learned of a village called Giethoorn in the Overijssel province. It is inaccessible by car and has plenty of walking and cycling trails, but more excitingly, canals for boating. Now, you may be struggling to see the appeal for an Amsterdammer to go somewhere like Giethoorn considering that my home city is not exactly lacking in canal action itself and which also bears the moniker of ‘Venice of the North’ – why come up with a new name when this one can, quite frankly, be applied to almost every Dutch city? Anyway, I digress.

My boyfriend’s birthday was fast approaching and we had discussed going away somewhere for a few days. Respite was much needed having just spent four days in my one-bedroom apartment in the company of my mum, sister and nephew, so the pictures of Giethoorn conjured up what I thought would be the perfect tonic.

I approached a couple of Dutch friends and colleagues asking for recommendations and they were nothing if not consistent in their advice: “don’t bother going, it’s full of Chinese tourists”. Unbeknownst to the Dutchies, however, this was actually a draw for me having spent the last three years feeling like a midget in this land of blonde giants. It’s also why Japan remains my favourite holiday destination, that and, well, everything else. Although if I never saw another squat toilet it’d be too soon. I thought I had the requisite thigh strength, but the splash back confirmed otherwise. No wonder the Japanese live so long though; they’re super supple.

I booked a room at Chateauhotel de Havixhorst which turned out to be nothing like a chateau. Or a hotel for that matter if it’s lack of toiletries, mini bar and room service were anything to go by. It was however conveniently located near Giethoorn and we set off in our rented wheels.

The following day we drove the 20 minutes to the outskirts of Giethoorn, admiring the many storks in the neighbouring fields which were protected in the area. We found this out thanks to a kindly old woman who humoured our basic Dutch having struck up a conversation in the hotel bar one night. Unlike her husband, who was rather rude when I got stumped on a word and switched to English. Thankfully I’m fluent in eye-rolling.

We picked up our handmade, wooden ‘fluisterboot’ which glided silently through the calm waters and after a simple demonstration we set sail. Without a sail, natch. After a couple of hours we still hadn’t seen a Chinese tourist (as you can see from the below video), but we did see what all the fuss about; Giethoorn is simply stunning. Each dwelling on it’s own little island with well kept gardens (you’d have to really with all the gawpers) overflowing with rhodedendrons.

It was also really cool teaching our dog, Max, to swim.

We were allowed to keep the boat for nine hours and took full advantage, exploring all three of the recognised routes. We decided to navigate the main canal line one more time as sunset was approaching and I thought we’d get some Instagram-worthy pictures. But what is that I see over the bow? Why, it’s a million Chinese tourists, 999,999 of whom had never driven a boat if the carnage below was anything to go by.

It was time to return the boat and drive back to the hotel and avoid the mean old man. Unfortunately the lack of a mini-bar in our room (I promise I’m over it now) meant that we had to chance the communal bar but thankfully he was nowhere in sight. In fact, no one was, so we clinked our glasses in peace and toasted an awesome day in a beautiful part of this awesome country. I think I did pretty well for a first birthday present all in all.

Queenstown: Jumping for joy…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in New Zealand, Oceania

My upcoming sabbatical was originally meant to begin with a trip to visit my friend, Lynsey, in New Zealand for round two of shenanigans that previously occurred when I visited her in 2015. Unfortunately, work commitments mean that I can only take four months away from the office and therefore Aotearoa was culled from my itinerary.

As part of the preparations for my upcoming holiday, I’m transferring photos from previous travels off my camera in order to make space and I came across some from an amazing holiday in the Land of the Long White Cloud which got me reminiscing. It was made amazing thanks to several friends who put me up – and who put up with me! – and Lynsey in particular.

When I moved to the Netherlands following the break up of my relationship, she was the first person to visit me. She made me giggle so much that for a moment I could forget that my life was headed in a direction I had never imagined just a few months earlier, when instead my head was filled with possible wedding venues. Our friendship was cemented after almost getting run over by a massive tourist boat while cruising along the canals of Amsterdam in a tin-can of a vessel, followed by dancing all of the next day at a beach festival in Bloemendaal, where we seemed to be the only patrons whose eyes were dilated the normal amount.

I should probably warn you at this point that this post may* contain rather a lot of photographs. If you ever go to New Zealand, you’ll understand.

*definitely will

Shortly after visiting me in Amsterdam, Lynsey began her own adventure, moving to New Zealand by herself to live a life that she’d always dreamed. Just another reason why I’m a little bit in love with her. She lives in the moment and is never complacent. She’s one of the strongest people I know and her mettle was severely tested after a few weeks in New Zealand as she was unable to immediately work in her job as a physio due to issues with her paperwork. One day, we were sharing a cup of Yorkshire Tea the only way two immigrants in different countries can: over Skype. Despite putting the world to rights, I got the sense that Lynsey was finding the adjustment to life in New Zealand a struggle. Beautiful scenery, even that as stunning as one can find in Queenstown, can only do so much to combat the loneliness felt by a recent immigrant, something I knew too well having spent many an evening wandering along the canals of Amsterdam by myself, feeling more isolated that I ever had before. Having hung up with promises to speak again soon, I went online to see how much flights were to Queenstown, and after spending, oooh, all of two minutes debating whether I could afford it without having to sell a kidney, I realised that some things are more important than money, so I texted Lynsey and told her to pop the kettle on* and I’d see her in a few weeks.

*disclaimer – they do have electricity in New Zealand and it doesn’t take a few weeks to boil a kettle in order to make a cup of tea, but it’s a figure of speech so just humour me. Thank you.

Given that I was travelling to the other side of the world, I decided to stretch out my visit – under the guise of buying myself a present for my own birthday as I was single and lonely and nobody else, after all, was going to buy me anything – and began with a few days visiting friends in Sydney, after which I hopped on the plane to Queenstown.

The various flights I took over New Zealand were the most incredible I’ve ever experienced. I stared out of the window as we swept over vista upon amazing vista, so much so that I got a crick in my neck. Upon disembarking, Lynsey was there to greet me with her wonderful smile and I immediately felt that amazing sensation of being in the company of someone who just ‘gets’ you. This feeling of contentment was, however, in danger of dissipating rather briskly when instead of driving me to the nearest open bottle of wine for a natter, Lynsey thought it would be ‘fun’ – her words, not mine – to first go for a hike up Queenstown Hill. A hike! I’d just schlepped four hours on a plane, and let’s not forget the 24 hours I’d spent on planes just a few days previously to get to that side of the planet in the first place. However, following a quick change in a public car park, using both Lynsey and the car door as a modesty curtain, my tiredness soon ebbed away as with each step taken, the view became more and more stunning.

We soon reached the summit, where we were greeted by the ‘Basket of Dreams’, which seemed rather apt considering that after just a few hours on New Zealand soil my dreams were indeed coming true. We treated ourselves to a lay down and a wee natter before we re-energised ourselves in our favourite manner: JUMPING!

I discovered how fun jumping could be when on a weekend break to Warsaw with my then flatmates in 2009. It was freezing cold and raining, but after ten too many vodka shots – why, oh why, would you flavour vodka with chilli‽‽ – it seemed a legitimate way to keep warm. Especially as it took about 20 minutes to get the shot given the fact that this was in the pre-smartphone days and digital cameras had only just been invented!!

Over the course of the next week, Lynsey chauffered me around this gorgeous part of the south island (the benefits of not knowing how to drive). We took a dip in the waters of Lake Wakatipu which, despite the blazing sun and cloudless sky was, in actual fact, make-your-bollocks-fly-back-up-into-your-body-so-fast-you-can-barely-breathe cold.

We kayaked in the fjords of Milford Sound, well, I kayaked. Lynsey spent most of the time perving on our instructor slash guide slash eye-candy. We threw out gender stereotypes in Te Anau when the car needed an oil change and Lynsey rolled up her sleeves while I scoffed crisps in the passenger seat.

We hiked up Mount Iron to gaze out over the beautiful town of Wanaka. And we jumped. We jumped at every opportunity, because there’s no way one can jump with a friend and not feel exhilirated and happy. And isn’t that how friendships should be? If you don’t have a friend with whom you can jump with, just holler, you know where I am.

I’m gutted that I won’t get to see Lynsey during my sabbatical, but I’m hoping to revisit Queenstown next year, this time during winter so that we can jump while doing our favourite activity together besides necking wine: skiing. Well, snowboarding for her because she’s much cooler than I am. Not that she embodied coolness that time in Rome when we were belting out Whitney’s ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ so enthusiastically that we broke the hotel bed on which we were dancing, but that’s a blog for another time, although the photos below should help you begin to understand how we found ourselves in that particular pickle…..

Beijing: A promise is a promise…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Asia, Beijing, China

One of the things I’m most excited for during my upcoming travels to South America is the array of food that I’ll get to experience, many of it for the first time. I’m already looking forward to making my foodiest (it’s a word alright!) friend Rachel seethe with jealousy over juicy Argentinean steaks swimming down my gullet in a sea of Malbec.

I’ve heard that in Peru, guinea pig can be found on the menu; it’s literal bubble and squeak (sorry). I am a big animal lover, and after this trip I am planning on going back to being a vegetarian – although I’ll live on more than crisp sandwiches unlike between years 2001-2004 when my appalling diet resulted in a hospital stay for a few days – but I figured I may as well go out with a bang. I’m already dreading the message from my friend who runs a guinea pig holiday home (I kid you not).

I’ve always been open-minded when it comes to food consumption, although I kinda wish I hadn’t been so gung-ho in Iceland when wolfing down some ‘kæster hákarl’. That’s rotten shark to you and me. The meat contains high levels of urea, which are pressed out of the body once the shark has been buried in sand and left for 12 weeks. Unsurprisingly, the end product tastes foul, unless you like the taste of pee. And apparently some folk do, but I quickly learned I’m not one of them.

I was on a tour of China with some fellow randoms when an Irishman in Beijing bet me €10 I wouldn’t eat a tarantula. Unfortunately I’m a sucker for a dare and I thought it might help cure me of my arachnophobia. Many years later, I’m disappointed to tell you that it did not.  The street vendor started frying the eight-legged monster while telling us it would make me strong and warned me against eating the poisonous part.

Oddly enough, throughout my time in China I had really struggled to open the bottle of orange juice that was provided at breakfast each day. The morning after spidergeddon, however, the top popped off like a charm so perhaps that vendor knew what he was talking about after all. I didn’t take him up on his follow up offer of dog and cat though, instead I just watched while my friend plucked up the courage to eat a scorpion and tried not to think of the arachnid that was working it’s way through my digestive system.

Sailing the Dalmatian Coast…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Croatia, Europe

My trip to South America in 2017 a.k.a. the reason this blog exists in the first place, was that year’s birthday present to myself, a tradition I started a few years previously having grown up in a family environment which didn’t really go in for an annual celebration of ageing. Over the past twenty years or so, I’ve treated myself to a foreign escapade around my birthday in October, one of which was a week sailing along the Dalmatian Coast in Croatia.

My friend Neil had mentioned in passing that he was thinking of booking such a trip, so I naturally invited myself along. I had never been on a sailboat, nor to the Balkans, nor on a holiday where the vast majority of my fellow travellers would be strangers. We booked our trip with G Adventures; mainly because it was reasonably priced, they had availability on our desired dates and, probably, most importantly if I’m being brutally honest, they mentioned that one could do ‘as little or as much’ sailing as one liked which immediately led to me envisioning a reenactment of the ‘Rio’ video by Duran Duran (yes, I’m quite old). This ‘no mandatory sailing assistance’ didn’t entirely eventuate however as we were all given a task to perform when it came to docking or setting sail, although in fairness, when we were on open water, it appeared a similarly lazy disposition afflicted most of my crewmates as the skipper – a delectable Scot called, um, Scott – pretty much did everything.

Our trip began in Split, although it wasn’t the best of starts when the bus driver looked at me rather strangely when I insisted on paying the fare with Czech Koruna, before it dawned on me that, indeed, I had exchanged £300 worth of useless currency at Gatwick. Having gotten over that hump thanks to a stray five euro note I found lurking in my wallet, which was accepted with less chagrin, we spent a couple of relaxing days in Split, drinking cheap beer on the beach while watching the native men playing ‘picigin’ in the tiniest of speedos and wondering how this sport was not yet part of the Olympic programme. I soon realised I would love Croatia.

We made our way to the harbour to step aboard our home for the next week and meet the rest of our crew; everyone – well, nearly everyone – was lovely and bonding didn’t take very long.  The first day we were taught how to tie the “relatively simple” knots which were necessary to secure the boat when docked in the harbour each evening. I subsequently spent the next hour getting entangled in what I can only describe as a supersized game of cats cradle (if you don’t know what that is, you probably spent your formative years in the 90s or later). I’d like to think I’m a relatively intelligent person, and I was surprised to discover that knots are my achilles heal, along with saying no when my boyfriend suggests we have our ‘pizza Sunday’ tradition on Tuesday. And Wednesday.

We sailed along the coast, pausing for breaks in glorious bays where we would sunbathe and eat lunch, before heading to an island to drop anchor for the night. For the first couple of days, neither Neil nor I partook in a spot of swimming, mainly because we were both embarrassed to mince around in our rather skimpy swimwear having spied board shorts on our fellow male traveller, a strapping, married Australian called Zak. However, in Hvar, there were some nice shops so I wandered around looking for a pair of swimmers which covered rather more of my nether regions than those I had packed. I soon happened upon an amazing topaz pair, festooned with pink octopi (octopodes? I always get it wrong!). The price tag, however, was not quite so amazing at EUR 400! FOR A PAIR OF SHORTS!!! Resigning myself to not swimming for the entire week – although I’m more of a frolicker than a swimmer anyway – I headed back to the boat to get changed for our first big night out to celebrate the 60th birthday of another shipmate, Christine from Australia. This trip was her birthday treat to herself which made me feel warm inside; a kindred spirit.

Trying to get from dinghy to shore proved to be rather tricky
following a few celebratory pre-dinner proseccos

We all shared an amazing dinner before heading to a bar for more drinks and dancing. The dancing, at least on my part, didn’t last too long as I sprained my ankle doing the running man on the cobbled floor. What kind of bar has a cobbled dancefloor?! The kind of bar located in a country where there obviously isn’t a claim where there’s blame! I headed back to the boat alone and left the others to party. I had not long hunkered down in the tiny cabin I shared with Neil when the door opened and I felt someone get in the bed and put their arms around me. Turning around to remind Neil that we didn’t have ‘that kind of a friendship’, I was confronted with the drunkenly grinning face of Zak who had wandered into the wrong cabin, followed in the morning by the sight of him wearing the teeniest pair of black swimming trunks I’d ever seen. Praise be! I could now frolic to my heart’s content.

Over the course of the week, we sailed to Hvar, Korčula, Mljet, Ploče, Brač, Lastovo, Solta and Dubrovnik. We all contributed to a kitty to buy ingredients for meals onboard the yacht, with each person taking turns to cook for the others. I celebrated my birthday in Mljet, wearing a sailor’s outfit which my crewmates had presented me with earlier that day.

My new friends presented me with an amazing chocolate cake after dinner, one that a nearby Australian took a fancy to and – having drunk our fair share of vino – to whom we said could have the rest if he showed us his willy. Without hesitation he started unbuttoning while both dining parties and the waiting staff guffawed. A deal is a deal so after the dining room gave him a round of applause, we proffered the rest of the gargantuan gateau. His girlfriend returned from the bathroom and, having learned where the cake came from, turned to congratulate me. We heard her ask her fellow diners ‘so what? He just gave us his cake?’ to which her boyfriend responded with details of the bet. She went mental and we soon scarpered, which is hard to do with any grace on a swollen ankle.

There are many things I’ll remember from that trip: sleeping under the brightest stars I’d ever seen, on an island called Lastovo which, thanks to its location, has the darkest night sky in all of Europe; being awoken on my birthday ridiculously early, only for my morning grump to immediately dissipate when Michelle pointed out the group of handsome Croats dive-bombing off their boat wearing nothing but their birthday suits; spending ten minutes convincing a Croat that I was indeed competent enough to rent a moped despite having nearly stacked it when turning the key in the ignition for the first time, before whisking my fellow crewmate, the lovely Peta (another Australian), up the local mountain for some breathtaking views; and being persuaded by Skipper Scot to be hoisted up the mast while the boat is moving in order to take a group photo because ‘each trip someone does it’, only to later find out that nobody does it because they’re not stupid!. But most of all I’ll remember the never-ending giggles that accompanied every moment of every day. A few years later I stayed with Peta for a few days when I visited Sydney and we picked up right where we left off. I think that’s the thing I love most about travelling; the people you meet along the way who, in turn, open up a whole new world of travel possibilities.