Tag: life

Subways and semla in Stockholm…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Europe, Sweden

For those of you who followed my adventures in South America, you will know that I booked a surprise trip to Stockholm for my partner, Ken, upon my return in February 2018, to say thank you for supporting my decision to take four months off work while I worked through my mini-midlife crisis. I stepped off the plane in Amsterdam – wearing shorts to the bemusement of the cabin crew – to be greeted by a smiling Ken, who had just read my latest blog and was therefore aware of the surprise trip. If you’re wondering why Stockholm, you can read about it in this post.

It seems we have a knack for surprises in our relationship as, unbeknownst to me, Ken had gone to the UK to pick up the cats the previous week and they were at the door to greet me when I got home. Having been away for so long, it was a special homecoming. However, Ken took it one step further, as I discovered when going to the bedroom to change clothes only to be greeted by my best friend, Leah, who he’d picked up in the UK on the way back to the Netherlands. I was somewhat overwhelmed to be honest, and the endorphin rush was intense, like after a good workout. Or so I’m told. Perhaps I should go to a gym if it really does feel this good afterwards.

Unfortunately, our flight to Stockholm was booked for the following morning, so we said tot ziens to Leah and the cats, with promises to take her to her favourite restaurant on our return to the land of orange, evidenced above!

Ken and I haven’t really been on holiday in the 18 months we’ve been together, save for a few day trips in the Netherlands, so the upcoming 24/7 would be a new experience. We treated ourselves to some bubbles in the lounge despite the early hour and soon found ourselves on the Arlanda Express – how bloody much?!?!?!!! – whizzing our way to the city centre. I had booked a cute AirBnB apartment that didn’t disappoint. Despite it’s small square footage, it was designed perfectly and was very gezellig. Not that we spent that much time there. No, we came for the subway stations and unfortunately they require being outside. Well, underground, but you know what I mean.

As we had three days in the city, we took it easy on day one, exploring the narrow streets of Gamla Stan (the old town), and it wasn’t long before I persuaded Ken to partake in a spot of fika at Chokoladkoppen, a cute cafe on the main square. Thankfully they were still serving semla buns (they’re only available at certain times of the year, and you can read more about the tradition here) and it didn’t take me long to demolish one. Given that eating out in Stockholm is so expensive it requires remortgaging one’s dwelling, we took advantage of the fully stocked kitchen and had dinner at the apartment that evening.

The next day was bright and sunny, but perishingly cold, so we decided to save being underground for the following day when the weather was due to be overcast, and instead took a boat around the archipelago. The guide was very engaging and informative, and Ken was very happy being on a boat, despite spending most of his adulthood on one having first worked in the Merchant Navy before pursuing a career as a marine engineer! It may, however, have been the hearty soup and dubious looking shot glass of liquor that put a smile on his face. By the time we returned to the dock, the temperature had turned even more baltic so we made a pit stop at H&M to buy some gloves for Ken and an extra jumper for me. I then managed to persuade him to allow me to push the boat out – it didn’t take much to twist his arm to be honest – and eat at an amazing looking restaurant we passed by the evening before.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t put it off anymore, it was time to do what we came to Stockholm to do, namely tour the subway to view the art installations. Unlike Ken I’m not a transport geek, nor do I know anything about art beyond imitating Patsy Stone (‘yeah, but is it art?’), however seeing Ken’s growing excitement – wait, that sounds rude – gave me a fuzzy feeling inside, and after all, I brought him here to make him happy. Mission accomplished it seemed.

I don’t often ride the metro in Amsterdam, but I know that if I lived in Stockholm – not that I’m willing to sell a kidney to do so – I’d look forward to getting on the tunnelbana every day. Words I never uttered during the 12 years I rode the Tube in London! Perhaps Ken’s enthusiasm was catching. The T-bana stations are truly incredible, as you can see from the photos below. I’m heading back to Stockholm this weekend for a tournament with Amsterdam Netball Club and I’m already looking forward to introducing them to these magnificent structures.

HUVUDSTA

RÅDHUSET

RISSNE

SOLNA

STADION

T-CENTRALEN

TEKNISKA högskolan

TENSTA

THORILDSPLAN

UNIVERSITEIT

The end of the road in Buenos Aires…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Argentina, Buenos Aires, South America

After nearly four months, the day had arrived: reaching Buenos Aires (hereafter BA) signalled the final stretch on my trip. It’s also the end of the road for many of my fellow passengers who joined us in Santiago, with an intrepid few continuing on to celebrate carnival in Rio. I can’t think of a better place to call it a day than BA, it’s a truly magical city. At times, I’ve struggled with unfamiliarity while I’ve been away, but that disappears in BA which, with its outdoor cafe culture, wide pavements and European aura, it felt like coming home. The architecture definitely has an air of Paris or Madrid about it, and if I spoke Spanish, I’d certainly feel like I could live here.

We were staying in the microcenter, a great base from which to explore. As my first full day was a Sunday, I spent the time wandering the markets in San Telmo, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling barrio. That night we had a final group dinner and gave out awards, compered by me and another guy from our truck, Grant. Although some were a bit risqué, everyone accepted them in good grace. I was unsurprised to win the ‘Humanitarian Dogging’ award, earned on account of always giving away my truck food entitlement to the local pooches.

The following day I explored the centre of the city, saving myself for what was to come that evening: La Bomba di Tiempo or Timebomb, a drumming troupe who performed in an enclosed, open air space that resembled a junk yard, minus the junk. I knew it would be a good night when the beers arrived in glasses as big as one’s head. It was everything I thought a night out in BA would be: fun, sweaty and full of dancing. I ended up chatting to a Japanese guy who was hammered and easily impressed with my basic Japanese language skills, and a US marine who had led a very interesting life.

No porteños unfortunately. The best part of the night however was after the gig had finished and the drummers played on the streets while leading everyone to the after party. There are beer vendors walking with the crowds, which probably explains the horrific hangovers a lot of people suffered from the next day. My flip flops busted four times during the course of the evening, but thankfully a guy from our truck, Luke, was a hero, fixing them for me each time. I got back at 0300 and spent the next hour trying to book a hotel room for my final night in BA. Let’s just say it didn’t go well. The poor night receptionist had to help me with the Spanish keyboard more than should’ve been necessary.

The following day I went on a day trip to Uruguay (blog post here) and returned to BA in the evening for dinner with some of the ladies from the trip who I’m very happy to say have become good friends. It wasn’t a late one on account of my 0500 wake up call for my wee trip to Iguazú Falls (blog post here), but it was a lovely sign off.

On my return from Iguazú, I splurged (well, spent €120 on a room rather than €25) and treated myself to a night in a nice hotel. It didn’t disappoint; the room was as big as my apartment in Amsterdam, which made sense when the porter reminded me I was in the Junior Suite. Damn you brain for booking something when a bit tipsy.

I was in for another surprise too; an ex-boyfriend who now lives in New Zealand was in the city for work and had seen my photos on social media, and we managed to meet up for a nightcap on our last night. Small world huh? It was so nice to catch up after so long.

So, my almost four months in South America have come to an end. I’ve learned so much. It’s hard to articulate how much I’ve gained from this trip, and I’d like to think that I have given something back to this wonderful continent. Well, its dogs at least. Four months isn’t anywhere near long enough to do this place justice, and I’d love to return at some point in the future to explore further. The Andes have been my constant companion throughout my journey and I’ve been amazed at how different they are in each country I’ve visited. They, and the jungle, feel like the beating heart of the continent and must be looked after. I’ve been consistently treated to scenery like none I’ve ever experienced before. Yes, some is reminiscent of New Zealand, but the continuity of amazing landscape after amazing landscape is something else.

Alpacas > guanacos > llamas. That is all.

I’ve loved having so much interaction with dogs during my trip. They are so docile and just want tickles.  I’ve not seen any aggression, and it seems the further south you go, the fewer strays you see.  I can count on one hand the number of cats I’ve seen.

I wish I had dedicated more time to leaning Spanish, although I’m surprised by how far I’ve gotten with my limited vocabulary. Being able to speak French has come in very handy though as three are lots of similarities.

Argentina – best coffee

Peru – best food

Bolivia – best people

Ecuador – best value for money

Chile – best scenery

Brazil – best waterfalls (contentious I know)

Uruguay – best wine

It’s honestly impossible to choose a favourite place. Baños in Ecuador definitely gave me food for thought. As I approach being forty, I wonder what next for me? I love my job, but would like to do something that feels a bit more worthy.  I’ve also toyed with the idea of being my own boss and either setting up a cafe, or an animal shelter. In Baños, there is a business that combines both and it was a joy to spend time there. When I return to Amsterdam, as a first step, I’m going to dedicate time to improving my Dutch so that I am able to volunteer at my local animal shelter, And then perhaps see what happens after that.

What else have I learned? Well, my tolerance for bad manners is now minimal, although unlike before when I would quietly tut in true British fashion, I now call out that behaviour.  Perhaps I’m becoming more Dutch in that regard. I also learned that I can poo literally anywhere anytime, although I’m not sure that’s a skill I’ll be calling on much back home in Europe. This trip showed me that travelling really is good for the soul and mental health, and I feel refreshed, revitalised and looking forward to coming home. It also makes one appreciate what one has at home.

I’m lucky enough to have an amazing partner in Ken, and although I know he’s struggled a bit in my absence, moving to Amsterdam without knowing anyone or the language, he’s never once not supported me, and actively encouraged me to pursue this experience. A month ago he tweeted that he’d like to go to Stockholm in Sweden to see the subway stations – yes, I did re-evaluate our relationship when I saw the tweet – so Ken, to say thanks, pack your bags because we’re going on Monday! Love you long time.

This is my final blog post, at least for a while. It’s been fun to write, although at times I lagged behind due to a combination of lack of good WiFi and actually doing things, so apologies for that! I hope it’ll serve as a reminder of all the great experiences I’ve had on this trip, and if anyone is considering doing something similar, feel free to get in touch for more detailed information. Adios.

Quaffing wines in Cafayate…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Argentina, Cafayate, South America

Having spent two incredible days in Chile, it was time to head to Argentina, but thankfully the final seven weeks of my trip will be spent criss-crossing the two countries and I’m already looking forward to seeing more of Chile. After a short drive, we crossed the border at Paso Jama. Well, we attempted to cross the border, but the Argentinean authorities weren’t playing ball for some unknown reason so we went back to the truck and entertained ourselves by eating lunch and playing football. After some enquiries by the tour leaders, we were eventually allowed to drive through, some three hours after arriving. It was then another six hours or so on the road to Salta where we would stay for a couple of nights. I wasn’t feeling particularly energetic during our time there, although I was entertained watching a Manchester United fan watch the Manchester derby in a local bar (they lost, hurrah!).

We then drove through the spectacular rock formations of the Quebrada de las Conchas, with a night’s bush camping on the way, to reach the peaceful town of Cafayate. The small town is the centre of one of Argentina’s principal wine producing regions, famous for the quality of its Torrentes and Tannat wines, although I wasn’t a fan of either. However, just to make sure, we went to a local producer, Piatelli, for a delicious lunch and wine tasting.

My roommate, Riley, doesn’t drink and the waiting staff didn’t realise to begin with, but I ensured no wine went to waste. The grounds of the vineyard were beautifully kept and it felt like a real treat, especially given that we were staying at a very basic campsite that evening. However, THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN MY 38 YEARS HAPPENED THERE!

There were a few dogs at the campsite and, as usual, they were very placid and friendly. One bitch seemed to take a particular liking to me and as we left to go to the supermarket she decided to follow. At one point, she ran off barking at another dog on the opposite side of the road, but with one yell from me she came back to us. I was pleasantly surprised. Upon arriving at the supermarket, I assumed she’d sit outside awaiting our return, BUT NO! SHE CAME INTO THE SUPERMARKET WHILE I SHOPPED.

I never want to shop any other way. It’s really lovely to see how well dogs are treated here (well, the further south you go from Ecuador at least). You see them hanging around in and outside of stores and there are often old food containers full of water for them.

It would be hard to top that day a.k.a. the best day of my life, but thankfully the next three days would be spent on a working estancia which meant horse riding and multiple doggies. The dogs on the farm were all super friendly, especially Clyde, one of the border collies who was addicted to playing football and could run around all day. I particularly liked one of the old black labradors who would roll over for belly rubs if you dared to pass within ten feet of her. Needless to say, I was generally found laying within two feet of her at most times.

On the first night we were treated to a tasting of wines which were grown nearby, along with a competition to see who had the best nose. Our host produced multiple mini-bottles of scents commonly found in wine – from something called Le Nez du Vin – and we all had to guess its identity. Ian won the champagne prize on a tiebreaker of rose after several of us drew. It was a very entertaining and engrossing evening with lots of fun debate over the smells: “it’s burnt toast, no it’s oak, no it’s caramel”.

The following day we explored the estancia on horseback. That is as long as you weighed under 95kg. The public weigh-in was somewhat embarrassing, especially as I came out as the heaviest rider at 90kg! I was more distressed that despite all the activities I’ve done over the past couple of months, I’ve actually gained weight! I wonder if there’s a parasite I can host for a couple of weeks to shift some pounds. The horse ride was a lot of fun, galloping across the surrounding hillsides felt so far away from my daily life in Amsterdam, which I guess is kinda the point of this trip. I used to ride in the school holidays as my aunt stabled some horses and it soon came back to me. I quickly remembered how much I loved being on horseback and I’m looking forward to more opportunities while on the trip. There’s also a riding school in Amsterdam which is very close to my apartment so I think I’ll check it out when I get home.

After the estancia, we headed to Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina, however, beyond cranking out a blog post over a Starbucks soy latte one morning, I spent most of my time making friends with the hostel toilet. Perhaps my parasite wish came true after all!!

The one and only picture I took in Mendoza

Calamities (yes, plural) in Chugchilán…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Chugchilán, Ecuador, South America

I’m never a fan of a 5am wake up call, especially when it’s followed by cooking breakfast for 22 people and packing up a tent, but thankfully, help was at hand for both tasks. Once completed, we set off on the seven hour drive to altitudinous Chugchilán, a small village on the slopes of the Rio Toachi Canyon. 

The drive along the Quilotoa Loop was like no other; the winding roads climb ever upwards and the views of the patchwork verdancy were truly spectacular. I lost count of the number of times I heard a fellow passenger utter superlatives. We were soon brought back to reality, however, when we saw the road ahead of us:

You don’t need me to tell you how terrifying that sight was, especially given our previous encounter with a truck that ran off the road and over the mountainside. Thankfully our tour leaders, James and Jas, negotiated the collapsed road via a gravel path off to the side and my heart rate returned to normal. I was thankful that we wouldn’t have to see that section of road again (although it turned out we would indeed cross it twice more over the coming days).

Arriving at our digs, I was greeted by the best sight imaginable: a pooch who soon calmed my nerves. Hostel Cloud Forest is definitely the best of the trip so far: I had my own room with a double bed; two hammocks outside the room; a lounge and games room with two pool tables and ping pong; and very friendly staff. Feeling tired, both physically and emotionally, I allowed myself a wee siesta before dinner and plonked my bags down before burrowing under the five provided blankets, a rather ominous sign of the impending plummeting temperature.

I awoke before my alarm and for a moment my befuddled mind couldn’t work out why. Thankfully, my olfactory organs kicked into gear, identifying the rather acrid smell of burning plastic. It seemed the incongruous looking water pipe that ran through the ceiling and floor was in fact a chimney, and had been steadily heating up thanks to the fire in the lounge room below. I grabbed my backpack from where it had been leaning against the chimney, and discovered that not only had one of the clasps been completely melted, and a side pocket burned, but the handles on my day knapsack, which had been stored in the aforementioned pocket, had also been completely burned through, rendering it useless. I also realised that I had also lost my favourite hoody somewhere between Baños and Chugchilán. All in all, not the best day ever.

There were several catalysts for me to take this sabbatical: approaching the age my father was when he died; being off work and unwell for seven weeks last summer; and the tragic passing of my good friend Tom after multiple battles with cancer. Tom was one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met: driven, kind, funny, an amazing husband and father, with the ability to talk to anyone. His greatest gift however was making you feel special. Tom, and his wife Taffy, were two of my coaches when I played netball for the England national team, but more importantly, amazing friends.

Despite being a giant softy away from the court, Tom was a demon on it, always pushing us to be the best we could be. Tom once told me that it doesn’t matter whether you play an amazing match or if you perform badly. What matters is that at the final whistle, you walk off the court knowing that you gave everything possible until you had nothing left. It was rather fitting therefore that on the one year anniversary of Tom’s death, it was his voice ringing in my ear in South America when I undertook the biggest physical challenge of my life to date.

Now, it sounds rather silly once I tell you that this ‘challenge’ was a 10km hike. However, trekking up and down the ridges of Lake Quilotoa, for nearly seven hours at an altitude of 3,600m above sea level, was like nothing else I’ve experienced. Thankfully, the incredible views made it all worth it, and I loved having Tom there with me, even if only in spirit (and his whining voice making fun of me), to help me through the last 90 minutes which were the toughest.

Tom, it doesn’t matter where I am in the world, you’ll always be with me, encouraging me, annoying me and making me laugh at inappropriate moments. I love you buddy.

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.