2008: Sukhotai, Umphang, Krabi, Phang nga bay, Ko phi phi.

2008: Ayutthaya.

2008: Vegetarian festival in Phuket.

2008: Raad ny follain coastal footpath around the Isle of man.

2008: Romania, Moldova. Cluj Napoca, with its pretty streets and easy going atmosphere, is a nice introduction to Transylvania. After a brief wander and a much needed nights sleep i got the train to Sighisoara. This is a medieval town famous as the birthplace of Vlad Tepes, aka, Vlad Dracul, aka, Dracula! Although the real life character was no vampire the real dude is famed for impaling his victims with a wooden skewer up the anus and out near the shoulder blade in such a manner that it did not puncture any major organs and so the victim did not die straight away but perished in the most agonizing slow manner imaginable. So many people were killed this way and he is known to have had mass impalings on a hilltop as he ate his breakfast. Nice guy! Now he has a novelty tourist castle which has nothing to do with him (the real him i mean), the building he was born in is now an expensive restaurant and there is much unnecessary kitsch applied to his name (the fictional him i mean!). The old streets of the town are colourful, topsy turvy and multi angular, though with quite a few more 'historic monument' signs and more restoration than a few years ago. At the hostel i made a few friends and arranged with them a tour for the next day taking in a few of the many medieval Saxon villages and fortified churches in the surrounding countryside. A number of these are designated UNESCO world heritage sites. After Sighisoara i took a train to Brasov, an increasingly large little town which has become much more cosmopolitan and a vibrant tourist hub, for all of the advantages and disadvantages there are to that, over the last few years. Again it was nice to revisit a place I first went to 5 years ago and take some photographs of the sites, streets and overlooking the town square from the top of a funicular ride. From Brasov I got a bus to Chisinau, capital of Moldova. Having arrived after 22:00 I found myself wandering around with no money, no bearings, credit cards not being granted cash withdrawals, dark streets and not particularly inconspicuous with my 2 large bags! After a while I said bugger this and managed to negotiate a taxi ride to my hostel using Romanian money. When i arrived to this small hostel (actually a small apartment with 8 bunk beds!) I met an Irish guy who said they were expecting me and i was whisked off for some food, drink, chat and an ATM that worked! How things can come around so suddenly! It turns out that most of the banks in this country haven’t yet updated to chip and pin cards. Pleasant evening. Next day was dedicated to wandering around the city. Not a particularly attractive city. Not unattractive either, just lacking in anything of particular interest. Though it makes up for this by its fresh, leafy, tree lined streets. Although it is of classic soviet rectilinear street design, it is perhaps the most verdant city i have ever seen, with a number of large parks and lakes (though the largest one has been drained due to environmental issues, now taken over by wild plants. I hear they aim to allow it refill and restore the popular beach area when they eventually complete some work there.) The next day i managed to hook up with a small private excursion as public transport and road conditions in Moldova make the task visiting its main sites rather arduous. We spent the day visiting Old Orheil (a very popular and isolated underground functioning monastery), Topiva (largest cliff-side monastery in eastern Europe), a small waterfall and another more modern monastery called Saharna. It was very pleasant and nice to get an insight into rural Moldovan culture. There was an orthodox ceremony on in the Old Orheil and the people were very welcoming. They handed out painted eggs and sweet offerings to each other and us, somewhat like a cross between hand shaking, holy communion and Easter in Catholicism as far as I could tell, but more personal and warm. It was very rewarding to arrive there at such a time. The road conditions away from the main connections necessitate driving skills more akin to dodgeball, an unfortunate fact considering that oncoming traffic is subject to the same hurdles! Most if these roads teetered off on the sides so that they were not stictly wide enough for 2 lanes of traffic. Nobody seemed to notice though! It's probably not just coincidental that there are lovely colourful and ornate roadside crosses scattered throughout the Moldovan countryside! The following day I tried to take an excursion into Tiraspol, capital of Transdniestr, a breakaway soviet republic in eastern Moldova. It is a place renowned for its mother russia inclinations and in your face corruption. I took all the necessary precautions, bringing the minimum of money required (else run the high risk of having to bribe my way out of some fictional infraction!), left all my valuables behind and didn’t bring my big camera (for reasons, see above!). When we got to the 'border', i was of course taken off to one side as the only tourist there and I prepared myself for the inevitable! Sure enough, I was told the 'visa' fee was a hugely inflated exaggeration of the actual fee, which I got down to $10 (lucky I only brought $20 and some Moldovan money). While this was going on my bus driver got impatient and after they slammed the door on him he left without me! Once given the clear, I was then called by another official who helped me with a customs declaration (a frequent scam is not declaring all your money and items of any value, after not being told to do so, then getting done for a 'fee', ie bribe, when you exit the region for not declaring all your goods). Sure enough, he then demanded a further $10 for the privilege of the customs declaration. I wasn’t having this, I told him I already paid an excessive fee (though of course linguistic communication was pretty much a waste of time) and I only had enough money to get to Tiraspol and return later that day. He wouldn’t budge from his blatant scam and so 10 minutes later I was on another bus returning to Chisinau! Bastards!!! This ape of an official didn't even look at me, he just pointed me to the bus and grunted, clearly put out by not getting his slice of the pie! I avoided arguments and just accepted it wasn’t to be. Ah well, the 'quirky' border experiences of this region are famous, even a novelty as long as you don't lose too much! This region is the main issue preventing Moldova from being considered for entry into the EU, at least for those who want EU membership more than Russian. Upon returning to Chisinau I found myself with a free afternoon to stroll around, investigate travel options to Bucharest, buy a ticket for an overnight sleeper train (ah luxury, 13 hours in a cabin alone with a bed and a book!) and say farewell to this little known country. Having dodged the touts at Bucharest train station early this morning, finding my hostel, having a much needed shower and some breakfast, all that remains to do now is to ramble around the 'Paris of the East' or the 'Balkan Moscow' (Bucharest!) and arrange transport for my 06:00 flight home tomorrow.

2008: Ethiopia. It occurred to me during a moment of tangible spontaneity around New Years. I had been interested in visiting Ethiopia for some time, spurred on by images of the remote and mystical monasteries of Lalibela and by the majesty of the Simien mountains. I found myself reevaluating my Easter plans and wondering what I should do with the impending fortnight holiday. While contemplating this, there was a persistent muffled voice in my head yelling ²you could go to Ethiopia man!Ó which must have sighed with subdued exasperation when I finally and gradually crystallized the thought ²hey, I could go to Ethiopia! Could I? Of course I couldÓ! So with that I made some calls and one evening I found myself on the phone to my girlfriend declaring ²I¥m going to Ethiopia!Ó I surprised myself by feeling a certain amount of anxiety for this trip, a feeling that I haven¥t experienced in years. This was based primarily on the intensity I felt, and which I didn¥t feel comfortable with, during a trip to West Africa 8 years ago. I am struck by how much our previous disparate experiences from places that only hold a very loose association tend to form our preconceptions of new destinations. The implications of which, if not kept conscious and rightfully in their place, can range between heightened expectations being compromised to an overly sensitized air of caution. With this in mind, I strove to maintain this relative anxiety as a motivating factor as it clearly signified a stone to be turned over fully from my previous travel experiences at a younger age. In fact, as a solo traveler I somewhat relished it as an indication that this brief journey would have an edge to it, a sense of adventure, shrink wrapped into two weeks. More importantly, it signified that I was not likely to become desensitized to the sense of wonder and adventure that is so intrinsic to the desire to travel independently. Dealing with a constant barrage of attention is an unavoidable fact of life when traveling in a third world country. Yes it can be frustrating, vexing and the underlying poverty can pull on one¥s heart strings, but it is difficult to make judgments when the cultural and economic divides are so vast. Ultimately, we can¥t justifiably remove ourselves from the grand equation just to satisfy a sense of guilt or inconvenience. Common sense will point to the necessity of accepting and adapting to the prevailing circumstances, being open to new experiences, accepting a minor ambassadorial role, standing one¥s ground and realizing that certain well-intended attempts to help people often does more harm than good. Most importantly, it is essential to remember that the common threads of humanity will always shine through in the most unexpected and heart-warming ways when given a chance. On my first day in Addis Ababa, having arrived late the night before and checking into my dank hotel room with the usual excited feelings of a new impending mini-adventure, I set out on the all important first day urban ramble. My main aim was to acquire some cash, a task hampered by the fact that it was Sunday in a very catholic country and by the fact that there were reputedly no ATM¥s in Ethiopia. The need for sustenance dictated a lengthy stroll to the Hilton hotel exchange office. With all of my first-day-in-a-new-country defenses solidly in place, I gradually began the process of absorbing my surroundings, getting my bearings, shaking off the cobwebs and allowing a smile to sweep across my face with the realization of where I was. The places; the faces; the urban musk; the sights; the smells; the expectations; the moment, all permeating my pores. As if on cue to test my resolve, I was then approached by a young man of obvious savvy. You can tell by the approaching footsteps that your would-be-new-best-friend has approached many a foreigner and his opening lines had a universal predictability; ²hey my friendÓ, ²from where?Ó, ²first time in Ethiopia?Ó etc, followed by the usual unsolicited and whole hearted, if perfectly obvious, list of recommendations to enhance one¥s cultural experience. My well-practiced defenses were now standing on immediate alert and I wasn¥t going to allow this guy to think that this faranji was going to be an easy meal ticket. However, despite my monosyllabic and uninterested responses, he did not yield nor did he exert any insistence or request (such conniving subtlety I was to learn would be a rarity in street encounters!). The conversation began to flourish on a refreshingly even keel and I began to reestablish my desire not to let past experiences or overt reactive defenses to compromise the quality of potential social interactions. Without ever fully losing my guard, I began to enjoy the conversation, gaining many subtle insights into the political and social psyche of Ethiopian people. I found the foreign exchange office, changed some money, returned with my new °friend¥ and met a Kenyan companion of his. Upon our farewell, the lack of requests, offers to be my °guide¥ or any other form of insistence finally satisfied my trust and I agreed to meet them later for some lunch. I was feeling good about my first day. Unfortunately, my first injera experience (a classic Ethiopian dish, somewhat resembling a bread pancake tablecloth, garnished with all manner of vegetables, meat, spices and anything whose colour instantly gave away its tantalizing flavours) was to leave a nasty aftertaste. The final clincher to my new °friend¥ establishing my trust was when he offered to split the cost of the meal between us, an offer which I was happy to accept as a token gesture only, the prospect of having overcome my suspicions and gained a friend being payment enough. And so it was that the bill arrived. It was considerably higher than I had expected, though I had no adequate comparisons to draw on my first day. In a moment of disarmament and provided with an unconvincing explanation regarding the prices, I handed over the money, thanked them for their company, made my farewells and returned towards my hotel. Every hitherto muted alarm bell in me was ringing to the tune of °scam¥. Yep, despite my well-practiced and determined caution, I failed to make it through my first day without getting caught out! As it turned out, the restaurant didn¥t normally issue paper bills and so the °waiter¥ was clearly in on the scam, charging me roughly 500% of the price for a meal for three. Although this wasn¥t a huge amount for me, it is necessary to gauge such things by local standards and suffice to say I was left feeling naÁve and stupid. If there is a lesson to be learned I guess it is that the only way to assuredly safeguard yourself from such situations is to completely cut yourself off and not award anybody the opportunity to reach you, a practice which I do not intend to adopt. Feeling suitably frayed around the edges and self-deprecating, I returned to my hotel room where my hot shower nonchalantly spurted out a treacle of cold water accompanied by a mild electric shock when I tried to convince it to offer up something more tepid. Feeling rather deflated, I picked myself up somewhat by purchasing an onward ticket to the town of Bahir Dar, leaving early the next morning. Suffice to say that despite a promising start, my first day wasn¥t quite going as planned, but I tried to convince myself that the first day is when you must pay your dues in order to clear the way to a memorable journey. I was determined to suck it up and not let it affect future encounters. I would remain friendly yet vigilant, lest risk never fully turning over that damn stone, even if it meant potentially putting myself in a similar position again. I was not going to judge every situation by one negative encounter. Most importantly, I would accept the prospect that my trust could, at least by reckoning borne out of my own socio-economic background, be taken advantage of again. I was healthy, I had my wits about me and Africa truly is a place where the rough needs to be taken with the smooth. On that note, upon regaling friends of the hotel manager with tales of my first experience in Addis Ababa, it was nice to see how disgusted and up in arms they were about what happened. They reassured me that it is a common occurrence and that a few days previously some other tourists were duped out of a considerably higher amount of money in similar circumstances. They insisted on accompanying me to the local police station to file a report of sorts, though realistically I knew there was very little point. In much need of some positive human contact I returned again to my hotel. I was greeted warmly by a group of waitresses and cleaners who had settled down for a communal platter of injera. Though we had no common language it was made very clear that I had no choice but to join them for lunch. I guess they had been informed of my plight! Luckily I had read that you should not be embarrassed or alarmed by the custom of 'gursha', during which a handful of food is carefully and affectionately fed to you, using right hand only (left hand being used for something else entirely!) in such a way that fingers do not meet lips and no food is dropped. And so it was, being fed food which I did not recognize, by girls I had just met, with giggles and gestures the only form of communication, that I wound up my first day. If my first day was anything to go by, it was going to be an interesting and unique trip! My minibus to Bahir Dar left the following morning at 04:00, or 10:00 Ethiopian time (the Ethiopian 12 hour clock commences at 06:00 and again at18:00, a quirk of Ethiopian time keeping rivaled only by the fact that the their Coptic calendar is roughly 7 years behind the rest of the world). The 10 hour journey involved bumping, rattling and hair-pinning through mountainous roads, frequently only semi-paved at best, dodging the debris of recent landslides and the crowds of people plodding alongside with their herds and goods, through the Blue Nile gorge. My weary senses were awakening to scenes of every quintessentially African clich¨ I could dream of, from the majestic scenery to the myriad small encircled communities of thatched mud huts, to the crowds of people gently and incongruously pacing from the middle of nowhere to God knows where. Many of the people carried considerable loads on their back or head. The patience and fortitude with which they balanced these formidable loads was paralleled only by the unquestioned perseverance with which they accepted being engulfed by vehicular fumes and the near death experiences of overtaking vehicles. Every scene signified a lifetime of standards much harder and grittier than my own. It was difficult not to romanticize, respect and even idealize this lifestyle, though this serves only to naively trivialize the fact that this lifestyle is not limited to the minorities of the world and people will adapt to their surrounding conditions. To gradually awaken to such casual musings was certainly a treat outside of my normal daily routines back home! The leafy boulevards and dusty back streets of Bahir Dar made for a very refreshing arrival in this lakeside town. I was pleased to be out of the big city. Located on the shores of Lake Tana, the town has a more relaxed and cosmopolitan vibe than the capital. Students chill out among the many cafes lining the lakefront promenade and children play improvised games on unpaved dirt roads. Of course the faranji attention is still as apparent as to be expected in a poor country that is only beginning to re-familiarize itself with international tourism, but it is generally accompanied by a more genuine, friendly and hospitable manner. It is a nice and compromising town in which to hone oneself to the pulse of the Ethiopian way of life, and to learn that most seemingly important of lessons in Ethiopia, that being seen as a mobile cash dispenser to be availed of by any means necessary does not necessarily nor entirely preclude the desire or potential for genuine hospitality or friendship. Upon arrival I investigated a number of hotels accompanied by a couple of tourists I had met on the minibus. We settled for a dirt cheap and centrally located place with decent rooms, nice balcony restaurant and bathrooms which managed to make you feel dirtier after using them. That evening we rented some bikes and armed with our crude Lonely Planet map we headed off to explore a few miles out of town and along the lakefront. Blending in anonymously with the locals was simply not an option so the easy, and only, option was to pedal away while enjoying the novelty of being such a novelty to the many curious passersby! We passed the Blue Nile outlet, where the source of the Blue Nile is birthed from Lake Tana, and eventually turned off road over arid farmland towards the lake. Here we were approached by a gang of young farm children, clad in colorful tatters and some of them with colloquial and eye-catching hairstyles. They were innocent, beautiful, unassuming and seemingly uncontaminated by the culture clash often perpetuated by modern day tourism. There was no verbal communication, no requests for money or gifts and no pretences. They were as curious about and bemused by us, armed with our cameras, as we were thrilled to be in their company in such a serendipitous place. I can only hope that I propagated as happy and memorable an impression on them as they bestowed on me and that my arguably incessant photo taking and attempts to engage them personally didn¥t leave any culturally detrimental side effects. With smiles and many return glances, I thanked them for their company in my own way and we returned to town to end a lovely day with an appetizing meal and a restful nights sleep. NI As genuinely helpful, friendly and sincere they all were, unfortunately the outcome became tiring and predictable- a 'no obligation' request for financial assistance which is exceptionally difficult to brush aside. Trying to find the balance between maintaining a thick skin and being open to new people, even when, as is normally the case, their assistance is neither solicited nor required, is an art form in itself! Unfortunately i am having to adopt the cynical point of view that i wanted to avoid which is to not trust anyone. I must have faith that the people who are honest and not actually treating us faranji's as mobile cash dispensing units will shine through when it counts. It is necessary to compose oneself here as it is not possible to avoid this constant attention, whether its wannabe guides or young children giving bogus sob stories about both their parents being dead. It is necessary to take it all with good humour, firmness and thick skin, but not so thick as to lose your heart. It can often be endearing afterall when young children get excited seeing you walk by, yelling 'you, you, YOU, give me money, give me pen' and sometimes holding your hand. This response seems enculturated and doesn't necessarily take away from how sweet, friendly, innocent and genuinely curious most of these kids are. It seems i am able to turn over that stone afterall as i am much better at dealing with it than i used to be. It really is a unique country. Its coptic calendar (currently the year 2000), 12hour clock, only uncolonised african country, oldest catholic country in the world, diverse landscape and generally incredible people. From Bahir Dar we took an excursion across lake Tana to visit various very old coptic monasteries, which are still in use today, located on very peaceful and atmospheric islands and peninsulas around the lake. The bird life there would whet any ornithologists appetite and we even saw some hippos, mostly submerged, in the distance. The next say i went to the village of Tis Isat to hike the short distance to the Blue Nile waterfall. An awesome site, which unfortunately is only a fraction of its original might due to a nearby hydro electric power plant. Whether it was the pristine landscape surrounding the waterfall, the iridescent blue birds which were abound or the myriad colourful characters carrying heavy loads to and from market, everywhere i looked there was an amazing potential photographic moment. Unfortunately, the french people i was with dint have any qualms about sticking their cameras in peoples' faces without permission or any attempt to engage the person. It was rude, insensitive and embarressing, along with annoying because they availe of many great photographic moments that i felt were inappropriate. It is challenging trying to maintain the thin line seperating cultures with a large camera in my hand and a strong desire to get good photos, a line i no doubt occasionally cross myself, but i will continue to strive to be fully aware and respectful in my hunt for memorable images. Yesterday i arrived in Gonder, a very historical city with a vast and impressive castle enclosure in the center of town along with a number of lovely 17th century coptic monasteries which are still in active use. I have booked a couple of flights for next week as i unfortunately do not have time to complete my already stretched itinerary in the time i have by road transport. I have booked a trek for the next 3-4 days with 3 girls from australia, which will no doubt be challenging due to the 3000-4000+ metres altitudes, but shall be rewarded by panoramic vistas an packs of charismatic gelada baboons. Then i will come back to Gonder and fly to Lalibela, saving the best for last.

2007: Portugal. ...

2007: Scotland, Ireland, Germany. ...

2007: Croatia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, Kosovo, Serbia. ...

2007: Turkey, Syria. Sitting here, sipping my last cup of apple tea under the refreshing shade of an orange tree at my Olympos pension in southern Turkey, once again facing the imminent homeward journey. The sun is at its apex, the shaded valley in which we are relaxing gratefully receiving its solar bounty after yesterday’s unexpected heavyweight downpour. The seasons are in an agreeable transitional stage before the soulful unpredictability of the elements gives way to the more assured searing heat of the summer. Admiring the imposing cliff views and marveling at how occasional trees have managed to sink their roots into the vertiginous slopes, I reluctantly discourage a very nonchalant cat from curling up and falling asleep on the soft cushion that my belly has become while gently swinging back and forth in my hammock. It is with difficulty and indeed a refreshingly healthy frustration that I acknowledge the feeling of having just found my rhythm for this trip. After having been detached from the homely trappings of daily television, a regular schedule and the comforts afforded by a professional salary for a mere two weeks, it is remarkable how normal everything feels right now. Having accepted that this is the norm for anyone straddling the thin line dictated by the dual desire for a fulfilling lifestyle and a successful career, I wonder where is the cut-off point before the adventurous spirit begins to long for the familiar pace of home life. When do ones roots tire of the excitement and vilifying experience of spreading into new territory and revert to the familiar and welcoming foundations of home soil? One thing I’m sure of is that it is not now!
It has been a fulfilling and sensual holiday, with a pleasing balance between achieving ambitious travel plans with an icing of serendipity, and the essential spontaneity that results from the divergence between experience and prior expectations. Starting in Istanbul, we spent a day wandering semi-aimlessly around the historical and touristy Sultanahmet district, the Bosporous waterfront and the maze of market-laden streets. Istanbul is a vast metropolis, straddling the divide between two continental land masses and cultural outlooks, barely able to steady itself as it trundles headstrong from its place in a 2nd world developing nation towards inevitable European integration. It is a modern and cosmopolitan city oozing with vibrancy while at the same time overflowing with history in the form of time honoured trades and crafts, along with architectural heavyweights such as the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya. The contribution of the latter to the classic Istanbul skyline is surpassed only by its jaw-dropping internal domed grandeur.
We then traveled overnight to Cappadocia, a fascinating smorgasbord of weird geological wonders, which I have visited twice before and can’t quite get enough of. Having arrived in Goreme, the backpacking central of Cappadocia, we were greeted with an early morning icy reception, which turned into full on snowfall the following morning. It seemed that we had over-estimated the weather and under-estimated our clothing requirements! However, I had for a long time non-expectantly hoped to experience Cappadocia under a glistening duvet of snow, never actually expecting the opportunity so soon, let alone during the cherry blossom bloom of late spring. Opening the curtains in our room, which had been hand carved out of a porous cliff face, to witness this fairytale town amid a silent snowy maelstrom elicited such a sublime and inwardly excited contentedness within me that it felt as though time could stand still with a simple nod of invocation. It is quite a treat when the natural surroundings provoke such otherwise clichéd ethereal feelings without a touch of pretence, actuated simply by putting them to word in retrospect. After a hearty breakfast in the surprisingly cozy glass-walled communal room, heated by a small central stove and patrolled by a very playful white black-eyed puppy, we began to realize that the seemingly immemorial snowy conditions were in fact highly temporary and we would have to head off quickly in order to capitalize on these passing conditions. Cappadocia is a magical landscape of volcanic tuft sculpted by the infinitely creative, possibly bored and most definitely highly imaginative hand of nature over the millennia into rocky fairy chimneys, phallic monuments, valleys, and caves, continuously changing their cloaks through a myriad of hews as the ambient conditions dance their daily rituals. It was indeed a rare treat to experience this undulating and oftentimes labyrinthine landscape under a blanket of snow. All the more gratifying was the spontaneous transformation to the more familiar rose red shades, tones and hews as the sun came out the following day and relegated the wintry conditions to their proper place as occasional novelty in this sun kissed semi-desert. Hiking through hidden valleys named after the naturally occurring rose hews and semi-constructed pigeon houses in the surrounding rocky folds and pillars provides an instant means of immersing oneself in the ever-changing and unlikely grandeur of 3 million years of volcanic artistry. Cappadocia is an expansive and wholly unique landscape in which the communion between natural beauty and human history is immediately tangible in the form of a myriad natural and human carved churches, fortifications, dwellings and underground cities, whether tucked away in the most unlikely of corners and sheer cliff faces or dramatically poised in the form of such impressive sites as Uchisar castle, Pashabag fairy chimneys and Goreme open air museum. In fact, Goreme itself appears geologically camouflaged in that many of the buildings are seemingly born from naturally occurring caves and overhangs which have been excavated, extended and fortified, as though a snapshot of geological time had been frozen at a whim for the creative indulgences of human habitation and enterprise. It may at first seem somewhat surprising that such a permeable and impermanent landscape could play host to a rich and varied human history in which entire civilizations have left their imprint and utilized the unique characteristics of this landscape to their advantage. However, this is clearly testified by the ad-hoc churches, frescoes and caravanserais built during prosperous times of cultural perpetuation, and from subterranean cities such as Derinkuyu which provided storage, protection, habitation and a means of ambush during times of oppression and invasion when entire populations fled underground for months at a time.
Strong and cohesive social networks are an integral and defining feature of Turkish society, whether within families or local communities. Whether the affects of this are seen as individually suffocating or socially supportive is an effective means by which to gauge how westward looking a Turkish person is. The latter was demonstrated to us in a typically unique and enterprising manner by Ahmet, a charming and friendly local wine producer we met while on a hike off the beaten path through Rose valley. We had wandered up a steep path, following a vague signpost for a typical Cappadocian rock hewn church. This church was on Ahmet’s land, a thin sliver of fertile land not particularly close to anything other than beautiful surrounding panoramic views and dramatic rocky pinnacles. Each day he would take his motorbike as far as he could along the path and hike the rest of the way to his little plot. Here he would make a meager living by selling refreshments to tourists who happened by, while tending to his grape vines for the production of wine in defiance of the ongoing onslaught of a local mouse infestation. In fact, the ubiquitous burrows gave the impression of walking on a huge lump of cavernous cheese, ready to collapse at any moment and expose the rodent society below. During one particularly productive season Ahmet was presented with the dilemma of how to transport his considerable batch of wine to the markets beyond the confines of the surrounding karst. His solution was to exchange favours with a local hot air balloon company with whom he was acquainted and arrange to have his produce air lifted out after extremely delicate landing instructions. Considering his instantly engaging manner and impressive informal linguistic skills, if this manner of enterprise is typical of the Turkish character then how could Europe anything other than benefit by the eventual formal inclusion of Turkey as a member of the economic community?
After the enforced reconsideration of our plans imposed on us by the changeable and unexpectedly precipitous weather, we decided to heed the call of sunnier conditions in the south. Rather than jump straight to the end of our plans by making a beeline to the Turkish Mediterranean coast, we accepted slightly dubious reassurances that impromptu visas would not be a problem for us to purchase at the Syrian border, and two hours later we boarded our night bus to Syria, reveling in the spontaneity of our decision after abandoning our long-standing plans to visit Eastern Turkey and Georgia. There will be another time to overturn that particular stone. In the last few years I have acquired a much welcome complacency in the face of my perpetual desire to visit new countries on every trip. It is still a huge part of my agenda, however, realizing that defining a region simply by its socio-political boundaries is a rather transparent means of visiting and experiencing a place, I have discovered the unexpected parallel joys of revisiting sites from previous journeys of mine. Such is the case with Syria. There is something delightfully intangible and surprisingly difficult to quantify about the realization that a place which briefly tantalized ones senses in the past does in fact exist independently of memories of actually being there. I love the futility with which the conscious mind grapples with such experiential quandaries! Arriving at the border, amid the relatively benign midday chaos of any checkpoint un-tethered by our western sense of order, our reaction to being informed that we would not be granted a visa on the spot was one of inevitability and bemused resignation, perhaps with just a dash of frustration. If there was a reason, it was not communicated to us, and we were faced with the choice of either turning back to Ankara, roughly a 24 hour journey, where we would be assured of acquiring an appropriate visa, or exercise good-humoured patience with the hope that a fax supposedly sent to officials in Damascus would be replied in our favour later that day. It is curiously comforting, and essential, to accept that in such situations there is absolutely nothing you can do but accept that things will work out just fine, whether immediately in your favour or not, and that the only thing you have control over is the manner in which you conduct your reaction. Knowing that customer services is not a recognized notion at border crossings and having faith that an unreciprocated friendly demeanor can make a world of difference, our perseverance eventually paid off and we were cleared to navigate the sweaty, physical, loud and seemingly chaotic bureaucratic system to pay for our visas, uninstructed and with the minimum of blatant baksheesh. We took undisclosed but definite pride in our acceptance of and, in fact, our gratitude for the experience, and quietly marveled at how obviously things tend to take care of themselves depending on the manner in which such unexpected circumstances are engaged. The exclamation mark to the day came in the pleasant form of making a new friend, Hisham, an Iraqi man living in Germany, who, having spent days driving to this point en route to Damascus, offered us some much appreciated help completing our border crossing along with a very gracious lift to our first destination, the city of Hama. After our slightly dubious start, Hisham’s genuine and agenda-less friendship was far from the last positive experience we had with Arabic people in Syria throughout our meager 4 days there. Having arrived in Hama that evening and saying a grateful and heartfelt goodbye to Hisham, we enthusiastically shook off our fatigue and located the hotel in which I stayed 2 years ago, giddily enjoying the rare treat of independently being able to find our own way through a far away city based on nothing but a vague sense of direction and past memories. Hama exudes an uncommon sense of beauty, not apparently based on any particular architectural grandeur, but rather on a collective urban soul that somehow communicates itself across languages and cultures. It’s dignity and history nicely personified by the many wooden norias, water wheels spread along the length of the river, their aged wooden joints creaking the tune of centuries past with a low rumbling resonance. It is as if the city itself is calmly echoing memories which are otherwise left unspoken. It was not entirely surprising to learn that the entire city was in fact laid siege to for it’s outspoken opposition to the government in the early 80’s and the subsequent casualties were atrocious. However, for a population seemingly muted by these painful memories, the open curiosity and friendliness of the people is immediately captivating. Having experienced tourist hustle many times before and not always dealing with it well, I found it very refreshing to be so quickly induced under an umbrella of trust for the motives of such an abundance of distant well-wishers. It is difficult not to smile when so frequently and unashamedly acknowledged by complete strangers as an unfamiliar yet most welcome outsider, whether by wide eyed children playing safely on the footpath at night time, motorists calling out ‘welcome’ as they toot their horn while driving by, friends and extended family members of local street café owners and vendors showing no other agenda than an eagerness to practice their language skills, satisfy their curiosity, exchange a smile and perhaps a sample of their ware. At one stage, upon realizing that we had arrived at the wrong bus station for our connecting journey, a plain clothed man of apparent authority took it upon himself to guide us to a minibus that would take us across town to the correct bus station. Not only did he patiently wait with us to ensure that we got on the correct bus, bearing in mind that such public transport is in fact a conglomeration of confusing and jostling private enterprise, but our driver caught up with us after we got out and amicably insisted on returning our money to us as it was in excess of the actual fare. We did not have the correct fare to begin with due to circumstances and our inability to make sense of the local transport system, and we certainly did not expect our acceptance of having to pay extra money under these conditions to be reciprocated by a greater insistence to give us our money back! It is unfortunately difficult to deny a cynical but realistic concern that such genuine empathetic cross-cultural human interactions tend to be just as easily eroded by the effects of tourism as fostered by them. Either way, I am grateful for the imprint it has left on me and I can only hope that I honoured it adequately by the manner in which I presented myself. After a much anticipated and considerable indulgence of my favourite street-side Middle Eastern treat, fresh fruit cocktails and falafel, we visited the charismatic beehive mud huts which lay scattered throughout satellite suburbs and villages, along with Qasr Ibn Wardan castle, en route to the primary tourist attraction of Syria and perhaps the whole of the Middle East in general; the majestic ruins of Palmyra.
Once the gateway to a heavily taxed route across the Middle East, Palmyra is now the primary tourist hotspot of Syria. Tourism has been hit hard by recent international socio-political meanderings, a boon for those of us who deeply value a degree of authenticity and, dare I say, exclusivity to visiting such remarkable sites, but unfortunately it has led to rising cut-throat competition among local businessmen within the tourist industry. It is one of the thankfully few places in Syria where conscientious tourists need to exercise a greater degree of savvy, normally reserved for countries more accustomed to mass tourism. It was with bemused irritation while enjoying a well earned rest on a remote hilltop overlooking the ruins when I had to rub my eyes in disbelief at my recognition of an approaching Bedouin herdsman, who 8 years previously had approached me and my friends with a similar façade of obligatory open friendship, only to immediately launch into unashamed requests for ‘stylos’, ‘bonbons’ or anything else he thought us rich foreigners might give him during a moment of mild disorientation. It’s not that he was threatening or malicious, but rather that he was uneducated by modern standards and living off of tourism in such a manner was clearly all he ever knew. Such is the unfortunate aftermath of unchecked socio-cultural transition. Nonetheless, with a modicum of common sense, effort and research it is entirely possible to avoid the juggernaut of package tourism, contribute to the local economy, strike up spontaneous, friendly and insightful discussions with local people in classic Syrian style and enjoy visiting the ruins independently and leisurely. The ideal times to soak up the wonderful sights and history are of course early morning and late evening. Having navigated by the occasional enterprising camel tout and trinket salesman, there is simply no better time to wander aimlessly for hours on end, watching as the shadows crawl from column to colonnade and tomb to amphitheater, with the distinct impression of having been shrunk down and placed inside a veritable ancient Roman board game, half expecting a giant dice to come rolling along and provide an explanation for the random scattering of preserved and toppled monuments all around. It is a fully interactive experience, transporting those with even an unpracticed imagination across eons of time, assuming that the sweltering heat doesn’t first catch up and accelerate the onset of temple fatigue. Following a necessarily restful afternoon, the ideal way to bring closure to a day tenderized by desert heat and temple awe is to gather what little energy remains and channel it into the moderate hike up the steep scree slopes towards the ever-watchful distant citadel. A 360÷ panoramic hilltop desert view, overlooking the town, oasis and vast ancient complex, as the sun concedes and wearily dips below the horizon unabashed for another day, is surely the only worthy way to reflect upon the privilege of passing through such a unique and remarkable place. There is something highly egotistical about revisiting places of such pivotal personal reminiscence which injects a content assurance that in some way you have partaken in an energetic exchange with the place and that some day, somehow, it is inevitable that you will once again return. Whether or not this actually happens hardly seems to matter.
On our final morning in Syria we rose before sunrise to enjoy a basic breakfast, which our gracious host Mohammed had prepared especially for us, seemingly as a gesture of friendship after our many diverse conversations the evening before. I then scoured the visitors guest books for the message I had written years previously, a simple and befitting way to bring closure to our visit, before facing the 30+ hour journey to our next destination, Olympos. However, Syria wasn’t yet through with throwing little gems our way. Upon having to leave our hotel without properly saying goodbye to Mohammed, we soon realized that he had dashed off to find and pay for a taxi to take us to the bus station with time enough for us to enjoy our breakfast. Having developed a rather rigorous protective layer against the inevitable hustle and hassle of modern day global travel, it is always a most welcome and heartwarming novelty to have it eroded and chipped away at by such simple gestures. It would seem that Syria is not a country in which you have to go looking for genuine hospitality. It will find you.
Having arrived in Olympos after our fourth and longest overnight bus journey, I couldn’t help but reflect upon some rather down to earth undeniable facts regarding the effects of aging on travel. At 30 years old I consider myself young, and most likely always will. I am at a nice age where I know and like myself better than I ever have and I have learned to appreciate and deal with things in a much healthier, immediate and accepting manner. I can also more easily afford to indulge my two biggest passions in life, travel and photography. I welcome the so-called ‘travel bug’ as a full blown epidemic, one for which I wouldn’t want inoculation. It is a good age to travel and I am very fortunate. However, it would be naïve to deny certain recent physiological anomalies. In the past I reacted to long journeys as a well-fed baby does to a cradle, by falling asleep. Regardless of my desire to use the time to reflect, write or read, or the social needs of my companions, the rhythm of the journey would inevitably induce me into at least a semi-hypnotic slumber. Nowadays I find that sleep is no longer the easily acquired portal it used to be, even if I am actually tired, as my increased girth seems to have had two uncomfortable knock on effects in the form of rapid aching of my coccyx and general ass area, along with the unexpected discomfort as my head relaxes and apparently sinks in on its own centre of gravity inside my neck after prolonged traveling! After some self-deprecating sarcasm upon acknowledging evidence of my own mortality, I blithely tucked that little nugget away into my drawer of ‘ah-well-that’s-life’ isms, and contentedly curled up into a comfortable bed after finally arriving at our destination and booking into some nice accommodation, to recharge my batteries and allow my stretched body clock some brief respite.
Olympos is a peaceful little backpacker haven, which although ‘discovered’ still maintains an air of tranquility in which nature and history still quietly dominate over the influx of tourists aiming to collectively get off the beaten track. Accommodation has evolved from rustic tree houses to basic but very comfortable ensuite wooden cabins. There is a communal spirit which even the most die-hard individualist would have trouble fending off. It is, in the classic sense, a place to forget about the rigors of time, while resisting the encroaching pretence of having found somewhere truly untouched. The authenticity of this place is maintained by the scattered and predominantly natural state of the Olympos ruins, strategically built within a verdant valley by a fresh water stream, at the mouth of a natural harbour. Gazing out from one of the easily accessible hilltop panoramas at the rugged coastline, mountainous interior and lush woodlands, the only visible sign of the complex immediately below is the occasional stone wall or pillar, peering out from below the surrounding canopy. Only a brisk scramble through the dank frog-infested undergrowth gives way to the full extent of the ancient ruins contained therein. The ever-watching Mt Olympos, an easy 2 hour hike away, has been a crucible of much legend and lore throughout the ages. It is dotted with naturally occurring gas pockets which leak and hiss at the surface where they spontaneously ignite to form the Chimaira, distant fires which have spawned legends of subterranean dragons while helping ancient sea-farers to navigate safely to shore.
It is with such thoughts of distant beacons, which burn brightly when fuelled with ignorance and fear, but even brighter when embraced as directional signposts to some unknown destination, that I reflect upon this holiday. Although they are now out of sight and confined to memory, I know they are still burning.

2006: Morocco. As a belated 30th birthday present for my girlfriend we went to morocco for one week at the end of october. Despite the initial plans to visit various sites that i didn't go to last time, we ended up going to the same places as before- Marrakesh, Fez and Meknes, including Moulay Idriss and Volubilis. Once again this was a nice example of the satisfaction in returning to a place and comparing memories with new experiences. Marrakesh is as vibrant and Fez is as unique as i recall, even more so when visiting it with a loved one and the benefit of a few extra years of experience and maturity.

2006: Poland, Italy, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Qatar. This was planned as a much overdue and anticipated whistle-stop 6week tour of south east Asia. While planning this trip i received the news that my sister was to be married in Siena, Italy, and my girlfriend got me a flight to Krakow for my birthday so that i could meet her there and then travel onward to Siena. This made for an interesting itinerary, having to return from Italy to London in order to catch a flight to Bangkok! Also, after much research, i managed to book an itinerary which would include a 12hour stopover in Doha, Qatar. We met this trip with a lot of excitement but also the realisation that there was much that could go wrong. However, it turned out to be a wonderful holiday, with many first time experiences for us. From Krakow we took a daytrip to Wieliczka salt mine where we were blown away by the staggering facts of workmanship deep underground. From Poland we flew to Italy and spent a few days relaxing in the Tuscan countryside in the idyllic setting of a large stone house, swimming pool and many guests at what could only be described as a perfect wedding. There goes my baby sister! From here we flew back to London in order to catch our flight to Bangkok. 2 days later and after very little sleep we arrived in Thailand, got the public train into central Bangkok, then booked a hotel room and slept! Despite my reservations regarding the tourist circus of this city, we actually thoroughly enjoyed it, accepting it for what it has become and the pleasures it has to offer. From Bangkok we travelled to Chiang Mai on what has to be one of the most luxurious and cheap bus networks in the world. From Chiang Mai we immediately arranged a 3 day hike in Doi Inthanon national park, taking in wooden lodges, waterfalls, elephant riding, bamboo rafting, 'hilltribes' (rural villages!), mountains and forests. It was a tiring and very satisfying few days. When we arrived back in town we accepted an offer, or challenge (!), from a dutch man we met to join him for a bungy jump. I have never been so afraid in my life. The only thing more terrifying would have been to turn back. Although you could have performed colonic irrigation on me while standing on the platform and i probably wouldn't have noticed (!), once you let yourself go it is one of the most amazing feelings. Next we started heading towards Laos via Chiang Kong. We crossed the river border and exchanged some money for an unfeasibly large amount of Laos currency. From there we arranged a 2 day river trip down the Mekong to Luang Prabang. This trip turned out to be a remarkably uncomfortable but a very unique and scenic journey, including a night in the small river village of Pak Beng. Luang Prabang is a lovely town with a very old history which is kept alive by ongoing traditions and UNESCO preservation. An early rise is rewarded with a view of the ancient Buddhist sunrise tradition where by they walk around town in silence collecting food for the day. It is a very serene and authentic experience. There is also a lovely craft market open in the evening along with many wonderful temples and monasteries. A sunset hike up to the temple at the highest point in town affords a wonderful view of the Mekong. From Luang Prabang we took a daytrip to Huang Si waterfall, where we hiked and swam in the pristine turquoise waters. I also arranged a day of activity including mountain biking along isolated mud roads and river kayaking, including a visit to a local weaving factory and a smaller waterfall. After Luang Prabang we headed towards Phonsavan. I was amazed by the contrast between urban and rural life in Laos. There were many villages in which wooden walls or a galvanize roof seemed like to domain of the wealthy. I enjoyed the border town feeling of Phonsavan, although it is quite central, and the atmosphere created by the huge number of discarded bomb shells and weaponry used as furniture is quite surreal. We arranged a day tour of the ‘plane of jars’, taking in the main sites containing the ubiquitous stone jars. The air of mystery surrounding these large jars is equaled only by the staggering wartime statistics. It is incredible to think that over a period of a few years there was an average of a ton of bombs dropped, often flippantly discarded when they could not be returned to base, for every person in the country during the ‘secret war’. From Phonsavan we started heading towards Vietnam, taking in one of the most uncomfortable bus journeys of my life- 3 hours late, no seats available other than plastic stools in the middle of the aisle, some unusually rude passengers (with an odd habit of hocking up and spitting regularly), overnight, 9 hours duration, mountainous and continuously u-turning and potholed road, no sleep. But of course remembered fondly! From here we took some small local transport for the final 3hour journey through incredibly lush, mountainous and beautiful countryside to an isolated border crossing into Vietnam. It is funny how you can make good friends under such circumstances. When we meet fellow tourists under identically unlikely circumstances there seems to be a better chance of making friends rather than passing acquaintances. We sorted out the usual passport formalities, took some unexpected jokes from the friendly border guards regarding the possibility that we were bringing Viagra with us and that the condoms floating around in our medicine bags were sweets, then arranged transport to Hanoi in an unnecessarily expensive minibus as there seemed to be no other option available. I have had some scary yet novelty-esque journeys in my time but this one took the biscuit. Suicidal / homicidal young drivers who clearly didn’t have a clue where they were going for much of the 10 hour journey! But we finally got there in one piece and without any apparent casualties. Hanoi took a few days to grow on us, though possibly because of the untrustworthy and pressurizing staff in the hotel we had the misfortune of staying in, or because my girlfriend was developing a sudden, erratic and nasty sickness of some sort. We ploughed ahead and organized an incredibly economical 3 day tour of the beautiful Halong Bay, including a night in a cabin on a luxurious wooden boat, wonderful food, night swimming, hiking on Cat Ba island, visiting the rather tacky cave displays, sea kayaking and of course exploring the bay. It was a wonderful trip only for the deteriorating health of my girlfriend, whose fever was getting scary on the return trip to Hanoi. We had booked flights to Ho Chi Minh for the next day, at which stage we planned to go to the hospital. However, upon arrival she felt marginally better and so took a chance by resting in our comfortable hotel room for the day while I explored the city and recharged myself also. The next day we took a chance and got on a bus to Phnom Penh in Cambodia, but the journey took a clear toll out of her. After a bit of tense exploring around Phnom Penh and the absolute horrors of Tuol Sleng museum (old school house turned ‘interrogation’ center during the days of the Khmer Rouge, where thousands of people were tortured and sent to the ‘killing fields’), she became virtually incapacitated due to the severity of joint pains and headache. While she took one final chance to recuperate, I took a trip out to the Choeung Ek killing fields. There aren’t many words that can appropriately describe the feeling of wandering among the now empty mass graves where so many people met with such an horrific end. I remember the journey there fondly as I hired a moto driver to take me there on the back of his bike. However, there were major floods and some roads were cut off, so we had to take the moto onto a flimsy wooden dugout motor canoe owned by some local entrepreneurs in order to bypass the floodplains back onto the road. On the way back we had to line up in a back alley with hundreds of other moto drivers, behind and in between local homes, where the noise was deafening and the general rule seemed to be survival of the fittest, yet with no flared tempers. On my return, to my dismay my girlfriend was still deteriorating and so we finally went to hospital with her in a bad way. After a bit of inevitable confusion and misunderstanding we were put in a VIP room (no other choice it seemed, we weren’t asked, there was no way to communicate that option to us, I doubt locals have that option. Though we are grateful.) We spent the night there and luckily after some treatment the next day there was a huge improvement and we were able to leave the hospital and relax for the day. Although we had no official positive prognosis we are convinced that it was dengue, or ‘bone break’ fever. The next day we made the journey to Siem Reap to visit Angkor, with a huge sense of relief to continue on our journey. Despite the huge expectations I had developed over many years of curiosity about Angkor I was slightly concerned that I had built my expectations too high. I now think that is virtually impossible! What an absolutely mind blowing and incredible place. I did not realize that it was not just an ancient temple or city, but actually an entire network of cities, temples and monuments. We had a very satisfying and tiring 13 hour day exploring the main sites in a tuk tuk. Yes temple fatigue did set in, but not before our minds were completely blown by the beauty, history and sheer majesty of the place. I finally got to experience firsthand the unique strangulation-reinforcing effect of the vegetation on the structures there, a site which I have had in my head since I first saw pictures of it at a young age. After this we headed back towards Thailand and relaxed, explored and shopped around Bangkok before making our way to Ko Tao for a few days to chill out at the end of this wonderful trip. Once we arrived and found a beach front hut with a hammock we immediately cancelled all plans of exploring other islands and did our best to take things on a daily basis for our few days there. We rented an automatic motorbike for a day of exploration, which to my delight involved a network of very rough, usually unpaved, mountainous dirt tracks. We also booked a snorkeling trip around various sites during a circumnavigation of the island. I had no idea how trippy and beautiful coral reefs are. Well, I thought I did, but I had always been too afraid to go into sea water out of my depth and experience it firsthand. It was with a satisfied feeling of disbelief that the trip was at an end that we did our last bit of shopping, drank our last few fresh fruit shakes and ate our last street food in Bangkok. Our stopover in Doha, Qatar, was a nice exclamation point to our trip. We arrived expecting to pay for our visa and spend the day wandering the streets and corniche of Doha, trying to survive the intense heat (with an occasional desert wind that scorches the surface of your eyes!). However, upon arrival we learned by chance that we were entitled to a free visa, pickup, luxurious accommodation, free delicious food and return trip to the airport as part of our stopover! To be honest I think someone pulled a fast one for us and there is so much money there it probably wasn’t a big deal. We rested, ate well, explored for a few hours, and rested some more. ‘Surviving’ indeed!

2006: Lithuania, Kaliningrad. I had become intrigued by the small Russian exclave that is Kaliningrad. I decided that with the appropriate planning for visiting a Russian state, a short trip to Lithuania would provide the perfect opportunity for a few nights in this area which until last year i had never heard of. Kaliningrad city is what i hoped it would be, a sprawling ex-soviet city with no concessions for, or interest in tourism! It was close to impossible to get information there, but i managed an excursion to Svetlogorsk. This is a pretty baltic town with huge wooden houses built among a pine forest. I then went on to Lithuania, crossing the border on the Curonian spit. This was the other main focus of this trip for me. It is a 98km sandbar, with some of europes biggest sand dunes separating the baltic sea from the baltic lagoon. It is an area of dedicated preservation due to its volatile ecological nature. In the past, entire villages had to be relocated due to the encroachment of sand dunes. Without recent reforestation efforts it is worried that after 50 years the entire spit could erode into the sea. From here i went on to the 'hill of crosses', via Siauliai. This is the most indicative site of Lithuanian heart and culture. During soviet occupation the crosses served as memorials and religious devotion, which developed symbolically towards devoted nationalism. As a result the hill was bulldozed a number of times by the soviets, but despite armed guards and the threat of being shot, crosses were somehow placed there again overnight. There are now probably millions of crosses of all sizes on this tiny site. Hypnotic. I finished my trip with visits to Vilnius and Kaunas. Vilnius comes across as a city at a crossroads, balancing its road towards the EU with an apparent 'alternative' and cosmopolitan lifestyle, with its open parks, old quarter and tearaway suburban state!

2006: Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia Herzegovina, Slovenia, Italy. This was a very active and satisfying fortnight in the Balkans and surrounding areas. Dubrovnik is a formidable and very beautiful medieval coastal city. Enjoy the walk around the entire old city battlements and take a trip to peaceful Mljet island. On to Montenegro we then spent a night in the lovely town of Kotor. Situated majestically yet quaintly at the foot of southern Europes biggest fjords, it is overlooked by a sheer old city wall and the ruins of a castle. Hike up to enjoy the stunning panoramic views over Kotor and the fjords. From there we took a bus to Mostar in Herzegovina, via Dubrovnik, where a hopeful lady intercepted us while still on the bus and somehow managed to ascertain from us where we were going and arrange for us to stay with her sister there! Despite my hesitation with such circumstances this actually worked out nicely and lead to us staying with her cousin in yet another destination! Mostar is a nexus of history. The old bridge which once signified harmony among a culturally diverse population, became a flashpoint when it was detroyed during the Balkan conflict to separate the muslim and catholic communities. After all the bloodshed, the bridge was symbolically rebuilt using traditional techniques and materials, a gesture to help heal very deep rooted wounds. Sarajevo is a city which is difficult to imagine under the relentless siege conditions it endured so historically recently. We visited the tunnel which was built under the airport as the citys only lifeline to supplies for 4 years. There is hardly a more potent symbol of the tenacity of this city. Back to Croatia we visited the towns of Sibenik and Zadar where we enjoyed good food, coastal views and lovely sunsets. Then, on to Plitvice national park. This is one of my favourite places. Imagine large, clear, turquoise lakes, connected by uncountable lush waterfalls, and surrounded by woodlands and cliffs. Sublime. Next we went to Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, where i got to enjoy one of the understated joys of travel that is meeting up with old travel buddies. We took some enjoyable trips to Lake Bled, Kamen castle, Lake Bohinj and Triglav national park. Our next excursion was an unplanned trip to Skocjan cave. Our expectations were blown away by the immensity of this place. It was like walking along a path on top a sheer cliff overlooking a gorge, except underground. Wow! Finally, we got a train to Venice to cap off a wonderful 2 weeks. Venice holds true to and surpasses all of the cliches which garnish it. There could hardly be a more beautiful and unique city, irrelevant of its tourist saturation.

2006: Gran Canaria. Wow, where to begin?! Well, we were due to go to the Sinai and Jordan for a week of relaxing and exploring, but after our flight was diverted due to thick fog covering seemingly only the city from which we were to get our connecting flight, followed by a delayed bus and heavy traffic, we just missed our flight to Sharm El Sheikh. After a 24 fruitless wait at the airport with the hope of making a corresponding flight the next day, followed by failing internet connections and many false avenues of hope, we eventually got a bus to Heathrow with the aim of searching for a last minute flight, anywhere, rather despondently. Eventually, we found a last minute flight to Gran Canaria, leaving early the next morning, so 48 hours later we found ourselves on our way to the Canaries! Ironically, 3 days ofrelaxing on a resort was just the remedy after such a weekend!

2005: Latvia, Estonia. I had a week off work so i decided to go and get the autumn experience in Latvia & Estonia, taking in Riga & Tallinn along with national parks in both countries. Sigulda park including Gauja Valley in Latvia provided a satisfying day of walking through woodland and ruins. Saaremaa island and Vilsandi nature reserve in Estonia made for a fresh, blistery and very satisfying couple of days visiting a crater lake, windmills and Vilsandi island, including fine Baltic sunsets and sunrises.

2005: Venice, Italy. These photos were taken during an impromptu budget one night only weekend trip to Venice as a surprise birthday present for my girlfriend. The best kind of spontaneous madness!

2005: Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt (including a stopover in Netherlands). This was a 1 month solo trip between Beirut and Cairo, summarised by the following itinerary- Beirut, Byblos, Baalbeck, Bcharre, Qadisha Valley, Hama (including the norias, beehive huts, Crak des Chevaliers, Musyaf, Hosn Suleiman, dead cities, Qasr ibn Wardan), Aleppo (including St Simeon's Basilica), Deir Ez Zur, Mari, Dura Europas, Palmyra, Damascus, Amman, Petra, Wadi Rum, Dahab, Mt Sinai, Cairo (including Giza). As a return to trip for myself to this part of the world i was slightly apprehensive about my expectations, but as it turned out, the trip was all i hoped for and more. The friendliness and sincerity of the Lebanese and Syrian people was unparalleled in my experience. The history and culture are tangible to every sense. The photographic opportunities are endless. Personal highlights include Baalbeck, the Hama 'norias' Eastern Syria, Petra, Wadi Rum & Mt Sinai. As someone who has a general disinclination to backtracking, i found it very serendipitous when a fellow backtracker introduced me to the notion that one of the joys of travel is returning to a place with a fresh perspective as a tool of introspection. Even more ironic that the following day i got lost in Petra!

2005: Isle of Man. These pictures have been taken around the Isle of Man since i've been living here and working as a maths teacher.

2004 / 2005: Germany, Slovakia. These pictures were taken during a 2 week trip to Berlin and Bratislava at new years.

2004: Italy, Tunisia. These were taken during a 3 week summer trip to Sicily and Tunisia. Having landed in Palermo we then spent a few days in Trapani, visiting the islands of Favignana, Levanzo & Marretimo, then we got the ferry to Tunisia. We did a round trip from Tunis to Nefta to Matmata and back to Tunis, including visits to Carthage, Sidi Bou Said, the desert, Le Chott, Tamezret and El Jem. We then returned to Sicily and revisited the scenic and peaceful Marretimo island and then spent 2 days in Catania and took an excursion to Mt Etna.

2004: France. These pictures were taken while my band at the time, revolution of a sun, were playing a few gigs throughout Brittany.

2003: Czech Republic, Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary. This was a 5 week trip which nicely included a stopover in Prague. Having landed in Athens we explored the city and the Acropolis before heading to Meteora to hike and visit the monasteries. We then went to Piraeus and got ferries to visit the islands of Amorgos, Santorini and Samothraki, including a brief stopover on Naxos. Next onto Turkey and we spent a few days in Istanbul and Goreme in the magical area of Cappadocia. I continued alone to Bulgaria, covering some old ground by revisiting sites from my first ever backbacking trip including Sofia, Rila Monastery and Bellogradhik, before crossing the north west border into Romania and onto Bucharest and Sighisoara, and finally to Budapest in Hungary.

2003: Spain, Morocco. This was a 2.5 week round trip from Barcelona, visiting Meknes, Marrakesh and Fez in Morocco, including visits to Moulay Idriss, Volubilis, Sefrou and bhelil, and back to Barcelona, including visits to Sitges and Monserrat.

2002: Germany, Poland, Czech Republic. This was a 2 week round trip in November from Berlin following the circuit of Berlin-Lodz-Warsaw-Krakow-Zakopane-Prague-Berlin.

2002: Czech Republic. This was a 5 day February trip meeting some old travel buddies from Norway and Switzerland (who i met in Peru) in Prague, followed by a couple of days in the Adrspach-Teplice national park for some hiking.

2001: Wales. These pictures were taken during various hiking trips throughout Wales including the Brecon Beacons, Snowdonia, Llangollen and Betws-y-Coed while i was living in England.

2001: Italy. This was a long weekend trip to Greve in Tuscany to visit my sister, including moped excursions to Volterra and Montefioralle.

2001: Norway. This was a long weekend trip to Trondheim to visit a travel buddy of mine who i met and travelled with for a week in Peru.

2001: Croatia, Italy. These pictures are from a 2 week trip starting in Zagreb, then on to Zadar with a day trip to the magnificent Plitvice national park en route, followed by a few days on Dugi Otok island where i was impressed by how quickly one can completely lose track of time, then to Sibenik with day trips to the Kornati Islands national park and Krka waterfall. I then got the ferry to Italy and visited my sister in Florence before moving onto my departure city of Venice.

2000: England. These were taken while i was living in Bristol while working as a junior software engineer. Apparently!

2000: Senegal. This was a rather intense and interesting month long trip around Senegal with an ex girlfriend of mine. Starting in the rather full on capital of Dakar we visited Goree island and Lac Rose before heading north to St Louis. From here we headed south via Kaolach to Missirah with the intention of then entering Gambia. One stolen passport at the border later and we were frustratingly heading back to Dakar to file a report. We then comforted ourselves nicely with a trip to Kedougou in the far south east and made excursions to the wonderful villages of Iwol, Ibel and Salemata, along with the waterfall Dindifelo. Heading back towards Dakar we stopped at Mbour and Toubab Dialao to complete a very memorable trip.

1999: Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile. This was a 2 month solo trip to South America. It was a highly personal trip as it was my first trip alone, my furthest and longest journey, i had just finished college and i had all my hair cut off the preceding day. Starting in Quito i made an excursion to the equator monument, a local volcanic crater village and did a mountain biking trip down Cotopaxi, before heading north for the Otovalo market and then to Puerto Lopez for some hunchback whale watching. Heading back to Quito i booked a 4 day trip into the Amazon rainforest where my tour group stayed in a jungle lodge, canoed along the rivers, hiked in the jingle and visited local communities. A rooftop train ride through the Devil's Pass later and i was heading towards Lima in Peru. From there i took a flight to Cuzco and visited some of the local ruins before signing up for the 3 day hike to Macchu Picchu. One of my fondest memories of all time despite or perhaps heightened by the fact that i got violently sick on the first night after drinking coco tea, yet ironically not suffering from altitude sickness. Heading south i took a 2 day excursion from Puno to visit the Uros reed islands along with Isla Amantani and Isla Taquile. Heading into Bolivia i first stopped at Copacabana and visited Isla Del Sol and Isla Del Luna. From La Paz i then visited the ancient and mystical site of Tiahuanaco and soaked in the Altiplano. Next was a 2 day trip to Potosi and the silver mines followed by a visit to Uyuni in the south west. This was the beginning of a magical 3 day tour of the Salar de Uyuni, taking in a train cemetery, salt flats, Isla Pescado, Laguna Calorado, Laguna Verde and some hot springs and geysers. Crossing the border into Chile i then spent a few days in San Pedro de Atacama and took excursions to the El Tatio geysers, Valle de la Luna and to Atacama sand dunes at sunset. Heading back into Peru i then Stayed in Arequipa so as to visit the Colca Canyon and local villages before heading towards Pisco via Ica for an afternoon of sandboarding and Nazca for a local flight over the mesmerizing Nazca lines. From Pisco i took excursions to the barren yet beautiful and highly energized Paracas Peninsula including the Ballestas islands, before heading back to Lima. With a week to spare i headed north to Trujillo to check out Chan Chan mud city, the pyramid of the sun and various other archaeological sites, and then headed to Huaraz for a weekend to take excursions to the Lagunas Llanganuco and to the high altitude Huaraz mountains. Overall a trip which shall always be with me and which i intend to revisit.

1998: Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel, Egypt. This was a rather intense 5 week trip along the ancient route from Istanbul to Cairo. From Istanbul to the amazing landscapes of Cappadocia we then relaxed for a few days in Olympos before heading into Syria, narrowly avoiding instant deportation at the border due to a hapless comment about going to Israel from an over zealous and ill informed travel buddy we met en route! From Homs we visited the Crac de Chevaliers before heading to Palmyra for a few days and then finally Damascus for a day before heading to Jordan. From Amman we then went to the awe inspiring site of Petra for 2 days before heading to Israel. After visiting the myriad and vibrant sites in Jerusalem, along with trips to Bethlehem, Jericho, Mt Masada and the Dead Sea we then headed towards the Sinai in Egypt. A rather uneventful few days in Dahab later and we were heading towards Cairo to visit the ubuiquitous pyramids. A few days to travel south and visit Luxor, take a felucca ride on the Nile and visit the Valley of Kings later and we were back in Cairo taking a last minute visit to the Sacchara pyramids and the Cairo museum. Not many photos taken during this trip, which i intend to remedy before long.

1997: Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey. This was my first independant backpacking trip and so i hold it very dear. In retrospect we were utterly clueless heading there, without a guide book or any prior travel experience. Of course dumb luck and syncronisities played their hand and we met a bulgarian girl on the plane who ended up giving us a place to stay in Sofia for a few days. Just as well as it turned out that Sofia had no hostels at the time! Next we visited Rila Monastery early in the morning and camped in the forest for a night. On to Bellogradhik we visited Magura cave and then headed to Carevo on the Black Sea coast before crossing the border to Istanbul in Turkey. From here went to Alexandropolis and camped on Samothraki island for a few days before heading back to Bulgaria to go hiking and caving in the Rodopi mountains. Although i didn't take any worthwhile photographs at the time i have since returned to a few places along this route and relived the memories on film.