Land of Fire and Ice (Iceland)

Iceland – Reykjavik ~2018

Life can move in very strange ways, and sometimes has a sense of weird irony that isn’t always immediately clear. Case in point, just a couple of weeks ago I was traipsing around Iceland (the budget frozen goods store) in a typical slovenly fashion, wearing scruffy sweatpants and a grim look like most of the shop’s inhabitants – my happiness levels raised only momentarily by the occasional must-buy purchase; cheesy garlic breads £1, double chocolate ice cream £1.50, enormous multi-pack of crisps £2. Time machine it to a few days ago and I am stood in actual Iceland, wearing no scruffy sweatpants (yes, I was wearing clothes, I’m not a maniac), marvelling at the natural beauty of the landscape and soaking in the living and breathing personality that this wonderful part of the world expresses.

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Not to ruin the picture I’ve just painted or anything…but I was also super pissed at how expensive actual Iceland is compared to frozen chicken nuggets Iceland. £10 for one diddy bottle of beer whut whuttt?! You could buy a whole deep-fried farm for that!

Iceland, the fabled “Land of Ice and Fire”, could not be more appropriately named…and it has to be said right off the bat that I give absolute props to any of the (just over) 300,000 people that despite all logic and common sense have decided to look pulsing volcanoes, feet upon feet of snow, regular sandstorms and much more not so fun stuff in the face and state, “I’m still staying. Fuck you.” After all, we all know the kind of effect that weather can have on people mentally, not to mention the physical obstacles of lava melting your toes.

*Insert moment of silence for all the lava toes lost out there*

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It seems that people in general are just as impressed and curious as we were beforehand: Reykjavik, which comprises the majority of Iceland’s population and trade, has been flourishing in recent years, with record numbers now visiting to see what all of the fuss is about. A record 1.73 million in 2016, up 34% from the previous year. These tourists probably come for the Blue Lagoon and the Northern Lights, sure, but I would hope they stay for the breathtaking fjords and the rainbows that dance precariously across waterfalls, for the fresh clean air and the naturally heated pools, for the 100% renewable electricity and tap water straight from a glacier…and then…when all of these incredible features have them stumped as to how they’ll ever return to ordinary cosmopolitan life…leave. Because how can any normal person afford to keep spending so much on soup and bread?

In all seriousness returning to ordinary life after adventuring around such a majestic part of the globe, has had be down in the dumps in a major way. I’ll probably try to cure this feeling by revisiting Iceland at some point…for some cheesy garlic breads, double chocolate ice cream, and an enormous multi-pack of crisps.

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The magic of Iceland, a place in which apparently a large percentage of the populous believe in trolls and elves, continues to play on my mind. There is a sense of unknown in such a place, an unreliability that doesn’t often accompany life in towns and cities – save petty drama at work, or news that someone you thought was great in a movie turns out to actually be a bit of a nightmare. There’s a freedom in not having the shackles of corporate life weighing quite so heavily on your conscience – because things like staying alive take precedent (big shout out to my fiancée for navigating many a snow storm and sheer drop on the road in a car the size of a cereal box).

Iceland = two big frosty thumbs up from me – just make sure you pack your thermals and remortgage your house to have enough cash to get a round of beers in.

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British & Korean vs. Barcelona (영국남자)

Check out my goofy bad self featuring in my friend’s brand spanking new YouTube channel…

Make sure to subscribe to his channel to keep the good stuff coming…the next one (Preview: 2:04) features an arduous hiking trail up Montserratt is sure to be an absolute crease…apologies in advance for the swearing and sweating that ensued.

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STRIKING GOLD! (Doi Suthep)

As I was cleaning out my heavily suffocated laptop (thanks to a ridiculous amount of amusing  GIFs and whatnot) I came across some videos from my time in Thailand earlier this year – there wasn’t much but I put it together in the hope at least one of you enjoy the virtual tour!

This makes me want to travel again…but where next? That is the question, as always!

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Fantasy Land…

Following up yesterday’s post here is a very short video of my time at Chiang Rai’s Wat Rong Khun…also known as The White Temple. It’s hard to really describe as there is SO MUCH going on in one relatively small spot…take a look…

Still not sure what to make of it all!

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Drowsy Layover (Malaysia)

Malaysia ~ Kuala Lumpur – 2016

You often make bad decisions whilst travelling; especially so in hindsight. And of course by you I really mean me…and by me I mean a great lumbering buffoon who is simply trying to blame someone else for all his problems, or at the very least involve you in these calamities. Awfully sorry for dragging you down into these dark depths with me, and I do hope you’ll forgive me as we fall into the abyss of it all together hand in hand…it’s just that I don’t like the thought that I am just a sole wandering moron devoid of any grasp of how to make good choices (even if that is strictly true according to my stories). 

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You see the other day I could have just flown directly from South Korea to Thailand. That seems normal, that seems like the thing that a person should do if they are wanting to fly from South Korea to Thailand…they book a flight and then…they follow that up by taking said flight from Thailand to South Korea. 

Why is this even a fucking story, I hear you ask? Well…let’s get to it shall we…

The things is, instead of doing the aforementioned typical and sane thing – I opted for something which to most would be absolutely unthinkable (and rightly so). I decided to defy conventional wisdom and make a short(ish) stop in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia…after all why not see another place, and find out what it has to offer? The idea came to me from an article I’d read where this fella intentionally gets unusually tedious and long-way-around-ish transfers…this guy is extreme, having day trips in Canada, breakfast in Italy, a few hours shopping in Paris and – well you get the point, he goes through all of that inconvenience just to see a little more. But I thought it was pretty cool, actually I was blown away by it, and he instantly became a hero in my eyes. 

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So after following some of his tips I found my first long layover would be in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia…haven’t ever been there so, wonderful! I’m already well on my way (or so I thought)! Oh, and about seven or eight hours! That’s enough time to have a good look around! I can see the sights and meet the people, try the food and –

KNOCK KNOCK – hi, don’t mean to be a negative Nancy or a cautious Chris, but shouldn’t you check the time you get in on the night because if – SHHHHHHHHHHH! Just because John, you could end up – SHHHHHHH SELF, SHHHHH!

So yeah, that was me. Not even sparing a thought to consider how crucial the actual arrival time could be with such delicate arrangements. I actually ended up realising it at the last second, but still felt positive…despite the fact I would be getting in at 22:10…

This wouldn’t have been all that bad, but I didn’t end up getting my bag back until fucking 23:00. What the hell were they doing with it all of that time? I swear they had been having a little five a side football kick around using my bag as one of the goalposts, or had perhaps been rifling through my possessions hoping to stumble across my stash of treasure (you’ll never get it you dirty bastards I’ll take it to my grave!) but whatever it was it meant that I was now very pushed for time. After all, it’s a 30 or 40 minute journey into the city itself.

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Despite how infeasible it all looked, I thought I would ask the lady at the desk anyway: “Hello there!” – hai sir. (They say sir a lot in Malaysia and I think I like it, makes me feel rather regal and important, rather than smelly and worthless – which is what you truly are after a long haul flight)…“When is the last train back to the airport from the city please?” 00:30…”Ahh – do you think it would be crazy for me to go now – and then come back?” Very crazy sir. “Oh.” Very, very crazy. “Got it – it’s crazy…because the thing is I have a flight at 7am but -” 

Sir, it’s too crazy with bag and distance of this, and time is crazy…it’s just – “Okay yeah, yup, thank you, got it…” I said with a sigh and the best fake smile I could muster.

And so it was there and then that my little dream died. It was probably the most polite version of a dream dying ever to come about, but it was still a dream dying. It was also insufferably hot at 28 degrees, and the air was thick and grossly stifling…sticky sweat meant everything stuck to everything, and I had to lumber about the airport like a lost cause until the morning. It felt like there had been an apocalypse. 

That is until I realised there was a 24 hour McDonalds. I don’t remember one of those in Mad Max, so I guess it was only right to be thankful. I almost crumbled at the three or four in the morning mark, seriously considered getting a taxi driver to ride me around just to make time pass in a more interesting fashion…but YouTube just about did the job instead…

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Anyway sir, let’s put that in the lessons learned book, shall we sir?

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Dead Babies and Ping Pong

Sometimes you have a change of heart, and it is hard to exactly put your finger on why…you just wake up one day and a certain thing isn’t for you anymore – and that’s fine! But sometimes (in fact, more often than not) you know EXACTLY why you have switched sides and the reasons are searing into your brain with an unrelenting and painful clarity:

MATHS IS HARD AND I HATE IT / RUNNING IS A FUCKING PAIN IN THE ASS AND I DON’T WANNA DO IT ANYMORE / I DON’T ENJOY MUSHY BLACK BANANAS THEY GIVE ME THE HEEEEBY JEEEEBEEES!!! and much, much more…

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(All great points by the way.) 

Anyway I had one of those sudden change of hearts recently, a BIG one, and it was all to do with my travel plans which I believe I rambled about in another post somewhere…was gonna be quite an adventure, and still likely will! But the ISIS pricks started blowing up tourist buses simply because those innocent people inside wanted a photo with the pyramids – so I had to scratch my dream destination of Egypt off my list, for now…what absolute bastards (to put it incredibly mildly). So in reaction to this I switched that portion of the trip for Greece so I could have a look at the Acropolis and pretend I am having a chat with my old mate Zeus, that way at least I am in touch with one ancient God, albeit in a different continent and a different time zone.

But you see the major problem came with my first destination after leaving Korea…which was supposed to be Cambodia…a place that I thought it would be an ideal location to quietly sit and write for a few weeks, a place to just get away from it all and get stuff done…and a place that whenever I grew weary of writing words it would actively seek to replenish my imagination with amazing walks around fantastic temples.

But then…the dead baby thing happened. Which put the brakes firmly on this rather dreamy romantic facade I had built for myself…and threw me right back into the horrors of the real world:

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You see I was chatting with a friend about Cambodia, you know, the who,what, wheres…when she announced something along the lines of: “lovely place, so beautiful…just watch out for the dead babies and you’ll be fine…” Excuse me, erm back-paddle a little will you please? No, no, not that bit…the dead…yeah, what is that and why did you say it?!

Seriously though. 

According to her, some other friends who have been, and later the internet when I checked up on this story, there is a rather commonplace scam around Siem Reap which involves a mother (presumably) giving sleeping drugs to her baby to give the appearance of death, then covering the poor thing in flour so it looks well…you know…and then handing the child to her slightly older child (perhaps 5-8 years old-ish) to show to soon to be horrified tourists in return for sympathy dollars galore…

I know right? Horrifying. 

Of course this is born from desperation one would assume, and yet it’s pretty horrific even by current Western standards which are desensitised more than ever before. And whilst I feel for the poor things caught up in this madness I rather selfishly don’t want to see a dead baby (albeit just a pretend one) every day for three weeks. I don’t know, maybe it is just me – perhaps you would love that, you horrible bastard you, but me…no, not really. There is just something about dead babies which sits uneasily…dead babies, dead babies – see…not nice. Gonna stop saying it now, I think as the thought alone is creeping me out and making me sad. You got the message though: Cambodia = dead babies. 

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JOKING! (Sort of).

So although my flights were booked up already I wanted to make the switch from Cambodia to the more reliable and less dead ba…just better in that regard, Thailand. Now this hasn’t particularly ever been on my list, despite the influx of tourists these days and how everyone and their gran (sometimes literally) appears to be visiting Bangkok according to my Facebook home page. It always seemed to be a rather seedy place, well no that’s not right to say, a place where incredibly seedy fellows flock in their millions…yeah, that’s better. And I didn’t particularly want to be another one of them, even if my preconceived notion may be an outdated one.

Actually even when I mentioned it to my siblings they jokingly asked if I was looking for a mail-order bride, or a male bride…or am I just a sex tourist looking for a good time? Well none actually, as it turns out – or at least I think so anyway. Just trying to escape Cambodia your honor. I know, I know…I’ve heard all the stories too, the ping pong balls coming out of the hoo-hahs and all the rest of it. But surely it had to be more endurable than the aforementioned flour dolls, right? Sorry. 

So I got on to the flight people to switch my flights, and made a new pal along the way called Antonin Vrzal who is a lovely chap may I add. But as nice and friendly as he was he wasn’t able to conjure magic tricks, and told me that as I am planning to leave from Cambodia to New Zealand afterwards (different airlines) it would be impossible to switch them, and I definitely can’t cancel them because of…well no reasons, he just said no – which really tested our friendship I’ll tell you that for certain. He then said I would have to just book new flights if it is totally necessary, which of course it is. In essence: THANKS FOR NOTHING MATE! AFTER ALL WE’VE BEEN THROUGH ANTONIN!!!! TWO EMAILS AND A FIVE MINUTE PHONE CALL, AND NOW THIS!

 Not his fault, he’s not trying to ruin your life…breathe, breathe, breathe…that’s better…calm down…hang up the phone…go on…

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So I did just that, and now I will fly to Chang Mai, Thailand (less ping-pong balls there I am told), and will spend a couple of weeks there basking in its quiet slow-paced solitude…after which I will then take a train down to the madness that is Bangkok (a lot more ping-pong balls there I am told)…I’ll then fly to Cambodia just for a few days before getting on the New Zealand flight I was supposed to in the first place. I figure I shouldn’t just blindly follow a few people’s stories and should at least see it all for myself, scams and all. After all it is about YOUR experience, not someone else’s.

BUT MAN, WHAT AN ORDEAL. Wish me luck and sorry again for the horrifying nature of this write-up…I’m as freaked out as you. 

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Silly Sausage

South Korea – Jeju Island ~ 2013

I am pale. Very, very pale. Like Nosferatu pale. Really I shouldn’t ever see sunlight – that would probably work out best for me. But the heart wants what it wants unfortunately, which is to go outside and not live in a cave all of my life. So factor 5000 it is. Except they don’t make that (if they do then please send me a private message, PLEASE), so more often than not I am burned to a red crisp every single time there is even a peak of sun.

Let me take you back to last year, on a long weekend trip to Jeju Island…

Continue reading “Silly Sausage”

Horrendous: Life is a Climb

Life is absolutely horrible: sort of. You struggle, and struggle, and struggle…then have a burger and a beer(s) which helps you momentarily forget about it for a bit…and then – more of the same. Toiling ruthlessly for little reward, receiving a catalogue of “NO, NO, NO”s until you are a skeletal husk devoid of ambition…or perhaps even worse wistfully dreaming away each day as you sit shackled to a desk in a job you despise, and with a boss you would happily run over accidentally/on purpose…

(Don’t worry I’ll keep it a secret, and help you bury the…shhhh, never mind…keep it moving. Email me when the job is done…)

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As much as the internet would like you suggest otherwise with the endless positive blogs and braggadocious Instagram posts displaying fantastical lives devoid of any rainstorms whatsoever…life is largely about delayed happiness, rather than an endless shower of chicken and mushroom pies. Case in point my mother has promised me one of these homemade wonders when I pop back to visit for Christmas…I am literally counting down the days – I wish I could have it on the daily, but nooo!

I’ll get to the point shall I? Well, yes…I have been hiking a bit recently, and by a bit I mean I hiked two different mountains the past two Sundays and won’t be doing it again for the rest of this year – and possibly/definitely for the rest of my life. But whilst doing this I had a thought…you see on the way up I was pathetically scrabbling slowly and not so surely, sweating buckets, breathing more heavily than Darth Vader after running two marathons…and basically just wishing I would conveniently slip of the cliff to my death just to give my burning thighs a break…

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And yet, when I was coming down…there was a new lease of life…and I enjoyed every bouncing step as I hopped from rock to rock quickly descending down the same paths that I had once struggled so horrendously with just moments before. I was Aragon,  I was Legolas…in actual fact I probably looked like Gimli – but fuck it I was doing it, and enjoying every second of it!

You see that’s how life is…and I’m okay with it. You have to take the rough with the smooth, and the good with the bad. Sometimes the hard work takes a long time, and the rewards come in a short and limited burst…but rather than fret about this we should just enjoy it! I’m working a lot now – my schedule is much more packed than I would like – but I know that I have a few months of travelling coming up next year...and then it will be back to the grind, wherever and whatever that may be. 

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But I will have those memories, I’ll have seen those places, laughed with friends and cried with family. So as horrendous as things can be – I will always try to treasure the fleeting joy on the way down…

Hope you do too. 

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Teaching English Abroad: THE HOW TO VIDEO

After a constant influx of questions surrounding teaching English abroad and all that jazz, I decided at long last to make a brief(ish) and pretty basic video surrounding the subject…I realised as I was doing it that I shouldn’t go too far into detail as it would be a few hours long…so this really is the bare bones.

Here I talk about where you can teach English, the best sites on which to find jobs, and a couple of my own experiences surrounding the field. Will probably do a couple of more detailed videos if people seem interested!

Any questions just get in touch! 

Oh, and if you have a video request you can leave a comment, or send me an email – if it’s a cool/interesting idea then I will get to it as soon as I can!

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Night in an Igloo

I often notice that spending a night in an igloo is on quite a few people’s bucket lists…and I think it’s clear why this may be; after all it’s out of the ordinary, a one off experience, and at the very least there’s potential for fun (if not frostbite and/or hypothermia.) 

As children we see drawings, cartoons, and photographs of these strange and snowy lands…and the igloo is a constant if not integral feature of this setup – it fills young and old minds alike with wonder as to whether the inside is warm and toasty…despite being made completely of chunky slabs of ice.  I mean surely it is right, or how would people survive the bitter cold?!

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Well while I was in Finland I was lucky enough to get to spend a night in one…it was a now or never situation as soon the slightly hotter March temperatures would melt them to the ground. So of course it was a yes without much hesitation. I  had some slight reservations mind you, so I piled on all of the clothes I had just in case (glad I did), from socks, to long-johns…hats, scarves, gloves…jackets, body warmers – the lot! I ended up looking like a cross between the Michelin man and a greasy German sausage; the only skin showing being my pink chubby face  and my constantly snivelling wet dog-like nose…

I went in with a friend I worked with, and my older sister: and we began to note how the outside looked rather bizarre, like a goblin barbarian camp – not sure where that idea came from, but it just looked otherworldly, you know? A long way from the winding uniform streets of my hometown,  the clanging of old clock towers, and the hustle and bustle of the bus schedules. Here there were strange ice huts, looking completely different to the post-card type of igloos my imagination had always held on to…instead they were draped in the skins of dead animals, and held together with strange sharpened wood…I could have sworn I had witnessed something similar in one of The Lord of the Rings movies – but anyway, I digress…

I was first into the igloo and threw myself straight into the center – meaning I was going to be a lovely cosy hamburger pattie with two agitated (and rather jealous) human bread-buns on either side…I had to ignore that and think of the bigger picture though: there was now a much lower chance of me freezing to death that night – try not to judge please, sometimes in the arctic wilderness you have to be savage like that:

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The inside was just as bizarre as the outside and almost as cold; so I got straight into a sleeping bag still fully clothed like Joey on that episode of Friends – and then from my little cocoon surveyed the whole area…as my sister kicked me in the side and made every excuse under the sun as to why she should get to be in the middle as opposed to me. No sale. 

The place was adorned with even more animal skins, and there were a number of candles scattered sporadically around the outer ring – probably serving as both ways to warm as well as to add a little more quaint beauty to the otherwise sinister looking unlicensed fur store…I mean sure they were relatively comfy, but it made me feel slightly sadistic to be lying on Rudolph and all of his other now dead pals…

Anyway, I tried to forget about how some of Christmas had died just to keep my bum comfortable – and actually started to warm up a little…was still shivering though – so we passed around a bottle of the Finish spirit Minttu, hoping slurps of it’s 40% alcohol charm may work wonders and ease some the discomfort. It sort of did…we then fell asleep sometime after that whilst talking about the stars, the animal furs, and of course – the horrendous cold which was mostly all we could think about:

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I woke up the next morning warm and toasty though! Well all apart from that small opening I had for my face…which was now covered in frost on my eyelashes, and bogey icicles from my nose – but hey, at least the rest of me was okay – who needs a face anyway?  Not me!

But there was one monumental problem…I had to pee…desperately. And that would mean both going outside and leaving my lovely cosy cocoon, as well as potentially losing out on my commanding human hamburger position – this could not happen, no way…there was just too much on the line, the pee would have to wait. So I thought of other things…like…snow, ice, water…and…urgh…forget it…

As soon as I stepped out the -20°C temperatures hit me like a steam train and I knew that there was no getting back to my previous state – the other two were up now anyway, complaining about me leaving the door open (ooops) and the fact that they had to go to work in ten minutes…whereas I had managed to arrange a late start: “you sneaky bastard! How did you get that?! Totally not fair!” – this meant I could get my stuff together, brush off all of the animal hair (which was no small task!) and head back to the “Santa House”
as it was known, and get some solid sleep in a real bed…within, you know: four solid non-ice walls.

Sometimes it’s the little things in life. Like, not dying of hypothermia. Know what I mean? Still a fun experience and one I would recommend to anyone! But…just make sure you pack a bottle or two of that Minttu, it really does work wonders.

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