Keeping a travel blog running after the travel has finished can seem pointless, but, well…it’s not. Because of one main reason – I love to write. Travel experiences can be so rich, fascinating, or emotionally stirring, there is always something else to write about. Advertisements
If you’ve been to Mandalay, you might have noticed all the great custom-designed jeeps driving around the city. But why are they here?
Surrounded by Montreal’s downtown city blocks is Mont-Royal, the mountain which gives the city its name. It’s an easy hike, and reaching the top is quite easy. Its humbling presence reminds you that Montreal is quite small, and that the natural world is right on the doorstep. Winter boots. Check. Let’s go!
In May 2013, I did something I never thought I’d do as part of my round-the-world travels. I hosted my own art exhibition. Montreal seemed a perfect place; cool, young and unpretentious, with an exciting public art culture and lively street art scene. And I didn’t have a clue how to do it…
The Royal Palace in Phnom Penh was beautiful. Through the madness of ticket queues (one for Cambodians, one for visitors), Cindy and I somehow emerged the the very first people to enter compound, and for a precious few moments, we had the palace to ourselves.
It’s the size of a soccer ball, a stinky medieval morning star of a fruit covered in thorns; the durian. They’re found in many South East Asian markets, on small roadside stalls, or piled up on the back of a motorbike zooming through the streets of Ho Chi Minh City.
Every backpacker has a special relationship with their backpack. Packing it and repacking it becomes somewhat of an art after those weeks and months, with each item in its own special place, and a million ideas on how to improve the packing system. Here is my list of things I would optimise for next time.
Kampot didn’t look like much at first sight; wide, dusty roads with little traffic, old French architecture with sun-bleached paint peeling off the walls, and seemingly no pedestrians. So why did we come to Kampot?
A shadow loomed over me. I looked up from my book. As I expected, it was a Cambodian woman with a basket full of fresh lobster for sale.
An Irishman named Neil boarded the minibus, already drinking at 9am, with a clinking plastic bag bulging with Chang beer bottles, and a toothy grin on his face.