If you haven’t asked it, answered it or dreamt about it, you’ve probably Googled, Binged or Yahooed it. “How much does it cost to go travelling?”, “How much does it cost to backpack around the world?” or, “How much does it cost to wash my knickers in Nepal?”
Monthly Archive for August, 2009
The beach was pale and despite being daubed with colourful swimwear, it was lacking and hollow. It was everything a beach should be; sparse and coated in sun like treacle smothers toast.
Reb and I reached a mutual agreement to leave, without the need for fall away words. We’d replaced a blown-out tyre, filled the food box, scrubbed and vacuumed the ute, filled the tank, and then just sat there. Stuck in treacle, watching skinny bums and rippled torsos while infant waves lolloped on the shore. Continue reading ‘A Stroll Along Australia’s West Coast’
The following has nothing to do with moody monks. Nor anything to do with cuddly bedbugs. Indeed, the following has zilch to do with travelling around South India, nor does it have a jot to do with the probably illegal, perhaps slightly mythical sport of gecko cage-fighting that possibly takes place in the Birmingham underworld.
It has to do with me. And my rights as the author to this travel writing blog. Continue reading ‘All Rights Reserved. As of Now.’
It was close to midnight as the pilot mumbled that we were about to descend. I looked around the cabin, a gallery of oval frames. In a dozen of them, I glanced the burning embers of Wellington. Street lamps flowed in channels off the rumpled hills that shepherd the city to the southern coast New Zealand’s North Island (Te Ika-a-Māui). The plane’s wheels clunked into place and soon after we bumped onto the runway. It’s a pleasure I always hide, that reconnection with earth. Continue reading ‘Returning to New Zealand’
Heart thumping. Eyes sweating. Palms clenched. Girlfriend weeping. People staring. Lady smiling. Jaw gripped. Foot shuffling. Mind racing. We were checking in one hour before our scheduled departure, and the lady at the check-in desk was telling us we weren’t getting on the flight. Lady smiling. Palms clenched. Continue reading ‘A Haphazard Birthday’
