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In my latest audio enabled post, I take a look back at my journey from Russia, across the Trans-Siberian railway into Mongolia. If you’re viewing this through a RSS reader, there’s a chance it hasn’t shown up –- I’m working on overcoming this gremlin, however in the meantime I invite you to visit the original post. Continue reading ‘Trans-Siberian: It’s Right Down My Street (Audio)’
I stare at the newspaper. It wasn’t me. I gawp at the television. It wasn’t me. I trawl through the internet. It wasn’t me! I listen to the radio, podcasts, and conversations on the bus. It WASN’T me! At least — I hope it wasn’t me? Continue reading ‘Trails of the Unexpected’
No Nike rucksack. No TMNT pencil case. No “I Heart Your Mum” scrawled crudely across an exercise book. No crumpled timetable. No line for chips and coke at lunch. No wallsy at break. No hour of “là où est la piscine”, or two hours of trigonometry. This weeks Reprint image is brought to you from the divine Mongolian Gobi. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘A Boyhood Dream’’
“I’m a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world. Life in plastic, it’s fantastic!”, I’ll never forget these ghastly lyrics. An hour previous, I was sitting in a ger in the Mongolian countryside just to the west of Ulaanbaatar, politely accepting the offer of a bowl of airag (fermented mares milk) from our generous host. Not wanting to cause offence, I acknowledged my 3 Austrian tour-mates, Phillip, Harry and George who observed me swiftly swallow the sharp, milky, fizzy contents of the chipped china bowl. Continue reading ‘A Mongolian Milky Way’
Dime dull d’of dold. Achooooooooo, excuse me. Sniff sniff. In England, there is no such thing as the common cold among the male population, we suffer instead from the affliction of ‘Man Flu’; a much more imposing, prolonged and debilitating scourge that requires a lot of love and attention. Unfortunately for me, my fellow hostelliers don’t seem very forthcoming with hugs, head strokes and generous offerings of tea, so I’m going it alone. Wish me luck, sniff sniff. Continue reading ‘Sniffles in the Gobi’
There are certain places in the world that make you stand up and consider whether you’ve taken a wrong turning off the trail. Ulaanbaatar granted that feeling the moment I stepped off the Trans-Siberian, stretched my aching limbs and filled my lungs with the obligatory pollution. I sidestepped potholes, drunks and stray dogs as I made my way to Idre’s Guesthouse, my dwelling of choice. Following the formalities I fell into a peaceful sleep, knowing that upon awakening I would be force fed the frenzied hotpot of urban Mongolia. Continue reading ‘Uncovered Passion’
Dumdum-De-DUM, dumdum-De-DUM, dumdum-De-DUM. It took me the whole 5 days from Moscow to Ulaanbaatar, to decide how I would portray the drum of the Trans-Mongolian train I alighted this morning. Say it with me, dumdum-De-DUM, softer, dumdum-De-DUM, emphasise the capitals dumdum, De-DUM, one-two, three-four, dumdum-De-DUM. Never has a journey left me so relaxed. To my right are a set of antelope horns, the hostel foyet is filled with lounge music and all I want to do is hug the keyboard, close my eyes and drift off to dreams of faraway places. Dumdum-De-DUM. Continue reading ‘Trans-Mongolian; it’s right down my street.’
