An Idiot Abroad- not so dumb afterall

It’s very rare to find a travel program that is prepared to show the poverty and chaos surrounding a famous landmark as well as airing the unsavoury reactions of its host.

However, this is a unique travel program. The host, Karl Pilkington didn’t have romantic notions of the Taj Mahal or childhood dreams to walk on the Great Wall of China. He was perfectly happy to stay in the comfort of his white, middle class suburbia, until he was forced by his close friends Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant to open his eyes and live a little.

Karl becomes their victim, their toy, and their source of amusement as they send him around the world in search of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. The romance of travel is well and truly removed by this show yet at the same time the essence of each experience that is captured by super high definition video resonates with the viewer.

In typical British fashion, Karl whinges and complains about everything. When standing in front of the pyramids of Giza, he comments "...a little tornado innit. You don't see that in the brochure. Shitty old nappy whizzing through the air. They tend to leave that out."



At the Great Wall of China, "They say it goes on for miles. Well, so does the M-6.”

While his statements may seem politically incorrect, they are simply unfiltered comments in reaction to the wonders of the world as processed by an untainted mind, coloured with simple amazement, confusion, and the visual comprehension of the illogical and sometimes absurd realities of the modern world.

An Idiot abroad is a remarkable look at the cultures and customs of humanity through the eyes of an uncultured, yet brilliant ‘everyman’.

An Idiot Abroad- The Seven Wonders of the World. Season 1, Sky1

Viva Las Fallas

This years winner- Da Vinci

The charming romantic town of Valencia, on Spain's east coast turns into something of an Armageddon battleground over the four day festival known as Las Fallas.


The festival, in celebration of Saint Joseph, started as ceremony of light fires to welcome Spring, and has turned into a week long, city wide celebration of anything to do with fire.


It starts in the morning at 7:30am, with La Despertà ("the wake-up call"). Brass bands will appear from nowhere and begin to march down every street playing lively music. Close behind them are the fallers, throwing large firecrackers in the street as they wake up the town.


At 2pm, the Mascleta starts, which is a barrage of fireworks and firecrackers that have an audible rhythm, ending with a 100decibel crescendo that rattles every bone in your body.


At midnight, the traditional fireworks begin, and the city sky is lit up for 20 minutes. The party really starts now as young and old people flock to the streets, drinks in hand and dance and party until the sun comes up.


Then it starts all over again the next morning...

At the same time, every day what seems like half of Valencia dresses up in beautiful traditional clothes and parades through the city, with the women offering a flower to the virgin at the end of the parade.


But the best part is visiting all the amazing sculptures, known as the fallas, which have been created over the whole year by each community, and they are funded by the community. While most have political undertones, some are simply just beautiful. 


Then the festival comes to an end with la cremada- the burning! After one year of hand work, and sometimes up to a million euros invested into these magnificent sculptures, they stand just four days in the city before being burnt to a crisp on the final night.

A dramatic end to a dramatic party.

It would be interesting to know how much loss of productivity occurs in Valencia during this time, 'cos the locals sure know how to party!

Refocusing

After landing a sweet job with a great marketing company in June, I then quit in September as the sweet job became a mind numbing call centre job for an IT company. Yep, same job, but somehow over 3 months, the job turned from Yeah! to Get me out of here!

So I did. I handed in my resignation, finished off my two weeks, and got the hell out.

Then I landed another sweet job- at Luna Park.

One week in, so far so good, well as good as carni's can be expected. I get screaming kids onto rides, spin them around fro two minutes, hope they don't vomit, then let them off again. All the while getting paid $20 an hour to do it.

But throughout all of this, I have been informed that I can graduate. I will receive a Bachelor of Arts, Media and Communication (Journalism) for three years of hardly much at all.

I just wish they could've helped us actually get a job. Somehow, just because I will have an official bit of paper, I don't think that makes me any closer to landing my dream job in journalism.

I am currently applying for a cadetship with the ABC news team, something I might label as pretty damn close to my dream job.

In the meantime, it's back to the carnival for me.

The one thing that I remember through it all, just keep saving, cos soon I'll be spending it on sangria and tapas in dive bars in Spain..

I keep visiting the airline website to book my flight to Spain and getting to the credit card details page, then chickening out. I need to know I am making a good decision, that I will be happy in Spain.

Who am I kidding, of course I will be! Book it!!

I've been bitten all over.

I've known it for a while, but now I've finally come to terms with the fact that I've been bitten all over, by the bug, the incurable travel bug.

It's in my hair, my skin, my eyes, even my blood. My blood races as the bug takes over, telling my brain I've been in one place too long, time to book another flight.

I think it was about 10 years ago I was first bitten. I was in Thailand and I was 13, my first taste of the foreign and the unknown. I guess looking back, there could have been many other bugs that bit me, but it was the travel bug that sunk it's teeth into my young naive, freckled skin.

Once spat at mothers who failed to control their wild young sons who roamed the world on a shoestring, the travel bug is now used to diagnose any situation from a retirees annual trip to Noosa, to those wanderers who have only a backpack to call home.

Out of the past four years I've spent more than half out of the country. Of that time, 98% has been spent in non-English speaking countries, and less than half in first world countries. I have taught myself two languages, rented a house, got a haircut, interviewed politicians, dealt with police, got lost, been found, been harassed and admired, all in foreign environments.

And I can't wait to get back and do it again.

I've been home just on four months. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but to me it feels like years. After a slight hiccup once I returned home, I then found a job, rekindled friendships and regained what resembled a busy and exciting social schedule. Between social soccer, AFL games with family, gym classes, Spanish conversations, theatre nights, dinner parties and weekend escapes, I settled back into life in Australia.

On the surface anyway. Underneath I was lost, I was struggling to fit in, I no longer felt like I belonged. People were boring, the weather was shit, and work sucked. The once annoying question of "Where are you from?" became silenced, and I felt unloved. No one cared about my year away, the things I saw, the places I went or the people I met.

Except those that were there with me. When I think back to the time we camped in a Mexican woman's front lawn surrounded by roosters and a dozing grandmother, I chuckle to myself. When I remember swimming in a million year old river in the middle of the Sierra Madre desert, I smile. When I think of strolling across the Brooklyn Bridge, I reflect. When I think of sailing from Panama to Colombia for five days of hell, I shudder. And when I remember the utter destitude in Medellin, where 1 in 4 doesn't have a home, my heart leaps.

I want to live more experiences like this. I want to fill my mind with incredible memories and I want my dreams to become a reality.

But I wonder, what will happen to me? Will I ever find a cure for this bug? Will I ever become a homebody, content to visit a timeshare in Noosa every year?

Somehow I don't think so...

The exhausting job hunt

I've graduated from University with high marks, I've completed a challenging and interesting internship in Colombia and as well as a highly looked upon intership with the Sunday Herald Sun. I've got communication skills, writing skills and I'm a hard worker. I'm friendly, determined and curious to learn more....

SO GIVE ME A JOB!!

Over the past few weeks I've applied for far too many jobs, some I'm under-qualified for, some I'm over-qualified for and some I don't even really want. But I still can't get a break. I've had a job offer from Griffith (too far), and a rejection from Holbrook (where..?)

I read a similar story in the journalist's magazine Walkley's, where another young journalist found himself in a similarly dire situation trying to break into the Australian media industry. He even set up a blog about it, earning him media coverage and eventually helping him land a job at Crikey.com. Not bad. He put in nearly 2 months work and sent hundreds of resumes out. So I guess I should wait a few more weeks before I really start complaining.

But I guess it also helps sort out those who really want a journalism gig from those who just like the idea of journalism without the hard work.

Back to mycareer.com.au. Wish me luck!

Readjusting to the same old life..

After being away from home for 317 days you'd think things to change a little. But they never do.

The house is still the same, the weather cold and the prices of groceries still ridiculously high. My sister has the same boyfriend and my cat is still fat. There's a new cafe in the town, but theres still the same old fish and chip shop, IGA and movie cinema.

But there are still a lot of things I have had to get used to. Flushing toilet paper is now a novelty ( in Latin America you cannot flush toilet paper anywhere), drinking tap water thats tasty and clean is a privledge and not being exposed to Spanish in the streets, trains and shops is upsetting.

I really miss the vivid colours I got used to in Mexico and Colombia. The nylon outfits, the roadside food stalls and the local buses brought colour and vividness to Latin American cities. A stroll down the street was never boring.

I miss unhealthy snacks cooked in makeshift fryers and grills on trolleys, buckets or boxes.

I miss a one hour bus ride costing 50c and a five course meal just $3.

I miss the front pages of the newspapers showing a mass grave, a brutal murder, a government corruption scandal or a natural disaster. As shocking as these stories are, they actually deserve front page news. Here front page news is the PM might be getting married, a Dutch backpacker returns to Australia or Warnie has a new girlfriend. Dribble that we should not be reading about first thing in the morning when there is so much else going on in the world that is worth it.

I miss friends from around the world and their funny accents.

I miss ancient cultures, beautiful natural landscapes and ugly ones too.

I miss salsa, reggaeton, rumba and vallenato resonating out of car windows, shops and buses so loud that it rattles your body and gets your feet moving that bit quicker.

I miss walking everywhere.

I miss exploring, learning and understanding everything about a new city, county and culture.

While I am enjoying walking the streets at night in safety, the possibility to earn more money in a week than I could have in a month in Latin America and eating delicious lamb, I can't wait to return to the vibrant, raw land of Latin America.

Los Angeles in a day

The glamorous city of Los Angeles, better known as Hollywood, in California is a dazzling city that to most looks like a playground for Barbie and Ken. "The Angels" as it translates to in Spanish, has street and street of perfectly manicured lawns in front of 20-room mansions in light pastel colours and over-sized 4WD's parked out the front is all a bit fake. But then when the glossy couple emerges with a poodle and designer it is all too fake.

But if you can get past the fakeness and frivolity of the rich and famous, there are a few other things to do in LA.

I had only one day in the city before I flew home, but I managed to see a few interesting things. I strolled along Hollywood Blvd, took a stars homes tour where you're not really sure who's front gate or garden hedge you're looking at, and went to the obligatory photo shoot in front of the Hollywood sign. Who knew it was originally put  up by a local real estate agent to advertise the neighbourhood. I stopped at the Chinese Theatre and Kodak Theatre that hosts the Academy Awards. Walked over the stars of Adam Sandler, Elton John, Michael Jackson and Jackie Chan, among the thousands of stars who pay up to $35,000 to get their name trodden on by snap happy tourists every year.

Then I was handed free tickets to the filming of the Late Late show with Brian Ferguson (that was ironically filmed at the cheerfully day-time hour of 4pm) which gave me a sneak peak into the makings of a quite unsuccessful late night talk show and the depressingly shitty job of warmer-up-er-er, a 40 year old wannabe comedian whose job is to get the crowd ready to laugh at the real comedian, who himself is only slightly funny. The warmer-up-er-er, sadly named Chunky, embodied everything you could imagine of a failed middle-aged comedian in LA who still thinks he's awesome!

I then wandered through a Neverland themed mall, complete with dancing fountain and Frank Sinatra tunes wafting through the perfume filled al fresco walkways. Designer MILF's and wanna-be young things paraded around with Abercrombie & Fitch bags battling against GAP and ZARA bags for room in their carriers hand.

Then it was time to head back to LAX, but not before an hour long train ride out to the un-glamorous, black suburbs of Northern LA. This is like another world, where push bikes replace those 4WD's and snotty babies  are carried on the hip of underage girls in baggy pants.

A city I am happy that I saw, but I'll be happier if I never have to see it again.

Weekend in Guatape

The picturesque town of Guatape, situated two hours from Medellin, offers visitors a chance to kick back and relax while exploring its flooded playground.

The best view of this incredible landscape is from the top of La Piedra del Peñol, a monolithic presence that appears out of nowhere. The 600 steps up are enough to work off the arepas and hot chocolate you had for breakfast, and the view is good enough to make you forget the 600 steps. You can grab a cold beer at the top and breathe in the fresh air while enjoying the view.In the 1970's the government decided to flood 5600 acres of hilly landscape to create a hydroelectric dam. The strategy worked and today the dam powers around 36% of Colombia’s electricity, while in the meantime creating some of the most spectacular landscapes you will see in the country.

Densely covered islands pop out of the weaving crystal water and tiny houses perch on peninsulas and lush hilltops. Deserted islands look seductive enough to make you consider emptying out your savings to purchase one.

From the rock you can take a local chivas bus back to town and wander through the colourful streets and peaceful squares. Guatape is known as “the town of Zocalos” due to the beautifully carved and brightly painted 3D motifs of village life that adorn the bottom of almost every building in the historic city center. Don’t miss visiting Calle del Recuerdo (Memory Street), a quaint avenue that was built as a replica of the main street in Old Guatape before it was inundated.

On weekends the waterside promenade is filled with locals selling home made goodies such as empanadas, cakes and jewellery. It is here you can take part in one of the many water sports on offer such as jet skiing, paddle boating and water skiing or climb onboard a cruise boat for a tour of the intricate coves and bays.

The Lake View hostel, a few minutes walk from town offers affordable accommodation and can organize boat tours to visit local sites such as Pablo Escobar’s country house, the local history museum and the site of the now-submerged Old Guatape town. They also offer hiking tours, horse back riding and fishing trips.

Due to the heavy rains that have hit the country over the past year, the lake is at record levels. This has created an incredible man made waterfall at the site where water is released from the dam, with water being pushed out through tunnels and shoots off the concrete slope like a canon, creating a powerful waterfall. This rare sight can only be seen by taking a boat trip across the lake to the drop site.

To get to Guatape, you can take a bus from the Medellin north bus terminal. The bus costs COP11,000 ($6) and leaves hourly.

Flying in Colombia

Ever dreamt of flying? Well, in Medellin that dream can become a reality. Paragliding is the latest extreme sport taking off in the city.

Medellin has quickly gained a reputation as “the home of paragliding” in Colombia, thanks to its sprawling hillsides, eternal spring weather and crazy “paisas” that are addicted to the unique sport.

The first paragliding company was set up in Medellin about 10 and the sport has continue to grow in popularity. Today there are more than five paragliding companies, all offering dreamers a chance to fly.

If you're one of those dreamers, find a few willing friends and head to the popular jump site of San Felix, a scenic hour-long drive from Medellin. The view from the top is breathtaking, with thin clouds sweeping across the town of Bello below.

Before you can fly, you have to wait for the clouds to burn away and the wind to pick up. And then it's time to fly.

The pilot spreads the parachute out along the hill, straps a huge backpack-chair to your back, attaches himself to you and commands you to “Corre, corre, corre!” As you fumble down the slippery hill, wondering what to do next, the wind catches and pulls you up. Now you're flying.

The deceptive thing is how fast you can go. Thermal winds catch the parachute and swing you back and forth along the contour of the mountain like a parent pushing a child on a swing. Higher and faster. The sky is filled with 10 or so other gliders, experts and beginners alike taking advantage of the perfect conditions.

Once the initial exhilaration wears off you can take in the spectacular view. Tiny hamlets, sprawling estates, farms and tin shacks dotted the landscape. Even from hundreds of meters up, you can see children waving frantically at the colourful brushstrokes painting the sky, cows grazing on a steep slope or families enjoying lunch on their patio.

The most impressive part of paragliding is the peace. Relax into the seat, put your faith in the pilot and take in the breathtaking experience of flying. There’s no noise, no smoke, no runways or engines. Simply a clever use of nature’s gifts. A paraglider leaves no trace except a set of footprints running down a hill.

The landing is meant to be a soft touchdown, however sometimes the angelic landing you hope for turns into a wrestlers throw down, if the wind changes. You could be flying along gracefully when suddenly you feel yourself lying breathlessly on a mountainside, wrapped up in a colourful parachute. When putting yourself at the mercy of nature, you have to be prepared for anything.

As Leonardo da Vinci once said, "When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."

The 20 minute flight costs COP 80,000 (about $40). For more details and bookings visit Zona de Vuelo or Vive Antioquia Extremo.

Seduction in Mexico

I recently entered a competition to win a 2 week trip through Turkey learning to be a travel writer. Sweet prize!! Here is my entry:

The car rolled slowly through one of those neighbourhoods the guide books warn you not to visit. My eyes were sweeping along the crowded roadside devouring the intriguing outfits emblazoned with silver studs, dazzling under the beam of the headlights. The options were plentiful, overwhelming. They stared through the car’s windows with pleading eyes, ‘Please pick me, I’ve had no work tonight’. A few stumbled alongside the car offering their services, “500 pesos por hora o 2000 todo el noche” was the going rate. They hung in relaxed groups of eight or ten, sipping on tequila while a lonely harmonica played a sad melody. We continued down the road and after considering the multitude of options, returned to our favourite.

All eight were dressed in finely pressed black suits, their jackets tightened across heavy bellies and strong arms. Polished boots, wide sombreros and orange neck ties completed the elegant outfit. They smelt of cheap aftershave and booze, an intoxicating combination. I handed over our address and returned to the car. We drove back to the party to await the night’s entertainment.

They arrived in a sleek Scooby-doo van, piling out, one ruggedly handsome man after another. Then the instruments: violins, cellos, guitars of various sizes, trumpets, an accordion and the lonely harmonica. Our mariachi band is here.

In Mexico, mariachi bands are as common a 4am taco stand. From tiny pueblos to the metropolis of Mexico City, you will find them loitering on the roadside waiting to be bought or serenading lovers in plazas that once bore the name of a Revolutionary hero but eventually became known as Plaza Mariachi.

Our party is celebrating 200 years of Mexican independence. Ironically, it was the arrival of Spanish instruments that led to the development of mariachi music, the heart and soul of Mexico. The band takes over the lounge room while couples danced effortlessly around the room, courting each other with music and dance. The musicians have dark passionate eyes, worn faces and a deep, intoxicating harmony. They are merrily drunk, the tequila bottle almost empty. A request is played and the room erupts in rowdy chorus. For Mexican’s these songs are childhood lullabies. For me, they represent an enchanting culture, a culture that seduces me more with each song.

The lyrics are drenched in emotion; the theme is always the same: love.

I saw you, so beautiful, so sensual
I imagined you with others, it made me mad
Aaay aaay love, aaay aaay the pain
Too late I realised
With you I had everything and now it’s lost

The mariachi tradition runs through the blood of Mexico. For centuries mariachi bands have been serenading young lovers, entertaining newlyweds and fifteenth birthdays, even fulfilling last wishes at funerals. Their pride and strength, emotion and beauty encapsulate this vivid country. I leave the party, my heart beating heavily to the rhythm of Mexico. 

Wish me luck!