Prison is not a place which conjures up images of a Disneyland but being banged up abroad in certain countries are definitely worse than others. Always one for a new adventure, I jumped at the chance to accompany my hosts to their weekly prison visit. After all, I was here to find out about the… Continue Reading…
I could barely see my feet as I trod gingerly through the dark and into the thicket following a local Rasta whom I had just met at the Tipsy Tuna bar on the beach in Placencia. After a strong rum punch he had offered me a tour of the peninsular and who was I to… Continue Reading…
I am fascinated by Africa, by its people and its diversity of culture. A history of Apartheid, slavery and homogenous tribes. Africa is where mankind is thought to have begun, and 400,000 years after the emergence of Homo sapiens, this country still holds an aura of mystery and fascination. Having read about the Himba tribe… Continue Reading…
‘Now what happens?’ I ask. ‘We will kill you.’ ‘Oh,’ I reply, looking at his smiling face and teasing eyes. I think he is joking. I hope he is joking. If you were actually going to kill someone would you warn them first? My bags are in the back of his boot and my instinct is… Continue Reading…
The sound of music blaring across the skies gets closer and closer. ‘Is it a car radio?’ I ask. ‘No,’ says my new Israeli friend, who I met on the bus yesterday. ‘Watch.’ Within seconds a white van appears from a cobbled lane and stops outside the restaurant in Tel Aviv where we have chosen to dine. The… Continue Reading…
‘What’s your name?’ the children shout in an excited manner. ‘Want to play football?’ Palestine is so welcoming. On a tour through one of the villages, the people all shout ‘hello’, smile and some even invite you in for dinner. This is a far cry from the West Bank that I have seen portrayed in the news. This little village is home to 3800… Continue Reading…
Knelt on the floor, palms open, eyes closed, I hear a noise – a jangling of coins. I open my eyes to see an old man in a black robe about to throw a gold coin in my lap. When he sees my blue eyes, he takes a step back. ‘Islam” he asks? “No,” I reply. … Continue Reading…
‘Snakes?’ I ask, wiggling my hand vertically, mimicking the moves of a cobra. ‘Snakes finished,’ replied the tall, skinny Moroccan beckoning me to sit down on a plastic stool. Disappointed, I sit and wait for the evening entertainment. The sun has set on Jemaa el Fna, Marrakech’s famous tourist square. Gone are the snake charmers and… Continue Reading…
‘Honk honk,’ sounds the horn as chicken run for their life, trying to steer out of the motorbikes path. We dodge herds of cows and goats as we ride along the hilly roads, the yogi’s orange robe flowing behind and me holding onto for dear life. It is my last day in Nepal and Yogi… Continue Reading…
There seems to be a bit of a theme occurring. Not content with spending just one weekend with a guy in an orange robe, I find myself yet again doing the same, only this time instead of a yogi I am spending the weekend with my own personal lama (monk). Technically I gatecrashed his weekend… Continue Reading…
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