Austria! Well then, G'day mate!

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I think I may have sweet talked our way through to the front of queue. Could I kindly ask that you please return to your seats and turn off all electrical items". Followed shortly by "Sorry folks, as usual, my ability to talk to women has failed and we are again sitting 4th in the queue". The last piece of commentary, courtesy of our pilot brought an ebullition of mirth that rippled through the plane's cabin. My first snow for the season had proved more of a hindrance than anything. Snowflakes clumsily tumbled to the ground throughout the evening and created a backlog of flights looking to depart. So there we sat delayed on the tarmac as the snow continued to fall steadily.

Despite being delayed by almost 3 hours it was the captain's charm that had appeased the restless passengers. The groan of disdain was in unison when the delay was announced. People whinged and complained when they were made to stand outside on the tarmac in the falling snow, yet when the pilot stood at the front of the plane looking disheveled and tired, he assured the plane that he wanted nothing more to be back at home with his family than stuck behind a line of planes. This simple act of showing that he was human lead to the unscrunching of faces as the crowd prepared themselves for the long night ahead. It may have been the charismatic nature of the pilot but the mere act of informing the people of the situation and his own desperation reveal that showing a little humility goes a long way.

Vienna, Austria. I write this, half asleep, half awake. Undecided which state is more prominent, yet I know, that sleep is the only thing on my mind. I would, at this moment in time trade my liver for sleep or possibly my first new born. Up until now I had a routine for weekend flights. It ran like clockwork, like a finely tuned machined in a Japanese factory, well a non-Toyota factory. A procedure so refined that it detailed the intricacies from waking early, to double checking documents, knowing what to pack, knowing what to charge, where to catch the bus, put simply, I had weekend travel down to a tee. This trip would not follow that procedure and be the mark of many firsts.

Saturday 4:30 am. My clothes, reeking of Korean BBQ from last night's dinner. My breath, smelling like a suspicious mix of tequila and Sambucca. My backpack, looking dangerously under packed slung over my shoulder. Me, a picture of lost youth, I collapse like a bag of old clothes on the train. It lurches forward into the darkness as I drift in and out of sleep. At this moment in time my biggest fear was not missing my flight, but waking up in Brighton at 6 am. I dreaded the weekend ahead, I dreaded the Monday. I finally arrive at the airport, it comes as no surprise that the flight has been delayed. Gatwick Airport, I'm greeted by 2 familiar and obviously under the weather faces. One gurgles before vomiting in the recycling bin before boarding the plane. I wasn't the only one feeling rough.

As planned, this trip to Vienna was to re-kindle the love of the festive season, to huddle around with steaming cups of mulled wine, ginger bread biscuits and to be dazzled by all the offerings of the Viennese Christmas Markets. The group dynamics of this trip would also be different, we had fresh faces in London and their enthusiasm and desire to travel the cities reminded us of past trips and previous vigors. I looked at myself, no longer the fresh faced traveller, it was refreshing and alarming at the same time. We were dragged through freezing winter conditions from Christmas Market, to restaurant, from palace through to the trails of Mozart. I say dragged but deep down I was secretly glad the motivation was there. In total, we managed to make it to three markets. Schnonbrunn, Rathausplatz and my favourite the charming Spittelberg.

So as I sit here and type, my focus lapsing from the meager 2 hours of sleep the night before. I force myself to finish this post. Wondering if there were any glaring omissions from this recount as well as entertaining other questions. eg. Can you die from a lack of sleep? 9:30 pm Monday evening, completely exhausted and signing out. My bed calls for me, I call back...

"I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death" - Nasir Jones, New York State of Mind

Morocco (Part 1)

A bloody outrage! It still amazes me how a trip was booked over the Halloween weekend. Unfathomable, one of the more enjoyable holiday dates in the UK was to be spent plain-clothed, civilised and sober. The inquest finished and we forlornly prepared ourselves for our four-day trip to North Africa. There would be no fetish-derived ghouls or trick-or-treating but rather an eye-opening experience that would reignite the love for travel.

The adventure begins at 2:30 am on the Friday, 29th October. This, hands down, is the earliest I've had to wake up to travel. A quick bus ride down to Vauxhall and we were soon speeding down the M23 bound for Gatwick Airport. It should come as no surprise that the flight was uncomfortable, sleep was hard to come by but these are usual traits of budget airlines. We had boarded what would appear to be some kind of Venga-plane. People were talking boisterously and joking, smiling and having copious amounts of alcohol. All the while the three of us sat, pinned up in the last row with blood-shot eyes and a longing for sleep. 3 hours into the 3 and half hour flight, it was announced that the plane had run out of beer. It was 8 am and people were getting drunk. It would be a long trip with unbearable, draining transits.

9 am, arriving in Marrakesh, we were picked up at the airport by our Riad owners and taken into the city. The drive itself was an eye-opener, camels, donkeys, motorbikes, dust and authentic North African Architecture greeted us as we entered the Medina of Marrakesh. We met with the riad owner who showed us around the exquisitely kept riad. Unanimously we agreed to get some sleep before exploring the city. Waking a couple of hours later with a mighty appetite we headed to the main Square. Our accommodation, a brisk walk away from the centre stage for all things Moroccan, Djamaa El Fna.

Of the four days, two were spent on a desert tour the with the majority of our time in Marrakesh spent in the main square exploring the Souqs and trying to find our way into the blasted the palace.

The striking thing about Djamaa El Fna is how it changes through out the course of the day. During the day there's the faint smell animal waste, all the while, hash dealers, orange juice vendors and beggars all vying for your attention, or more importantly for your coin. Motorbikes zip through the bustling streets ducking and weaving in between pedestrians. The assortment of henna artists and Snake charmers mashed in with the perpetual dusty haze. Come sunset and the place transforms. All the zaniness of the day remains however this is the time when the locals come out and the food stalls open, smoke from the grills and the steam from tagines fill the air.

It really is a sensory wonderland. The sights, the smells, the animals and the people. The locals will grab you and demand money for anything and everything under the sun. You want a photo of that, you have to pay for it. The thing is you can't brush them off with the usual lie of "I'm just taking a look" or the"I'll be back later" because they remember and they'll confront you about it "You said you would come back".

With help from our Riad owners, we signed up for a 2 day trip into the Moroccan desert for a tidy fee of €72 per person. The details of the tour were unknown to most of the tour group with the idea of camping in the desert the only intel. The drive was testing and our Berber guide aka driver wasn't particularly informative. Every now and the berber would turn to the group

"Do you want to stop and take photos?"
"What is this place?"
* incoherent ramble *
"No, let's keep driving"

This conversation took place countless times and not once did we stop aside from the occasional toilet break or leg stretch. Thankfully we had been lucky enough to have a good group on tour. The three Australians, 1 american and 4 canadians made up the group. Plenty of laughs and banter which kept the 8 hour journey bearable. Our two day drive would take us from Marrakesh to Zagora passing through the Atlas mountains, with stop overs at Quarzazete and the Draa Valley and passing a traffic causing car accident.

This brings us to the actual "desert" experience. Despite not being the Sahara, there were still high expectations of the desert, unluckily for us we arrived at the camel rendezvous point after sunset, the next 1 hour was spent riding a camel. The novelty of riding a camel wore off 2 minutes into the 1 hour camel ride. Camels are such awkward creatures, passive and rhythmic. Three things I've learn about camels, you can't fall asleep while riding a camel, camel riding leads to camel chaffing and camels can defecate while on the move. So we plod into the darkness, the longer we trekked the more remote our surrounding became.

At last we arrived and alighted the camel caravan, it was pitch black and only the faint outlines of the Berber tents could be made out at the camp site. Our epic journey had come to an end, there was sand beneath our feet but we couldn't see anything. This was until one of my friends said "oh shit, I lost my phone riding the camels". So with our berber the two us jumped into the Van (the Van drove into the desert with our luggage) and started to backtrack our way back. Two problems with this plan. 1. The Berber tour guide had no sense of direction. 2. A phone was lost in a desert. A desert! We were looking for a phone in the desert, in the middle of the night. It must have been the fatigue or the lack of food which clouded rational thinking.

For some reason during this period of driving slowly through the desert our berber coincidently forgot all English. The driver went the wrong way and ended up lost in the dessert. Not only were we lost, but the van was blogged down in sand. Lost and stuck, so we got out and started walking, after 20 minutes of walking in darkness with the flashlight of my phone the only light. Seeing this as futile exercise we were sent back to the Van (the lights were left on so we could easily identify it's location). With that our Berber disappeared into the desert night (with my phone) leaving us in the van. Mentally we prepared ourselves for spending the night in the van. Thankfully we had food, water, our possessions and hashish - perhaps why we were so blase about this predicament.

Long story short, an hour later our berber appears out of the darkness with help, a robbed man with a huge shovel. Who in turn, clears the sand from the tires and points us off in the right direction back to camp. Our hero! Enjoyed some Tagine and some singing and chatting around the camp fire.

The experience itself was amazing, no showers, no free running water. It was roughing it out at its very best. Woke up at 5:30 and it was freezing! Sunrise was amazing and it was a pleasant surprise to fling open the tent flap to reveal sand as far as the eye could see. It was spectacular. Breakfast was served as the sun rose over the mountains the dessert started to warm up, soon we were back on the camels making our trek back to the van. The drive back was tough, we were tired, dirty but the drive through the rural villages, a sandstorm and the Atlas Mountains was something else. Arrived back into Marrakesh just after 5 pm and checked into our new riad and immediately booked ourselves into Hammam and massage. So clean, so fresh. Caught up again with the tour gang for a late night meal.

London feels so foreign and regiment since getting back. Definitely one of the few countries I would return to! My camera is on Struggle Street.

Viva La Vida

The familiar yet still unsavory chime of my alarm rouses me from my sleep. Scrunching my eyes tightly together I breathe a heavy sigh and roll over to my side. I blindly fumble for my alarm clock. Prying my eyes open proves to be a less than simple task. "Just another 5 minutes". Despite having almost 12 hours of sleep I still feel completely rundown and soon find myself negotiating with my sleep deprived alter-ego for more sleep. "How about going to into work late? Actually, you should call in sick".

Snapping out of my stupor I casually slip my earphones on and listen to Coldplays' Viva La Vida. The introduction brings back a wave of memories, Spain, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Pamplona and Ibiza. In short, this trip is best described as an agglomerate, a sensory orgy of all things Spanish; food, culture and friendships old and new. Indelible and memorable, this trip will be forever held as the climax of my European travels. If my EU travels were to be analogous to sex, this would be the orgasm. Similarly, I find myself lying on my back in a state of contemplation.

I trudge into the shower and soon find myself humming the tune that will forever be associated with what was an amazing holiday. Viva La Vida, Spanish for "Long Live Life". Amen to that.

City of Stickers

When in Rome...

Prague

When you suffer the consequences of doing something ridiculous it makes you stop and ask yourself "Why do we do stupid things?". The frequency of this question over the last couple of days has prompted me to wonder if it's lack of common sense or in fact just a way to add value to out otherwise mundane routines. The first instance of this question came about Thursday night. I was at the gym "experimenting" with a new back exercise. During the last set I fell into an awkward position and felt the entire right hand side of my back lock up. Oh uh, I thought, stupidly enough I continued my work out fighting through the pain. Only after I got home did I realise I had sprained my trap muscle and my back was disfigured and hideously disproportional.

The extent of this injury became apparent the following morning after a 15 minute endeavor to get out of bed. Range of movement in my neck, back and shoulders were severely limited, It felt like I had broken my body with the only way to avoid the sharp thronging pain was to live life in slow motion.

There is in fact a correlation between European travel and the seasons. Winter makes for unpleasant holidaying with the most influencing reasons being the cold, the limited hours of daylight and the possibility of delayed flights. So as the European winter draws to an end the weekend of the 7th-8th February was to be spent in Prague. In total, 8 of us would travel to the capital of The Czech Republic.


We arrived at Ruzyne International Airport shortly after 10 am local time. After a 20 minute bus ride from the airport to Dejvicka station we found ourselves on the metro being shuttled to Staronestska, the centre of town. First thing on our agenda was to find our apartment where we could freshen up and then explore the city. To say that we were enthused about being in Prague would have been a lie. We had taken a couple of wrong turns and our feet were heavy from the lack of sleep and the agonising pain of hunger. Passing a KFC we resisted the urge to succumb to the Colonel's secret recipe. We eventually found a local bar and had the waitress call the owner of apartment to come fetch us.

The apartment was enormous and one of the best accommodations I've stayed in Europe and at around €20 per person/per night was a bargain. Going by recommendations we ended up eating at U Sadlu a medieval themed restaurant specialising in Czech cuisine. The amount of food that we consumed was obscene. We sat in the dimly lit music saloon each staring out into space, we had all eaten too much. Despite being completely satiated we ordered desert and drifted into consumption comatose. Why do we do stupid things?


The next two hours was spent walking the streets of Prague.

Charles Bridge:


Astronomical Clock:


Old Town:


We had covered most of the key tourists attractions on this side of the river and with our Saturday night already planned we headed back to the apartment for some much needed rest.

The evening kicked off with a dinner reservation at Gordan Ramsey's Maze. Admittedly we were still full from lunch but found the food and service top notch.


The next Czech experience involved us being seated around the apartment coffee table as we each took turns burning sugar cubes into Absinthe. Feeling quite warm we headed back out into the cold to Karlovy Lazne. Left club just before 3 am and spent a substantial portion of the evening trying to retrace our steps to the KFC. We were preparing to go to sleep and with one last ditch effort tried to finish off the remaining Absinthe. Why do we do stupid things?


Sunday morning was a complete write off. In the afternoon we headed across St Charles Bridge and explored Prague Castle. It was a nice walk but the groups' energy level had been sapped. Unanimously we decided to once again return to the apartment for an afternoon nap. We checked out at 6 pm and made for the local KFC. We bought a bucket of chicken and another bucket of wicked wings and proceeded to gorge ourselves silly. Why do we do stupid things?


Prague rates as one of my laziest European trips. I can safely say that we spent more time in the apartment than on the streets of Prague. So here I am, typing up a recount of my last few days. I'm extremely tired, my back still hurts, I've put on the extra calories, I'm down £200 and admittedly, this doesn't phase me one bit.