Nell Grey's Blog, page 3

Myanmar - A Two Week Tour

Yangon

Myanmar is beautiful, fascinating and just opening up to the World.

If you've an adventurous spirit, you'll be wowed by Myanmar.

Our 2 week itinerary:
Yangon - 2 days Bagan - 4 daysIrwaddy Cruise to Mandalay - 1 dayMandalay - 3 daysNgapali - 4 days
Yangon
Yangon is the main city in Myanmar and is set on a series of lakes and a navigable estuary. Historically it was an important trading centre for the British Empire, known as Rangoon.

Yangon's main place to visit is Shwedagon Pagoda. This was the most impressive temple complex that we visited on our tour, and we've been to a fair few! Take a good few hours to spend time here. Then, there's downtown Yangon. Spend time walking by the estuary and exploring the markets by the custom house. There's even a market zone for legal work.

A couple of days is enough here and I'd advise spending more time in Bagan. If you're feeling adventurous you can choose a dilapidated overnight train or an overnight bus to get there. We chose to fly, which cost about $100 USD and took an hour or so.

In Yangon, we stayed on a budget and chose Wai Wai's Place. It's definitely an excellent choice for its food and relaxed vibe. It was a little noisy outside but that was also part of our introduction to South East Asia - getting woken up by dogs, roosters and monks, is all part of living in this part of the world.

Bagan Bagan - don't miss it!
Bagan is the jewel in Myanmar's crown and the most developed area for tourism. That said, the place still feels relaxed and when we were there, there weren't hoards of tourists. We hired a scooter and explored the 2,500 temples, wandering at will.
At the airport, we paid a $20USD archeological ticket. We didn't mind paying as these places need support to upkeep them, particularly following the earthquake here a few years ago. We didn't get asked for tickets at any temple though.
It's worth paying the $10USD to go up to the Bagan Viewing Tower particularly if you want that sunset temple shot.
We stayed in New Bagan which was a bit cheaper than Old Bagan but is well serviced with restaurants and hotels and in the middle of the temple zone. I booked Temple View Hotel which was well priced and had good facilities but I think that I'd have preferred a place with a pool and spent longer in Bagan as it's a cool place to hangout.
Irawaddy Cruise - Bagan to Mandalay
BaganOur hotel sorted out the transport arrangements seamlessly and at 5am we found ourselves on a muddy bank of the Irwaddy clambering down mud steps with our packs on. I need to mention the gang plank. Not for the faint hearted. It consisted of a thin bamboo rigged plank walkway, strapped up at an angle and very precarious. Good job it was dark and I couldn't see the water. The cruise itself is beautiful. From sunrise, you spend a full day journeying up the river to Mandalay. Be prepared for it to be very cold at the start and take warm clothes. The cruise we were on provided breakfast and lunch. The facilities were a bit basic but in keeping with what you get in Myanmar.

Mandalay
Mandalay is a working city and felt poorer than Yangon. There were very few restaurants and less infrastructure for tourists. But.. it was also really interesting. We saw the lives of people taking their produce from the rural villages to market in the city and the markets of Mandalay are well worth exploring. The main draw in Mandalay is the temple area around Mandalay Hill. A walk up the hill is a must-do. If you go before sunset, you may get a Monk guide who will walk with you to practise his English.
Mandalay Palace is worth a quick visit but is a bit of a letdown if you're expecting to see treasures and historical artefacts. Nearly everything has been plundered and looted over the years and the absence of treasures is a statement in itself, a stark reminder of the sad history of Myanmar/ Burma and its occupation by the British in colonial times and the Japanese in the Second World War.
At the palace, you will need to buy a ticket which will let you into all the sites of Mandalay. We were also asked for passports here. The most interesting part for us was that it was also a military base. We'd had so many preconceptions about Myanmar before coming, so it was fascinating to see the military camp and the only time we saw the presence of the military in our time in Myanmar.
Get out of Mandalay for the day and you can explore the monastery at Amarapura and the U-Bein Bridge. Ask taxi drivers for prices and they can arrange a day's excursion for you.
Our hotel in Mandalay wasn't great. It happens. But.. we did love this place: Ned Kellys - an Irish pub and hotel in a nice uptown part of Mandalay. Climb up the hill in Mandalay

Ngapali Beach
The beach resorts of Myanmar on the Andaman Sea provide the idyllic final few days to kick back and relax. A relatively secret paradise (for now). There are regular flights to Thandwe from Yangon and Mandalay.


Food To Try:

Shan noodles Tomato salad (at Wai Wai's in Yangon) - generally take care in Myanmar with food that isn't cooked. Wai Wai's had very high hygiene standards.Mohinga beef consommé served with most noodle dishes on the street. The beef one is better than the chicken.Myanmar curries - different everywhere we tried them - I had the BEST Rohingya fish curry in Bagan.Guilty pleasure - beef and chicken sliders in Ned Kellys, Mandalay. Tasted so good after two weeks of rice and noodles.If in doubt... chicken fried rice.Lessons learned:
We should have spent longer in Bagan - it was a great place to chill out and could easily have been there for a week. We're learning to slow it down and not do whistle-stop tours.
Much of the country is dense jungle, so travelling around by road can be difficult. There are extensive internal flight options, although they aren't cheap.There wasn't much infrastructure in terms of hotels outside of the main tourist areas, so worth doing some research before stepping out into the countryside.

Top Tips:
Myanmar has a conservative Buddhist culture and women cover shoulders and knees. With so many temples to visit, long trousers and sarongs are a top packing essential, rather than shorts.

Next Time:

It would be great to try and do more overland independent travel. We heard of a few travellers getting dengue fever after going to Inle Lake, we didn't go, but would be on my list for next time.

A traditional Shinbyu festival - taking the boys to become monks (Bagan)

Myanmar Suggested Two Week Tour

Myanmar is beautiful, fascinating and just opening up to the World.

If you've an adventurous spirit, you'll be wowed by Myanmar.

Our 2 week itinerary:
Yangon - 2 days Bagan - 4 daysIrwaddy Cruise to Mandalay - 1 dayMandalay - 3 daysNgapali - 4 days
Yangon
Yangon is the main city in Myanmar and is set on a series of lakes and a navigable estuary. Historically it was an important trading centre for the British Empire, known as Rangoon.

Yangon's main place to visit is Shwedagon Pagoda. This was the most impressive temple complex that we visited on our tour, and we've been to a fair few! Take a good few hours to spend time here. Then, there's downtown Yangon. Spend time walking by the estuary and exploring the markets by the custom house. There's even a market zone for legal work.

A couple of days is enough here and I'd advise spending more time in Bagan. If you're feeling adventurous you can choose a dilapidated overnight train or an overnight bus to get there. We chose to fly, which cost about $100 USD and took an hour or so.

In Yangon we stayed on a budget and chose Wai Wai's Place. It's definitely an excellent choice for its food and relaxed vibe. It was a little noisy outside but that was also part of our introduction to South East Asia - getting woken up by dogs, roosters and monks, is all part of living in this part of the world.

Bagan
Bagan is the jewel in Myanmar's crown and the most developed area for tourism. That said, the place still feels relaxed and when we were there, there weren't hoards of tourists. We hired a scooter and explored the 2,500 temples, wandering at will.
At the airport we paid a $20USD archeological ticket. We didn't mind paying as these places need support to upkeep them, particularly following the earthquake here a few years ago. We didn't get asked for tickets at any temple though.
It's worth paying the $10USD to go up to the Bagan Viewing Tower particularly if you want that sunset temple shot.
We stayed in New Bagan which was a bit cheaper than Old Bagan but is well serviced with restaurants and hotels and in the middle of the temple zone. I booked Temple View Hotel which was well priced and had good facilities but I think that I'd have preferred a place with a pool and spent longer in Bagan as it's a cool place to hangout.



Irawaddy Cruise - Bagan to Mandalay
Our hotel sorted out the transport arrangements seamlessly and at 5am we found ourselves on a muddy bank of the Irwaddy clambering down mud steps with our packs on. I need to mention the gang plank. Not for the faint hearted. It consisted of a thin bamboo rigged plank walkway, strapped up at an angle and very precarious. Good job it was dark and I couldn't see the water. The cruise itself is beautiful. From sunrise, you spend a full day journeying up the river to Mandalay. Be prepared for it to be very cold at the start and take warm clothes. The cruise we were on provided breakfast and lunch. The facilities were a bit basic but in keeping with what you get in Myanmar.

Mandalay
Mandalay is a working city and felt poorer than Yangon. There were very few restaurants and less infrastructure for tourists. But.. it was also really interesting. We saw the lives of people taking their produce from the rural villages to market in the city and the markets of Mandalay are well worth exploring. The main draw in Mandalay is the temple area around Mandalay Hill. A walk up the hill is a must-do. If you go before sunset, you may get a Monk guide who will walk with you to practise his English.
Mandalay Palace is worth a quick visit but was a bit of a let down. At the palace you will need to buy a ticket which will let you into all the sites of Mandalay. We were also asked for passports here. The most interesting part for us was that it was also a military base. We'd had so many preconceptions about Myanmar before coming, so it was fascinating to see the military camp and the only time we saw the presence of the military in our time in Myanmar. There's also a museum in the Palace but there's not much on show. I think the absence of artefacts is a stark reminder of the sad history of Myanmar/ Burma and its occupation by the British in colonial times and the Japanese in the Second World War.
Get out of Mandalay for the day and you can explore the monastery at Amarapura and the U-Bein Bridge. Ask taxi drivers for prices and they can arrange a day's excursion for you.
Our hotel in Mandalay wasn't great. It happens. But.. we did love this place: Ned Kellys - an Irish pub and hotel in a nice uptown part of Mandalay.

Ngapali Beach
The beach resorts of Myanmar on the Andaman Sea provide the idyllic final few days to kick back and relax. A relatively secret paradise (for now). There are regular flights to Thandwe from Yangon and Mandalay.


Food To Try:

Shan noodles Tomato salad (at Wai Wai's in Yangon) - generally take care in Myanmar with food that isn't cooked. Wai Wai's had very high hygiene standards.Mohinga beef consommé, served with most noodle dishes on the street. The beef one is better than the chicken.Myanmar curries - different everywhere we tried them - I had the BEST rohinga fish curry in Bagan.Guilty pleasure - beef and chicken sliders in Ned Kellys, Mandalay. Tasted so good after two weeks of rice and noodles.If in doubt... chicken fried rice.


Lessons learned:
We should have spent longer in Bagan - it was a great place to chill out and could easily have been there for a week. We're learning to slow it down and not do whistle-stop tours.
Much of the country is dense jungle, so travelling around by road can be difficult. There are extensive internal flight options, although they aren't cheap.There wasn't much infrastructure in terms of hotels outside of the main tourist areas, so worth doing some research before stepping out into the countryside.

Top Tips:
Myanmar has a conservative Buddhist culture and women cover shoulders and knees. With so many temples to visit, long trousers and sarongs are a top packing essential, rather than shorts.

Next Time:
It would be great to try and do more overland independent travel. We heard of a few travellers getting dengue fever after going to Inle Lake, we didn't go, but would be on my list for next time.

Cruising and Boozing Down the Mekong

When we decided to take the cheapest two-day slow boat option down the Mekong to Luang Prabang in Laos, we did wonder what was in store. No frills seating, dodgy toilets, that sort of thing. But with a price difference of £100 each, we were happy enough to give it a whirl. What we didn’t bargain for was that we’d be on a party boat with 150 gap year 20 somethings in elephant print trousers. And that it would be great!
The fun begins after we cross the Thai Lao border at Chiang Khong and ‘take our seats’. I use the term loosely, like the seats themselves, which are freestanding ripped out bus seats, each slightly different and each slightly wobbly. We watch the backpacking youngsters load onto the boat. Some more experienced travellers have small, neat packs covered with a waterproof liner; others have obviously done too much Thai shopping and have hopelessly large packs with extras stuffed and rigged onto the outside. They totter like flipped turtles as they stagger up the gangplank and onto the boat. Ahead of them is Lola, a well-blessed Chicago gal on a world tour, with large Sailor Jim tattoos covering her ample lily-white arms and legs. She obviously hasn’t read the backpacking gap year websites and, inexplicably, is attempting to hoik on board a huge boxy wheeled black suitcase, equal in weight and size to her. I really do wonder if there are people being smuggled inside it. The Lao boat crew look at each other in disbelief and sigh as they have sight of the suitcase. She shrugs, “Everything a girl needs when travelling, right?”
A young guy behind whispers in French, “Bien sur, she brings her pet elephant with her too.”
Cruising along the Mekong for hours, we flow past mile after mile of dense jungle gorges of staggering beauty, past buffalo herds on the mud sandbanks and see Lao people catching fish and threshing crops on the river’s edge. All the while, the boat steers carefully past dangerous rocks, navigating fast currents and avoiding perilous whirlpools. Most of our boat companions seem oblivious to all of this, as the beer starts flowing immediately we set sail. An hour in, the boat has to pull up to a village on the side of the Mekong where more crates of beer are loaded and swapped for empties. We stop a total of five more times for “refuelling” during the day.
On the boat, by this time we’re all bezzy mates, apart from one Italian lady who when she asked where we’re from, replied, “Wales, is that even a country?”
“Nid yw hon ar fap”, I think and decide there’s no point responding, drifting away, which is fine as she seems only interested in her own conversation anyway. And as you do, we soon get sharing the craic with some fellow Celts, a group from County Clare in Ireland (which is also a country, by the way). They are a mix of two young lads with their girlfriends and four older friends in their fifties. An unlikely lot to be out on the Mekong. It seems their holiday was a spontaneous decision formed recently in the village pub when they all decided to accompany their mate who had been to Laos before. By the sixth pint bottle of Lao beer, one of the young Irish girls staggers back to us from the bar area at the back of the boat, “The fecking captain’s sent me back here” she complains, “He thinks I might fall in the water.”
“Oh No!” interjects Angie, one of the older members of the gang, looking up from her phone. She explains that she’s funding the trip by booking out her house on Air BnB but a text from her son has just informed her that all of her bookings have been cancelled and she’s been banned from the site.
“I don’t believe it, “ she complains,“The guest found me magpie gun. Thinks we’re IRA. How was I to feckin’ know that Air BnB won’t let yer have guns in yer house!”
And as the sun sets over the Mekong, we finally reach Luang Prabang where we all say our goodbyes. But over the next few days, we have a hundred new friends as we bump into our happy-boat-bezzies all around the town and feel immeasurably the richer for having chosen the budget slow boat.

Late Escape to Lava Land

A credit card on a dark drizzly Sunday afternoon in early December is a dangerous thing. A bottle of wine, a few small signs of encouragement and somehow we’ve booked a last-minute ultra-cheapy to Lanzarote. A RyanAir flight later and we find ourselves in Playa Blanca on the southern tip of Lanzarote in the second week of December.
It is actually fantastic to have the sun on our backs. But what I wasn’t expecting was that Lanzarote in December seems to be MAMIL (Middle Aged Men in Lycra) Mecca. Large gangs of silver-haired Geraint Thomas wannabe-has-beens have gathered here and sit in the afternoon sun in the seafront cafes in their colourful Tour de Lanzarote Lycra cycling suits drinking cervezas and discussing their long days in the saddle and spandex.
Feeling the vibe, we decide to hire bikes too. G wants to try a sports road bike, a prelude to a future purchase, and after some umming and ahhing I settle on an ebike. I am more than pleasantly surprised when a sporty mountain bike arrives with no shopping basket in sight. This is the real deal. It has secret settings in a Garmin-like reader on the handlebar which you press to go from eco to turbo power. Secret settings that no one else knows but me.
We get going, cycling a 40 km route through the expansive black lava land around Yaiza and Al Golfo. Now I know why the MAMILS have come. Lanzarote is a fantastic place for cycling with perfect tarmac roads and breathtaking scenery at every turn. It feels like I’m on another planet, or weirdly, inside some computer game graphics. The air is warm and fragrant and the only living thing for miles is a single spiky cactus desperately clinging onto life in this vast sea of volcanic rock. It somehow reminds me of Theresa May. We continue to cycle through this black desert and as I fly past G for the fifth time (I’m secretly on turbo) he’s already making plans to swap his racing road bike for an ebike too at the end of the day.
Day two and with two ebikes (G now is also keeper of the secret) we set out on a 50 km prime Etape in the Tour de Lanzarote racer route. It’s a road cycle for 15 km, then after a sharp left turn by Theresa the cactus, we begin a steep incline through the mountains to finally reach the whitewashed picturesque village of Femes nestled snuggly at the top of the mountain ridge. The fun begins as halfway up the long series of steep switchbacks, we both turn on the turbo and power past a peloton of serious cyclists puffing and crawling along in first gear. They stare at us in disbelief. One cyclist clad in Sky Team colours chunters at me as I whiz past him. I shout an encouraging ‘Allez Allez Allez’ over my shoulder and leave him for dust. At the top of the mountain, we’re finishing our coffees in the cafe when the silver-haired peloton finally wheezes up.
So are ebikes a total cheat? Would I ditch my electric toothbrush? Would I swap WiFi for a modem? Did Bob Dylan ever go back to an acoustic guitar? And that’s how I feel about ebikes. They’re definitely the future. You can go further, faster for longer. Plus you can have some serious fun with serious bikers (if you can conceal the battery). I’m already designing a cut-out water bottle cover that would fit perfectly. An ebike is definitely on my Santa list.
And as for our sneaky December break, what a great decision Lanzarote in December proved to be. Feliz Navidad!
I hope you’ve enjoyed this blog and I look forward to writing more adventures when we start on our travels in Myanmar in January 2019.

Doggy Conversations & Wild Camping in Anglesey

Why is it when we camp in a campsite we rarely strike up conversations with fellow campers? Caravaners stake out their pitches defensively via windbreakers or sun loungers circled around like wagons in a 1950s Western. But when we wild camp people seem to be falling over to talk to us
Having the dog with us does help. A blind colleague once told me how everyone she met started with a doggy conversation about her guide dog. And it’s no different in our Anglesey wild camp. We stay in the car park alongside the dunes at this dog walking and free-spirited camper van hangout. In the baking summer sun, we have doggy chats galore and meet a lovely couple who have converted their tranny into a camper van extraordinaire. They show us around its ingenious layout, and straight away I know that he’s the kid that spent hours on Blue Peter projects; reconstructing Tracy Island from egg boxes and yoghurt pots. And it probably was brilliant - unlike my sad efforts.
As we’re shown around, there is one cupboard at the back which remains firmly closed.
“This is where I keep my toys” we’re told and we move on.
But my mind’s still stuck on the cupboard. What could possibly be in there? Battery operated items bought online? Kinky costumes? Maybe his alter ego is a Gloria Hunniford drag act?
After a fun swim in the sea and a few beers, our new BFFs finally give us a sneaky peek into the ‘toy box.’ Much to my disappointment, there’s not a Gloria Hunniford drag costume in sight. Turns out they’re survivalists. If Mr Trump ever does say “hit the button” (even though what he meant to say was “do not hit the button”), the idea is that these guys will dive into the camper van and use the ‘toys’ to survive.
I choose not to burst their bubble by asking how they intend to survive the megaton nuclear blast and the ensuing radioactive fallout with a wire snare, fishing rod and the pride and joy multi-functional survival knife with catapult attachment (last year’s Christmas present). Given that our camper’s only got a cheese grater and a garlic press our chances seem slim. But realistically with Wylfa power station just up the beach, my guess is that we all would be instantly baked, fried and toasted anyway...
In the midst of the beers and these cheery thoughts another dog walker rocks up to our makeshift camp, and once our dogs have sniffed each other out and we’ve done the now obligatory doggy conversation, he joins our happy band. He’s a dead ringer for Anthony Hopkins, has a converted day van and is planning to sail solo from Anglesey to Scotland. As the evening rolls on, he pulls out his false teeth and tells us a gory tale about how a famous mass murderer broke his jaw with a piece of iron bed when he was visiting him in his secure hospital cell as part of the murderer's legal team. We never got to know his name but his whippet is called Winston.

Meet Nellie - our chief conversationalist and networker.

Morocco - Where Worlds Collide

I feel immediately lost in Marrakech. As we drive from the airport, the warm night air is filled with unfamiliar chants from minarets. We pass hundreds of men kneeling in prayer in the gardens outside the central mosque. It hadn’t even occurred to me that we were visiting in the middle of Ramadan.Our riadh is a ten-minute walk (in theory) to the main square in Marrakech called Jemaa El-fnaa. The old town of Marrakech is a giant impenetrable maze. Map-reading skills will only get you so far. A ball of string may also be required to find your way back to anywhere. We spend time trying to remember markers,"Past the shop with the spices. No, not that shop with the spices, the other shop with spices…."
To be honest, we spend most of our stay lost in Marrakech. But being lost is a big part of the fun of staying here, and after a little while, you learn that most routes go eventually to Jemaa El-fnaa square.
Jemaa El Fnaa square is one gigantic tourist photo opportunity if you’re into that kind of thing. Turban headed men charm pythons out of baskets and chained spider monkeys climb obediently around tourist necks. I get upset when I see the tiny cages where the monkeys are kept in the hot sun. Morocco’s not a great place to be an animal. At one end of the square, there’s a guy in a fez selling human teeth. Who’s in the market for teeth, I wonder, in a square crowded full of Western tourists with excellent dental plans. I spend a good half hour watching who’s buying. It seems to be working for him and plenty of cash is changing hands for selfies with this Moroccan tooth fairy. He hasn’t parted with a single tooth.
Fact: Moroccans are great salesmen. Local Moroccan men seem to helpfully spring up from street corners, falling over themselves to help lost tourists find their way out of the souk or to the ‘best’ restaurant in town (owned by their uncle), all for a fee. They will even show you around putrid tannery pits with no health and safety considerations, where they make, and then you buy, a flattened Moroccan leather pouffe that most tourists seem to think are dog baskets. I now know why there are so many of these useless items in the living rooms across Britain.
With a strong Gallic colonial history, Marrakech has a chic French quarter. Boulangeries sit cheek by jowl with the cheeks and jowls of squawking chickens in the pop-up market stall at the end of the road. Yves Saint Laurent’s Jardin Marjorelle, a sculptured garden of giant cacti and Japanese ponds, creates a designer take on tranquillity from the chaos of the old town just a few streets away. French designers were drawn to Morocco for their world-class products. For Yves St Laurent it was the leather. In the Valley of the Roses, Dades Valley, each day for two weeks in May, millions of rose petals are gathered by the women before dawn and made into the world’s finest rose oil. Female farmer collectives sell the oil to exclusive French perfume houses.
Marrakech is fascinating, chaotic and brutal. At our riadh the night receptionist Abdullah tells us that he works all night at the hotel and studies for his Master's degree in International Finance and Economics in the day. He’s a clever lad who dreams about doing his PhD in Paris. Our conversation is interrupted with a knock at the door. A small child with a very large jerry can begs for water from the riadh. “Look” says Abdullah, “I tell you my dreams but there are people here who can’t even afford water.”
Next day we head out to the High Atlas mountains on a three-day tour. Being small we are given seats by the driver, three up in the front of the minibus. But with 180-degree views, we’ve scored the best seats on the bus. We enjoy three days of amazing mountain and desert scenery travelling through the High Atlas and along the Anti-Atlas range out to the desert. Our driver doesn’t have great English. Every now and again he points out a Berber woman walking with a huge bundle of alfalfa on her back and a similarly loaded donkey to the side. He nudges me and says, "Woman working."
I reply, pointing at the donkey, "Berber tractor."

He laughs. But I know he’s thinking that I should be at home tending my wheat, and... who’s looking after the donkey?
We stop to visit villages and learn more about traditional Berber life. Each visit ends just like Disney, in the family gift shop where you can buy handmade carpets which can be conveniently shrink-wrapped for air flights. Handily, their traditional adobe houses built of baked dung and straw also has 4G wifi with all major credit cards accepted.

We visit the Unesco world heritage desert village of Ait Benhaddou. Rising out of the desert dust, Ait Benhaddou unusually sits on a river with water flowing through. This place must have been a welcome sight for the traders selling slaves and salt to the Romans emerging from the Sahara on this ancient desert trade route. As a reminder of the past, there is a sign pointing South into the sands beyond. It says, ‘Timbuktu 12 days.’
But Ait Benhaddou has a much more glamorous industry now. It’s the leading venue for all desert movie scenes. Hosting some of the largest film studios in the world, this place is the backdrop for everything from Iraqi shoot-em-ups to sand-and-sandals movies. Even Game of Thrones was filmed here. The ‘ancient gates’ at the left of the village is a film set remnant from The Jewel of the Nile and Gladiator.

We continue on to Merzouga, situated in the Sahara, bordering on Algeria. Bedouin boys take us on long camel trains into the Saharan dunes to a traditional desert camp. They feed us and flirt with a group of pretty Spanish fashion students. We watch the sun go down over the Sahara and listen to the boys singing, dancing, drumming and flirting into the wee small hours. A skinny middle-aged Brazilian lady on the tour complains noisily about the pain of camel travel, demanding a 4x4 to take her bony bum back the next morning. I am pleased to report that I have no such difficulties with my booty which seems to be extremely well designed for camel travel.

Mid-Life Crisis Travelling

In the last few weeks, I’ve had the full range of responses to our decision to give up work and travel. These generally seem to boil down to metaphors relating to bravery, living the dream, and prison break from fellow inmates. I'm starting to feel like a cross between George and Lenny and Papillon. After all, I haven’t escaped yet, not until December and am desperate not to tempt fate.
I’m still busy tunnelling away at Tom, Dick and Harry. We’ve booked the plane tickets from Manchester to Myanmar (Burma) in January and we’re planning our first few weeks in this amazing but troubled country. Even now, you still can only go to certain tourist areas.
Myanmar has given us our first travel dilemma. After a few days in Yangon (Rangoon), the travel options for our next stop in Bagan are:

12 hour bus journey arriving at 4am £30

17 hour train trip £40

1 hour flight £80

Which one would you plump for?... I’m totally ashamed to say that we’ve chickened out of the chicken bus and have booked the flight. I hope that I don’t regret this decision having just read Myanmar's airline safety record.
But it’s made me think about how we’re going to cope with the day to day crustiness of long term travelling? Will our trip end up depressingly as a world tour of Novotels? Will we get to meet and spend time with the local people? Will we share dorms with the twenty-something GAP year hipsters? Will we publicly humiliated and banned from hostels for being too old?
Then there’s the new reality of carrying 3 months of Gafyn’s heart meds with us. Apart from getting them into the 40-litre backpack and through customs, word online is that you can only get two months worth of pills off the NHS. We’re going to have to start squirrelling and stashing them now to last the trip or we’ll wind up in the full moon beach party trying to score cholesterol busters.
I’m sure I’m not the only ‘mid-life crisis’ out there who’s given up work to go travelling. I’d be really interested in your experiences: the good, the bad and the ugly.

Selfie Dilemmas

We're off in January. Three months travelling from Myanmar to Cambodia. Twenty years ago I would have traipsed around Thailand quite happily in a Primani vest dress and flip flops but for some reason now the reality of living for three months out of a 40-litre pack seems much more of a wardrobe challenge. When did I become so high maintenance?
It all boils down to my social media anxieties. Everyone expects a photo and why, why, why can’t I take a good selfie? I suppose, unlike Millennials, my first 15 years were not been spent selfie posing endlessly with arm outstretched and lips pouted. I simply don't have this digital life skill and I never was photogenic. Why can't we all go back to the days when you sent your film reel to Boots and then kept your snaps secreted away in a dusty album or darkened drawer?
Reality is, I have six months to slim, tone and tighten. Turn corned beef legs smooth and deflate those spare tyres into a beach-worthy body. More beached whale than Baywatch; I fear that the locals will be trying to return me to the sea, pouring water over my blowhole.
In this selfie culture, I definitely will need a team around me. Wardrobe. Hair. Makeup. How will I cope? I’ve committed to living for three months out of a 40-litre pack and as a five-foot titch in a pair of shorts, I’m all ass and knees. So I’ve come up with a plan. Fight fire with fire. Tech with tech. I’ve created an Avatar. A bit of me, a bit of Baywatch. I can now snap happily away and then add me to my photos as I go. A cunning plan.
Here I am at the beach. What do you think? Okay - so the pic may need a fair bit more photoshopping... But nowhere near as much as my ass.

Italian Camping - Living La Vida Lido

We travelled from Tuscany over to the Lido. In Tuscany, we went Dutch and stayed at a campsite full of holidaymakers from Holland. Not having booked, we were given a hard-baked mud patch near an outdoor water tap with splendid views over the seas of shiny motorhomes parked neatly in precision engineered rows.
It’s hard to describe the psychological effects of spending a week as two five footish unstructured shorties with no real daily plans, in the land of the clockwork giants. The campsite, full of tall beautiful blonde bodies, stirred early. Gentle 5k jogs before macrobiotic yoghurt breakfasts followed by a wholesome day of scheduled sports activities. Relaxing and entertaining 7.45 to 9.45, lights out by 10.15. We finally escaped, feeling stumpy, inadequate and exhausted, but with the guilty pleasure of knowing that we didn’t know where we were heading to next. And we didn’t care.
We ended up at the Lido. Stretching like a white finger across the mouth of Venice, the Lido is a silvery spit of sand and campsites. And it’s August. This means that the Lido is at its hottest and busiest, jam-packed full of Italian families, all making beach holiday memories. This mass exodus means that as we travel down the spit, campsite after campsite is full, and no we haven’t pre-booked. We have learned nothing from our Dutch friends. Finally, at the bottom of the spit, we find a small family site. No pool. No water slides. But they do have chilled Prosecco on tap, sold in refillable litre bottles and three minutes over the sand dune you can dive into the warm Adriatic. Not advisable after a litre of Prosecco - I speak from experience!
We park up and unpack the bare essentials for shelter; a small tent, roll mat, sleeping bag and our latest purchase: we pushed the boat out this year and bought a gas-fired lantern. In contrast, the concept of travelling light doesn’t seem to apply to Italian family camping holidays. Nobody and nothing seems to get left behind. The tents, tardis-like, have awning built on awning filled with comfy seating, string lights and TVs playing endless football games. Outdoor fridges seem never to run out of cold canned beer. Ariels hang precariously above the tarpaulin from the nearby tree branches. Even the budgie is brought along, caged pride of place next to the tv football game.
The Lido is the ideal base for visiting Venice. The Vaporetto (bus boat) takes you right into the jaws of Venice and the Grand Canal. You can ride the Vaporetto all day for around 20 Euros. Fantastic value and quite a relief as the August heat makes walking exhausting. Nothing prepares you for the hazy sunken city appearing like a shimmering mirage in the distance. It is truly one of the wonders of the world that everyone must see. We wander around Venice dodging the crowds, searching out quiet alleys and the shade. Labyrinthine and old. There seem to be unknown stories to find here. I crave quieter and cooler times when I can spend more time seeing what Venice is really like; when the ice-cream and pizza eaters have gone away and all that is left is the faint sound of the sea gently lapping against the canalside walls.
We return by late afternoon to the campsite. At six, each evening after a hard day bronzing, lines of Italians young and old, wait impatiently for showers, every man, woman and bambino, wrapped head to foot in belted hooded terry-towel dressing gowns. It’s a curious sight that I have only ever seen in Italy. The highly organised Dutch, no doubt have a rota to avoid any such unnecessary queuing.
By seven o’clock, the sun cools and the smokiness of fire pits and barbecues fills the air. Laughter, football and the revving engines of scooters echo around the site as families laugh and chat into the wee small hours. And, inevitably, the Prosecco bottles will need refilling again tomorrow.

Free books

If anyone would like a free copy of any or all of my four books, please let me know. I can send them to you via epub or pdf.

All I ask in return is a short review and rating.

Best wishes,
Nell Grey