The Cure to a Bruised Soul.

A vast majority of people don't ever fully return from physical trauma... Few too many, lose their ability to see, walk and talk. Their whole lives completely ripped from under their feet, though leaving their minds completely intact.

Emotional trauma is fixed how? With what? What happens when a soul is so irreparably bruised there is nothing left to see, say, or move towards. Some people inevitably choose to end their lives when they're unable to fix their wounds.

The minutes don't just stop because you want them to. We're surviving every second we are alive, so why waste it being stagnant? Every second passed is another moment lost.

Create.
Pack your life to the fullest with things worth remembering.

See.
Visit places you'd never have dreamt you would.

Discover.
Try foods you can't spell, let alone heard of.

Invest in your life.
Don't regret not making good use of your youth.

Your life belongs to you, it deserves to be lived.

What are you doing to do with yours?

A Knight in Edinburgh

When you lay back and think of Scotland what do you see? The vast expanse of hilly landscapes, coupled with the breath taking Loch views? You know… Those areas that consider their neighbours to be housed 4, 5, 6 miles across the horizon… Perhaps, broad accented, fire haired, skirt wearing men... The men who clink tumblers with other equally William Wallace looking chaps? Retrospectively, you may think of stories of middle aged park goers, in their out of date trackies and equally out of date anoraks, loudly congregated around a bottle of Scotland’s finest Buckfast? I can assure that people miss many things whilst digging through their minds for limited information they know about Scotland. Far away enough to consider Scotland for city breaks, but close enough to not break the bank… Cities like Edinburgh are perfect mini break locations.

Edinburgh. A well-known name, but by non-Scottish standards, what do we actually know about this under exposed treasure?

     If you’re looking for adventure by day and the finer things by night Scotland’s capital might be the city for you. The perfect city for indulging your cultural knowledge, expanding that photography portfolio, or even putting on a couple of pounds between the array of eateries and bellies full of laughter.

     With Edinburgh Castle watching over the city, it’s hard to believe people actually live side by side with this national treasure. A fully functioning metropolis of hustle and bustle, with a lacing of bronze age Scottish independence thrown in for good measure.

      You can visit The Edinburgh Castle, The Dungeons and even take the hair raising ghost tours this city has to offer… Perhaps, if that all sounds a little too sinister for you… You may want to take the world renowned Big ‘Red’ Bus Tour on its city route, and hop off at one of the cities other well liked attractions such as the famous Edinburgh Zoo. This zoo’s attractions cater for all ages, I challenge anyone to not enjoy the penguin parades. There is an abundance of tours you can embark on from within the city, from distillery tours, to traveling out of town to experience the sceneries of the naturally beautiful Loch scattered landscapes.

     Another highlight of visiting Edinburgh is its European renowned comedy scene. The household names of Sarah Millican, Jack Whitehall, Bill Bailey and even the great Stephen Fry are just a few of the many big names to have elevated their careers whilst giving it as good as they got on the comedic stage of THE EDINBURGH FRINGE. A festival that appears to spit out comedy legends every year, and where people come from far and wide just to get a taste of that unprecedented comedy scene. No matter what your comedy threshold, You’re guaranteed to find something to put a smile on your face.

    Nightlife wouldn’t be complete without a real taste of your surroundings, would it? What would a trip to Edinburgh be, if not for an evening tucked away in one of its many quintessentially Scottish establishments, with a plate of Haggis, neeps and tatties and a tumbler of locally produced Whiskey? Even if these national flavours are an acquired taste, Edinburgh is brimming with affordable, top notch restaurants. Whether your palate craves the spices of India, the oriental sweetness of China, the modern art that is Japanese chow, the deep fried and greasy classics, or the beauty of a buffet… You won’t go hungry here.

Words don’t do it justice.

(Scottish Tourism Bid)

The Great British Camping Experience

   When my partner suggested we go away for a weekend I couldn't have been happier, until I found out we were going camping. Initially the idea of shopping for all the camping gear excited me probably more than it should have, but once we had acquired all the shiny new equipment my excitement slowly faded. Despite the fact that it was all clean and untainted, I couldn't help but feel anxious about the fact that I'd be away from home, having to use all of these home from home commodities; they would no longer be all shiny and new. The plasticky smell from the nylon tent never really fades does it? It's just the kind of smell that usually gets worse with time... Every time you get the tent out for your next adventure, there it is. Waft. Like the fragrant reminisce of your last adventure seems to linger, so does the memory of it.

If you're clever like me, you would have bought a single skinned tent and the biggest double inflatable mattress you can find... If you're clever like me, you would have woken up at 5am. Freezing cold. With your face pressed against a raining pane of pale blue nylon.

   For most people camping can be the ultimate getaway, a real adventure. Basic cooking, log fires, walks to remote areas with breath taking views. Oh no,  not for me. I like to stay in my tent as much as possible. I cower away from my country roots, and in fact anyone who associates with theirs also. The thought of running into any outdoorsy types mortifies me. Having those un-needed 'Afternoon!' nods. Those 'Beautiful day' pleasentries. Who needs them? Let me enjoy this weather without all the bullshit.

   If spending 3 or 4 days avoiding creepy crawlies sounds all too familiar, then let me tell you, you are not alone. So far there doesn't seem to be a word created for the 'fear of camping', but the closest we will come to it is: 'Entomaphobia'. The fear of bugs. What's camping with out the occasional... 'Urgh, what the fuck is that!?' Or the 'Get it off me, get it off me!!!' 

   There's something quite significant that confuses me about camping... The sheer amount of time you spend faffing about. Packing the car, unpacking the car. Packing the car, unpacking the car. All the things you'll need to just survive one single night away from the salvation of your own home. And for what? What is the point? Lugging all your shit around... Having to walk almost a mile to wash out a baked bean caked pan... No. Washing and living with camping standard festival fanny the whole time you're away... No. Why would you put yourself through so much upheaval when you could have just bought a mini city break from Wowcher and gone to Barcelona for a few days?

   For me, camping is a little like flying... When it's happening I'm hating every minute of it, but once it's over... Well what can I say. I feel like a bigger and braver person for allowing it to happen. Camping isn't, and won't ever be my first choice for holidaying; nothing beats a good sturdy 4 walled room with a 4 legged bed does it? 

   Don't get me wrong, some aspects of camping can be fun. For instance, on a recent festival weekend, putting up a gazebo in the wind and pissing rain because you forgot the top cover for your tent was just that... In theory this gazebo would have sheltered my little tent from the elements, while the top of the tent is exposed freely to just enough of the elements. But, as you can probably gather by now this was not to be... The gazebo, just like the weather, was unpredictable from the start. We figured we could sit, drink and babysit the gazebo all night or we could take a risk and make our way over to the music festival just across the field. Thankfully we returned, soaked to the bones, to find the shelter for our shelter still standing. Victory!! Victory was short lived when we found ourselves being shunted under its canopy, with my partner just moments before deciding to take a leaf from my book and begun urinating into a larger than normal plastic pint cup. Out of nowhere the disembodied voice of my mother in law sounded behind the pressure of the collapsed structure. "I THINK WE'VE LOST THE GAZEBO!!!" My partner still holding the half full cup of piss between her legs, tried to hold the gazebo up and also dispose of the cup without her mother finding out that when it comes to the outdoors, we lose all our inhibitions. I spent this blustery night sleeping inside our little Ford Ka. My partner refused to give up the goat and slept in the tent, even without certainty that the remainder of the gazebo would hold out long enough to shelter her from the exposed area of her bedroom. She was lucky enough to stay dry that night... But perhaps staying warm was wishful thinking. 

   On the second night of this occasion, I proceeded to stay in the safety of our little car once again. If anyone were to tell you that a Ford Ka is not the perfect sleeping environment, I would tell them they are a liar. Not only was the second in car stay a happy extension of the first night, but it's safe to say the gazebo was absolutely fucked by this point. Warped and rusted. A car crash of a shelter. We arrived back from our second night at the festival, alcohol fuelled and wet, only to discover that the inside of the tent was wetter than we would have preferred. My partner gladly accepted my invite into Chateau de Ka for the evening, where we snuggled up like two caterpillars and took drunken selfies. If Trip Advisor did in car stays it would definitely be getting 5 stars from me. What more could you need? A reclining chair, perfect for a snooze. All your shit scattered around you. A cup holder for your cider. A dash board for those 4am leg cramps... Perfect.

The highlight of this specific tale is of Celine D-og.

Like all good Cotswold festivals, dogs are allowed. Across the way from where we had created our Fawlty Towers of a camp, resided a family with the prettiest chocolate brown Boykin Spaniel that you ever did see. She had the most beautiful mullet. Real 80's. Despite Celine Dion never actually having a mullet, this is what she was named for the duration of our stay. She looked rather like Bonnie Tyler if we're going to make an accurate comparison between canine and celebrity. But Celine D-og is what she was named, and Celine D-og is what she will remain. We've decided that when we have a dog at some point in the near future, this is what she will be called... Presuming she is a she. Trips to the vets will be some of the the purest comedic moments of my life, which should in theory soften the blows of a heavy vet bill after all.

Paris of the ’90s

So, what first struck me when I entered the arrivals terminal at Václav Havel Airport, were the select few people sat awkwardly, smoking in a glass room. A room which was built into one of the long, clinical white walls, with heavy windowpanes. You know the kind, the kind that resemble something out of the Starship Enterprise. 

I'd been dying for a cigarette for hours!! Especially now that I'd nursed my hangover from our Pre-Prague sesh, with junk food and more beer. Sat smoking indoors, in a very public area felt so alien to me, despite the fact that I'd come from an age where smoking in pubs and clubs was the done thing. What was even more alien to me was the fact that I felt bad for smoking indoors, I should have been like 'Fuck yeah!! Smoking inside!!' When actually all I wanted to do, was to go stand outside in the carpark, and peacefully smoke there without all the pleasantries of avoiding eye contact, or closely sharing seating with a complete stranger.

So, my travel buddy and I were staying at his parents house, over in the beautiful little suburban area of Prague, called Pruhonice, 1 of 10 Praguian districts. With only a handful of scattered houses, 1 bus route and homes a remarkable 250 acre nature reserve, Pruhonice for me is quintessentially what European countryside is all about.

Despite being practically, in what seemed the middle of nowhere, the next town over houses one of Prague's largest shopping centres. With Chodov tube station below, and accessible by local bus routes - Chodov shopping centre is the epicenter of affordable shopping and delicious food!! Just to put this into perspective for you.. A slice of pizza is 12p, a 30 minute tube ticket's 18p, and if you weren't already wowed enough, a bus ride is 14p.. Which understandably leaves you with more money than you planned to need.

So with all these Czech crowns weighing you down, what is there to get up to in Prague, or as it's locally called: 'Praha'? As I've said, a bus and a tube into anywhere within central Czech is beyond affordable, which makes sight seeing easy AF.

We emerged from the tube station like 2 cocky pigeons with our chests all puffed out. Jack knowing the city like the back of his hand, and me just being English.
Dipping into the nearest Starbucks, because I obviously couldn't get a Starbucks at home if I wanted one.. And then strolling down the Pařížská Street, with a Mango cooler in hand, Prague seemed so recognisable to me. It had such a knowing to it, like home. I almost felt like it was drawing me in.. It had such a familiar face. 'Hello Prague!!' I wanted to yell, but instead I just silently filmed our descent into this historic city.

Our first stop was to Lennon's Wall, located not far North East of Charles Bridge. Charles Bridge - A bridge that Brunel would have been proud of. You can see this part of Prague featured in video for the INXS 1987 hit - Never Tear Us Apart, and what a tune that was right? As an avid Beatles fan, Lennon's Wall is somewhere I have dreamed of visiting for quite some time. As we made our way though the cobbled streets, which I likened to the streets of Oxford, we were met by a slow group of middle aged sightseers, all chattering, and pointing in that classic sightseeing way. One of the male members of the group lost his footing, and stumbled over one of the unlevelled cobbles and began to fall. We captured the moment in our minds in slow motion, and then he was down. Rolling around and wincing out in pain. With his hands over his face, as if to hold the river of blood from pouring from a great, unprecedented gash. Another group of people came over to offer some clearly unwanted assistance. Peering through his fingers, this man was visibly embarrassed from his oh so graceful fall, and bloodlessly stood up and shook himself off. In this whole unhurried crescendo, this man's bottle of Coca-Cola had rolled it's way across the cobbles and landed at my feet, and like any good passer by I tried to help in anyway I could and picked up his scattered possession. With this embarrassed man stood in front of me, I held out his bottle to be faced with an ungrateful face.

Chattering started again, in a language I didn't understand.. As they passed looks between themselves, and then back at me.. 'TAKE THE BOTTLE, YOU UNGRATEFUL PRICK' I thought.
But lesson learnt, next time someone falls and drops their shit, i'll kindly step over them and leave their drink to roll right into the gutter.

Don't let this little story dampen your shared experience of Lennon's wall - that's my job!!
Lennon's wall was just, well.. Everything I wanted it to be. You've never seen such an inspired piece of art. The trees that run alongside the road here are chalked a rainbow of colour, to as high as the arm can reach. With end to end brightness in abundance, this cosy back street is filled with lyrics and murals, and scrawled largely across the middle of the wall "WAR IS OVER". Coming here and placing my hands upon the paint, with all the other people to have stood before and after my place, I couldn't help but feel.. The only way I can describe it.. Hypocritical. Painting over and over again the words 'war is over', and only half addressing the issue. Rather than facing 'war' head on; accepting that 'war' isn't really over. Visiting this wall makes you realise that, even with all the love in the world, and a backlog of revolutional lyrics.. Nothing will stop war. Nothing.

Maybe if you're looking to pick up the pace a bit 'Segway central' might be for you.. If you want to be nearly ran over, or pestered by city tour salesmen.. Head over to The Old Town Square. A square brimming with selfie stick couples, and horse and carriages.. This place is a gleaming contrast between olde Praha and 21st century life. The Old Town Square is home to the famous Astronomical Clock Tower, also known as the Orloj.. Which let me tell you.. Is worth the queue, and the climb. But, take it from me, don't do it with blistered feet and a full bladder.
From here you can see pretty much the whole of Prague. Beyond looking downwards at the tiny ant sized groups of musicians, bubble making men - being chased by hordes of children, and the ever flowing tide of tourism. To the East is The Church of Our Lady before Týn. Its Gothic spires that tower over everything else in the vicinity. To the North.. Prague Castle, situated in the old town..
A spectacle to behold in any dusky evening in this beautiful city. And the West, Petrin Hill & Observation Tower.. Likened to the The Eiffel Tower. The Petrin Observation Tower is set in landscaped gardens, which make for a pleasant stroll all year round, given you're not covered in blisters and saturated in your own urine.

City streets lined with bars, restaurants and pretzel stands, for any great foodie this city is perfect for loading up and chilling out. As Prague is popular with stag weekends and boys holidays alike, you won't be surprised to hear there are a fair amount of UK themed establishments over here. Despite being spoilt for choice, we ended up in a popular Irish pub. Where we sat, chatted, smoked.. And enjoyed 4 beers and a large nachos between us - Which came to as little as £20!? 20 POUNDS!? Unless you're indulging in the spa like aromas of your local Wetherspoon's, There's nowhere in my knowledge in the whole world that's more pound stretching.. In agreeance?

Any bromance filled getaway wouldn't have been complete without matching tattoos of an inside joke.. We found ourselves being guided blindly by google maps into a lane just off of The Old Town Square, and into a half record shop, half tattoo parlour. Waiting just inside stood a heavily tattooed, and equally heavily pierced Czech man finishing up with a customer. Once he was free, we explained what, how and where we wanted it, and bargained a price. We booked in and returned the following day to this dark and dingy mongrel of a shop. Jack went first, as he didn't want to.. and I quote.. "Pussy out". And I sat and watched. As sweat poured from his forehead as the scary, brute of a tattoo artist effortlessly sent jack into a world of unescapable pain, by beginning this tiny Jellyfish tattoo on his boney little ankle. Biting his hand, as to escape from the pain for a moment.. Jack's clenched fist, resembled the shake of a shitting dog.. As I sat laughing, I filmed for our holiday vlog, forgetting it was my turn next.

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. And like a pro I sat through it, and came away unscathed with an ankle tattoo matching that of my friends. It's not until after we had both emerged from said dark and dingy mongrel shop, I commented on how I didn't see the scary, tattoo brute change the needle.. Which was a little concerning, but didn't dampen our trip in the slightest, as I know my friend is a clean boy, and always wraps before he taps.

I concluded my trip with a golden tan; Sat in his parents garden with the occasional dip in the pool.  The much needed relaxation venue, that eased me back into the monotonous drone of everyday life. Prague is a beautiful city, with much to offer anyone who buys into its admirable charm. Whether you're visiting for business or pleasure, there are many stones left unturned in little old Praha. The people of this city are busy wrapped up in themselves, which pretty much leaves you to roam freely without much hassle. The public transport leaves you with nothing but questions about Britain's carnage inducing commutes.  The architecture is entirely stunning, which makes for a fantastic photography destination, and money seems to go a long, long way. Despite The Czech Republic joining the European Union back in 2010, The Czech's refused to give their currency up just yet.. Which is great news for anyone planning a trip here in the near future!! 

Sub note: To confirm, I didn't piss myself when visiting Prague, though, I will admit to taking an impromptu wee-wee under a motorway bridge whilst walking back from the city one evening. Neither have I got AIDS, HIV or any other blood disease, the test results were negative, and both ankle and tattoo are doing just fine.

What's that smell?

We all know with every country, comes it's own quirky customs and cultures. Us Brits are the best for forcing our superior traditions on to 'foreigners' with such barefaced yet subliminal effort. But the nation I've come to speak of today, is a nation that have many customs that are widely accepted ways of behaving, but ones to which I find particularly strange. In what world is it normal to leave babies outside in sub zero temperatures? Nor is it appetising to eat the flesh of fish, marinaded in piss?

My first remark when stepping off the plane was "Welcome to Wales!!". Yes, it appeared I had spent an agonising 4 hour plane ride to meet the same cold, desolate countryside I can see on a twenty-minute drive over the Severn bridge. Though the vast terrain could be likened to the deepest of wintery valleys, Iceland was no match when winning an icy victory. With nothing as far as the eye could see, it was hard to believe that this land could inhabit anything other than cold.



Any bus ride here was like a road trip of mile to mile nothingness. Vehicles armed with studs and chains, ready to battle the elements.. And me in all my tourist glory with my waist high salopettes, snow white gloves and matching hat. When touring on any bus here, you'll be lucky enough to be greeted with a chirpy yet slightly pessimistic guide. On a typical sight seeing expedition you'd be told of all the local highlights as your bus quickly speeds past them, which leaves you with little to no time to see them. I noticed as time passed by, on one excursion in particular, that the tour guide seemed to slip slowly into a deep sense of monotony. With each highlight that we passed, a little more light seemed to fall from his voice. Once we had visited all our destinations, and returning back to the bus and onwards to our hotel, he began to speak once again about Icelandic life, but this time in a darker and more cynical way. He felt the need to explain in thorough detail about how they make hay bails - which wasn't at all thrilling for me, but compelling to the elderly Asians sat across from us. The elderly Asians who had an obsession with the windscreen fans, but that's another exhausting tale all together. Our tour guide, with his customary sky blue Reykjavík Excursions Parka on and his little, pale balding head bobbing up and down with the rough terrain a few seats ahead of us.. His words became filled with 'Um's' and "Er's' and concluded with a few spaced mumbles, and finally a sentence about suicide. Though, despite the dark and depressing day trip stories, I'll admit it was well worth the endurance. Nothing can prepare you for the untouched views of this beautiful country.

Beautiful, but smelly.

You hear about the warm stench of canal life in Venice, and the fragrant pong from the road side gutters of Kolkata, but nothing can prepare you for the eggy hell that is bathing in Iceland.

I don't know about you, but my flat only has a shower.. Which is great if you're a teenage boy with a LYNX addiction, but not so good for a nearing 30 year old woman who enjoys long, hot baths and quiet time. I'm usually overjoyed at finding a bath in a hotel room, but I'm afraid this wasn't the case when the I opened the door to this eggy palace of disappointment. Don't get me wrong, once the bath has run and the bubbles bulge over the water line; that sweet excitement that only bath time can resemble returns, you'll possibly become accustomed to the smell.

With only 4 hours of sunlight during winter on this island, it's hard to find things to do between outdoor adventures, but a massive selling point for visiting this country is the Aurora Borealis. We left our hotel around 9pm, by which time the sun had set, a mere 5 hours before. We made our way north of the island away from civilisation and city lights. We waited patiently for around 2 hours for this spectacle to appear with no prevail. While many people stood outside the bus, with only positivity to warm them up, my partner and I knew it was too overcast and napped like a pair of loved up cats at the back of the coach. Despite not seeing this natural wonder this time, I'm positive that when we visit again we will have better luck.


Though the Northern Lights were a complete let down, we didn't stop there when it came to excursions. We took another coach down to the Golden Circle, where we had the pleasure of visiting The Gullfoss Waterfall, Thingvellir National park and The Geysirs. The Geysirs were most definitely my favourite of all the treasures we visited that day, and was topped off with the best Mushroom soup I have ever eaten in my life. The cafe in the visitors centre could be likened to the cafe they have plonked in the middle of IKEA. A conveyer belt of foreign goodness. I can honestly say, when we return to Iceland, and aren't fortunate enough to see the Northern Lights on our second attempt, I'd die happy to have this soup again. Apart from seeing the cafe cashier.. I don't want to see him again.. He sternly told me I could only have one butter. Which I thought was ludicrous. Who only has one butter on a bread roll? You want enough butter on your roll to leave a salty, buttery pool in the middle of your soup. Those are the rules.

The only downfall to a return visit is the expense of it all. It has to be the most expensive country I have had the pleasure of visiting so far. Due to it being a country that either has to import everything inland, or somehow grow sustenance in its vast wasteland of lava rock and ice - which therefore means they usually charge the salt of the earth for most things. Almost every night we found ourselves in a local sushi restaurant.. Sushi Samba - located in central Reykjavík, with a platter for two. We found eating here gave us more bang for our buck and considered this fortunate as we're both hardcore sushi lovers, and would have more than likely landed our rumbly bellies here anyway.



Our final stop on our Northern, Northern hemisphere adventure, was The Blue Lagoon. The weather on our final day was particularly bad, and the coach swerved from side to side on the dark road on our way to this national treasure. We queued patiently outside the entrance, while hand sized drops of rain seemed to slap us in the face with the force of the wind. We hoped that inside The Blue Lagoon we would be compensated by the solace of the warm mineral pools, but we were gravely mistaken. In up to our chins - below, as beautiful as we had hoped - and above, the storm of all
storms battering us from pillar to post. This bitter sweet combination led to utter confusion and led us to take some free silica mask and place it on our faces, ignoring all warnings to distinctively avoid placing it on your forehead, due to the bad weather. We plastered it on, and instantly we were blinded. Desperately splashing the milky egg water into our eyes to rinse out the sting, and relieve ourselves from this heaven and hell situation. Who's stupid enough to place face mask on their foreheads in the middle of a storm I'll never know. But finally we found refuge in a cave where we clung on to each other like Koalas on a Eucalyptus tree. Where I enjoyed almost half of my £8.00 pint of beer before dropping it into the egg milk. I still tried to carry on drinking it, but let me tell you... Some things in life really can taste worse than warm beer.

To conclude Our icy adventure, Iceland taught me to be grateful of what we have as a nation. Our ever growing economy. Running water that isn't powered by GeoThermic egg stations, and at least 10 hours of sunlight a day.. I'd say we have it pretty good over here, in boring old England. Something for you to think about the next time you moan how our country's going to the dogs!? Thank god you’re not bat shit crazy like Bjork.

The city that never sleeps?

 On first impressions, it seemed to be less alien than I imagined. When you sit and think about how different our 2 countries are, you tend to imagine there to be guns visible at every glance, patriotic nationalists bombarding you from all forgotten angles, and a pale green cat... A cat bigger than any building you've seen before, just there.. Towering over the city.. With dollar signs for eyes and a laugh that you just can't seem to run from.. A cat that has paws bigger than clouds, that boom together when he makes that money rain..... But, to my disappointment he wasn't there, and neither was the rain.. Neither we're the anti-abortion activists spouting their brainwashed hypocrisy, neither was the young African American man who was shot and killed before my very eyes, and all the other people on the street who trivially walk by.. Just me, and my eyebrow raised.

 Where was everyone? You'd imagine JFK to be all hustle and bustle.. Wouldn't you? Maybe they were all in taxis.. That classic line that you always see in the movies.... "TAXI" as someone stands at the side of the road, with one arm up and the other holding some kind of expensive bag. The amount of taxis that you'd presume could never exist. Just lines and lines of them.. Which none of them going anywhere fast. Honestly it would be quicker to walk. 15 blocks to anywhere.... It was difficult at first, but then you begin to get used it. It's pretty much like reading the co-ordinates in a game of battleship. Up and across, across and down, across and up.. 

You get the idea.

 So far all you've heard about is my disappointment, but I assure you it's not all the sensation I felt. Small talk. Small talk in exchange for money. Money in exchange for services I do not care for. Anybody who knows me well knows that food is my first great love. So when visiting any great city food must be sampled as standard.  But what I don't care for, is when your waiter makes it his business to try to get to know you while you order your meal. I know I speak for many people when I say, Id rather tip a person on their service and attitude of me being there, rather than the fakeness of the scenario.

Although I have many more cities I've left to visit, I personally believe you will never find another city in the whole, entire world where you feel more contently alone. Not even the homeless bother you, unlike they do along your local High Street.. Which reminds me... Neither will you find another more unexpectedly clean that this one. You imagine in your head for it to be dark and dingy, and there to be damp residue in that 90 degree space between the 'sidewalk' and the 'street', but it wasn't there.. It was clean.  

Times Square isn't like it is at the beginning of Vanilla Sky, and I'm not even sure why it would be.. But, it was jammed. Packed like a draw of unmatched, but clearly not salvageable socks. Are you like me? Just stand in an area full of people absorbed in their own selfish lives, and wonder what it would be like for all of them to just vanish and for it to just be you, alone, in your own hectic silence? 

Unlikened to the silence I observed at the 9/11 memorial.
This silence was like no other silence, and not of the kind I had dreamed of in Times Square, this silence was made of something else. The kind  of silence that makes you hairs stand on end, and your eyes well. Which is only amplified with the knowing that every other person to stand in your place has felt the same.

 

To begin my conclusion of this great city, I felt saddness. Not just for the lost and forgotten, but for my own sentiment. Making my way across the top of the Empire State Building, wading through the selfie stick jungle that was the crowd, I found myself stood beside the edge looking across the city. I was a wash with woe, and for what? The truth of it was that I didn't want to go home. Back to the place I'd longed so long to never be alone in, but that I'd in fact travelled all this way to realise that being alone never meant being lonely.

As for the iconic phrase, 'The city that never sleeps', this great city is awake enough for everyone. 

My head will forever be the long lost friend to those american feathers, and sleep will never be as deep after a day in any other city.

The Terrified Flyer.

So, it's taken quite some time to get me here.. To this point.. Writing to you, who ever you are.
I'm pleased to meet you. No, honestly I am. You've taken the time out of your busy day to come here and read my little blog. You go Glen Coco.

And here's the actual "So"

So.. Over the past 2 years I have done my fair share of travel - By my standards. I've seen and been to places over those 2 years that I would never, even in a million years have dreamt of visiting.
Despite the fact that it would be fairly easy to explain why I never travelled that vastly before, I won't. Instead, it would be easier to explain why I now do travel... And the truth of the matter for me is that: Travel = Therapy.

The pure enthralment of discovering things I've never seen before.. The way it penetrates my memory. It's this process of creating memories, that is the very process that heals my soul. The allowance of forgetting the before, it's silent injustices, it's unsaid bitterness', the monotony that mocks the eternal sunshine of your very core, it's visual imprints.

  Life really does get in the way of things doesn't it? It seems like I've put my life on hold the whole time, if that makes any sense...  If it wasn't one thing, it would be something else. And there always seemed to be an excuse as to why I didn't  move forward. Stagnant, like the shit on the bottom of an empty pond. Yep, that was me. Written across me for only the most observant of people to see. Stagnant.

I must admit, it just seems as if all of these things we're lost on the moment I found the courage to get on a plane and leave all that behind, like my life.. Putting off getting aboard a plane and taking that flight was just another thing I put on hold. The fear of letting go to the things I can't control just to keep pushing down harder on the things inside I was trying to hide, instead of whole heartedly ripping off that plaster and being faced with that skin burning fear to spill from me, and reveal who I really was inside.

Human. I am a Human. Put on this planet to walk the earth. NOT FLY. You can see my issue here..
My body and soul are two different things. But, I did it.. Like all the other things I fear from spilling from my heart and soul.. I conquered it. Slowly, but surely I conquer. Continue to conquer.
Feeling by feeling, Person by person, country by country.
I'm finally alive.