Shazza's Escapades

Western Sahara 2026

shaz — Tue, 27 Jan 2026 21:19:00 GMT

This part of my trip I visit Western Sahara. I crossed the El Guerguerat border between Mauritania and Western Sahara. One of those places you don’t really think about until you’re actually there. This stretch of desert sits in a long running dispute between Morocco and the Polisario Front over Western Sahara. Spain left in the 70s, Morocco took control of the territory, and the Sahrawi people have been fighting for independence ever since. It’s one of the only road linking south into Mauritania, which makes it politically sensitive and tense. What really hits home is the road itself, Mauritania part just dirt road and the Moroccan controlled half is tarmac. You drive down a narrow strip with landmines on both sides. I took a sneaky photo of the warning sign because sometimes you need proof that this is actually happening. It felt heavy, fascinating, and slightly surreal. A strange and sobering way to mark the end of my Mauritanian adventure and somehow completely fitting for a journey that’s been anything but ordinary. Now we’re in Western Sahara, a weirdly fascinating patch of desert in between Mauritania & Morocco. Politically it’s complicated. Morocco says it’s theirs, the Polisario Front says it should be an independent Sahrawi state, the UN hasn’t made up its mind, and basically only Israel and the USA officially back Morocco's occupation. Dakhla is the capital and is slowly being turned into a huge tourist resort. With the closest international airport outside Mauritania, this was where we spent our last day and our only chance to experience Western Sahara. So we hit their famous white dunes, pretty, but nowhere near as epic as the Mauritanian ones I just left behind. Then came the hot springs where, for £1 they hosed tourists down with a giant black hose. I laughed so much. Then lunch was fresh seafood so cheap, 40 cents per oyster, 30 cents per muscle, 4 euros for octopus and my langoustines were 8 euros. We finished the day at an ostrich farm with very bitey birds. It’s touristy, slightly silly, but a welcome respite after the iron ore train.

At Dakhla airport, boarding my flight, the guy scans my boarding pass and says they want to check my bag. I’ve had this before, random checks but usually it’s just at the gate. Not this time. I’m handed to a guy who tells me to follow him. Of course I do. We walk outside towards the plane, then veer way right, and end up at a hangar. More men are waiting inside. I’m nervous now, so I pretend to turn off music, take off headphones but secretly turn on the camera on my phone. Then five policemen appear. The head guy walks over, points at an open bag behind me on a table that looks dodgy as hell and badly wrapped of god knows what, and asks, “Is this your bag?” I say no. He leans in, holding my passport, “Are you sure?” I nod and point to my backpack saying this is my only bag and I haven't checked any bags in. Then he questions his staff, turns back to me and asks Who sent you? I panic and can't think of the words so I say the guy who does the beep beep 😚 while waving my boarding pass at him. He hands back my passport. I back away slowly, asking, Ok, can I go? No reply. So I said thank you and legged it towards the plane before he changed his mind. Wtf. Why does this shit always happen to me?

Mauritania 2026 Not Just the Iron Ore Train

shaz — Thu, 15 Jan 2026 21:16:00 GMT

So I made it. Arrived in Nouakchott at 2am.

No transfer waiting at arrivals...fucking typical! Sat down, no airport wifi, started mentally preparing to stay there until daylight. Noticed nobody else there except me and an airport guy. He asked if I was ok in French. I said no. He hot spotted me like a legend. Tried calling my transfer guy. No answer but it was 2am. Then a guy in army fatigues appeared, spoke rapid French, asked my name, and motioned for me to follow him. Naturally, you follow the army guy. He marched me outside as I thought I was being kicked out but he pointed to my transfer guy and it was all good. Got dropped at my €19 hostel. Dark streets, rubble, no signs, no road, place looked abandoned. Owner thought he was picking me up. Owner’s wife was not thrilled though. So she woke her daughter and took me to my room which was in another building. Owner had the hostel keys. Cue the daughter climbing over the wall to unlock the gate from the inside. Then I went to sleep.This sort of thing must happen to other people right or is it just me?

Last two days in Nouakchott have been very intentionally low energy. Day one I chilled on the hostel rooftop, sunbathed, slept, and avoided the dust and chaos below. Day two I checked into my hotel, changed some money, and went in search of food. Ended up with only fruit because the street food looked sketchy as hell and you all know I’ll usually eat anything. Then a guy followed me all the way from the market, which dramatically sped up my return to the hotel because I could not get rid of him. That officially ended my wander into town.

Tour officially underway. Day one eased me in gently with a trip to the fishing port where hundreds of boats bobbed about and fishermen did what fishermen do, which appears to involve a lot of shouting and hauling. Looked very chaotic and very smelly. Then on to the camel market. Exactly as advertised. Lots of camels. Met some very friendly locals so got to practice my French, which still works now and then. I didn’t buy a camel.

It was proper desert driving and lots of it. Roads that slowly give up and turn into sand, bumpy, winding, twisty and turny then suddenly flat as far as the eye can see. We drove all the way to the largest sand dunes in Mauritania, Azoueigua. Just before that a stop for lunch, the best lunch ever appeared in the middle of nowhere in a tiny auberge.

The sand dunes were massive and we were expected to climb to the top for sunset. 🤔 So I climbed to the top in my own patented zigzaggy way. But it was an hour too early, so obviously I wasn’t going back down. Cue peak dune based loitering, taking a million photos. Perfect way to kill time.

After a very patient wait, the sunset finally showed up. It was lovely but then immediately vanished, turning the walk back to camp into a light jog before total darkness. Desert nights do not mess about. Absolutely freezing and also very windy so we had to move camp. Dinner was camel stew, followed by an early night. Morning made up for it though with an even better sunrise, then we packed up and headed towards Terjit.

Before reaching Terjit there was, of course, more desert walking. Much more fun on the way down. Eventually we arrived at our auberge in a tiny village with a pocket sized oasis, which felt like a welcome relief after all that sand.

In Atar tonight and it just happened to be the Africa Cup final, Morocco vs Senegal. We found a shop showing the match and piled in with the locals. No alcohol involved but somehow it still got very rowdy. Extra time meant a long night, but watching Mauritanians completely lose their minds over football was brilliant.This is why I travel.

After five hours on the road we finally reached Ouadane. On the way we stopped at another oasis, casually hiding in the middle of nowhere. Then we bounced our way to the Eye of the Sahara riding on the back of the trucks just like the locals. Rough, dusty, mildly bone shaking but great fun.

Ouadane, one of Mauritania’s UNESCO sites. It was founded as a key trading post on the trans Saharan routes. It once connected caravans hauling salt, gold and knowledge across the desert. What’s left today is beautifully preserved stone ruins clinging to the hillside, old houses, libraries and alleyways that whisper we were important once. Walking through it feels like the desert paused and forgot to erase it. After wandering the ruins and pretending I understood medieval trade logistics, we piled back into the trucks for more desert driving. Lunch stop involved more sand and me sharing my food with a very confident cat who clearly felt this was his UNESCO site.

More desert driving again, this time heading towards the outskirts of Chinguetti for our camel trek. I was allocated my own camel for 24 hours. I'm definitely not riding the camel. Been there, done that, no need for a repeat of my previous irresponsible behaviour. Instead I opted to take my camel for a nice walk like a slightly exotic dog. His name is Zrog. He enjoys frequent snack breaks, wandering off course, and generally eating his way through the desert. Perfect pairing. We eventually reached camp where Zrog stayed close by, as we’ll be walking back into town tomorrow like old friends.

Our night in camp was memorable. Dinner was roasted, stuffed goat and bread baked straight in the sand. The next morning Zrog and I set off on foot back to Chinguetti in search of lunch. A leisurely 90 minute stroll through the desert, punctuated by Zrog stopping to snack on every bush we walked past. I did not argue, as he is large and technically he's walking me. All in all, a solid 24 hours with my camel. Low drama, good company, and only one of us ate the scenery.

Chinguetti, another UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the most important historic towns in the Sahara. Founded in the 13th century, it was a major stop on the trans Saharan trade routes and a centre of Islamic learning, famous for its ancient libraries and manuscripts. These days the desert is slowly reclaiming it. Sand creeps in a little more every year, burying houses and streets and giving the whole place a quietly end of the world feel. We wandered through the narrow lanes, admired the old stone houses, and visited the mosque from the outside. Non Muslims aren’t allowed in, but the exterior alone is worth it, simple and timeless. We stayed until sunset then headed off to dinner.

After dinner we headed out to a local get together in the new town of Chinguetti. Traditional singing, drumming and dancing with the locals pretending they hadn’t seen tourists move like that before. The men’s dance was energetic. Think bird mating ritual with more enthusiasm. The locals had a laugh at our expense, as they should. Our driver Omar, however, was genuinely brilliant. Absolute pro. Somehow I got pulled in and actually joined in, which anyone who knows me will understand is a rare and slightly alarming turn of events.

Agrour Amogjar was one of those places that really appeals to me. Ancient rock art scattered across the giant rocks, showing animals, people and symbols from a time when the Sahara was green and full of life. Hard to get your head around there used to be giraffes and elephants here. I loved scrambling over the rocks, squeezing through gaps and jumping little chasms to find more paintings. Beautiful surroundings.

Next stop was Choum and the railway built for the iron ore train. Proper industrial desert madness. We walked into the old tunnel and then actually drove through it too, which felt slightly surreal. 2 kms of track cutting through the mountains, right out near the edge of the Western Sahara border. Rail infrastructure in the middle of the desert shouldn’t be this interesting but it really was. There were even bats in the tunnel. Now I’m just hanging out in this little town until my train arrives.

I rode the Mauritania iron ore train. We got to the station at 2.30am, when I say station, I mean a dark patch of desert somewhere near Choum. The train was 7 hours late. There was a lot of waiting around in the smallest town ever. When it finally arrived, it rolled past us out of the pitch black then screeched to a stop. Suddenly people were throwing bags and supplies onto the wagons and everyone moved fast. We saw other trains with over 140 wagons. Another had more than 200! This thing is one of the longest trains in the world. I was last in line to climb up when one of the guys grabbed me, pulling me to the front and told me to hurry in French. The train only stops for 5 minutes so you have to be fast. Problem was the first rung of the ladder was ridiculously high and I couldn’t reach it. The guy dropped to all fours in front of me, told me to climb. I was reluctant to climb on him at first but the train was about to leave and I got pushed, so I climbed on him and hauled myself into the wagon. Desert teamwork at its finest. This train is freight only. It hauls iron ore from the mines in Zouerate to the port of Nouadhibou across hundreds of kms through the Sahara. There are no tickets, no timetables you can trust, and people aren’t meant to be on it at all. Locals have been riding it for decades because there’s no other transport. Authorities mostly turn a blind eye. So yes slightly illegal. Definitely unforgettable. Once we pulled away it got so cold. The wagon wasn’t sandy as expected, it was full of iron ore stones and the wagons were full, so I was perched high up. Sleeping bag on, head down, staying as still and inconspicuous as possible. I woke up to an unreal orange glow. It was like the Total Recall movie scene with Arnie mining on Mars! It was so surreal. Thirteen hours hanging out on a mound of iron ore, napping, snacking, trying not to fall off and watching the desert roll by. At 4pm we reached Nouadhibou. Wild, exhausting, absurd, absolutely fucking nuts and one of the most extraordinary things I’ve ever done.

Belgium for Xmas 2025 and Luxembourg for Birthday

shaz — Thu, 25 Dec 2025 21:13:00 GMT

Iran already feels like a dream because I'm now in Brussels and suddenly it’s full on Christmas. There's twinkly lights, decorations, festive vibes and me, blinking like I’ve time travelled. Checked into my hostel which is actually lovely, spotlessly clean with nice girls, apart from the absolute fucker who set their alarm at foghorn volume today. Nothing says festive cheer like being blasted awake by a human emergency siren at 4am. Still flying via Brussels saved me over £200 on my Tehran flight, so I’m officially spending Christmas in Belgium. Land of chocolate and waffles.

I wandered around Brussels on a lazy Sunday morning with the sun out, which immediately improved my opinion of everything. I went on a street art hunt because Belgium does cartoons like nowhere else. Tintin, The Smurfs, Lucky Luke, Spirou…not exactly my childhood heroes and a bit pants if I’m honest, but they’re iconic worldwide. Brussels is basically a giant open air comic book, where every corner surprises you with a mural or a doodle. Hard to try the food here when there’s always a bloody queue. Fries? Queue. Waffles? Queue. Pastries? Also queue. Apparently Belgium has decided food must be earned through patience and mild suffering. I don’t queue for food. I admire it from afar, judge the line, then walk off feeling morally superior and slightly hungry. Some of Brussels’ buildings are just jaw droppingly gorgeous. The Grand Place, especially, is a riot of Gothic, Baroque, and Louis XIV style façades. These guildhalls aren’t just pretty, they’re centuries old symbols of trade power, civic pride, and maybe a touch of municipal one upmanship. Every ornate balcony, gilded statue, and carved relief tells a story of merchants, craft guilds, and the city’s golden age. Basically, look up and feel very small. Apart from the jaw dropping buildings, Brussels has one tiny hero who steals the show, Manneken Pis. This little bronze boy has been peeing for the city since 1619 and apparently has over 900 outfits. Today he was dressed for god knows what because it definitely wasn't for Christmas. I kind of admired the effort, took a few photos and moved on…because I had a more pressing mission. I was looking for Audrey Hepburn’s birthplace. Hidden down a quiet street with zero tourists except me, it felt like stumbling upon a secret. Then I wandered into the cathedral and took a moment to soak in the soaring arches and intricate details it was quiet and unassuming. I'm done with this city now. Arrived in Bruges and immediately started taking photos like I’d never seen a pretty building before. To be fair, Bruges is ridiculously picturesque the moment you step out of the station. My walk to the hostel was meant to be 30 minutes. It took an hour because I kept stopping to stare, wander, and generally be in awe of canals and medieval perfection. I checked into my hostel, the only affordable option because Bruges does not mess around with prices. Then realised I’d arrived on a Sunday. Rookie error. Everything was shut. I eventually found a fast food place and paid €9 for a chicken wrap, which stung a little but hunger won. First night done and dusted. Bruges is already showing me who’s boss. Remember the movie In Bruges with Colin Farrell? Still his best film ever and there's nothing more to be said about it. Ever since I saw it, I’ve wanted to come here, so naturally I turned my day into a full movie location hunt. I tracked down as many filming spots as I could from memory and with a bit of Google assistance. Some locations are instantly recognisable, others were filmed inside and required imagination and goodwill. It was oddly satisfying wandering around thinking, Yes, Colin Farrell definitely stood here looking shifty. Excellent way to explore a city.

After my In Bruges movie hunt, I went off script and found the city’s quirky side. Tintin museum, Smurf zone, a torture museum because medieval Europe were really into creative suffering, and then the old city gates. Bruges was once heavily fortified, and several of the gates still stand, marking where the city walls used to be. Some were checkpoints, others were prisons, which explains the skulls they used as decoration that said don’t mess with us. Then there are the three windmills.They still sit along the old ramparts, originally used to grind grain for the city. Very practical, very Flemish, and still photogenic. Bruges really does medieval efficiency with a smiley face. It’s the kind of city where one minute you’re admiring fairy tale canals, and the next you’re standing under a gate thinking, wow, people were absolutely unhinged in the 1400s. Bruges is one of the best preserved medieval cities in Europe, once a major trading powerhouse thanks to its canals and access to the North Sea. Back in the Middle Ages it was rich, important, and very busy. Then the water silted up, trade moved on, and Bruges basically froze in time. Which worked out beautifully for everyone else. Bruges is basically two cities pretending to be one. The historic centre is UNESCO listed and has been beautifully preserved, which means medieval canals, stepped gables, cobbled streets and buildings that haven’t really changed since Bruges was a major trading powerhouse in the Middle Ages. Step outside the old town and you’re suddenly in modern Bruges. Wider streets, newer buildings and people going about normal Belgian life. It’s practical, efficient, and very unfairytale. The old town gets to be impossibly pretty and slightly smug, while the newer parts quietly keep everything functioning. Medieval charm up front, modern life doing the heavy lifting behind the scenes. Perfect balance. I finally had my first proper Belgian waffle and I now understand why people queue like it’s a religious experience. There was no actual queue for me, just a lot of standing around watching waffles being crafted rather than cooked. Public service alert to the rest of the world, Belgian waffles are elite because they don’t use that sad runny batter. It’s a soft dough situation, which makes them chewy and glorious, exactly how a waffle should be. Obviously I ordered the Slagroom, which is Flemish for whipped chantilly cream. Slagroom, please. Say it loud and proud. I may never emotionally recover from this waffle. It was so good. By evening the crowds of Bruges disappeared, the lights came on, and the city felt a lot quieter but freezing. Church towers glowed and some bridges were lit up. I wandered aimlessly, got lost on purpose, and accepted that Bruges at night is pretty nice but so damn cold. Did I mention how cold it is? I'm freezing my tits off here. I figured for my last day in Bruges I’d do what every other tourist has done and hop on a canal boat tour. Very picturesque, very charming and about 10 degrees colder than yesterday. I froze my arse off while admiring medieval houses, reflections in the water, and pretending I wasn’t turning into an icicle. We glided past crooked houses, hidden courtyards and ridiculously photogenic bridges. The views were worth it though. Just remember to duck for the low bridges unless you fancy a canal induced concussion. Finally said goodbye to Bruges but not before some last minute selfies at all my favourite spots. Grabbed a quick lunch on the train and before I knew it, I was in Antwerp, land of diamonds, diamonds, and more diamonds. About 80% of the world’s diamonds pass through here, so if anyone loses a ring, this is probably where it ends up. I checked into my accommodation with mild concern because the word hostel was splashed across the front. I'm sure I didn't book a hostel but it was cheap. In fact it was the same price of the Brussels hostel, so I got a little worried. Don’t panic because I have my own little room and I love it. Bags dumped and I’m ready to see what Antwerp has to offer. Christmas Eve in Antwerp, aka the land of diamonds, oversized churches and guild houses. This city has been trading, flashing wealth and collecting art since the Middle Ages, when it was one of Europe’s richest ports. You can feel it everywhere especially around Grote Markt, the Cathedral of Our Lady towering like it knows it’s impressive because it is, as they can charge 12 euros to enter. Then there are grand old buildings casually sitting next to bold modern architecture like it’s no big deal. I wandered through markets, past medieval streets, docks and shiny new structures. All of this while absolutely freezing my wotsits off because Antwerp believes it should be admired with numb fingers. Cold and elegant, a very solid way to spend Christmas Eve. After another waffle stop, I walked for ages almost leaving the city altogether. Antwerp isn't all diamonds and churches. It's a bit quirky actually from four giant humans crawling up a wall, pepto bismo man, creepy hand, random street art tucked in alleys, and the futuristic curves of Zaha Hadidplein at the docks. The best is St Anna's tunnel, that deserves a post of its own it's so damn quirky. History, modern design, and a bit of whimsy all in one city. I completely had a mini meltdown trying to find the entrance to St Anna's Tunnel, wandering around like it was a secret level in a video game. Then suddenly, boom, this cool Art Deco building appears out of nowhere. I'm excited. Inside there are wooden escalators, actual original 1930s wooden escalators. One of the best things I’ve stood on all year. The tunnel was built between 1931 and 1933 to connect Antwerp city with the left bank of the River Scheldt, long before cars took over everything. It’s purely for pedestrians and cyclists and stretches about 572 metres underground. The white tiled interior makes it feel like a Kubrick film set, cold, futuristic, slightly eerie, and utterly brilliant. I did the full circuit obviously. On the way back, one escalator was out of order so I had to walk all the way up the stairs, my knee was in agony. Worth it. Frazzled start, giddy middle, slightly breathless end. Easily the highlight of my Christmas Eve Arrived in Gent bright and early because apparently Christmas turns me into an eager beaver. Caught sunrise from the train, then rolled into Gent around 9.30am to absolute silence. Everything was shut, no people, no noise, just me wandering around a very asleep city. It finally started waking up around 11ish, by which point I’d already seen most of it. It was strange being back after my uni days. Even though it was bitterly cold and my fingers were numb, Gent gave me blue skies and sunshine for which I am truly grateful.

I popped into mass for a bit, enjoyed the choir, very peaceful and tactically exited just as the sermons started. Timing is everything. Food was next, and I finally gave in to the famous fries. I mean they’re just overpriced chips. But I did my bit and pimped them with truffle mayo and bacon bits, which felt appropriately indulgent for Christmas. Then it was more wandering, spotting Gent’s quirky corners, odd details, and little surprises, before calling it a day and heading back to Antwerp. Christmas done and dusted. Quiet, cold, low key not my most epic Christmas, but sometimes that’s exactly what's needed.

It’s my birthday and everyone knows by now, I’m physically incapable of staying still. The original plan was a day trip to Luxembourg by train, which was about €50 return. Then I spotted a tour for €55 that also included Dinant, a place I’ve wanted to visit, so I booked that instead. Minor detail, it left from Brussels and I was in Antwerp. Cue a 5am wake up and an annoyingly painful crick in my neck. Between my dodgy knee and now my neck, it’s a miracle I managed to get out of bed at all, but off I went. Dinant was the first stop and honestly, it was worth every ache. The town sits dramatically along the Meuse River, squeezed between cliffs and the water. It’s best known as the birthplace of Adolphe Sax, yes the saxophone and the town leans into this hard, with giant colourful saxes lining the bridge. There’s also the citadel perched high above the town, originally built in the Middle Ages. Cold, bright sunshine, postcard views, saxophones everywhere…not a bad way to start a birthday, even with a pain in the neck and a 5am alarm.

Our next and main stop is Luxembourg. After the obligatory city walk, we were set loose in the city with three hours to roam. I headed straight down into the Grund because I love anything involving old walls, tunnels, and cities that look like they’ve been carved out of the landscape. Luxembourg City is a fortress first and a city second. The lower town sits beneath towering cliffs, with layers of medieval walls and underground tunnels that once made this place one of Europe’s most heavily fortified cities and strongest in Europe. It had to be because the city was fought over for centuries by basically everyone. There’s also a softer side to it all, Grand Duchess Joséphine Charlotte. She did a huge amount for Luxembourg socially and culturally, especially around education, welfare, and inclusion. She treated people like people, regardless of background, colour, or class. Such a tiny country but so much history.

What goes down must come up...me! I climbed back up to the top of the city, ready for food only to find that everyone else had the exact same idea. What few places that were open were packed. Queues everywhere. Cafés rammed. And worst of all no waffles. Rude. So I improvised and went to the supermarket but shelves were practically empty. Even their coffee machine gave up. So I panic bought a massive chocolate and caramel brioche tray loaf and took myself off for a picnic in the Pétrusse Valley. In theory, it was a lovely idea. In reality, it was freezing fucknuts. I lasted just long enough to eat while walking, pretending this was the plan all along. As the sun started to set over the city, it felt like the perfect full stop to the day. Cold, tired, slightly sugared up, and very content. Luxembourg was a cool little side trip.

Iran 2025

shaz — Fri, 12 Dec 2025 21:06:00 GMT

From Largs to Tehran, the longest way possible. In London, where I went wedding food tasting then Southall for wedding clothes alterations. You can guess which one I preferred. Then a quick pit stop in Belgium, overnight chaos in the middle of nowhere Charleroi, hopping on and off public transport, nearly missing my flight, and briefly convinced I’d entered a Twilight Zone loop. Now I’m in Istanbul airport, which is absolute bonkers tonight. People fighting over charging points and seats like it’s Hunger Games, Airport Edition. My midnight flight to Iran is coming up soon. WiFi in Iran may be patchy, so see you when I see you… assuming I survive the airport chaos first. Finally made it to Iran, and what an intro already. Started with a near miss reunion in Istanbul airport, where I literally bumped into my friend trying to board my flight even though hers was 20 minutes later. To be fair, they had three flights to Tehran on the same airline within 90 minutes, so anyone could’ve ended up anywhere. With my delay we landed at 5am and got whisked off by our mandatory guide, Niloofar, the joys of being British. We changed 20 euros at the airport and suddenly turned into a millionaires. My wallet wouldn't even fold shut. First mission was breakfast. Five million rials about $5 for an all you can eat buffet, and worth every chaotic calorie after a long night. Very glad to finally be here. Misadventures are officially underway. We swung by the former US Embassy, which is now a museum and absolutely not shy about its anti US feelings. This is the site of the 1979 embassy takeover, when Iranian students stormed the building and held American diplomats hostage for 444 days. If you’ve seen the film Argo, that’s the story this place is wrapped up in minus Ben Affleck and Hollywood lighting. Inside, the museum leans all the way into its version of events. Old equipment, documents, reconstructed rooms and captions that don’t exactly mince words. Whatever your politics, it’s a fascinating little time capsule. Heavy history and even heavier messaging. Entry cost is one million rials. Still feels like I’m paying in Monopoly money, but the experience was worth every pastel coloured banknote. Inside the former US Embassy in Tehran or as Iranians call it, the Den of Espionage. Subtlety is not the theme here. The outside walls are covered in bold, loud, straight to the point propaganda murals. Think Death to America but make it street art. Even Banksy would raise an eyebrow. Turns out having a mandatory guide in Iran isn’t the killjoy I assumed it would be, ours is actually brilliant. Yes she had to be with us at all times because the government says so. She’s a freelancer who works with all the big UK tour companies, and she clocked immediately that we’re not the private car type tourists. We’re very much the stick us on public transport and hope for the best type. So after visiting the Azadi (Tehran) Tower, she marched us straight onto the metro like locals. Honestly, the metro itself was the market. Every stop someone new hopped on selling something, socks, herbs, jewellery, hats, lipstick, phone chargers, whatever they could carry. We even had buskers. Sukhchandan Kaur bought lipstick mid journey and the lady also put it on her. It was like QVC on wheels. Then we headed north to the local market, as if we hadn’t already shopped our way across 12 station stops. One of the most interesting metro journeys I've been on. After our very entertaining metro ride, we wandered through the local markets in the north of Tehran, all framed by snowy mountains. The market stalls were great, we tried fruit, pastries, nuts, sweets, if it was edible, we ate it. The market was busy, colourful and friendly. Perfect first day material. After a packed morning we crawled back to the hotel for a power nap. By evening we were ready to eat our way through Tehran again, so we headed downtown to hunt for street food. True to form, we tried everything in sight. If it looked edible, we sampled it. For dinner we went for the popular local soup, basically a lentil and vegetable mix. I tried the meat one, but it only had a whiff of meat, so I did what any sensible person does, I bought some kebabs and improved it. Worked a treat. We were surrounded by cats the entire time, very chunky, confident, thriving cats who clearly run the neighbourhood. A cosy, fun and food filled end to Day 1. Golestan Palace kicked off our day, but only after we demolished a ridiculous buffet breakfast. Then we headed into the land of marbles, mosaics and mirrors. Even with the slightly moody weather, the colours were still beautiful. Took a million photos because I'm me. The place is basically where the royals decided to show off for two centuries. It’s one of the oldest complexes in Tehran and the only UNESCO listed one in the city, mostly because it’s absurdly pretty and completely over the top. Next part of Golestan Palace was an absolute trip. The famous mirror rooms look like someone handed a box of disco balls to an architect and said go nuts. Every surface is shiny. Every corner is twinkling. If you move too fast, you might genuinely blind yourself. And then there were the risqué paintings, very much not what the current government vibes with. Apparently they tried to hide or remove them, but UNESCO stepped in and said, No, you can’t paint over history just because it’s a bit saucy. So now the paintings stay, locked into heritage status forever, and the government pretends it’s totally fine with it. Iran’s only UNESCO listed palace and it’s absolutely gorgeous…and a tiny bit naughty. A great combination, really. Next stop was the Grand Bazaar. This place is massive, a proper maze of alleys, courtyards and shops stacked on shops. It’s also the weekend, which apparently means every single person in Tehran decided to go at the exact same time as us. At points it was so busy I thought we might actually get crushed. You don’t walk here, you get carried by the current. One wrong turn and you’re in the copper section, another and suddenly you’re in carpets, blink and somehow you’re surrounded by underwear. No logic. Just bazaar magic but completely overwhelming and brilliant at the same time. After surviving the human tidal wave that is Tehran’s Grand Bazaar, we wandered over to Imām Khomeini Square for lunch. There’s a little street food lane, and we went straight for a proper comfort meal, rice with tomato chicken stew. Simple, delicious, and only $4. Then came our currency exchange experience, which honestly felt like a deleted scene from Narcos. Our guide met the guy at a car park. She had arranged the meet and ordered our money and he came carrying more cash than a small bank. Completely illegal of course, yet somehow extremely routine. Big bundle of notes and she counted it all. My share alone was 110 million rials, which looked so ridiculous. Try keeping a straight face while your guide hands you bricks of money like you’ve just completed a drug deal. But hey I’m officially a multimillionaire now. And still I won't pay for a coffee at the airport. Perfect. Left Tehran and hit the road to Kashan. First stop is Iran’s best service station. Both Niloo and our gloriously sarcastic driver Ibrahim swear by it, so I trusted them. They were right. Clean, shiny, modern, full of cool shops and cheap snacks. I tried the weird ones. Next stop on the road to Kashan was Fin Garden, a Persian garden and a good excuse to wander around pretending to understand ancient engineering. This place dates back to the Safavid era in the 16th century and is all about balance, symmetry and water doing clever things without electricity. The fountains and pools run purely on gravity, fed by a natural spring, which feels smugly impressive even by modern standards. It’s also historically dramatic. This is where Amir Kabir, a reformist prime minister who tried to modernise Iran, was murdered in the bathhouse in 1852. So yes, beautiful gardens, flowing water, shady trees and a light dusting of political assassination. UNESCO approved, obviously. Basically, it’s a peaceful summer retreat with excellent vibes, immaculate geometry and a reminder that history is never just pretty ponds and flowers. Checked into our second hotel in Iran and Kashan is absolutely showing off. The city is famous for its historic merchant houses, many of which have been restored into boutique hotels, and this is one of them. Courtyard, arches, tiles, fountains, all very beautiful and looks like a period drama set. Only minor downside is the enthusiastic mosquito population. Sultan Amir Ahmad Bathhouse is basically what happens when Persians decide even bathing should be elegant. This historic hammam dates back to the Safavid period and was rebuilt in the Qajar era. It’s all domes, tiles and clever engineering. The whole place was designed to stay cool using water circulation, thick walls and airflow long before air conditioning was even a dream. Functional, beautiful, and far classier than any spa I’ve ever been to. Then we had one of those moments that makes travel unforgettable and slightly jaw dropping. A small group of Iranian women were sitting together, chatting quietly, soaking up the beauty of the place. One of them started to sing. She had the most beautiful voice and the acoustics in the bathhouse were perfect. A few seconds in, a strange high pitched whistle suddenly cut through the air. Everyone burst out laughing, including her. She tried again. Same whistle. More laughter. Another woman tried singing, no whistle at first then the whistle came bsck on. So the first woman tried once more, whistle came on. At this point we were all laughing, thinking it was some weird acoustic quirk. Then the ticket guy came in and spoke to her. She went quiet. I asked our guide what was going on, still expecting a technical explanation. Instead she said, very calmly, He’s reminding her that women aren’t allowed to sing in public. And just like that, the laughter drained out of the room. It was one of those moments where you’re reminded exactly where you are. Iran is warm, welcoming, full of art, history and humanity and also a place with rules that can stop a beautiful voice mid note. Travel really does open your eyes, sometimes gently, sometimes like this. Next stop was Agha Bozorg Mosque, one of Kashan’s most impressive buildings. I admired it very respectfully from the outside. To go in properly meant adding even more layers and at that point I decided my cultural appreciation had reached its limit. The architecture is beautiful though, perfectly symmetrical, calm, and quietly grand. Then it was time for lunch in what can only be described as a hidden restaurant. No signs, no fanfare, nothing to suggest food existed there at all. You step off a normal street, walk through an unassuming doorway, and suddenly you’re in a peaceful courtyard with tiled walls, plants, and delicious food being carried to tables. The food was excellent, fresh and comforting, and cost me about $3. I’m still not over how cheap food is here.

Last stop of the day in Kashan was the Tabatabaei House. A 19th century merchant’s palace where every wall, ceiling, and window is basically showing off. Not colourful like a rainbow, but the mirrors and carved wood make the sunlight throw a proper disco party indoors. Windcatchers on the roof keep it cool, the high ceilings scream we’re rich, and the courtyard is basically Instagram heaven. Fancy, sparkly, and somehow practical, classic Persian style.

Road trip day from Kashan to Yazd. First stop was Narin Castle in Meybod, one of the oldest mud brick fortresses in Iran. Some bits date back over a thousand years, possibly even earlier. It’s all layered mud brick, narrow passages and views over the desert. Next up was the icehouse, yes an actual ancient freezer built centuries ago to store ice through the blazing desert summers, using thick mud brick walls, deep pits and clever airflow. No electricity. Just Persians calmly inventing climate control. Lunch was in a caravanserai, one of the old roadside inns where traders on the Silk Road stopped to eat, sleep and swap stories after long desert journeys. Think camels instead of cars and spices instead of snacks. We ate lunch surrounded by history, arches and thick walls designed to keep out heat and bandits. Food was excellent and served on fire. Cost was $3. All of this stitched together by long roads, big skies, and Ibrahim’s running commentary. One of those days where the journey is very much the point.

Closer to Yazd we stopped at Kharanaq, a tiny mudbrick village that looks like it was abandoned halfway through a movie set. We had the entire place to ourselves. No crowds, no noise, just silence, mountains, and me happily wandering off getting lost for ages. Kharanaq is over a thousand years old, built as a fortified village with narrow alleys, stacked houses, and rooms piled on top of rooms to protect people from heat, cold, and unwanted visitors. Everything is made from mud, which somehow has survived earthquakes, time, and people like me climbing around it. I wandered through crumbling corridors, climbed sketchy staircases, peeked into old rooms and rooftops, and generally pretended I knew exactly where I was going. I did not. My guide would absolutely not have approved. Surrounded by mountains, with the wind blowing through empty passageways, it felt like stepping back centuries. Slightly eerie and one of those places where you lose track of time without even trying.

We rolled into Yazd late, dusty and tired, and very ready to stop moving. Yazd itself is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, sitting right on the edge of the desert. It’s famous for its windcatchers, those tall towers, its mud brick architecture, and its deep Zoroastrian roots.

Our hotel is another beautifully restored historic house with a courtyard that instantly makes you forget the long road. Hunger kicked in fast, so we went straight out for Iranian kebab, not the late night greasy thing we’re all picturing. It was a long day but I'm going to like Yazd.

Today we visited the Towers of Silence in Yazd. These towers were used by Zoroastrians for sky burials, a practice designed to avoid contaminating the sacred elements of earth, fire and water. Instead of burial or cremation, bodies were laid out on top of the towers and left for vultures to do their thing. Efficient and natural. The bodies were arranged in stone circles, men, women and children kept separate. Once the birds had stripped everything down to the bone, the remains were swept into a central pit where lime and rainwater slowly dissolved them back into the earth. Nature recycling at its most brutal. No ceremony up top, no mourning either. Silence was the whole point. Next stop was the Zoroastrian Fire Temple, home to a sacred flame that’s said to have been burning for over 1,500 years. The temple itself is very modern and sanitised compared to everywhere else we’ve been to. Fire represents purity, truth, and the presence of Ahura Mazda, the supreme god in Zoroastrianism. It didn’t have the drama of the Towers of Silence, but it was still quietly powerful knowing this belief system predates Islam, Christianity, and pretty much everything else in the region. From there we wandered into Yazd’s old town and visited the mosque. Cue full compliance from me, head covered with what can only be described as a sheet, doing my respectful best. Inside, I spot two local women strolling around uncovered. I won’t lie, I was fucking annoyed. Not at them but at the absurdity of the rules. After all that existential contemplation at the temple and mosque, we wandered into Yazd’s old town. This is basically a mud brick maze with twisty alleyways and dead ends appear out of nowhere, windcatchers loom overhead, and every corner feels like you’ve accidentally trespassed into someone’s courtyard. Yazd is one of the oldest cities in the world, and it shows in the best way. Built from adobe to survive desert heat, the city perfected passive cooling centuries before aircon. Those tall windcatchers funnel breezes down into homes, keeping it cool. Obviously I got lost taking far too many photos. Then we tried Yazd coffee, which is not coffee as you know it. It’s dark, spicy, slightly sweet, and super strong. It has cardamom and cinnamon, maybe a few other secret spices they don’t fully disclose. I couldn’t drink it. Yazd isn’t a place you rush. You drift, you get lost and you reappear somewhere unexpected but familiar. One thing you do notice though are all the cameras. They are everywhere. Not one here or there, but every few yards, every corner, every alley. You may feel alone, but you absolutely are not. Someone is always watching. Yazd by night was a whole different mood and honestly even better than daytime. The mud brick lanes glow under soft lighting and the wind catchers look dramatic. Instead of bars and booze, the young crowd comes out to sit on steps and corners, chatting, singing, playing instruments, just hanging out. No busking, no performances, just spontaneous jam sessions echoing through the alleyways. It felt cool, social, and oddly wholesome in a way you don’t expect after dark. We ended the night back at our favourite café for dinner. It's definitely one of those days that quietly sticks with you.

We reluctantly said goodbye to Yazd which is my favourite city so far, and headed south towards Shiraz. Our first stop at Pasargadae which is the resting place of Cyrus the Great. Casual little tomb. No big deal. Just the founder of the Persian Empire and one of history’s most decent rulers quietly buried in the middle of nowhere. Cyrus wasn’t just about conquering things. He’s known for early ideas of human rights, religious tolerance, and generally being a fair and just ruler by ancient empire standards. His tomb is surprisingly simple for someone who ruled half the known world.

Our second stop was at Naqsh-e Rostam, Iran’s ancient necropolis carved directly into a sheer rock face. These cross shaped tombs are over 2,500 years old and are believed to be Persian kings, Darius the Great and possibly Xerxes. The tombs were carved high above ground to deter grave robbers and to elevate the kings closer to the heavens. After absorbing several thousand years of history and feeling mildly unworthy, we stopped for lunch and refuelled because contemplating ancient empires is hungry work.

Ever since I first saw photos of Persepolis years ago, this place has been at the top of my list..And today, I finally made it. Standing here felt a bit surreal. Tall columns, carvings that have survived invasions, empires, earthquakes and time itself, and me wandering around trying to take it all in without tripping over ancient stones. The only thing missing was the sun because of course the one time I’m somewhere this epic, the sky is grey. Still, even without perfect lighting, Persepolis absolutely delivers. This is one of those places where you don’t need imagination because history is right there under your feet. To some people it's just a bunch of columns. Persepolis was the ceremonial capital of the Persian Empire, founded around 518 BC by Darius the Great. This city was built to impress. Kings received delegations from across the known world, all bringing gifts, all carved into stone so no one would forget who was in charge. Then along came Alexander the Great in 330 BC and burned Persepolis to the ground. Whether it was revenge or a drunken accident is still debated. Either way, it's history’s biggest oops. What’s left today is still amazing, staircases designed so horses could walk up them, columns that once held wooden roofs now long gone, and stone carvings so detailed you forget they’re over 2,500 years old. Persepolis is power, ambition, and a reminder that even the biggest empires eventually get crushed. As we were leaving, just when my brain was full of empires, kings and conquest, I got distracted by a couple of cats. Naturally, I stopped to say hello. Empires rise and fall, but the cats remain completely unimpressed. Made it to Shiraz and it’s raining cats, dogs, and possibly small camels. Checked into our hotel and immediately went in search of food because I'm always hungry. On the way, we admired the beautiful citadel, which looked grand in the rain and twinkling lights.Then we hit Joulep, allegedly the best café in Shiraz. It definitely is the best cafe. Desserts and pastries were so amazing and local dishes were all homemade. My dinner was 8 million rials so $8 but it included a massive hazelnut Paris Brest and baked cheesecake. Yes I ordered 2 dessert...have you met me? It was definitely worth getting soggy for. Next morning it was still raining. But nothing could stop us especially after a huge breakfast. First stop was Nasir al-Molk Mosque, aka the Pink Mosque. Ironically, it’s mostly blue. Built in the late 19th century during the Qajar dynasty and famous for its kaleidoscopic stained glass windows. I had to cover up again but it was worth it to see the section dedicated to martyrs. A somber reminder of the sacrifices made by Iranians in various conflicts, more recently the 12 days strike by Israel in June. After the Pink Mosque, we headed to the Ali Ibn Hamza Holy Shrine, a major Shia pilgrimage site with classic Persian architecture. As you enter the building through an unassuming doorway, you first have to drape yourself in a sheet. Then you wait in a room that’s almost like a lounge for the devout with books, teachings of the Holy Book, and big posters of quotes. And then you enter the shrine and bam! Honestly, I’ve never seen a shrine so bling and pimped up. Every surface is mirrored and sparkling like someone unleashed an entire disco ball factory inside. The body rests in a box in the center, half in the men’s section, half in the women’s, and the whole thing somehow has a green alien vibe going on. Jaw dropping, dazzling and completely frigging nuts. Then we had lunch at our favourite café.

For our last soggy night in Shiraz, it's been raining since we arrived, we tried the city’s signature dish, Kalam Polo. It’s Shirazi rice cooked with cabbage, turmeric and spices, often served with lamb, in our case lamb meatballs. Think biryani vibes, but Shirazi style. Earthy, a bit tangy, and seriously comforting and it’s a local classic so I had to try it.

We arrived just in time too, as they only had one portion left. It was the most expensive meal so far at 8 million rials about $8, but it was clearly meant for two. Which meant one obvious thing, I asked for a doggy bag. Because when life gives you a lamb meatball rice mountain, you pack leftovers like a responsible person and have it for lunch on the long bus ride to Isfahan.

We took the coach from Shiraz to Isfahan. A small delay, a long ride, but comfy seats and plenty of time to stare out the window. The views were mostly beige, until we hit a few snow dusted valleys. The real highlight though was sharing my lunch with the politest stray dog ever. Absolute cutie. We rolled into Isfahan just as the rain finally gave up only for the weather to casually threaten snow next. We checked into our cute little bijou house hotel and settled into our final city in Iran.

Checked into our cute little bijou house hotel and immediately did what we do best, we went out in search of food. Landed at Namakdan Mansion and somehow ended up sitting outside, which is normally not my idea of fun when it’s cold but they had proper fire pits. Actual flames...strong possibility of setting ourselves on fire. I didn’t care as we were warm and toasty. We’re staying right near the bazaar, mosques and palace, so everything around us looked ridiculously beautiful once it got dark, all lit up and quietly impressive. Warm fires, great food, and wandering back through history at night. Strong start to our final city.

Isfahan is famous for a certain dish, so naturally I had to try it. After hearing the ingredients I quietly questioned my dessert choices. Khoreshteh Mast is a dessert made from yoghurt, saffron, barberries and lamb. Imagine the smoothest, most luxurious yoghurt dessert you’ve ever tasted. Silky, delicate, slightly sweet then BAM a surprise lamb floss for texture. Soft, stringy, meaty little reminders that this is Iran and nothing is ever straightforward. My palate was confused. My brain needed a minute. Did I briefly regret ordering a meat dessert? Yes! Did I stop eating it? Hell no!. I finished the whole thing, only occasionally pausing when another lamb strand appeared between my teeth.

Our first visit of the day is Imam Mosque formerly Shah Mosque, home to one of the biggest domes in Isfahan, possibly the country and possibly the universe. Built in the 17th century under Shah Abbas I, this place is perfect symmetry and insane blue tilework. The dome shifts colour depending on the light but not today because there's no sun. The tiles feel hypnotic, and the whole thing is engineered at a slight angle so it lines up perfectly with Mecca even though the square doesn’t. This is where Maths is important. I was fully absorbed in centuries of architectural genius until I got distracted by a cat lounging around like it owned the place and it probably does.

Next visit is the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque, often called the most beautiful mosque in the world. A bold claim. I haven’t seen every mosque on Earth, so I’m reserving judgement, but yeah, it’s stunning. Built for the royal court rather than the public, there’s no minarets and no courtyard, just pure elegance and mind blowing detail. The dome is famous for its peacock effect. If you stand in the right spot, the tiles radiate like feathers. Subtle, refined, and quietly flexing centuries of beautiful craftsmanship.

Next up was Ali Qapu Palace, the Safavid era masterpiece famous for its towering balcony and ornate music rooms. Ignoring the elegant designs and beautiful architecture, we just pissed about instead. The views over Naqsh-e Jahan Square are spectacular if you can squeeze past the hundred people doing their best Instagram influencer poses. Naturally, we joined in with our own slightly less graceful spoof.

Naqsh-e Jahan Square and its bazaar which is a UNESCO listed masterpiece built in the early 17th century, historically the hub of commerce and politics. Honestly, if you tried to go into every single shop, it would take at least 6 to 8 hours, and that’s without getting distracted by the carpets, spices, or tiny teahouses hiding around every corner. We shopped, snapped a ridiculous number of photos, met locals, and of course stopped for tea and coffee.

Next stop are the bridges of Isfahan. We focused on the two most famous, Khaju Bridge and the Sio Se Pol.Bridge also known as 33 arch. Khaju Bridge, built in the 17th century, isn’t just a bridge. It was a meeting place, a mini palace, and even a spot for the Shah to hold court. Sio Se Pol, with its 33 arches, was designed for pedestrians and processions, and is just iconic. We saw them at night, which is definitely the best time. People were hanging out, singing under the arches, laughing and just enjoying the night. It was flipping freezing so we headed back but not before buying cheesecake.

We popped into Abbasi Hotel before dinner which proudly claims to be one of the most beautiful hotels in the world. Iran does love a bold statement. It’s definitely lovely. For our last night's dinner we returned to the best place, Namakdan Mansion. I gave the infamous lamb dessert a miss this time and went straight for the chicken kebab. It was delicious but our food went cold as soon as it hit the table. No matter as we used the fire pits to heat it up and to keep ourselves warm. After dinner, we wandered the streets a bit more before heading back to the hotel to demolish our yummy cheesecakes 😋.

Woke up to snow in Isfahan, pure surprise! Rushed out into the square like a child on snow day. Snowmen were built, snowball fights broke out, and hands and feet turned to ice. Somehow, after all the fun, we managed to drag ourselves to Chehel Sotoun Palace. Chehel Sotoun, Forty Columns, is actually named for the twenty wooden columns in the front pavilion that reflect in the pool, doubling their number. Who cares! Let's go have more fun in the snow.

After fun in the snow, we wandered into the Armenian quarter of Isfahan. Totally different vibe, girls with bright hair, fashionable outfits, and head scarves nowhere in sight. Music, singing, and even a bit of dancing until, predictably, the police drove by and silence fell. We popped into the Vank 🤣 Cathedral, the main Armenian church here. Built in the 17th century, it’s famous for its stunning frescoes depicting biblical scenes and a mix of Persian and Christian architecture. The gilded details, painted ceilings, and massive central dome are jaw dropping. Definitely a contrast to the mosques and palaces we’d been exploring, and very much Instagram worthy…if you can ignore the sudden silence the police patrols bring.

Left Isfahan over 2 hours late, with snow and traffic looming, fully expecting more chaos but somehow arrived exactly five hours later right on schedule with zero drama. Naturally, the airport then stepped in to restore balance. First security check was pure confusion. Everyone sends everything through, but via different conveyor belts. Then men and women go through separate entrances away from all your stuff. So you have no idea if you'll see any of it again. Then came the personal touch, a female guard seated on a chair goes straight for your crotch massaging it with impressive confidence and commitment. No small talk. No hesitation. After passport control there’s another security check. Helpful signs everywhere, including one that calmly informs you that disrespecting staff may result in 3–6 months in prison, a fine, and whipping. At that point, I smiled politely and let the lady do whatever she felt was necessary in the crotch region. Fun times in Iran airport. A memorable last day, surprise snow day and two fanny fondles.

Cape Verde 2025 Sun, Sharks, and Netflix Pastel de Nata

shaz — Thu, 27 Nov 2025 21:00:00 GMT

Lisbon was unplanned. It was meant to be another airport sleepover. But after Budapest’s strip search and near case of hypothermia, I cracked. I treated myself to a bed. Wild, I know. I found the cheapest place online but it meant two buses into the city and that sounded like an Olympic sport. So instead I gambled on a hostel 20 minutes walking distance from the airport for £25. I hoped no one else would book it because anyone with money would splurge on a private room especially near the airport. Result! I had the entire dorm to myself. Spotless place, just freezing. I tried to walk there asap as it was 9pm, but Google Maps kept sending me through the airport’s high security fencing. So I basically circled the building like a confused cock womble until I eventually spotted a guy finishing his shift. I casually and by that I mean slightly creepily stalked him for about 10 minutes until I saw the road I needed. Escape complete. No alarms triggered and no arrests. Next morning I walked back to the airport via a bakery and bought an irresponsible amount of pastel de nata for the flight to Cape Verde. Landed on Sal island and immediately messed up by not registering or paying the island tax 5 days before arrival. Luckily border Police are happy to charge your credit card before stamping your passport. €31, please and thank you. With no bus on the island, I had to haggle with a taxi driver who started at €25. Managed to charm him down to €15, which I consider both a win and a cultural performance. Arrived at my accommodation where the owner, Milu, looked at me and said she knows nothing of my booking. Fabulous. Thank God her manager WhatsApped me instructions on where the room key was hidden. That’s how formal things get here. Dumped my bag and got just a few minutes of stunning sunset before it vanished into darkness. A fitting welcome. My home for the week. Jet lag had me up before dawn, so rather than stare at the ceiling, I headed out to catch the sunrise. Walked to Shell Beach, which does exactly what it says on the tin. The sand is basically huge pink shells, gorgeous to look at, absolute hell to walk on in flip flops. I swapped footwear before my feet turned into sashimi and wandered along the coast. Peaceful, pastel skies, waves rolling in. A pretty perfect start to my first day on Sal island. Carried on walking along the coast and Shell Beach slowly morphed into big black rocks and twisted ankle potential beach. Spotted a natural arch up ahead, so obviously I decided to climb to it, apparently being alone at sunrise gives me the confidence of a mountain goat. Got on top, feeling dramatic and windswept, just in time for a surprise wave. Wet shoes. What I can’t understand is why nobody else is out here except for the odd fishermen. It’s stunning, totally empty, and I’ve got the whole coastline to myself. Just me, the sea, and the occasional reminder from nature not to get cocky. I absolutely love it. After an early wake up and a long coastline scramble, I did the only sensible thing, went back to bed after breakfast. Woke up at 1pm feeling semi human and figured I should probably see town before I accidentally slept through my holiday. Milu said she’d give me a ride in 15 minutes. True to island time, we left 45 minutes later, no apology, just a smile that said what’s the rush? Had a wander, spotted some cool street art, stocked up on actual essentials snacks obviously, checked out the public beach which has beautiful soft sand and absolutely no shells trying to slice my feet. Then I bought doughnuts and chocolate cake from a street vendor and made my way back to the hotel to watch the sunset like the cultured adult I pretend to be. Solid afternoon. Wrapped up the day watching the sunset near what I’ve now christened Muscle Beach. Basically an outdoor gym where men were enthusiastically lifting heavy things while being outperformed in popularity by a pack of friendly dogs. The weights were clanking, the sun was doing its thing, and every dog in Santa Maria apparently decided I was worth saying hello to. Honestly, perfect end to Day 1, orange skies, unsolicited canine affection, and a free front row seat to biceps and barking. Kind of liking the island life. Met my guide José from Obama Tours. Why the name? Apparently because he looks like Barack which is why I booked him. This morning, though, it felt more like Barack had dropped 20lbs and boycotted razors and shoes, and relocated to an Atlantic island to live his best barefoot life. His charm got me immediately. Then he said his family would be joining the tour and, honestly, I was relieved. I hate private tours. So today I toured with Alysia his wife, her sister Idene, her daughter Marie and their cutest grandson, Lowan. First stop was his hometown, Espargos the capital and then on to the famous Miragem, where apparently you can see water in the distance. Spoiler, I saw dust, rocks and a tyre. But with Cape Verdean Obama grinning and explaining it, I’d believed anything. Next stop was Buracona, home of the legendary Blue Eye. A natural wonder of Cape Verde, where, if the sun hits the cave just right, you’re supposed to see what looks like a giant luminous blue eye staring back at you. Well, the sun showed up. The cave showed up. The eye was kind of lazy. It was more vaguely bluish blob than optical marvel, but I nodded enthusiastically. Then we headed to Palmeira, a laid back fishing village. Lovely place, colourful boats, relaxed locals and me, still waiting for the blue eye to appear to justify the extra 3 euros entry fee. Who makes this shit up? Lunch stop was in a town called Pilon named after the pilons used to carry the salt. The pilons are still standing. I ordered the grilled grouper. Turns out I basically ordered a plate of bones held together by the occasional whisper of fish. Every mouthful was an assault course. I should have just gone for the spaghetti. Thankfully things picked up after that and we headed to Salinas, the island’s salt flats. Instant mood lift. Great views from the top. Shark Bay is hands down my favourite place on Sal island. Apparently I’m now the sort of person who casually strolls through the water with sharks. Baby sharks, they said. They’re harmless, they said. Except nobody mentioned that with the tide out you have to wade half a mile to find them, and when you do, the babies are huge. In fact, they're not babies at all. A couple brushed past my leg and I let out a dignified little eek. Flashbacks to the Whitsundays in Oz where I swam among harmless baby sharks, and Palau’s Shark Alley where I snorkelled like someone negotiating a hostage situation. But today I barely flinched except for the slight eek. Might even add experienced shark wader to my CV. Best day ever!

I visited Murdeira Bay today which is a favourite with locals and tourists alike. It has views of Lion Mountain looking all majestic. I had a quick dip, sprawled out in the sun and then wandered off to watch the waves crash dramatically against the rocks. Obviously I inched closer and closer and luckily, no rogue wave tried to take me out. Woo hoo!

I reluctantly went to Milu’s Creole family event at Casa de Cultura. Solo traveller so restaurant situation is not exactly my natural habitat. But it was Milu’s other business and for €12 you get unlimited Creole food and live music, so off I went in the name of moral support for women in business. The food was great. The queue for the buffet wasn't.The band played what I can only describe as the break up playlist of Cape Verde, all very sentimental and not remotely dancy. I ate my two plates, it literally said all you can eat, had a drink, said hello to an extremely frazzled Milu who was manning the grill on her own, suddenly the long queue made sense. Same energy as me in the morning waiting for coffee at the hotel, silently dying inside. Then I did the only respectable thing after eating that much, I wandered aimlessly around Santa Maria until I burned off that last cachupa I had.

Woke up to Sal doing its best impression of summer in Scotland, wet, windy and wildly uncatamaran friendly. As predicted, today’s trip was cancelled. Fingers crossed for tomorrow. On the plus side, it was perfect weather for kite surfers. They were in their element, flying across the waves like crazy, some of them got so high. I watched them for a couple of hours. I was partly impressed, partly wondering if anyone was ever seen again after launching that high. Then hunger hit, so I squelched my way to my favourite bakery. It was very much a Netflix and pastel de nata kind of day

Catamaran day finally! Not exactly turquoise paradise, just grey skies, choppy seas, and Lion Mountain hiding in the mist but better than stormy Monday. Skipper Jean-Christophe, so French and his pals Ravi & Knox ran the show. On board was me and 15 loud tourists from Porto. With nothing else to do while we sailed around Sal for 2 hours, we embraced the logical choice of drinking caipirinhas. Four massive glasses later, my lips were tingling and we all know what that means. I'm getting pished slowly but surely. I was speaking fluent French-Portuguese hybrid and fully part of the Porto gang. Food was just nuts and tiny toasts so that didn't help. Snorkelling wasn't going to happen either as someone would have drowned, probably me. Ended with goodbyes to the cat, the Porto gang and a hotel drop off where I headed straight for bed.

Woke up super early this morning assuming it’d be a lazy recovery day. You know, gentle beach stroll, coffee, maybe a nap to sleep off the rum. So I walked over to Costa de Fragata, my favourite beach, mesmerised by the crashing waves and after walking on the beach, I wandered back for coffee. Milu was in a fabulously good mood, taking photos of me, selfies, the works. Now time for a nap I thought. Betty the manager, walks over and says checkout is at 11. I say, yes I’m leaving tomorrow at 10. She looks puzzled. You mean today, she says. Wait is it Wednesday? She says Yes. I look at my phone, 11:30. My flight to Glasgow is Thursday… but via Lisbon TODAY at 2pm. Cue dramatic sprint to my room and the realisation that I’m about to miss my flight. 30 minutes later I’ve showered, shoved everything into my bag and am sprinting to the bus stop. Who pulls up beeping their car horn as I'm legging it down the street? Milu! She throws open her car door, tells me to get in. Just before the bus stop she flags a van she happens to know because she knows literally everyone on the island, asks the driver to take me straight to the airport. And just like that, I make my flight.

UAE 2025 Sofa Naps, Desert Chaos & State-Approved Wee Runs

shaz — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 20:48:00 GMT

Arrived in Abu Dhabi on zero sleep, looking like an extra from The Walking Dead. Dragged myself onto a bus, and rolled into my £14-a-night accommodation at 7:55am. Owner blinked. Check-in was noon. I asked if I could dump my bags and collapse on his sofa. He agreed. Five minutes later, I was unconscious. By 10am he decided I was a health hazard and handed me a room. Pokey, arctic aircon blasting, but at £14, I wasn’t complaining. Stuffed the flight blanket into the aircon unit.

Woke at 1pm. Found a cheap café. Surprisingly civilised for starting my day like a feral cat.

Joined a last-minute desert safari. £20 got me dune bashing, sandboarding, camel riding, falcon holding, dinner, and whatever else they’d dreamt up. Skipped the animals. My group was five Russian girls screaming across every dune like it was a horror movie, turning the desert into a full-scale photoshoot. Mild whiplash achieved.

Camp time was had my anti-social ninja mode engaged. Free henna, sweet drinks, buffet like a queen, sunset absorbed, human interaction expertly avoided. Performance was flawless. Entertainment lineup was whirling dervish – check. Fire guy – check. Belly dancer – expected. Gorilla – WTF. Dubious entertainment box ticked. Time for bed before reality questioned me further.

Next day was Abu Dhabi exploration. No metro, buses only. Traffic was hell. Walking felt like 2 hours to get somewhere that “looked close” on the map. Tried Qasr Al Watan, the official state palace. Closed. Needed a pee. Full security operation ensued: one guard radioed another, a woman materialised, escorted me in and back like a VIP diplomat. Gold, domes, libraries, halls. My toilet run had become state-sanctioned. Bus wanker life resumed post-wee.

Next stop was Al Mariyah and Al Reem islands. Not sandy beaches, more shopping malls the size of small nations. Sunset was gorgeous. Population was simultaneously unleashed. Crossing roads felt like stunt work. I survived and earned a shwarma.

Desert safari, take two because my original tour was just a con. Same gimmicks, better food, equally confused tourists. My driver was apparently the best dune bashing driver and, for once, the hype was real. Even the sunset was better this time. So yes, a pretty crap day salvaged by being violently thrown around a 4WD. I was then delivered to the airport full and exhausted, but still fossil-less, salt-flat-lake-less and definitely rock-formation-less. I see a refund in my future but for now my Middle Eastern adventure is over.

Bahrain 2025 Cling Film Engineering & Forts That Actually Mean It

shaz — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 20:34:00 GMT

My last night in Doha was a near miss. The driving there is genuinely unhinged. I survived. My bag almost didn’t.

At the airport they informed me my backpack needed wrapping because of the rat holes courtesy of Niue. I refused to pay for their professional wrapping service. So naturally, two airport staff appeared with a roll of cling film from behind the counter like they were about to mummify a sandwich.

It took both of them. A lot of dramatic huffing. Several laps around the bag.

The result? Questionable at best. The holes were still peeking through like they were waving goodbye. But apparently it was “secure.” Sure.

I made it onto my flight to Bahrain. Blink and you’ll miss it country. The bag, cling-filmed dignity intact, came too.

I landed in Manama, and within minutes the universe decided to reward me.

I bumped into the Japanese couple I’d met in Doha. Same plane. Karen recognised me from behind because of my phone case and my pink knee brace.

Honestly, if that’s not branding, I don’t know what is.

I hadn’t planned on doing a tour in Bahrain because the solo price was around $400, which made my wallet audibly whimper. But they had no plans either. So we did what sensible travellers do. Teamed up. Split it three ways.

Suddenly, an eight-hour private tour with Mohammad appeared for $125 each.

I love it when maths works in my favour.

First stop was the Pearling Path in Muharraq. This is the old heart of Bahrain’s pearling industry, back when divers risked everything plunging into the Gulf hoping an oyster might cough up something valuable.

Restored houses. Atmospheric alleyways. Stories of men gambling their lungs for a shiny bead.

It’s beautiful. Quiet. Honest.

Sometimes travel really is just timing, good people, and a knee brace acting as a homing beacon.

Bahrain Fort: Finally, Something That Isn’t Brand New

Then came my favourite: Bahrain Fort (Qal’at al-Bahrain).

We arrived just before sunset, which meant the entire place glowed like someone had turned on a vintage filter. And finally, a fort that isn’t freshly built and pretending to be ancient.

This one is the real deal.

Layer upon layer of history. Originally the capital of the Dilmun civilisation. Then conquered by pretty much everyone who passed by, including the Portuguese. Proper foundations. Proper ruins. None of that “finished last Tuesday” energy.

I walked the entire perimeter outside.

Then I walked it again inside.

Because when a fort is this good, you double back without shame.

The light softened. The air cooled. Silence settled in.

I really do love a good fort.

After all that enthusiastic fort circling, my stomach started yelling louder than the call to prayer. Mohammad took us to Haji’s Café, an institution since 1950.

It has that worn, lived-in charm that tells you half the country has eaten there at some point.

We had the classics. Meat. Bread. Salad. Hummus.

The bread alone could convert a person.

One dinar. About £2. I was fully prepared to bankrupt myself on round two. But Mohammad insisted on treating us.

I’m also thoroughly enjoying my new Japanese friends. Calm, curious, easy company. The kind of people you’re quietly grateful got seated behind you on a plane.

Next stop: the Tree of Life. Over 450 years old. Just standing there in the desert, refusing to die. No obvious water source. Slightly dramatic. I respect it.

Then to Bahrain’s first oil well, struck in 1931. A surprisingly modest little site for something that completely rewrote the country’s future. No flashy theatrics. Just quiet, historical significance.

On the way back we stopped at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Arabia, proudly labelled the largest church in the Middle East.

It’s…not that big.

We wandered through the souks, then into Little India to visit a temple and watch Krishna’s devotees. A soft, colourful contrast to forts and oil wells.

Somewhere between all that history we cruised past the skyline and squeezed in a mall visit, which absolutely thrilled my shopping-enthusiast friend.

This mall has an ice rink.

In a region where even the shade needs shade.

And then, just like that, it was time for me to be dropped at the airport for my 3am flight.

Nothing quite like sitting awake in departures at stupid o’clock, slightly delirious, mildly dehydrated, questioning every life choice that led you to this exact plastic chair.

Bahrain was short. Sweet. Surprisingly rich in history. And made infinitely better by accidental friendships and a fort that actually meant it.

Qatar 2025 Visa Drama, Bougie Fish & 5,000 Camels With Better Road Manners Than Humans

shaz — Fri, 14 Nov 2025 20:26:00 GMT

Hello Doha. I landed without a hitch, grabbed yet another metro card, and made my way to my £25-a-night bargain accommodation in Al Mansoura, affectionately known as Little India. Still lots of men around. But clean. No mysterious smells. No pavement chicken executions. A step up from Al Batha, let’s say. On my way to Lulu Hypermarket, my constant in life, I was stopped by police for an ID check. Fair enough. Probably shouldn’t have taken their photo. Passport was back in my room, so I handed over my UK driving licence. He squinted at it like it was a rare artefact.

“Do you work here?”

“Nope. Holiday.”

Pause.

“Welcome to Qatar.”

And off I went. Briskly.

Day one: complete.

Day 2 mission sounded simple, collect my Iranian visa. My tour operator said it would be easy. Easy, he said.Cut to me standing at the counter inside the Iranian Embassy in Doha, being told my visa would cost $350 instead of the $80–$130 I’d been quoted.

“Emergency visa,” the guy says.

“No. It’s already approved. I’m just collecting it.”

Shrug. “That’s the price.”

Meanwhile I’m on WhatsApp with my tour operator who is absolutely spiralling. “No way! Max $150 emergency!” He tells me to get the guy’s name. I’m thinking, how exactly? Ask him to spell it while he’s holding my passport hostage? The man calls me over. “How are you paying?”

“Credit card,” I say, discreetly filming and wondering if this is how people end up in international prison documentaries.

He takes my card.

“Give me your PIN.”

I actually laughed out loud. He charges me 855 riyals, the normal visa price, and casually says, “Come back later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.”

Absolutely not. I say fine, charge the $350. Suddenly the PIN is no longer required. Fascinating how that works. Ten minutes later he hands me my visa, which is essentially the exact same piece of paper I gave him earlier with a fresh stamp and a $200 “service fee for existing.” Then, because we hadn’t reached peak absurdity yet, he realises he undercharged me by 7 riyals and taps my card again. I smiled sweetly, grabbed my passport, and got the fuck out before he charged me for oxygen.

Yes, I’m $200 poorer. But my tour operator says he’ll report him to the Ministry, which in Iran could mean anything and probably isn’t a cosy HR chat.

After being daylight-robbed, I did what any rational person would do. I walked. Fifteen miles along West Bay, the Doha Corniche, past the harbour and old port, and back to Al Mansoura. My longest walk since my knee injury two months ago. The skyscrapers are fabulous. The waterfront is genuinely lovely. And step by step, the embassy rage faded. In the Al Mina district, everything is colourful and polished for tourists. Restaurants overcharge with confidence. No fast food in sight. Lifeguards on duty, just in case someone dramatically cannonballs into the Gulf.

Sometimes a place is just pretty. And that’s allowed. I visited the Doha Central Fish Market, fully prepared for chaos and eau de fish. Instead I find chandeliers, sparkling counters and fish laid out on ice like they’re posing for Vogue. A faint whisper of seafood, mixed with what I swear was perfume. It’s a bougie fish market. I’ve seen fish markets. I’ve seen luxury markets. I have never seen them combined. Subtle fish aroma, heavy whiff of opulence, and a strong “you’re rich if you shop here” undertone.

Next was Souq Waqif, it pretends to be ancient. Narrow alleys, mud-coloured walls, traditional facades. But peek inside and it’s shiny coffee shops, tourist-trap restaurants, and enough expensive knick-knacks to bankrupt you before you reach the spice stalls. To be fair, they’ve done a decent job keeping it visually convincing. And reminders of the recent World Cup are everywhere. Doha somehow manages a pleasant city-centre vibe. I still ate at Lulu. I am not selling a kidney for coffee.

Next stop was Lusail. Post-World Cup, it feels like a movie set after the crew’s gone home. Shops open. No customers. Security guards glued to their phones. The tram not running because…who’s it for? I had to walk 40 minutes to the promenade. Near the marina there was finally some life, quirky skyscrapers, over-the-top malls, and a distinct “we’re fancy but empty” atmosphere. I weirdly liked the ghost-town feel.

Then Katara Cultural Village.

I wandered onto Shakespeare Street (because of course that exists here). Fountains doing their watery performance. A golden mosque gleaming. An amphitheatre that looks ancient but was definitely not built in Roman times.

It’s impressive. It’s shiny. It’s very curated.

But for me? A lot of bling. Not much soul.

Since I can’t drive, I hired a guide with a 4WD for a trip north. I am not starring in my own desert survival documentary.

First stop was Al Zubarah Fort. Completely reconstructed, yet somehow UNESCO listed. I raised an eyebrow but kept it moving. Then deep into Brouq Nature Reserve to see the Richard Serra sculpture “East-West/West-East.” Four giant steel slabs in the middle of absolutely nowhere. No shade. No sign. Just metal and miles of desert. Minimalism at its most aggressive.

On to Zekreet Fort ruins, which at least looked like actual ruins and not something finished last Tuesday. The real highlight though was the Zekreet rock formations. The drive alone was gorgeous. The rocks look like Mother Nature got bored and started doodling. Apparently there’s a mushroom, a fish, an eye, and an umbrella hidden in the shapes. I squinted. Tilted my head. Blinked dramatically. Saw none of them but still loved it.

Final stop was the camel race track. Not race day. Training day. Which meant camels. Everywhere. More than five thousand of them, including baby camels, all wandering about for their evening walk like it was completely normal. They crossed roads. Used pedestrian crossings. Queued politely. Honestly they are more road-aware than half the drivers I’ve encountered. The smell was absolutely atrocious. But standing there, surrounded by thousands of camels against a desert sunset, was the perfect bizarre finale to Qatar

Saudi Arabia 2025 Chop Chop Squares, Desert Delirium & 173 Photos of a Rock

shaz — Tue, 4 Nov 2025 20:02:00 GMT

New country, new mischief. Except this time everything went suspiciously smoothly.

I used up my last Kuwaiti dinars at Burger King like the classy international traveller I am, froze solid in the airport, and then breezed through Riyadh immigration in under ten minutes. A personal best. I almost felt offended. Where was the drama?

The Riyadh Metro is spotless and futuristic, like travelling through a minimalist art installation. And even better, my favourite supermarket was right outside my stop.

Finding the hostel took some effort, but it had a basement swimming pool, so I forgave everything immediately. Riyadh was off to a strong start.

Naturally, I went straight to Al Safat Square, also known as Deera Square. Or, historically, “Chop Chop Square.” It sits in the old part of Riyadh near the Grand Mosque and Souq Al Zal, and this is where public executions used to take place. These days, no more public spectacles. The square has had a full facelift: neat plaza, fountains, palm trees, shiny tiles. The old execution platform is gone. No plaque. No sign. No acknowledgement. You’d never know unless someone told you. The only hints are subtle: older men sitting quietly in the evenings, a slightly formal atmosphere, locals who politely sidestep the topic. I stood there thinking, well, I’m basically in one of the most infamous squares in Saudi history, they’ve just given it a PR makeover.

I assume executions still happen. Just somewhere more hidden.

Next up was Diriyah, birthplace of the first Saudi state in the 1700s when the Al Saud family teamed up with a fiery cleric and decided to unite the tribes. The UNESCO site of At-Turaif still whispers history through its mud-brick palaces and winding alleys. But step outside and suddenly you’re at Bujairi Terrace, where heritage meets valet parking and expensive lattes. It’s beautifully restored. Immaculate. Perfect.

Too perfect. Their history is now wrapped in high-end packaging. They want to demolish the old and make everything shiny and new. I appreciate the history. I do not appreciate the concept.

Then I flew to AlUla. Two hours late. No public transport. Careem drivers scarce. But the moment I arrived? Giant red rock formations everywhere. Hyatt is being built nearby, but honestly, these rocks do not need a five-star hotel to impress. This place is Petra meets the Grand Canyon, and I hadn’t even seen anything yet. I was already in love. The next morning I visited Hegra, Saudi Arabia’s first UNESCO World Heritage Site. The Nabataeans carved monumental tombs straight into the cliffs over 2,000 years ago. The most dramatic was the massive, unfinished Tomb of Lihyan, son of Kuza. It’s haunting and beautiful and gloriously mysterious. Just as I was quietly absorbing ancient wonder, about twenty schoolboys descended on me mid treasure hunt. They chattered in Arabic. Waved clue sheets. I spent the morning being followed from tomb to tomb like the Pied Piper of Hegra. Absolute chaos. Completely brilliant.

Petra’s long-lost twin, but with better lighting and fewer tourists. I loved it.

In the afternoon I went to Elephant Rock.

It is, as advertised, a giant rock shaped like an elephant. Naturally formed by wind and sand over millions of years. Mother Nature’s sculpture garden. I arrived early to beat the crowds. This meant an hour of questionable selfies, unnecessary videos, and me trying to look mysterious while squinting aggressively into the sun. At sunset the rock glowed gold and the desert went silent. Worth every awkward pose. Yes, it’s still a rock. Yes, I took 173 photos. No, I’m not sorry.

I signed up for a walking tour of AlUla Old Town. It lasted about 30 minutes. Blink and you missed it. So I made my own extended edition. I wandered through reconstructed mud houses, climbed up to the old fort, then accidentally ended up on a closed road reserved for rich tourist shuttle buses. Apparently, walking is beneath people paying £500 a night for reconstructed mud chic. I camped at the visitor centre with their WiFi pretending to be productive while staff checked on me every ten minutes.

Then, in a moment of pure genius, I decided a midday walk on the Oasis Heritage Trail would be refreshing. It was not. No breeze. Just me slowly cooking among palm groves and date farms. The trail is beautifully curated, very mud-chic. The dates in Saudi genuinely taste better, by the way. Naturally, I wandered off the path. Ten minutes later I was slightly lost, mildly delirious, and being side-eyed by a cat. That cat, I swear, led me back to the trail. I rewarded myself with a Dunkin’ Donut and collapsed next to the outdoor air-conditioning at the visitor centre, downing water and questioning my choices. Walking at noon in the desert was, objectively, fucking dumb.

Evenings were better. Shops opened after 4pm, though open is generous. Many were shut or charging desert chic prices. A kebab cost 21 riyals there, but near my apartment it was 9 riyals and twice the size. Another donut was consumed. No regrets. Except the heatstroke. Alula was over. Every morning began with my furry fan club demanding cuddles and food before granting me permission to leave. Saying goodbye to the AlUla cats was harder than expected.

Back in Riyadh, I upgraded from hostel to what can only be described as “sketchy but cheap” accommodation in Al Batha.

Locals call it busy and crowded. I call it intense. Men from Pakistan and Bangladesh loitering around selling knock-offs and random goods. Chickens being slaughtered on the pavement. Beggars. A smell that punches you in the face.

Riyadh is polished and pristine. Al Batha is where the workers live. And honestly it was way more interesting than my shiny hostel.

Check-in was conducted entirely in Bengali via Google Translate. But the bargain double room was secured. Cheap and cheerful wins again.

I signed up for one of the free tours offered by the Saudi Tourism Ministry. Free dinner included. Obviously I signed up. We visited the auction market and souks near Deera Square. Auction? Men only. Souks? Men only. Where exactly are the women shopping? Still unclear. We visited Al Masmak Palace, then the enormous Al Rajhi Mosque, where I covered up appropriately. Dinner was at Al Nadj Village, traditional chicken and rice, delicious. The only slight downside was having to wear full traditional garb during dinner. Slightly hilarious. Mildly restrictive. They gave me a free bag though. Cultural tour conquered. Free is my favourite price.

My final adventure started with a mildly sketchy Careem ride where the driver brought a friend along for reasons unknown. We met my guide near a Dunkin’ Donuts in the middle of nowhere. Thank God for global chains. We drove to Sadus first, a ghost village of crumbling mud houses where it looks like everyone simply left one day and never returned. Then came the bat cave. And if there’s a hole in the ground, obviously you go down it. It was hotter than hell. Tiny bats flapped around while torchlight hit glittering stones. Weirdly beautiful. Also sweaty beyond reason.

My last day in Saudi did not disappoint. The cliffs are enormous, dramatic, ridiculous. We arrived at sunset. I pretended to be calm while subtly gripping rocks for dear life because heights and I have a complicated relationship. I took roughly one hundred selfies and videos. Possibly more.

After sunset we drove back through the desert in the dark, just sand, vibes, and my guide’s surprisingly excellent playlist. I ended the night with a proper kabsa dinner back in Riyadh. Not a bad way to finish Saudi Arabia

Kuwait Oct 2025

shaz — Fri, 31 Oct 2025 19:08:00 GMT

Kuwait was a bit of a hassle to get to via Kuala Lumpur and Kochi especially without an Indian passport but that's a whole other story. Finally two hours in immigration, another hour on buses and I'm in Kuwait city. By the time I reached my hotel, I felt like I’d already completed an endurance event. But then at the hotel, I was granted early check-in and a suite upgrade because apparently I am a Best Western Gold Member. News to me. I’ve never felt more accidentally elite. The hotel was in Salmiya, right by the Marina, surrounded by endless Indian and Filipino restaurants catering to the workforce. My first official Kuwaiti meal? Chicken skin chicharrón. Not exactly a cultural deep dive, but crispy is crispy. I caught the sunset along the waterfront while booking my ferry tickets, then stocked up on snacks and did the mental conversion that 1 Kuwaiti dinar equals about £2.50. Budget anxiety activated. Day one was done. I was asleep before I could spend any more money by accident.

The next morning I took the ferry from Marina Crescent out to Failaka Island. Once part of the ancient Dilmun civilisation, later a sleepy fishing and farming community, and then in 1990 Saddam Hussein decided to invade. Today it’s a strange open-air time capsule of abandoned homes, bullet-ridden buildings, rusting military vehicles, and daily life left mid-sentence. Poignant. Haunting. Completely irresistible to me. I stepped off the ferry onto a very wobbly pier and was immediately greeted by what looked like a beach resort with heritage style facades. Basically fake. Not the apocalyptic ghost town vibe I came for. A bus tour offered a 45-minute whistle stop at three photo points. Absolutely not. So I walked. In hindsight choosing to wear a pink dress and slippers was perhaps not my finest logistical decision. I had assumed bus tour would morph into beach day. Instead, four hours later, I had wandered along the coastline, down disappearing desert roads, through abandoned towns frozen in the 90s. Bullet-ridden homes. Rusting cars. Half-rotted boats and jet skis. Then I found what I was looking for, a razor-fenced military vehicle graveyard baking under the sun. Tanks. Armoured vehicles. Silence. And there I was. Pink dress. Dusty feet. Climbing tanks like it was a totally normal Tuesday. Desert winds whistling. Metal creaking beneath me. Failaka is a mash-up of eras. Ancient Dilmun ruins. Gulf War scars. Random tourist facades pretending everything’s fine. And actual beautiful beaches thrown in for balance. Spooky, fascinating, and yes, completely Instagrammable. I finished the afternoon arsing about on the beach until my ferry departed, contemplating history and my footwear choices.

Back in Kuwait City, I started at Souk Al Mubarakiya. Suspiciously neat. Fruit and vegetables stacked like they were auditioning for a John Lewis catalogue. I was starving and expected chaotic kebab stalls. Instead? Polite sit-down restaurants. Where was the smoke? The shouting? The skewers? Salvation came in the form of my beloved Lulu Hypermarket. I grabbed lunch and ate it by the harbour, staring at what might be the greyest ocean I’ve ever seen. Being near the port meant endless “No Photos” signs which I ignored.

I attempted to see Seif Palace, but men with guns materialised instantly to inform me in no uncertain terms, no entry and no photos. I smiled sweetly and retreated. I enjoy history, but I also enjoy not being arrested. From there I walked to the Grand Mosque of Kuwait, then along the waterfront to admire the skyline, the iconic Kuwait Towers, the big banking headquarters, the glass and steel ambition.

Back towards Salmiya I went, stopping for my mandatory cat therapy session. The strays of Kuwait City have varying fortunes. Some are fed regularly. Some hustle hard for scraps. All of them require cuddles. I skipped Green Island. I skipped the sculpture park. I chose cats.And honestly? No regrets.Kuwait surprised me. It’s polished and wealthy, strict and controlled, expensive and efficient.

But scratch the surfaceor wander far enough in a pink dress and you’ll find layers of history, resilience, and tanks you probably shouldn’t be climbing.

Turkey 2025

shaz — Thu, 18 Sep 2025 18:06:00 GMT

And so it begins...holiday mode officially ON ✈️. Survived the dreaded night bus, the slog to Victoria, the coach to Stansted…all with a shitload of luggage and strapped up knee, bike injury ffs🫣. Free coffee at the airport totally earned. First time with AfJet, check-in staff were brilliant, even offered me wheelchair assistance, I declined. My luggage was over the limit but I was waved through like royalty. Security queues? Packed. My knee strap was a golden ticket and I was whisked straight to the front. Add in fruity alcoholic samples and it’s already the perfect start to my trip. I fecking love this feeling... Landed safely in Istanbul but spent 40 minutes trapped in a Twilight Zone 😱 with the new metro machines. Cards declined, cash spat out, nothing worked and queues building up…until a lovely Turkish girl’s Apple Watch saved the day. I practically threw the cssh at her and escaped the airport. Two metros and several uphill cobbled streets later doing the death march with that fucking suitcase and nearly being squashed by a tram too, I reached Sultanahmet. I found my hotel, £15 a night economy single room with brekky only to be told there was a problem with my room 😭. So they upgraded me to a one bed apartment instead, woo hoo! Istanbul tried to break me on my first day and failed. Hah! Right now, I need ice for my knee, a cold shower and bed because I'm knackered. Met the real locals of Istanbul today, say hello to my new crew. Cats everywhere. Sunbathing on cars, owning the streets, and giving me that classic ‘feed me, peasant’ stare. Even found one lonely dog trying to join the gang, but let’s be honest…this is a cat town🐾. They run this city like little furry mob bosses, and Istanbul is basically their city, and we humans are just visiting. Balat is a neighborhood of colorful houses and amazing old churches nestled among the steepest cobbled streets ever. Stunning to look at, absolute hell to walk on. My knee was not expecting this level of torture. Balat said ‘oh, you liked the first batch of steep cobbled streets. Here’s some more. And while you’re at it, admire another row of picture perfect houses while I wreck what’s left of your knees. At my favourite bakery in Sultanahmet. Looks divine especially the éclairs and strawberry tartlets. Cream so thick I'm happy not to pay by weight.…but thanks to inflation the prices have tripled since I was last here. I refuse to pay that much no matter how seductive they look through the glass. Ok, maybe just one éclair on my last day.

Escaped Sultanahmet for a bit and found the Bosphorus looking ridiculously blue. Views from the bridge? Awesome. Buildings? Pretty cool. Best part? Flat streets at last, my knee finally sent me a thank you note.

On my way to my very first evening cruise on the Bosphorus. Even the tram ride felt like a show, some kid was playing an instrument (don’t ask me which one) but he was brilliant. Istanbul really doesn’t do boring.

Not my usual thing as I thought I’d hate the idea of a touristy Bosphorus cruise, but hey I am a fecking tourist. For £17 they threw in a 3 course meal, unlimited drinks, belly dancers, and amazing city views...sign me up. Ended up at the solo traveller table, made two new pals too. Proof that even the cheesy stuff can be fun if you're up for it. Getting back to my apartment wasn’t quite as glamorous though. The tram was busy, think can of sardines...every carriage. Apparently the whole of Istanbul took the same tram as me.

Escaped Istanbul for the Princes Islands, where the city goes for a quick beach break. Kınalıada, the tiniest of nine with 2,000 residents, is all gorgeous houses but perched on the steepest hills ever. My strapped up knee survived every steep road, somehow. Strangely every bike is locked up, surely they would know who stole it on such a tiny island. Cats rule the islands too.

Kınalıada is full of cats. They sit on walls, parade around like tiny furry royalty, and look at you like you just crashed their party. Pretty sure they’re running the islands as well. They somehow know I have snacks in my bag so I get followed a lot.

Now on Büyükada, the biggest of the Princes’ Islands. No cars here, just tiny golf buggy things buzzing around. Way more people, restaurants, shops…honestly, I preferred the smaller island. The houses are bigger, grander, and clearly owned by rich Turks. And yes there are cats here too.

The Asia side isn’t my kind of place, but since I was dropped near the port, I took a quick stroll. Omfg! So crowded, I hated every second. Snapped a few photos and bolted via Karaköy with its pubs and bars, and Tophane with the artsy hipster hangouts. Spotted some hilarious signs along the way…honestly, worth it just for a little chuckle to myself...I'm so immature.

Said goodbye to my cat and headed to the airport. She’s probably sulking over missing her treats. Starting 10 days visiting the bits of Turkey I missed last time, hopefully with fewer weather related issues, cancelled flights, and civil unrest than my last attempts!

Landed in Trabzon and jumped onto one of those white minibuses for 110 lira. Normally I'd walk as it's less than 5kms but my knee said fuck no! I checked into my £20 a night hotel, location is the only selling point. Dumped my bag and straight out to explore and find food. Really weird but only seen 2 cats. Chased a sunset in Trabzon at Boztepe seyir terası which of course meant climbing high up. Tried to dodge any stairs by following the driving route, but Google Maps had other ideas. Every corner revealed another sneaky set of steps. Made it just in time for a very meh sunset and a full-on mosquito buffet. Oh and the cats are all up here.

On the walk up to Trabzon’s viewpoint I finally found the cats. Not Istanbul levels of furry chaos, but enough. Guess they’ve all fled downtown traffic. Even cats know better than to risk nine lives on Trabzon’s roads. Then a random dog appears. So cute...I love dogs! Sshh don't tell the cats.

Sunny day in Trabzon, so I walked their new coastal path, nearly 5 miles there and back, knee still strapped. Gorgeous blue sea, mosque in the skyline, city behind me. Started off blissfully empty, but on the way back it was bustling. Funny thing, the handful of tourists here seem to be Turkish. Not a single foreign accent in earshot. I like it.

Kept going along the coastal path and ended up at Trabzon’s Hagia Sophia. To be fair this building was clearly a church or cathedral first. Nowhere near as grand as the Istanbul one, but it did lead me to the true highlight of the day, a Sok supermarket. Their snacks are the best, so I stocked up like I’m prepping for an apocalypse…or at least my overnight coach.

Pottered about town killing time before my coach this evening. Stumbled across a Free Palestine gathering. Snacked on some homemade treats for the cause. Wandered the market, saw a church, then went on a quest for the castle…only to discover it’s merged into a park, residential homes, and some rogue roads. Finally, planted myself by the Black Sea, soaking up every last bit of sun before heading East.

I knew it would happen. Trabzon has two bus terminals, old and new, and figuring out which one was mine was an ordeal. A bit like the trek there. First, I went to the old terminal…now a graveyard for buses. That took 40 minutes, then another 20 minute hell walk to the new terminal through construction, roadblocks, and traffic. Finally at the lovely new terminal, I needed the toilet. 15 lira. No attendant when I went in, but he appeared when I came out. Adamant I pay, I said no cash, so he sent me to the kiosk to pay by card. Naturally, I annoyed the kiosk guy with questions in English, he got really angry…so I walked away without paying. Shazza 1, grumpy toilet attendant 0. 🙃 I'm going to sleep all the way to Van cos I'm well and truly shagged.

After my overnight coach I was ready to collapse into bed. Arrived in Van at 7am and set off on the 45 minute trek to my hotel. Tried sweet talking the check in staff for an early room using Google Translate and failed spectacularly. So, planted myself on their sofa, they gave me tea, and I started charging everything! This was £52 for three nights in a brand new single deluxe room with a surprise breakfast apparently woo hoo! The elevator is so blinged it practically shouts rich tourists only. Finally got my second wind and hobbled off to find Van Kalesi, trying to remember if my knee is actually still attached.

Oh, today was one of those days. Probably lack of sleep, but I failed at getting into Van Kalesi. Walked all around, checked the park, the rose garden and nothing. Finally spotted a path by the cemetery that my strapped up knee really shouldn’t attempt, but I went for it. The razorwire didn't deter me. Ten minutes later, Mr. Jobsworth pops out of nowhere and helps me down, and points towards the park. Off I go again but this time I found a crumpled gate but it was open, so I went in. 10 minutes of walking I realised the castle is probably closed for reconstruction. I walked for ages even through dried cow poop. The smell was gross but I was determined to get into the castle. After trying for an hour, I gave up. Fuck it! I bet it's shit inside, certainly a load of shit outside. I hobbled back to my hotel. I only walked 11 miles but felt like 100.

Turkey has invented a new system of chaos tourism. First I get shoved on the toy bus. Then we detour through two different bus terminals. Then finally I find the secret minibus that actually goes to the ferry. I pay 225 lira to get on said ferry but the catch is min 15 pax luckily a bus load of tourists appear. I arrive on Akdamar Island only to find out you now need another ticket just to step foot on it. The locals just flash their museum passes. The French paid 12 euros. Me? I hand over what I think is enough cash 500 lira, but apparently I’m short. Cue endless Google Translate apologies. After some weird haggling, I somehow scored a different ticket that was cheaper, 450 lira and it came bundled with free Bluetooth earbuds like I’ve just won some bizarre travel raffle. So yes, I got to see a 10th century Armenian church on an island on Lake Van and came away with a new pair of earbuds. Tourism, Turkish edition. Shazza 1, Turkish ticketing logic 0. Why do things like this always happen to me? I do not make this shit up.

Akdamar Island with its stunning 10th century Armenian church, with the deep blue Lake Van backdrop and a legend that will break your heart. A monk’s daughter, Tamara, fell in love with a shepherd. Every night he swam across the lake guided by her lantern to meet her. One night, her father took out another lantern to trick him, so he kept following the light toward Tamara but it never reached her. Exhausted, he cried “Ah Tamara!” and sank to the bottom. She, hearing his last cries, jumped into the lake to join him. Hence the name Akdamar. Sad, dramatic, perfect.

Went to the Van Cat House today. 🐾 Part of Van Yüzüncü Yıl University research programme, but honestly…it’s basically a fluffy cat paradise. At first I was sceptical, as it looked like a zoo. But they do seem dedicated to conserving the famous Van cats and they are totally spoilt. With their trademark eyes, unique personalities and fluffy white fur, they are just gorgeous. The center also arranges rehoming and adoptions of new kittens. Van cats aren’t just cute fluffballs, they’re a symbol of Van's culture and history, celebrated as tiny royalty. I fucking want one now!

Van has been…quirky. Besides the cats, the islands, and the castle, I’ve seen cabbages the size of toddlers and watermelons that could sink a boat. The buses look like they were borrowed from a toy shop. Balancing it out with armed security, tanks in the streets, and checkpoints every time you so much as sneeze near the Iranian border. The breakfast here is legendary with 47 dishes crammed onto one table, like Turkey’s answer to an all you can eat dare. I skipped the street side mussels though, I’m adventurous, not nuts. I'm glad I finally got to experience it all. Van coach terminal tried its best to break me. First, no coach even though I have tickets. Refund drama. WiFi that hated me. Credit card meltdowns. Somehow, with the help of the metro guy, I ended up with a direct coach to Ankara and 2 seats to myself. Refunds pinged through just as I was boarding. The ride was eventful. Within the first three hours we hit four military checkpoints. Only non Turkish got this treatment. Passports out, bags rifled through. I got grilled about cigarettes I don’t smoke, but thanks for asking. Meanwhile, one poor guy had his entire stash confiscated bit by bit, suitcase, hand luggage, overhead locker. Brutal. Then it was 16 hours to go. I fell asleep, nearly missed my stop. Luckily the bus boy shook me awake and went, Ankara! Problem was, they didn’t even pull into the bus station. Nope, 7am dumped on the motorway. I staggered off, alive but bewildered. From there, a 90 minute walk to my hotel and they let me check in right away. Bliss. Safe, sound, and smug.

Post nap mission was to go visit Ankara Castle. Spotted it looming above the city and braced for a long haul. Saw a short cut and took it through the park instead of the long and winding road. Steps, steps and more steps. Half the distance but double the sweat as it's scorchingly hot. Views at the top were worth it though, but it was busy as hell. Walked back down the road to give my poor knee a break from the stair marathon. Mission accomplished. 😁

My hotel is on the regeneration border. Step one way and it’s bling cafés, polished cobbles streets, and tourists taking selfies. Step the other way and it’s derelict buildings with families still living inside, you can smell the cooking. It’s like they ran out of budget and said, meh, close enough. The contrast is wild. In five minutes. you’re either in a postcard perfect shot or a demolition site. Just a couple of streets away the new football stadium is nearly finished. My hotel is slap bang in the middle. It definitely makes it more interesting.

Today's mission was a visit to Anıtkabir, where Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the big boss and founder of modern Turkey rests. The place is huge, with grand steps, a sprawling Peace Park, and guards who all look like they’ve just stepped out of a Secret Service audition in suits and sunglasses. It was an hour’s walk from my hotel and of course I forgot my knee strap. My knee hates me, but I'd like to think that Atatürk would be proud of the effort.

Then it was a slow limp back to the hotel via the Hamamonu historical houses. All very shiny and restored, like old Ankara got a fresh coat of Botox. I wandered through the textile and gold districts, then cut back through the rougher bit of town behind my hotel. A little sketchy, but I spotted some more puppies, which officially makes it the best detour ever. Puppies beat dodgy alleys, every time.

After a slow walk to Ankara coach terminal, finally, a station with a proper departure board instead of guessing platforms, I boarded my coach. Excellent service, snacks and drinks straight away. Then rain poured down like the sky had gone apocalyptic, then traffic jams full of trucks and one last passport check slowed us further. Made it to Istanbul eventually, hopped on a train and tram, and voilà, another upgrade!! £17 for an economy single but this one was like a palace. Dinner sorted, suitcase retrieved, repacking done. Ready for tomorrow’s flight to Kuala Lumpur. Can’t wait to see everyone and eat everything!

Leaving Turkey today, the journey to the airport wasn’t half bad, apart from dragging the suitcase over cobbled streets like I was auditioning for a strongman competition. Weirdly, I seemed to collect a travel buddy without speaking a word, kept bumping into the same guy at every tram and train stop. By the second tram he was already trying to haul my bag around like we were old mates. Before that, my Istanbul card failed me but suitcase through the barrier, me stuck on the wrong side, tram rolling in. Some random guy just grabbed the case, chucked it on the tram, then came back to tap his tramcard so I could actually join my own luggage. So yeah, today I had two knight in shining armour moments. Clearly that bloody suitcase is more popular than me.

Photos: Marshall Islands Feb 2025

shaz — Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:57:00 GMT

Marshall Islands Feb 2025

shaz — Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:04:00 GMT

My flight was the island hopper so I have 2 stops, Kosrae where I'm allowed to get off and Kwajalein where I'm not allowed to do anything even move as it's a military base airport. Hah when has that stopped me especially the photos of the amazing sunset at the airport. There were two islands used by the US to detonate nuclear bombs which are Bikini and Enewetak atolls. Kwajalein was used as the headquarters. Check out the Oppenheimer movie.

So I finally made it to my last Pacific island, Majuro the capital of Marshall Islands. Unfortunately it was a night landing so I saw fuck all. I'm staying at the cheapest place on the island which is at the Sea Breeze. The owner told me to get on the Marshall Islands resort shuttle and meet her at their spa. The whole island is a circular ring of atolls with 1 road through the middle. Google says walking from one end to the other of Majuro, takes 8 hours so it's a pretty long road hence the free ride on the shuttle. Then she got her driver to take me to the hostel from there. She also gave me a discount for booking directly but I know I booked via Booking.com but I'm not complaining from $65 a night to $50. It's a private box room with shared communal areas plus many cats. The other people are workers from Philippines, Indonesia and India. I guessed there would be as the island pays in US$. The place is also being renovated so it's a bit of a construction site but I can hear the crashing waves from every room but I just can't see it.

The walk to the dock to catch my boat was a pain the arse because it rained all night the roads were full of puddles. I had to walk in the middle of the road most of the 45 minutes there because it was the driest...not fun. Downtown wasn't the best, traffic, rubbish buildings but did see the only murals on the island. I knew the island would be like this which is why I'm going to Eneko. The best atoll in Majuro.

Apparently the most beautiful atoll of the Marshall Islands was an affordable $40 and only 30 minutes boat ride. There was a Marshallese family on the boat too. I explored the island walking on lots of dead coral and Reef as much as I could before the tide came in. The caretakers that are employed and live here have an amazing island all to themselves. There is a beach hut you could rent $150 a night or one of 3 chalets at the back for $50. There are crazy mosquitoes here all day and worst at night, I'm happy I'm here just on a day trip.

I had a lovely time on the island. My boat arrived at 3pm to collect me. We stopped on the island next door which was right across from Eneko and I walked up to it but couldn't cross because of the tide. I wouldn't have got on it as it's privately owned by a German person. It's the most expensive resort in Marshall Islands at $1000 a night which is ridiculous. Eneko is only $150 a night for the white beach hut you see in my photos. The islands are right next door. Apparently because she has a chef who has a Michelin star she can charge whatever. I'll be happy with my Maggi noodles in my beach hut thanks looking at the exact same view.

Then it was back to the main island but first we had to pick up a fridge. The ride back was bumpy so the guy had to hold onto the fridge for dear life otherwise both were going for a swim. My walk back to the hostel was better than my walk in the morning because the sun dried up all the puddles. I wanted to visit Laura beach which is at the tip of Majuro atoll but unless I paid for an expensive taxi ride there and back for what people say are not so nice things about the beach being dirty etc I decided to skip it. I thought about visiting another island, Arno is particular but they only have boats sailing there Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. So no luck there either. I'm happy to have visited Eneko. I really didn't like Majuro. Nowhere nice to walk or just look around. So Eneko was a lovely visit that made my visit to Marshall Islands worthwhile.

Photos: Federated States of Micronesia Feb 2025

shaz — Sun, 2 Feb 2025 18:57:00 GMT

Federated States of Micronesia Feb 2025

shaz — Sun, 2 Feb 2025 18:00:00 GMT

To get to The Federated States of Micronesia, I had to go via Guam. To get to Guam I had to go via Manilla which was the cheapest option. So the morning of my flight to Guam, I got an electric cycle tuk tuk for £2 to the airport which was more fun than a taxi. I was there 5 hours before my flight and it was a good job too as I only got my boarding pass 90 minutes before my flight. It's like that jetstar New Zealand boarding pass fiasco all over again because I forgot that my esta was on my old passport doh! So no way they were letting me on that flight. So as instructed by the check in agent I applied for a new esta for $21, knowing I wasn't going to Guam as there's no guarantee as it takes up to 72 hours to be approved. Then to be told an hour later by another agent that I should be applying for the Guam-cnmi which was free... Fuck!!!!!! That got approved instantly as well and finally I got my boarding pass. So I have a 4 hours layover in Guam. I was going to have a couple of days here but Philippines airlines fucked me by changing my departure date. So annoying. But all I cared was I had my boarding pass and on my way to the Federated States of Micronesia. Chuuk was island one of two.

After 4 hours in Guam airport I board my United Airlines to Chuuk hoping the place I booked via Opodo existed. It was the only place that had an online presence so zero choice at $110US a night but I got it for £75 a night through opodo weirdly. It was barely 5 minutes walk from the airport. From the outside it just looks like one of several old and possibly abandoned buildings. Inside it's just so nice especially the staff. I love my room. I can see the airport from the lobby window and the jungle from my room window.

Chuuk is famous for being one of the best diving sites in the world and also the shipwreck capital of the world. Population is over 60 thousand so huge and tons of cars that never seem to go over 5 miles an hour. Everyone drives very slowly here. I'm exploring the area north of the island. It's another island that's not a beach getaway. So it's all about the people and culture because it certainly won't be about diving. Chuuk is the largest and busiest and also the poorest of the Micronesian states so the rubbish as usual is vast. There seems to be more wrecks than working cars. Unfortunately their coast is littered with them. There also many abandoned buildings mostly along the coast with amazing views plus rubbish and car wrecks in the vicinity.

Pou Bay looked like a lagoon in the middle of the island. This was a lovely walk around the bay. I noticed it was much cleaner than the coast. Hardly any rubbish and definitely no car wrecks in or around the bay. The road or dirt track around the bay takes you through a village where kids play bare feet in the dirt. They're climbing trees. They just appear out of the bush/jungle and want to chat. Some followed me showing me the best and drier paths to take. At the church the kids were yelling at me to take their photos. They all said thank you and all shook my hands. The most polite bunch of kids I've met so far.

The next day I ventured south of the island to the lagoon. The resort has dibs on it as that's their property. The walk there was eventful. I found the biggest supermarket on the island. I found the fishing port. Then it rained. I saw two very drunk teenagers still carrying a bottle of vodka either steal a car or it was theirs, go speeding off into a ditch. Then they got out of the ditch and zig zagged their way through traffic. Luckily traffic doesn't go faster than 5mph. Nobody did anything and no police anywhere. The rain got heavier but I continued my walk when a car stopped to offer me a ride. The music coming from the car was loud but I was grateful for the ride. I got in the back seat with the giant speaker. I met Paul and his friend Ray both retired now. They offered me a can and I realised they were both drinking beers. Apparently it's what they do, just drive around the island drinking. As they were going so slowly I felt safe enough. They dropped me right into the resort. I said thanks and waved them away. I strolled into the resort and checked out the lagoon from afar. So far nobody kicked me out yet. As Chuuk is world famous for diving, I wanted to know about the man who started it all. Kimiuo Aisek was a dive master and founder of the diving industry here. He was born in Chuuk in 1927 and died in 2001 at the age of 73. There was a museum on site. I visited his dive shop too. The lagoon is lovely but to get here you go past the island dump with all the cars etc. Then I saw the two drunk teenagers again still drunk and still driving. I walked south east of the island and was followed by a few kids. One kid in particular asked many questions. Happy to answer them from where I'm from, how much money I had and if I had a gun...the final question was if I was single, cheeky. Time to head back. It started raining again and lucky me got another ride this time by a sober lady...woo hoo!

I headed East the next morning walking past more villages on even worse roads than ever. Luckily for me I got a ride. The first thing he said as I got in his car was ignore the 6 pack. He was on his first can so I figured not drunk yet. He dropped me off a third of the way and I continued my walk towards the other bay. I then continued east along the bay and came across a few kids. School had just finished so lots of them just hanging out. A few decided to follow me. I didn't mind and enjoyed their questioning. I came to the end of my trail but the kids said to follow them to the lighthouse. I had nothing else to do so followed along. As there were no roads or dirt tracks left, we ended up walking up into the jungle. I kept asking them about why they weren't going home. They kept saying it's OK. I'm well aware that these kids just followed me right after school ended and we'd been walking an hour already and now we were heading into the jungle. I didn't want them to get into trouble. Then my mind started working overtime about how news will spread around the island about a foreign lady kidnapping local kids luring them into the jungle or village kids kills foreigner in ritualistic jungle sacrifice out of boredom. Then a lady appeared out of nowhere and chatted to the kids. Then she turned to me and said I had to pay $20 to see the lighthouse. So I said no thanks and politely declined to go any further because I was too hot and tired. They said ok and left me, as they walked further up to what probably was their homes. So now I had to find my way back down to the village and back on the road to town. 15 minutes later I'm back on the road and my dress was drenched in sweat. Luckily for me Lucky stopped and offered me a ride. He wasn't drinking but eating cookies. He was a primary school teacher and drove me all the way back to my hotel. I was so happy to be back in town.

I was done with Chuuk. Bit of a crappy morning. First hotel said I had to pay at check out but I know I paid in advance. So I said sort it with expedia while I go check in for my flight. I go to the airport, line up and then it's my turn and I ask for a window seat.. The agent says your flight was yesterday. Then I say...ok any seat will do...ffs! I said no it was yesterday but in September United Airlines rescheduled me to today. Then she goes away and comes back and apologises for the hick up. I pleaded with her to get me on this flight as it shows on the app my booking details. Then all of a sudden she says wait, there was no flight yesterday. Oh OK it's definitely a mistake. I get my window seat then see that I have to pay a $30 departure tax. I have zero cash luckily they take card. I went back to my hotel and that got sorted too. I was glad to be on my flight on my way to Pohnpei.

Cliff Rainbow hotel was the only hotel that responded and luckily it was cheap enough at $58. Don't forget we're using US dollars...ooh I miss Aussie dollars when everything was half price. Chuuk seems a distant memory because Pohnpei is a stark contrast. It's bigger. Their roads are better. Less car wreckages around. There's a lot of American influence here unlike Chuuk. After checking in I went looking for the only two cash points on the island and to get some food. It was a good 45 minutes walk to the Bank of Guam. Just as I got to my hotel it started to rain and it didn't stop until the morning. The difficulty in getting around the island without a car meant paying for a tour with a guide. A pricey $130 to visit Nan Madol. This is a ruined city located here in Pohnpei. The ancestors of Micronesians called these basalt ruins Soun Nan-leng, meaning the Reef of Heaven. The site consists of vast numbers of fallen temples, ancient tombs and bath houses which come towering out of the water. It took awhile to get there crossing many badly made and maintained bridges. Then there was torrential rain. We finally got to the main temple after many more bridges. Then to get across you had to wade into the sea...water as high as my butt. Slippery rocks to walk over and we had to be quick as the tide was rising. Amazing temple still very much in tact. More explorations of the site and the surrounding islets or mini canals. Then it was another walk into the sea to cross back. Nearly had to carry my bag over my head at one point. Frigging tide came in too fast. This was fun.

Our next stop was at Kepirohi waterfall. Pretty impressed by this waterfall. Had a great swim in it but the current was strong. Found a calm bit by the rocks only to realise I was surrounded by eels...frigging huge eels. I heard they bite so I got out of there pretty sharpish.

After the waterfalls we had another mini jungle walk to see the Petroglyphs. Again we had to pay the land owner to see it. The markings were really clear on the rocks with a far away view of another waterfall. There was a trail to follow first then nothing but jungle ahead. So we just walked through it until we got to the rocks.

After the tour I walked up to Sokehs Ridge. There are two reasons to walk up the Ridge, the views and the WW2 park. The walk was really muddy and steep. It was sunny when I started but the rain eventually started again for 5 minutes. So I took shelter in a bunker and changed my flip flops to sneakers. The rain stopped so I continued into the park. It was so muddy and boggy too. The Japanese bunkers and guns looked great. The islanders really created a nice park. I didn't go any further into the ridge as it was ankle deep mud all the way there. No thanks!

The views at the top were lovely once it stopped raining. Although the walk up and down was pretty steep and slippery with my flip flops. On the way to the ridge you walked past a village. The walk back to the hotel was long especially with the rain. I was soaked. The people of Pohnpei not as friendly as in Chuuk. Not a single person offered me a ride. Just like that my adventure on the Micronesian islands were over

Photos: Kiribati Jan 2025

shaz — Tue, 28 Jan 2025 18:56:00 GMT

Kiribati Jan 2025

shaz — Mon, 27 Jan 2025 15:36:00 GMT

My first impressions of Kiribati pronounced Kiribas by the islanders, was that it's the same as Tuvalu or Niue etc. I was picked up from the airport by Richard the guesthouse owner. British guy born here during the colonisation. He's in his 70s and once we set off I suddenly realised how different Kiribati is to all the other islands. Size wise there's almost 70 thousand people in South Tarawa alone. Approximately 120 thousand altogether. That's huge compared to the few thousands on the other islands like Tuvalu and Nauru. I thought I saw lots of rubbish there but this is on another level. There are so many shops, stalls and a number of supermarkets. There's even a super mall. The biggest I've seen on any island even Fiji. All owned by the Chinese of course. It was also the first time I experienced traffic on an island, Fiji not included. Even with all that around me, the noise, the people , the traffic and rubbish, all I could see was the blue sea. The beautiful blue colours of the ocean was just stunning. Unfortunately anywhere on South Tarawa swimming isn't really an option unless I walk through the littered beaches. Thank goodness for Richard's guesthouse. He rents out two self contained rooms which has sea views from every angle. When I arrived before 11 the tide was out so it didn't look quite as spectacular as the sea across the road on the otherside. There was a strong breeze which made it so cool and the garden was huge. In fact the back garden was the ocean. When the tide came in, the ocean view was glorious. The neighbours and kids were already swimming. Although the neighbour's backyard was full of rubbish, Richard's part of the property was immaculately clean. I was happy to go swimming. The water was warm and so blue. I followed Richard as he went shopping for his restaurant. It's a good 30kms of road from airport to the furthest island of Betio. We went to buy fish, yellow fin tuna for $60aud which would be $500aud if bought in Australia. We bought smoked fish and we couldn't find fresh potatoes. Ones we saw were in a sorry state. I stocked up on snacks and my favourite Fanta grape. Street food was cooked at homes and repackaged and sold on the street stalls from $3 to $4. Doughnuts and pancakes filled with mainly coconut or fish was about 50 cents. The currency is Australian dollars.

When you look around this is obviously a third world country relying heavily on foreign aid. Religious institutions mainly Mormons cone here to convert the poor people. Religion is a business after all. They only recently got sanitation. They have weekly rubbish collections too which should help but with more people moving from north to south, it's an uphill battle keeping the beaches clean.

On my second day I wanted to visit north Tarawa. I crossed the friendship bridge to Buota and suddenly I was transported to another world. Less people, hardly any vehicles, humble wooden shacks as homes and naked children playing unsupervised in the low tide sea. The school looks run down and it needed the aid given by New Zealand. Right next door is the brand new Mormon church campus with its own basketball court. The stark contrast is glaring. I walked to the end of the island. I wanted to get to the next island of Abatao. The tide was out and there's no friendship bridge on this side. The only way was to walk across. So I followed the locals and walked across the ocean. No idea how deep it is. The deepest point was mid thigh. Safe enough and fun to do. I went further up towards the ocean as it looked cleaner and less chance of cutting my feet on glass. This island was even quieter, less people and zero vehicles except for the two motorbike taxis from the mainland ferrying people and things from island to island. I don't think there's even power on this island. This is probably why people are moving to the south. Once I got to the end of the island I hurried back as I knew the tide was rising. It wouldn't have been an issue as a guy with a boat would charge 50 cents to get you across but that meant waiting for the tide to get high enough for his boat. I crossed back and the deepest point got my bum wet. I dried off pretty quickly in the hot sun. I walked the 4 hours back to the guesthouse stopping along the way to buy dinner and looking at points of interests. I found out that Kiribati is the tuna capital of the world. It's also the only country in 4 hemispheres. Signs and posters are dotted along the roads leading from the airport. The only museum is never open. There are so many churches of all denominations and a tiny mosque without a minaret.

The next morning after a beautiful sunrise, I headed back to Betio. I didn't bother to walk the 28kms. I took a minibus. It was so full and hot. It was $1.40 so worth the experience. In Betio there are a number of WW2 relics from the Japanese occupation. The main highlight was the Sherman tank submerged on the beach. It's surrounded by other shipwrecks although much further away. Richard told me he used to play on it as a child. Kids still play on it when the sun isn't as hot. The beach in this area is littered heavily with rubbish, dog waste and even bits of appliances and vehicles. As you walk along the coast you see more and more rubbish. Along with the rubbish dotted around the coast are many bunkers of various size and shape. Some used by locals as accommodation or even toilets. Then I bought more food and hopped on another full bus back to my guesthouse. The next day I flew back to Fiji and this part of my Pacific island adventure was over. I will miss that backyard.

Tuvalu Jan 2025

shaz — Tue, 21 Jan 2025 16:05:00 GMT

I got to Tuvalu via Fiji from Nausori Airport. I was collected by L’s Lodge staff which was nice and I got an upgrade to an ensuite room too. The first impression was how rural and poor the island looked. In Malaysian terms we would call it Kampung meaning village. Everything is walkable with one main street from north to south of the main island of Funafuti. It’s a shame but the beach I saw was littered with rubbish. The sea however looked stunning. My first day was just orienteering myself with my home for 4 nights. The supermarket, the only one on the island was abysmal. The freezers were awful and shelves barely with anything on it. It is far from my experience in Niue. It’s nothing like it. Poverty like living conditions, rubbish, infrastructure and basic amenities are all a little heartbreaking. The people are lovely and friendly. I can only compare it with Nauru which is a bigger island but similar in every other way. So I began island life exploring the southern end of Funafuti. The middle bit turns to one narrow road going all the way down. I walked past the airport, the government building and other homes and shacks along the way. The little beach I found was as expected, littered with rubbish. The sea however was stunning as what you would see on travel magazines. But look closely at the beach, it’s not for walking on bare feet or lying down to sunbathe. There is a sense of abject apathy from the islanders in a sense that they don’t want tourists to come to their island. I’m assuming the other 7 islands are not like Funafuti. I found it difficult to get off Funafuti and visit other islands. Lack of tourist infrastructure and lack of other tourists to share the cost of hiring a boat and crew. As this wasn’t going to be a swim, snorkel and beach holiday, I decided to live like an islander during my stay. I met Watson the security guard at the supermarket and he offered to take me on an island tour. It happened to be a stormy day but we went anyway. We headed north of the island in the pouring rain. The beach was the same, not as blue but just as dirty. So after seeing all of what Funafuti had to offer I headed back to my guesthouse for an afternoon nap. The islanders have their naps outside their homes in the wooden shack near the sea. Sometimes in the shack or sometimes in a hammock. Later in the evening most head to the airport runway for football, volleyball or just to hang out. Kids, adults and dogs enjoying a cool relaxing evening. This happens every evening as the airport isn’t used. Apparently it’s about to change with fences being brought in to keep people off the runway. This will be a shame because this particular tradition is synonymous to Tuvalu. There have been incidents of planes being unable to land because dogs are on the runway. The plane radios the airport to get rid of the dogs and then they land. I guess that’s what they’re trying to avoid.

This country is the least visited so the upgrading of the airport is part of that change. I’m hoping upgrading Funafuti us in the cards too. The need for a severe clean up. Using the once beautiful lagoon as the pig wasteland. There’s no room apart from the land between the runway and lagoon. Pig pens run a third of the way up and their waste goes into the lagoon. The closer you get to the lagoon the worst the smell gets. It’s not all useless as solar panels have been installed on the lagoon. What a waste. I’m sure if I had the opportunity to visit the other 7 islands my impressions would be charged. If they can’t keep where they live clean, what makes me certain the other islands aren’t just the same. The island is a third world country because of the foreign aid it receives and most amenities and services are subsidised. There is no incentive to make money, to clean up etc. I hope the situation improves after the airport upgrades but I’m not holding my breath. I was so excited and loved Niue. After this island I’m a little sad of what’s ahead of my next Pacific island adventure.

Photos: Tuvalu Jan 2025

shaz — Wed, 15 Jan 2025 18:55:00 GMT

Photos: Niue Jan 2025

shaz — Sat, 11 Jan 2025 18:55:00 GMT