A Shitty Thing to Write About

It was a bus shelter empanada that made me break that bathroom in Cartagena. Three hours before consuming it, I was in a seedy cantina with my new friend, Atlanta: an ex-army medic and survivor of the Fort Hood massacre. Atlanta’s PTSD had pushed him to the north east of Colombia where he volunteered at … Continue reading A Shitty Thing to Write About

Advertisements

Sufferin’ Succotash

As I write this, I’ve been in Puerto Escondido for nearly three weeks. This beautiful beach side town has made me it’s unintentional prisoner as I wait to receive a package from Australia. I underestimated Mexican postal services. I foolishly thought that an express post package that should arrive overseas in three business days would … Continue reading Sufferin’ Succotash

“Me talk pretty one day.”

In an oestrogen laden opening sentence I can sum up my Wednesday: I got my hair done. In Mexico, it's about $50 for a full head of blonde foils and a cut. For the men that don't speak 'vanity': that's cheap. Really cheap. I went to Spanish class afterward and tried to tell my teacher about … Continue reading “Me talk pretty one day.”

The Adventures of CC and John West

Day of the Dead Sunday night, I found myself in the middle of a Day of the Dead parade, hurriedly looking over my left shoulder, with a pink iPhone shoved in my underpants. Yes. In my undies. Down the front. It's a sentence that will stop anybody from borrowing my phone ever again. Unfortunately for … Continue reading The Adventures of CC and John West

I Can’t Believe it’s not Cheese

I have been haemorrhaging cash since Paris. 50€ that dropped out of my jeans pocket here, being charged exorbitant rates on my emergency MasterCard there. A lost room key that I had to pay for here, a replacement train ticket to Bern there. I arrive in Venice with 10€. I have 125 Swiss francs in … Continue reading I Can’t Believe it’s not Cheese

My Fellow F*** Ups

I periodically look ridiculous while travelling. I have spoken about weeing on train platforms, embarassing myself in Berlin, and eating butter. I'm not a complete fuck up, I feel I should point that out. I'm running on equal parts awesome for this trip. But the stories where I bliss out, stay in beautiful places full … Continue reading My Fellow F*** Ups