Attaining a US B-2 Visa: A Delinquent's Guide

For the vast majority of travellers, the following will never apply. Travelling to the United States as a citizen of 42 (mostly) western nations can simply apply for an ESTA visa waiver, allowing them unlimited access to the United States for 2 years, for up to 90 days at a time. However, there are some exceptions and if you have travelled to one of nine "black-list" countries since 2011, you become ineligible for the ESTA. Having visited Iraq and Syria in 2023, I was officially designated by the United States government as a certified bad boy. As a result, I had to go through the full visa process, and let me tell you - it certainly was a process. So grab a cup of tea, have a seat, and get yourself strapped in because it's going to be a hell of a ride. 

Step 1: Fill in the DS-160 Online

For me, this was the most painstaking part of the process. I don't understand how it is nearly 2026 and a website run by the United States government can be so infuriatingly bad. The DS-160 website is like going back to the year 2003 and if you spend too long on it, you begin to hear the sound of dial-up internet loading (I'm getting old) and Clippy the animated assistant paperclip popping up in the bottom right-hand corner saying "It looks like you're applying for a US visa - would you like to gouge your eyeballs out?" 

I wouldn't mind the aesthetics of the site so much if it was somewhat useable, but the fact is it's not. As you fill out the form, some of it requiring quite specific information, such as the criminal record of your second cousin twice-removed's best friend's dog, meaning you have to spend some time getting the sufficient answers. However, the site seems to timeout every seven seconds and if you haven't saved your progress fast enough, it will kick you out and all your previous answers (up to your last save) will be deleted. Logging back in requires you to enter your personalised application ID as well as the first five letters of your surname, your year of birth, as well as answering your security question... every time. Save frequently, better yet - save after every question so you don't have to duplicate the "easy" questions repeatedly when you inevitably timeout.

Step 2: Book your appointment

Once the DS-160 is done, you will be redirected to another site, the U.S. Department of State Visa Appointment Service (this link directs you to the UK site). You will be pleased to know that this website has been updated far more recently and is a lot more user friendly, but keep your DS-160 login details safe as you will still need it when you get your interview. 

On this new site, the process is relatively simple - you will be asked to submit details about your DS-160 then pay the application fee, for me that was £155.40 (the equivalent of $185 at the time). While it is expensive, the ESTA fee has recently raised to $40USD which is only valid for two years meanwhile the B-2 visa is valid for ten years. So if you renewed it every 2 years for 10 years you would actually spend $15 more just using the ESTA. Handy to know, but if you're travelling to America that often, you can probably afford it!

Once the fee is paid, you can then proceed to booking your appointment. When I did this for the US Embassy in London back in January, the next available appointment was in July. Go ahead and book a date and time convenient to you, and then wait... In my case, a few weeks before my appointment, it got cancelled and they rebooked me to an interview in September. This new date wasn't suitable to me so when I went to change it, the next available slot wasn't until March 2026. Luckily, I kept checking the booking page and eventually I was able to get a slot in January, and then December. 

This is really important to bear in mind - this is a long process and even if you do manage to get an appointment, it can be cancelled at late notice without reason. I would highly recommend not booking your trip until after the process is complete. In a best case scenario for me, from application to interview was seven months, which then got rescheduled to nine months, but ultimately a full calendar year nearly went by before I got my interview. The time between application and interview is long, so if you know you want/need to go to the USA, get the process started now. 

Step 3: Attending the interview

After months of waiting, the day comes around and it can be incredibly daunting especially if you really want/need to go to the USA. For me, it wouldn't have been the end of the world if I couldn't go so I went in quite relaxed, which is probably the best thing you can do. While my interview day went by relatively quickly, I have read that some people spent hours waiting in queues for the most of the day, so make sure you are free for most of the day.

Step 3a: Check-in

Upon arrival at the embassy, you will likely see a very long queue. This is your queue. In the case of the US Embassy in London, they had two marquees at the entrance, one for American citizens and one for all us mere mortals of other creed. However, don't be daunted by the long line, in my case it was full of people who had arrived hours in advance of their scheduled time and were asked to wait at the side until half an hour before their scheduled time. Once it got too long, they also opened up another check-in counter which sped up the process. Here, they checked your DS-160 confirmation and appointment time as well as your passport. 

Step 3b: Security

Following check-in, you will go through "airport-style" security including a metal detector and bag scanner. I kept my belt and watch on and went through fine. If you have water/liquid, they will ask you to take a sip before you can continue with it into the embassy. Be warned, laptops are not allowed and I saw a number of people directed to a local cafe which holds the laptop for you (for an exorbitant fee from what I've seen in my prior research).

Step 3c: Reception

Once through security you enter a small courtyard and directly in front of you is the main embassy building. You will enter the ground floor reception where you will once again wait in another short queue. Your DS-160 confirmation and passport will be checked again where they give you a bookmark that says "Stage 1" on it and point you to a lift. This is all very cordial however you are very aware that there are four huge pictures behind the receptionists of Donald Trump, JD Vance, Marco Rubio, and the Ambassador staring you down ominously. 

My nerves began to increase here as, while waiting, I saw a man exit the lifts clearly very annoyed stating that he "brought everything they asked" so I can only assume his application was rejected.

Step 3d: Stage 1 - Photo Scan

So, after going through all that you are finally at... stage one! Once upstairs in the lift, you will follow the signs for Stage 1 and wait in a queue again. This will be your first experience with a Consular Officer (I think) whose job it is to scan your passport-style US visa photo. The lady who dealt with me was very friendly, approachable, and only asked why I was applying for the visa instead of the ESTA, although I'm not sure if this was general conversation or a formal question that everyone gets at this stage. If you don't have a recent US visa photo (there is a specific style and size - 5cmx5cm on a white background, which is slightly bigger and different to normal UK passport photos). Once this is done, the lady hands you another bookmark with "Stage 2" on and you are once again directed to another queue.

Stage 3e: Stage 2&3 - Fingerprints and Interview

Once again, the queue for stage two goes quickly and the fingerprint scans are quick and easy providing you follow the instructions. You are then sent to the queue for Stage 3, which is significantly longer.

This is the 'make or break' stage as it were and is where you get a decision on your visa application. You wait in the queue here for quite a while, although for the most part it kept moving and there wasn't too much standing around. Thankfully there are comfortable chairs placed all throughout the queue if it is busier or slower than when I was there. 

As it is an interview and some visa applications are for entire families or people with complex backgrounds. Some people I saw were in for 30 seconds, perhaps renewing older or existing visas meanwhile others took longer. Just as I was about to enter the cubicle for the interview, I saw a lady get moved on who was sat on a stool visibly upset about the decision on her application. For me, it didn't matter too much. But for others, the decisions for their visas would change the outcome of their lives - perhaps if they could be reunited with long distance partners, families, or education.

Upon arrival in the booth, the officer took my documents and passport and quickly saw that I was applying for the visa because of my travel history. He pulled up my file on his computer, whether or not that was pre-existing or simply another copy of the DS-160 I don't know. He then went on to ask a number of questions:

• What's the reason for the trip?
• Where are you going? 
• Why Mississippi?
• So you're travelling with her?
• Do you have any family in the USA? 
• When did you go to Iraq and Syria? 
• Where in those countries did you go?
• Who did you travel with?
• Did you meet or come across any ISIS or militant groups?

"Thank you for answering my questions satisfactorily, I have approved your visa application, sir. Have a great day."

Ok, that's a bit dramatised, but it went something like that. Just like that, the interview was over and the next time I saw my passport it would have a ten-year US tourist visa in it. 

Step 4: Getting your passport back

Depending on how you chose to get your passport back, you will either get it delivered to a pre-determined pickup point set by the USA in London (the free option via a courier). Or, like me, you can pay the £32 to get Premium Home Delivery so you don't have to travel back to London if you don't live there.

Overall

The process is long and cumbersome. As a British national, it took 12 months. My case was probably slightly different to many others just because my original appointment was cancelled and then my rescheduled appointment was not suitable for me. Even then, in a best case scenario it would have taken seven months from start to finish. 

My main pieces of advice would be to follow the instructions at every step carefully. One small mistake can knock back or reject your application. Furthermore, I am lucky in the sense that I am a British national whose country has relatively good relations with the USA. But international geopolitics is a fast and everchanging game and certain nationalities, religions, and groups can be banned without notice. 

Good luck. 

The New Coffee Capital of the World... Hanoi, Vietnam 🇻🇳

Mopeds and motorbikes wizz past me with only a few inches to spare. I'm sat on a miniature deck chair on what was once intended to be a pavement. In front of me, a cream cheese coffee from VHN Coffee in Hanoi's Old Quarter. It is an unlikely combination, but ends up being one of the best coffees I end up having on the trip, perhaps ever. 

The VHN Cà Phê a.k.a. cream cheese coffee. 

The coffee culture in Hanoi and, in turn, Vietnam, is next to none. Coffee culture in the English language uses loanwords from perhaps the most well known country when it comes to coffee - Italy. For a coffee with milk, we say "latte", which directly translates to "milk" in Italian. We also use "mocha" short for mocaccino and also cappucino, directly from Italian. But perhaps we should look further afield for our coffee inspiration. 

During my six days in Hanoi, I tried a number of coffees which opened my mind to a new way of thinking about coffee. Each drink brings out a new memory of the various spots I went to - starting with the famous salted cream coffee. 

Jetlagged and extremely tired having caught the flight to Vietnam directly off a night shift, my first Vietnamese coffee was something I'll always remember. At 80+ Coffee Roastery, I ordered the Ngà coffee - which was a shot of coffee, condensed milk, and salted cream foam. It was muggy and hot in Hanoi (see scene from Good Morning Vietnam below) and as such I ordered it iced. After mixing it all together, and taking my first sip - the moment became transformative and I wasn't sure I could ever enjoy a solitary flat white ever again. At first, it was refreshing in the humidity that was unrelenting. But then came the taste, the sweetness of the condensed milk is perfectly balanced with the saltiness of the salted cream. Neither taste overpowering the other, but in fact a perfectly blended mix. While I didn't want it to end, I couldn't wait for the next Vietnamese coffee either. 

A delicious salted cream coffee at 80+ Coffee Roastery

The next stop was sort of accidental. Despite not meaning to, we somehow ended up around the corner from the world famous Hanoi Train Street. A woman saw me struggling to cross the road and helped me, which although the cynical part of me likes to think was a rouse to get me into her cafe, was actually also just a genuinely nice attempt to help a lost tourist. As such, we rewarded her kindness by sitting down at her cafe not too far into Train Street. Upon reviewing the menu, I settled for an egg coffee - a coffee I had heard much about before coming to Hanoi. In essence, it is made by pouring coffee over whipped egg yolk. Where better place to try one than here, I thought? Not at that cafe it turns out. The after taste was strange and the coffee strangely thick. It felt more like some sort of protein drink than a coffee. This was the only coffee I had during my trip which I did not like and it put me off trying egg coffees for the remainder of the trip. Was it because I did not like the egg coffee or was it because the location just made a bad egg coffee? I'm not sure. Nevertheless, sipping it as a train passed within inches of my face and legs was a unique experience.. and more scary than it appears in photos and videos too!

Egg coffee... not my favourite!

Tuck in! Here comes the train down Hanoi's Train Street.

A part of me worried that maybe these "coffees" were gimmicks, losing the essence of what a coffee is. But I was glad to be proven wrong time and again at various cafes and institutions in the city. The banana coffee I had at Langbiang Coffee, just down the road from our AirBnB, risked going into milkshake territory if not done correctly. But as with all coffees and meals I had in Vietnam, it was freshly made and blended to order. A shot of coffee, blended banana, and condensed milk (the go-to it seems) - all it takes for a good coffee. No additional banana flavouring or ice cream added, basically an ice latte with some blended banana. It was basic, but it was damn good. Once again, neither flavour overpowering the other - just two flavours complementing each other very well.

Banana coffee - looks normal, but plenty of banana bits and goodness floating about

Most coffees in Hanoi tended to be made with condensed milk, which created a unique flavour on its own. On a particularly hot day, I enjoyed an iced coffee with no other flavourings apart from condensed milk. It was sweeter than would be expected from a normal coffee, but so uniquely Vietnamese. While "European" style coffees are available, why resort to a boring latte when in (what I consider to be) the new Coffee Capital of the World? The style of Vietnamese coffee is clearly spreading in popularity around Asia as I witnessed Starbucks and other international coffee chains offer 'Vietnamese Cold Brews' in stores in India in the next part of our trip. 

And why shouldn't it? The stuff is good. It's creative but not unnecessarily loaded with sugar and additives. Scrap the pumpkin spice and black forest sugar-loaded monstrosities we have here in the UK. Replace it with high quality, genuinely creative coffees from around the world, starting with Vietnam. We don't need whipped cream, cocoa dust, and a boat load of syrup for a unique coffee. Just swap the whole milk for condensed and whipped cream for salted cream and - voilà - you have something unique and delicious. 

I'm sure it won't be long before the phenomenon spreads to coffee shops here in the UK and I'll be glad to see it because, if anything, the Vietnamese deserve it. They've been through a lot. Although I'm not sure I'll be first in line to try a salted cream coffee from a machine at Greggs... 

Is Delhi The World's Worst Capital City?

There is no guidebook, video, tour you can book, or even person that can accurately describe the culture shock that takes place when you arrive in Delhi, India. After six days in Hanoi, Vietnam, my friend Izaac and I ventured onto our next destination, India. 

A huge Indian flag over Palika Bazaar

Even for me, as someone who has travelled to places one might describe as 'off the beaten path' like Iraq, Syria, Zambia, to name a few, India was a complete culture shock. 

When picking a new country to travel to, a good first destination may in most cases be the capital. Usually due to it being the seat of government, embassies, and historical/cultural sites, capitals host foreign dignitaries, sporting events, usually have the biggest budgets to spend on things like infrastructure and housing. As we soon found, none of this applied to Delhi. 

Landing in Delhi is an experience in and of itself. Even in the night sky, a yellow haze which is the smog that looms over Delhi is clearly visible. It is one of the most polluted cities in the world, if not THE most polluted city in the world. 

The yellow smog visible in the night sky as we approach Delhi.

Once you set foot out of the airport terminal building, it becomes a constant battle to avoid being scammed, harassed, and touted for your money. Luckily, our hotel organised a free pickup from the airport (included in the price), which is just about where our luck ended. 

The drive into central Delhi was extremely haphazard, even taking into account the fact we had been in Hanoi for the past six days where the driving was, so we thought, already quite crazy. While the Vietnamese seemed to have mastered the art of 'organised chaos', the Indians just seemed to be driving chaotically unorganised. Our hotel's car had no functioning seatbelts as he sped through the busy streets avoiding rickshaws, tuk-tuks, cyclists, motorbikes, cars, and lorries. Our driver flashed cars in front, beeping near enough constantly, meanwhile other drivers did the same to us and so forth. Indian driving seemed to be a constant battle to get in front of the person in front you no matter the cost, by any means possible. It was to become a regular theme of our trip.

Cows, supposedly a holy animal in Hinduism, are allowed to roam the streets eating rubbish.

As we got closer to our hotel, the driver began giving us the spiel on why it would be so kind if we gave him a tip, how hard he worked, and how much it would be appreciated. Given the above reasons, including that he had to refuel en route (surely this could have been done en route to pick us up), we got out, thanked him, and walked into the hotel. Anyhow, I kind of zoned out of his speech when I noticed a man stood in the middle of the road, knob out, taking a leak on full show in front of everyone. This too would be commonly seen around India unfortunately. 

We were quickly greeted by some other bellboys who quickly took our, already light, backpacks and ushered us into the lobby where we went through the usual procedure with the reception, including checking in, payment, etc. We went to grab our bags but were intercepted by the bellboys again, who insisted that we need not carry our own bags. Tired and hunrgy, we reluctantly accepted, although knowing there would be an expectation for a tip once again despite never having requested or asked for this service. It was an awkward ride up the elevator,

"First time in India? Where are you from?" with the traditional Indian headshake. 

"Yes. From the UK."

"Nice."

This interaction was painfully long as both bellboys just stared at us as the elevator slowly took us to the third floor, where our room, number 308, was a ten yard walk away. They showed us into our room, dropped our bags, and made perhaps the most awkward exit one could make. Four grown men in a small hotel room, two of whom were expecting payment, delayed their exit as long as possible, even going as far to show how to turn the tap so that hot water would come out... Eventually they left, and Izaac and I contemplated leaving the room and going to another hotel altogether given the room was covered in dust, questionable stains and black mould in the bathroom. 

Ultimately we decided to suck it up for the next two nights and we reluctantly went to sleep... we awoke to the noise of cars beeping and work going on in the streets below. We were in Paharganj, perhaps the worst district in Delhi. It is located in "Old" Delhi, is fairly centrally located near the train station and in between a number of key Delhi landmarks such as Red Fort and India Gate. 

It also has the cheapest hotels, which was another key reason for staying there. A walk around Paharganj the following morning after our arrival soon confirmed why this shouldn't have been a factor in my decision making. It wasn't long before we kept being accosted constantly by people. Men would walk alongside us, asking where we're from, how long we're in India, before trying to direct us to their tuktuk or shop. Upon declining, the next would take their chance, and this went on before we managed to get to the cafe we were looking for. 

Breakfast was a short break from the constant harassment we experienced since stepping out of the hotel room. We were barely 50 yards from our hotel in some cafe and our first impressions were not great. We decided to get the hell out of Dodge (Paharganj) and got in the first tuktuk that offered us a reasonable price to get to Palika Bazaar, a known fake goods market. Just as we flagged down a tuktuk, a man somehow accosted us into his friend's tuktuk and offered us 100 Rupees (£1ish, maybe slightly less) which we accepted and confirmed. There was something fishy and the man constantly asked our travel plans, how much we were paying for our Taj Mahal tour, and more. It felt as if he was going to try and sell us something. He did lie to us as we later learned by trying to say that Palika Bazaar only sold electrical goods on a Sunday... the cricket shirt I bought later on said otherwise. 

They didn't actually take us to Palika Bazaar, but it was close enough. They tried to get us toward their friend's shop and after giving the driver 100 Rupees he looked disappointed, but I didn't care and I walked off - he agreed to the price after all. We were only five minute walk from the bazaar and as such headed that direction but on the way we were offered shoe cleaning by atleast two people, and a further three people attempted to take us in the direction of their shop inside some mall. Unperturbed, we carried on to Palika Bazaar, the indoor market. 

We passed through a "security" checkpoint, and I say security loosely. The metal detector went off on everyone who passed through where a security guard then hovered his hands loosely around everyone's trunk before letting them through. If an attack were to happen, it most certainly would not get caught out by the checkpoint! Nevertheless, Palika Bazaar was not just an electrical goods market - there were fake rolexes, fake luxury brands, and what I came for - a fake Indian Cricket shirt. Despite being, what I would consider, a relatively experienced traveller I still got scammed! I went in unprepared, not knowing how much I should pay for a knock-off cricket shirt and also with no clue what the exchange rate was. I knew I was getting ripped off when he said it would be 2900 Rupees, but when I offered back 2500... he must have known he'd got me hook, line, and sinker. In the end, I paid 2700 Rupees (£23) for a knock off Indian cricket shirt, which was far too much. I found this out when I asked an Indian friend what a local would pay and he said no more than 400 Rupees if the quality is really, really good. The biggest kick in the teeth was when Izaac bought an original Cashmere blanket of the highest quality the following day at a tourist shop near the Taj Mahal and he paid... 2500 Rupees! I really did get rinsed. But it is a lesson learnt. 

With a sour taste in my mouth, we made our way to India Gate, which is quite a spectacular memorial to the Indian soldiers who died in the First World War. The arch towers into the sky and is faced by a 28 foot high statue of Subhas Chandra Bose, an Indian Army commander during World War II. Upon further reading, I found out that it was originally a statue of King George V that stood facing India Gate up until the 1960s. 

The statue of Subhas Chandra Bose, faces India Gate.

India Gate is a relative space of calm from the hustle and bustle of the streets that surround it, but it isn't long before a woman is attaching a paper Indian flag to our sleeves stating that it is free, only for her to change her mind 30 seconds later and claim she is raising money for an orphanage. Again, I walk off... can you see a theme building? Luckily, India Gate is only a five minute walk from the Havemore Restaurant located at Bikaner House. I heard the butter chicken here is some of the best in Delhi but I did not expect the extravagance of its setting. Bikaner House has its roots in the British Raj and, while it is now open to the public, it is clearly a relic of Britain's colonial past in the country with an excessive number of servants, waiters, and staff generally. Nevertheless, it's fair to say the butter chicken was indeed very good. 

India Gate

Overstimulated, full of butter chicken, and running on poor quality sleep from last night's late arrival, we headed back to the hotel for a good rest before we headed off for the Taj Mahal the following day. But not before we would once again have to deal with an attempt to scam us on the tuktuk back to the hotel. Upon agreeing on a price of 300 Rupees from Bikaner House to Paharganj, the driver then increased it to 500 once already driving. When I threatened to get out, he suddenly reduced it to 400 but I was still adament on 300 (which was still probably a complete rip off when compared to what a local would pay). After he dropped us off at the wrong place, he still only gave me 50 Rupees change for my 500 Rupee note. At that point, I quite simply lost the will to live so gave in. 

While I'm sure there is more to do in Delhi given more time, it is such a hassle as a foreigner to actually enjoy anything. The noise and dirt is constant. The touts are everywhere and everyone is looking to make a quick buck out of you constantly. I understand times are tough and poverty (and extreme poverty) is rife. Many people are starving or living on less than a dollar a day. But even then I find that no excuse to piss in the streets or harass people. I've been to other poverty stricken places in Africa where people lived in similar circumstances but kept their environment clean and did not harass anywhere near as much. It is relentless and tiring and for that reason, out of the 38 capital cities I have visited (according to NomadMania), I have to rank Delhi as the worst. 

Toto, I don't think we're in Kent anymore!

"It's not far now" and "we're nearly at the highest point" are two of the biggest lies one can be told on the Lairig Ghru hike. As I trundled through the 23rd kilometre I received a concerned phone call from Richard, advising me once again that it wasn't that far. If I had ever been hitting the wall, it was at that point. Every step felt like a monumental effort and my only challenge was getting one foot in front of the other. With the uneven and rocky terrain, one misplaced step could result in a broken ankle or leg, and it's a long way from help up on the Lairig Ghru.

The Bhubesi hikers at the start of the walk - little did we know what we were in for!

The Lairig Ghru is a hike which takes you through the heart of Cairngorms National Park, in the Scottish Highlands. It is a rugged and remote part of Great Britain, one which took me two days of travel to get there in my small, but might, Nissan Micra. The other options being the train or flying to Inverness, both of which are costly. I decided to make the journey to the Lairig Ghru an adventure in itself. 

I set off from Sittingbourne, Kent, (just shy of 600 miles if I was to drive non stop) on the Thursday - two days before the hike. I decided that if I was going to travel so far, I may as well stop by a few places I'd never been to before. The first of which would be Grimsby and Cleethorpes, purely because they had beaten Manchester United in the Carabao Cup a few weeks prior. I even went to Grimsby Town FC to pick up a few souvenirs, but their card machine wasn't working and, alas, I walked away empty handed given I am not of the cash carrying type myself. Nevertheless, I ventured onto Cleethorpes (five minutes down the road), where I ate a spectacular fish and chips at Papas Fish and Chips on the pier. The portion - huge. A haddock and chips, coupled with halloumi fries was a real winner, although I simply couldn't finish it all. It was a good fish and chips and had apparently been featured on the BBC show 'Britain's Best Takeaways' and had also been declared Britain's best chippie, but I think I have had better on the East Kent coast, closer to home. 

Supposedly the best fish and chips in the UK...

The weather was poor and, as is the case in many dying beachside towns, there wasn't much else to do beyond the arcades. So, I headed for Hull, which would be my home for the night. I managed to time my arrival with the coinciding rush hour but I got there in good time still. I parked up at a multi story car park opposite the Hull Trinity Backpacker's Hostel and made my way there where I was greeted by the friendly owner. It was cheap and cheerful and had everything I needed for an overnight stay. I'm a bit past the age where I enjoy dorm room sleeping so I opted for a private room, which felt much like the one term I spent at boarding school in my youth. I headed out for a mediocre coffee at a games bar where I got caught up in another rain shower, but managed to see the city centre. On the way back, I stopped by a live music event in the city centre, which had been recommended to me by the hostel owner. You could really tell the event brought the community together, and it's something I'd like to see more of locally. Alas, I was tired and returned to my hostel to get as good a night sleep as possible.

Hull Trinity Cathedral - beautiful!

I was up bright and early the following morning to do some further exploration before the long journey up to the Scottish Highlands. My first port of call would the Kilnsea Heritage Coast, a unique spit of land that jutted out into the North Sea. I had only heard of it because it was listed as a Nomad Mania DARE region and, when in Rome, it would only be right to explore part of the world that I would likely not return to for a long time. 

Kilnsea Spurn Heritage Park - barren, remote, and unique.

After a short walk and a coffee, it was time to head from the Kilnsea Heritage Coast up to Scotland. I stopped briefly for fuel on the outskirts of Hull and made my way north-west. Being a Friday, the traffic got heavier as I headed further north, perhaps other tourists and locals alike heading for weekend getaways. 

The journey was long, and the stopover in Hull was not even halfway to Aviemore, my final destination for the day. From Carlisle there is not much until you hit the ring roads around Glasgow where I managed to get to just in time for rush hour. The drive feels like it will never end, but before you know it, you are at Stirling on the A9 for the last stretch. I enter the Cairngorms for the first time, taking a break in a layby for my first stop in 5 hours since Carlisle. I look around me and it is stunning but I am tired, and I know tomorrow will be even more tiring and I must continue. 

The view from the layby is probably one of the best in the UK.

45 minutes later I arrive in Aviemore, where I refuel at a petrol station for some extortionate amount (I thought petrol was supposed to be cheaper in Scotland?!) and grab a quick snack. I make it to my hostel where I check-in with some other Bhubesi Pride walkers Duncan Macdonald and Georgina Tibai for the first time. I drop off my bags, organise my belongings, and head on out to the local pub, The Pine Marten Bar, to enjoy a couple of soft drinks with some other Bhubesi hikers who had arrived earlier in the day.

To my surprise, I find that Ross Chipperton (a fellow Bhubesi Africa volunteer a couple of years after me) has travelled up from neighbouring Faversham, just down the road from Sittingbourne, where I live. Although, to my horror, there is a Mackem in the group - Keith Atkinson. I soon make friends with Geordie Iain McGeary so we take the piss out of him (lightly, I promise). Ross, Keith, and Iain have travelled up together and the trio are a good laugh, so I feel at ease with the group. Also at the bar is Corné du Rand, a South African former semi-pro unit of a man, who welcomes one and all to the group. There are a few others there whose names escape me. We enjoy the live music but before long we must return to our beds, for we have a long day in the morning. 

We start bright and early, 6am wake up, for a 7am departure. I drive a group of 3 down to the start point while the rest of our motley crew have minibuses arranged. The walk begins, but one member of the Bhubesi hikers seems to have forgotten their shoes. None other than Marco Mama, former Worcester Warriors flanker and Bhubesi Pride ambassador and fundraiser too. I'm not much better, my shoes are neither hiking boots nor running shoes - in fact, like me, the sole is dead and I am soon to pay the price. 

A quick rest stop.

The first 10km passes with a few blips, for the path is relatively flat at this stage. If we continue at the pace we are going, we are sure to finish well in time... or so we thought. The route from this stage started to become steeper with evermore uneven terrain. The nice path that the Lairig Ghru began with soon becomes full of shingles. Marco finds his shoes mysteriously 12 or 13km in, his feet well and truly battered!

Marco mate, you forgot your shoes!

The terrain is manageable until we hit the scree fields that make up somewhere between the 20th to 23rd kilometres. It is slow passing, with every step requiring inch perfect precision for one wrong step or loose rock could break an ankle or even leg. There is no easy exit off the trail other than to complete the hike - that, or be have Mountain Rescue carry you down. In terms of muscular ability to do the walk, it was not relatively difficult. But the mind becomes so fatigued when you have to think about every step. 

The scree fields of the Lairig Ghru are nothing to be messed with. 

After what seems like many hours, it is just me and Corné at the rear of the group trundling on down. The scree fields have passed, but my muscles and my mind are in a deep deep hole. It is by far the hardest thing I have done. We make it to a lodge where I refill my water. It is 5km from the hostel and the last 5km is the hardest 5km I have ever done. I, and everyone else, make it safely where we then have a brief turnaround before heading out for the evening meal. We are bruised, battered, but we have made it across the Cairngorms in one piece. 

Myself and Ella, a Bhubesi Trustee

Before I know it, the weekend is over. Our festivities do not last long as everyone is beyond tired. In the morning, Richard gives Duncan and I a lift to my car. It is time for the long journey southward. Not before a quick stop to see my old friend Fred in the village of Trimpley, just outside Kidderminster. We catchup for an hour, but I have work the next day so I power through the final four hours back to Kent, finally arriving home at about 11pm. 

Catching up with Fred, Rosie, and Rocky enroute back to Kent.

It is now over a month since the epic adventure, and god knows where the time has gone. I look back on the weekend fondly and am proud to have completed the trek with a bunch of amazing people. We managed to raise £17k for Bhubesi Pride altogether, a fantastic sport-for-development charity in Africa which I am proud to help. Until next year, when we do it all again. 

Bagged Yoghurt

My heart swells with emotion whenever I return to Baisogala. When I step into my Senelė's flat, I am stepping back not just in time, but into the world when I was a child growing up, spending summer's there. Much of the flat has been unchanged in decades - the smell as you walk in, the wooden flooring, the hundreds of books - it all makes it an extremely special place. 

As I look out the front main windows, I am greeted by the Chimney Crow on the rooftops of the flat opposite. Perched up on a chimney, he sits, umbrella in hand, observing the world around him. It is a peculiar monument, one which I do not know the history, but one which I have loved to look at over the years. I often forget its existence until I'm in Baisogala, but once I look out the window, I remember I am home.

An age-old tradition is getting bagged yoghurt and sitting in the kitchen, pouring it into a glass, and drinking it as if it were water. It is so basic, yet it is so satisfying. For some reason, yoghurt from a bag is so tasty in ways that the British don't understand. I simply love it. 

We try not to finish the bagged yoghurt in one sitting, in part because I am lactose intolerant but, more importantly, to save some for later. When it's my first day back I like to soak in the emotions and feelings the flat surfaces in me. I take some time to look at the photos, the old books, the various memorabilia from Lithuania and around the world, for all of Senele's children (including my mum) have travelled to all corners of the earth at some stage or another, including Senele! 

The old wallpaper is faded and in some parts peeling from the walls and is probably due a change. But in a way, I never want it to change. To change the home materially may change my experience of the place... well, that is my fear anyway. 

Before bed, I will go into Senele's room (my mum associates this room with her Dad, my granddad, as it was formerly my his room, although I never met him and so myself associate with Senele). In the drawers of her desk, I will go through them one by one - here is where the magic is. Various documents from all different parts of history are in here, some of it feels it should be in a museum. The most interesting thing I've found being a documents for someone (not Senele or anyone in the family for that matter) during the German occupation of Lithuania during World War I. 

After an hour or so of being nosy and rummaging through her drawers, I retire to bed. The bed is a collection of cubes which can be used as stools, combined to make a sofa, or in our case - a bed. It is the same one I slept on as a kid. Despite slightly more comfortable options in the flat, I choose it because of its the final piece of the puzzle that confirms to me where I am. 

I usually try to stay up as late as possible, reading, watching TV or laptop, or anyway to distract myself really. But the nights in the village are quiet and dark, especially in winter, so it is never long before I slumber off to a good night sleep. Waking up in the morning is usually bittersweet, for it usually means we are one day closer to having to leave. I could spend a month there without getting bored. 

Then it's off to the kitchen for some bagged yoghurt, or what is left of it... 

An Ode to Vilnius 🇱🇹

Walking around the Old Town streets of Vilnius fills me with a nostalgia for a time in my life when, at the time, things didn't seem so simple. Amongst the churches, cobble roads, and historic buildings, there's a plethora of memories that come up and make me appreciate the 7 months or so that I spent in this city. 

Vilnius Cathedral from Gedimino Prospectas. Photo by Dan-Marian-Stefan Doroghi on Unsplash

I moved to Lithuania with hopes and dreams of pursuing a career in rugby - with an ultimate goal of growing the game and helping take the national team to a World Cup one day. I knew the money wouldn't be great, but I justified it in my mind that I would at least be pursuing a worthwhile cause. 

At the time, I was on a salary of €400/month, the minimum wage in the country at the time. After taxes, I was on a take home pay of just over €300. My rent for a one-room studio was €200 in a 'not so nice' part of the city and my monthly travel ticket was €30, leaving me with just €70 to feed myself and any sort of semblance of a social life. 

It's fair to say I live relatively comfortably now. I have enough money to buy whatever I need, save up to travel, and socialise a few times a month if I wanted to. As I walk around Vilnius today, it brings me back to a time where I could only soak in and appreciate the views. Using my public transport travel ticket, I would come to the city centre and walk the narrow alleys of the famous Old Town. While others would sit in cafes enjoying a coffee or a meal, the best I could do was look through the window. At the time, the simple act of appreciation was value and entertainment in and of itself. 

The modern city of Vilnius with the city's CBD with modern high rises in the distance. Photo by Reza Bina on Unsplash

So when I come back on trips today, it means so much more to me to be able to sit in a cafe and enjoy a simple coffee. As the economy of the country continues to grow, new unique and boutique shops, cafes, restaurants, and other cool spots pop up all the time. Year after year I come back and the city appears to be more and more modern, hip, cool, and trendy. This isn't a bad thing - just a sign of the times. 

The minimum wage has raised from €400/month from when I was there to now over €1000/month for a full-time job. Standards of living are raising to western European standards and, in some aspects, the quality of life is much better. Young people are no longer leaving the country in the droves that they were for decent paying work. Vilnius is now a thriving hub for the IT and banking industries. Wifi and mobile data speeds in the city and country at large are some of the fastest in the world. If anything, more foreigners and expats appear to be moving to the city nowadays. It truly is a thriving international hub. 

Gediminas Castle Hill. Photo by Victor Malyushev on Unsplash

That is not to say that Vilnius and Lithuania are without their own problems - villages and towns around the country continue to experience the brain drain to urban areas and some parts still remain largely undeveloped since the days of the Soviet Union. But when I compare my experience of living in Vilnius six years ago, the city has improved ten-fold. If the opportunity arose, I would love to come back and have a "do over" of my time living in the city. While I believed my cause was noble, my financial situation at the time effectively negated my ability to fully enjoy the city. If I were to come back, I would want a decent paying job, matching how much I make currently, with a decent apartment on the edge of the city centre somewhere, not a half hour bus ride like I used to have to take. 

I'm not sure where I was going with this blog post - but I guess you could take it as an appreciation post for a city I love and that you should go and experience for yourselves one day. Sit in a cafe, see the architecture, or if you can't do that - just soak it all in and enjoy the experience. 

How (Not) To Run A Hostel: The Curious Case of Romeo and Relax Hostel 🇦🇱

Hostels, in their current form, have made travelling accessible to backpackers around the world for over one hundred years. The first ever hostel was opened by a German teacher at Altena Castle in North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany, in 1912 to support budget youth travel and hikers (source). Despite this being the first 'formal' hostel in recorded history, the idea of sharing a room with fellow travellers I'm sure goes back centuries before this with caravanserais being a notable example of informal accommodation on the Silk Road.

Today, hostels are found all over the world - from the largest cities through to the smallest towns and villages, offering socialisation, a cheap place to sleep, and in some cases a basic breakfast too. They come in various shapes, sizes, and quality - and lord knows I've stayed in a fair few dodgy ones in my time. Hostels are for solo travellers, groups, couples, and everyone in between. Hostels should be an all-encompassing place that offer a warm smile after a long travel day, open to one and all. 

Well, that's how it should be - it doesn't always end up like that. Hostels are becoming more and more built by large-scale chains and corporate entities that end up as a cheap hotel, rather than the backpacking hostel they try to advertise themselves as. 

The true backpackers hostel is on the decline as they struggle to keep up with the high-tech card keys, free breakfasts, and memory foam bunk beds that can be on offer at these chain hostels for the same or sometimes better price. Despite the world becoming a more open place with visas becoming easier to get for citizens of countries around the world (this is a broad generalisation, but travel is becoming more frictionless overall), as a people we are more closed off than ever. We spend more time on our phones, more people choose to work remotely and spend time on their AirPods instead of socialising. These are all reasons for the decline of a true social, backpacker hostel. 

But sometimes hostels fail because the owner just doesn't quite get 'it' - and that was definitely the case with one of my favourite hostels - 'Relax' Hostel, which was based in Himara, southern Albania. One of my favourites because of its location - Himara is a fantastic beach town in southern Albania with deep blue sea, fantastic views, and plenty to do. It was a fantastic hostel because the owner Romeo was eccentric, funny, and in all senses of the word - a true hippy. 

Background

After attempting to walk across Albania with my good friend Fred, I had to pull out at about the halfway point. Both my feet had been engulfed in blisters, my knee was in considerable pain, and I'm sure both Fred and I were at varying degrees of sunstroke. Fred did continue however, but I just couldn't find it in me after two extremely long and gruelling days of walking.

It was from the central town of Elbasan that I accidentally ended up in Himara after trying to get to Vlore, one of the coastal cities. The bus became too full to the point where I could not actually get off. The last stop was in Himara so I just kind of stayed on until there. My logic was that I'd stay the night there then head back the following morning. I had actually planned to come to Himara, just after a few days in Vlore first. 

After getting off the bus in Himara, I began walking up the high street looking for another hostel I had found on my offline maps that had been listed and, while walking, a man from above shouted down to me, "Hey backpacker! Hostel?" 

"Yeah!"

As I walked up the stairs and into Romeo's hostel, little did I know that this would be a canon event - a place that would become mythical legend in years to come. The hostel was clean on the surface - it would do for the night. Beach towels were provided free (cleanliness questionable but ok for a beach towel), breakfast was provided in the cafe downstairs, and the bed was simple but, again, would be absolutely fine for a budget backpacker like myself. It was definitely a beach hostel and feeling grains of sand on your feet combined with the salty air from the Adriatic Sea opposite really did evoke nostalgic feelings of beach holidays as a kid. 

Despite the initial good impressions early on, a few problems became apparent early on which really were early signs of the hostel's eventual demise. 

Problem 1: Anger management?

At my first stint of Romeo's Relax Hostel, I was one of two guests, the other being a middle-aged German lady who herself was a bit eccentric, but that is to be expected for most middle-aged people who choose to stay in dorm rooms at backpacking hostels (nothing wrong with that, it's just you do have to be a little bit eccentric to choose that over a nice hotel let's say). As Germans stereotypically are, she was a bit brash and I think as an individual struggled to pick up on social cues. 

Romeo seemingly became unhappy after finding that the German lady had used some of his personal belongings (the hostel doubled as his home) to which he became quite irate and rather angrily kicked her out of the hostel unceremoniously. While, if she had indeed used his belongings, his reaction may have been understandable - surely a more professional response would have been in order. Nevertheless, I liked the hostel and Romeo had been perfectly reasonable with me. 

It seemed that Romeo lived this double life, whereby if you were in his good books, you would have a fantastic hostel experience - home cooked omelettes, free kayak use, a warm welcome. But if for whatever reason you did something that maybe he considered bad, then you would feel Romeo's wrath. Unfortunately for unsuspecting guests, these weren't infrequent events and many would feel the tension from time to time which meant that these guests often ended up leaving poor reviews of the hostel, which lead to another problem...

Problem 2: Google Reviews - Good Reading, Bad Publicity

As customers came and went - a good 50% of them would seemingly have a bad experience and so, naturally, this translated into online reviews. While any normal hostel owner might change their attitude, take a personal reflection, and learn from them, Romeo doubled down and would leave unprofessional, yet absolutely hilarious, responses to reviews left about the hostel online. 

In August 2019, a couple of years before I stayed there, the hostel seemingly burnt down after Romeo was passed out drunk on the terrace after leaving candles on. They attach a photo of the burnt down hostel and an emotional warning for travellers not to stay there or risk their lives (thankfully I did not see this before my own visit there, otherwise I may never have gotten to experience the 'relax' at all!). 

Exhibit A

Health and safety? Nah man, just relax 😎

While Romeo's response to the above review was relatively chilled, it seemed like he could have used his own advice in this next review, where someone accused him of having a mental condition and hooking up with female guests out in the open:

Exhibit B

Of course, there's a lot of 5-star reviews listed too - Romeo and his hostel were very polarising. I'll leave it to you to search and find them all - but these are just two of the responses I found which fail to address genuine concerns of paying customers. Unfortunately, in a town such as Himara which is famous domestically and an up and coming destination for international tourists too, reputation is just so so important.

While it is possible to survive on luring in clueless backpackers who stay on a bus too long like me, it's not sustainable when the majority of travellers to the area will look to pre-book and pay for a hostel/hotel upfront. 

It seems that Romeo did become aware of this and did try to change a few things...

The Rebrand: Too Little, Too Late

After I left Albania, I was fascinated by Relax Hostel. It had become a thing of mystic and interest to Fred and I and as such, I continued to follow reviews left on it. I just found it so fascinating and interesting, not so much the reviews - but the response to the reviews as I've shown above! 

Slowly but surely, the negative reviews overtook the positive ones and it got to a stage where the hostel, which was once positively rated, slowly became the bad egg of Himara hostels. Romeo seemingly recognised this and began a rebrand and changed the name from 'Relax' Hostel to 'Don Hostelo' (don't ask what that means because I don't have a clue). Despite this name change, the poor reviews kept coming in - it was clear that Romeo failed to learn anything and simply hoped that if he changed the name of the hostel, all the old reviews would disappear? Obviously this failed and, like the old saying goes, doing the same thing but expecting different results is the definition of insanity. 

I recently learnt after a quick search that Relax Hostel/Don Hostelo was no more. Google lists it as 'permanently closed'. Despite this being official recently, I had had this fear as I did manage to go back to Himara in May 2023 and tried to visit the hostel - but no one answered the door when I knocked. 

The End of an Era

In a world of ever more commercialised hostels and the owners being men in suits many miles away, the days of hostels being run by eccentric hippies is slowly dying off. For young backpackers who aren't too bothered how clean a hostel is if the vibes are off the charts, Relax Hostel was perfect. One could sit out on the terrace, enjoy the sun, read a book, and love life. It was a thirty second walk from the beach and sat on top of the main strip where you could get cheap, delicious food, drink a coffee, or even hire a moped all within the space of thirty metres of each other. 

Unfortunately the world of commercialised travel, where people can post a review of their experience online to share with the world immediately for millions to see, has made it harder for the eccentrics like Romeo to stay afloat. And that's no excuse for his behaviour and professionalism at times, but I do feel the world needs more hostels run by hippies who are a little eccentric, not chain hostels run by men in suits and CEOs. 

However, as can be seen with the curious case of Romeo and Relax Hostel, there still has to be a level of decorum and professionalism so that the art of backpacking can continue to live on not just in Himara, but around the world. 

"Every one of us is with a mental condition, I'm not gonna judge your condition." - Romeo