Day 59/365: The Death of the Backpacker Hostel (As I Know It)

The feeling of walking into a shared dorm room hostel in the middle of the night, after arriving on a late flight or bus, has got to be universal amongst budget backpackers. Clambering in the dark, tripping over bags, asking yourself "Is that bunk bed free or have they just not returned from their night out yet?" because it's not quite clear whether the bed is taken or not. Eventually finding a free one, only to find out it's the type of hostel where you have to make your own bed. I guess when it costs next to nothing, you can't really complain too much. 

It may not have been the first hostel I ever stayed in, but that was my first experience at the first hostel I ever stayed in in Vienna in the summer of 2019. After navigating my way through Vienna's metro system I arrived on the wrong side of midnight at the Wombats City Hostel, paid my fee, including the dreaded city tourist tax, and made my way to bed. 

I'd like to consider myself a somewhat considerate traveller and, alongside my own social anxiety of waking others up, I didn't even get dressed, make the bed, and simply climbed up onto the uncovered mattress to get some sleep. It was June in Vienna so the sun rose early and the room quickly warmed up through both the sunlight coming through the window and the body heat of twelve travellers twisting and turning in their sleep. 

My late arrival meant I was one of the last to wake up in the morning, but I still managed to get downstairs in time for the hostel's free breakfast. For those not accustomed to the hostel free breakfast, it's not quite omelettes and scrambled eggs; instead it took the form of boiled eggs, stale bread, some salami and juice. When you're 22 years old, you don't really care about that though - free food is free food after all. 

Upon returning to the dorm, I meet my bunk mate from the previous night, an English chef on annual leave. We quickly chat, exchange pleasantries, what we've done so far. It's the last day of his trip, the first of mine. 

"How long have you been travellig?" I ask. 

"A week, how long are you going for?" he responds.

"Six weeks, I'm planning on going around Europe the long way."

"Oh you're going for a long time," he exclaims, "well, best of luck, nice to meet you."

I pack my bag, he packs his, and we part ways never to see each other or stay in contact ever again. I don't know his name, I don't even remember what he looks like, but I remember the exchange and conversation. The first time I, as a solo traveller, was meeting a fellow solo traveller and exchanging pleasantries on the basis we both had a mutual understanding of why we solo travel. 

Over the course of the next six weeks, I had dozens of experiences like this in hostels from Odessa down to Yerevan. Some people became friends for life, others just for a few moments. Some I still keep in touch with today, others I never saw again. While there is a sadness in making friendships for such a short period, there is also something bliss in knowing that someone came in to your life for a brief period to support you and be there when you needed it, even if you never managed to see them again. 

In recent years I have noticed a declining trend in this sort of atmosphere in hostels. The social aspect is missing. Hostels are no longer the rugged backpacker-friendly type places they once used to be. Instead of being run by former travelling hippies they are increasingly run as corporate chains. Walk into a hostel in most Western European cities nowadays and you will be greeted with an almost clinical atmosphere, any semblance of identity stripped through a theme of minimalist nothingness. 

During a recent trip to France, I stayed in a hostel in Nice for two nights. It was okay, but I couldn't help but think how much backpacking had changed. This was, according to the research I had done prior to the trip, one of the cheapest and top-rated hostels in the city. It was clean, it was welcoming, but it was clinical. Like all those years ago in Vienna, I arrived late at night to find the bed not made. While this is standard practise for many hostels, I can't help but feel it is dated and pointless. Most considerate people don't want to wake up the entire dorm as they wrestle with a bed sheet in the dark as they cannot find the personal light switch. It frustrates me because when you've stayed in cheaper hostels that do make the bed, you wonder why these corporate chains can't, while still charging me three times the price.

Beyond the move to corporate, almost McDonald's-like chains that modern day hostels have become (I'm looking at you Generator Hostels), it seems hostel culture is also changing. They're not as social anymore and. while I've not always been the most socially confident, I could always meet someone somewhere that was willing to have a chat. Nowadays, guests at hostels are more interested in their phones. Gone are the days of buying a case of beer or ice cream, sitting in a common room, and inviting others to have a drink/some ice cream with you (again, these spaces exist less now as corporate hostels maximise every single space to include as many beds as possible). 

With that, hostel etiquette is slowly dying. I'll never forget at a Generator Hostel in Stockholm waking up to the girl in the bunk above playing herself music through a loudspeaker to get to sleep - in a 12 bed dorm no less. On my trip in France, I was woken in the early hours of the morning to a fellow guest wrestling with a suitcase, plastic bags, and a zipper. With the risk of sounding like an old man, "back in my day" it was considered hostel etiquette to pack your bags the night before. It felt as if the effort I had gone through to be relatively quiet as I arrived late at night had been put to waste, going so far as to not even make my bed and sleep on top of the mattress itself. 

I can't help but think if it's me that needs to change, if people are changing, or if I've just been plain unlucky. I find myself staying in hostels less and less often and, if I do, it tends to be a private room. As such, maybe by lack of exposure, I come across the social types less often. I'm sure traditional old-school backpacking type hostels still exist (not to be confused with party hostels..), but they are a slowly dying breed, at least in Europe. 

Staying at a sociable, backpacking hostel is in large part why I still like to travel solo. Many of my best travel memories were either made in great hostels or with people I met in such hostels. If there's a lesson I'm taking home from recent trips, it is to support local hostels where possible.

Day 58/365: The War On Lattes

A latte is not a coffee. 

If you go out for a coffee and order a latte, you are drinking a hot coffee flavoured milkshake. Let’s stop calling it as such. If you had a coffee-flavoured ice cream, you wouldn’t call it a coffee, would you?

So why do we do it with lattes? 

Latte is the Italian word for ‘milk’. If you order a latte in Italy, arguably the home of coffee, you will get a glass of milk and rightfully so. The weakest coffee drink they will give you is a cappuccino and if you order a coffee, they will give you a shot of espresso.

My heart sinks when I stand behind someone in a queue at a cafe and someone orders a latte. Not only is it a waste of coffee beans, it’s a waste of milk. Only babies drink big bottles of hot milk, so why is it normalised as adults?

Corporations are waging a war against proper coffee and we, true coffee aficionados, must fight back. There isn’t such thing as an Iced Caramel Machiato from Starbucks, despite what they tell you. A machiato is, and always will be, an espresso with some milk foam. I don’t know whatever nonsense they serve at Starbucks is when you order one, but it ain’t it. 

So, reject corporate coffee chains. Drink local, speciality coffee and don’t order anything weaker than a flat white. A cappuccino at worst. 

Learn to enjoy the bitter taste of an espresso. It’s an acquired taste, but it will change your life. 

Day 57/365: The Verdict On Monaco

“Pickpocket! Pickpocket!” shouted one of the Nice Train station staff members, pointing at two women who were now leaving the platform. 

Shit I thought to myself. I was trying to squeeze onto the train for Monaco and it turned out I was right next to these two thieves the whole time. I check for my passport - still there; then for my wallet and phone - also still there. Thank God.

I manage to get to another door on the train and squeeze in. The two carriage train to Ventigmilia, via Monaco Monte-Carlo is not big enough for us all and it feels more like a London tube at rush hour than 11am on a Thursday on the Riviera Railway. 

Facing the window, I immediately decide that the French Riviera is one of the most beautiful spots in Europe, if not the world. We pass through the towns of Villefranche, Beaulieu, Eze, and Cap d’Ail. Each with beautiful white sand beaches and light blue water. Out in the sea there are people paddle boarding and kayaking. It’s still February but the sun is out and it’s a beautiful day.

It’s only a few stops and, within 25 minutes, I am in the territory of the Principality of Monaco, a new country for me. Immediately I feel out of place. As I walk down the first road I come across, it’s clear that there is serious wealth in this micro-state. I text Layla saying even the pigeons look posh here. 

Designer clothing seemed to be the norm amongst various pedestrians. If you weren’t on the bus, you were driving a super car and as I made my way to try and find some Monganesque food I had read about, I couldn’t help but feel the whole place was soulless. 

Monaco is very evidently a rich-person’s playground. It felt like I was walking on a 3D version of those carpets you used to get when you were younger, with the roads and you’d drive your toy cars around it. Although I haven’t been to Dubai, it felt like how that might feel except with a few more historical buildings thrown in. 

I never did find the Monganesque food and after an hour or so of mindlessly wandering around, coming across only designer shops and pretentious people, I thought “sod this” and caught the next train out. 

Nice is far nicer anyway. 

Day 56/365 (Part 2): The Hunt For A Toilet

The French are good at bakeries, food, pristine architecture. But there’s two things they’re not good at: invading Russia in the winter and access to public toilets. I’m going to focus on the latter.

As I enjoyed my various coffees today (see part 1) and even indulged in a healthy smoothie. My bladder slowly started to fill up. The first museum I visited today, La Piscine, had a clean, nice toilet. But it wasn’t in the city centre. 

Upon returning to Lille, as my bladder slowly felt smaller and smaller, I required use of the facilities at a much more hurried rate. I go to Musee de l’Hospice in the hope they’ll have a bathroom in there I can use. Really good museum, but I was busting for a wee the whole time, so couldn’t fully take it in. 

Upon leaving, I find a queue for a public toilet near the cathedral. It’s in a state of permanent lock despite the efforts of people in front of me to open it. I give up here and head to McDonald’s, but it’s full of loud teenagers and a security guard. I stumble across a Starbucks and go to buy the cheapest thing I can to get a receipt and the code to the toilet. Turns out the toilet was open and unlocked the whole time. Result, but at the cost of €1.95! 

Lille has been fantastic, but get more toilets. 

Day 56/365 (Part 1): A Coffee In Lille

Nothing says dedication to the craft of travelling the world like finishing a twelve hour night shift, getting straight on the train to London, followed by a connection onto the Eurostar for just under an hour and half journey into Lille.

It’s seventeen degrees today, the sky is blue and there are whiskers of clouds in the sky. Spring is well and truly in the air and the streets of Lille are filled with people, on a Wednesday too. I’ve come to love France, it’s a travellers paradise. Paris, yes, is a beautiful city and a must for anyone. But there is so much more of it that deserves to be explored. 

Lille, in the French Flanders region, is my first stop on a three day tour taking me from here to Nice and Monaco and finally onto Malta. Lille has captured my heart already however. Maybe it’s the wanderlust in me or the spring weather in the air. Maybe it’s the, so far, friendly people, good coffee and good food (more to come).

Half an hour sleep post-night shift is never enough especially on a moving train. My forehead feels heavy and my eyelids want to shut. A coffee in Lille is the only way to survive. Having done my research, mostly by spending hours trawling through Google Maps, I come across Tiny Cafe and it lives up to name. There’s three tables, ones reserved, two are free albeit cramped in the side of this small cafe. It’s rustic and rough around the edges. The plants on my table hadn’t been watered in a while. The barista writes the opening hours on the window in white marker as I enjoy my coffee. It’s got that homely feeling. I don’t want the pristine, minimalist, and modern cafes of the big chains. This, this right here is perfect.

Day 55/365: One Bagging To the Extreme

Tomorrow morning, following my night shift I’ll be off on the Eurostar to enjoy a few days on the continent. While packing, Ithought I’d take my Patagonia Black Hole Micro MLC backpack. But on further reflection, I thought “let’s take this further.” 

So what was going to be my day pack, the Patagonia Atom 8L one strap backpack, is now my full pack for the trip. It is the lightest I’ve packed for a trip, perhaps ever. I will be away for three nights and the best part of four days. In my bag I have:

• A spare set of underwear
• A spare set of socks
• A spare t-shirt
• Layla’s camera
• Passport
• Phone charger
• Anthony Bourdain’s book ‘The Nasty Bits’

I’ve got a change of clothes for after work and a head full of ideas of where I want to go and what I want to do. First stop will be Lille, followed by a flight down to Nice in the evening. I’ll pop into Malta for coffee and lunch before heading over to Marseille for a flight to Malta. 

In the biggest sense of the phrase, I’ve got the “clothes off my back” and pretty much nothing else. I’ve got a hotel at Marseille Airport and the plan is to do a sink wash there if I need to. What more do you need to travel other than a head full of dreams, the clothes on your back, and a good book?

I’ll be visiting two new countries in Malta and Monaco and a couple of new cities in France, which I’m really looking forward to.

Tomorrow, I’ll be reporting from Lille. 

Day 54/365: Two Night Shifts To Go

Two night shifts to go until my rest days, where I plan to travel around France, Monaco, and Malta. All good fun but I have not slept much before my first night shift!

Day 53/365: Goggins

In 2021 I undertook perhaps my toughest ever running challenge - the David Goggins 4 x 4 x 48. Four kilometres every four hours for forty-eight hours. The original challenge is supposed to be four miles instead of kilometres, however, I wasn't such a strong runner at that stage to be able to do that. Nevertheless, it was the toughest challenge I have ever undertaken mentally and physically. 

Getting up in the middle of the night to go on a four kilometre run, when the sweat from your last run still hasn't dried is a serious undertaking. Unfortunately, I have not done a similar challenge since - that is until May when I try to undertake that 50km race I've already mentioned. 

But this isn't about that race, this is about the inspiration... Mr. David Goggins. Ever since first hearing about him back in 2020/21, I was enamoured by him. His mindset, his ability to keep going even when the odds are stacked against him (that is an understatement for someone who has ran 240 mile races on broken feet, suffered rhabdomyolysis, and much more). For the past few years I haven't followed him as much as I used to, but the last couple of days I've listened to his most recent podcasts on the Joe Rogan podcast (his and Courtney Dauwalter, another ultramarathon runner) which have truly re-inspired me. 

On the way back from work I listened to him talk about "front-loading" your life. How we never know what is around the corner, be it illness or injury or ultimately death. So we've got to do and achieve as much as possible with this one body and this one chance at this thing called life. I felt inspired to do and achieve more. I realised I've been too "lax" these last couple of years. I've come up with too many excuses, "I work too much" "I don't have enough money" "My priorities are different" but it was all nonsense. I just needed to put in the work. 

It's only recently I've started to see the result of some of that work over the past year. It's been a year since I first returned to parkrun and a four year hiatus from that world. A year of consistency in, I've ran a 10k race, a half marathon, logged hundreds of kilometres, done numerous parkruns in different locations. I'm now at the lowest weight I have been that I've recorded in the last two years minimum, but likely in the last three or four years overall. I'm more ambitious, as seen by my ultra sign up. In large part thanks to Goggins. 

So, thanks David Goggins for everything. We're not done yet. 

Day 52/365: Screen Time

The War On Screen Time is perpetual. I’m constantly trying to reduce wasted hours spent on my phone needlessly and mindlessly scrolling, often for scrolling sake. Watching Geowizard’s recent video on YouTube reminded me of this once again, as did the last “influencer” who made a similar video before that and before that again.

In a world where smart phones and living generally are so interconnected, it’s becoming ever more difficult to create and enforce that separation. While I would be the first one to throw away my iPhone (and I have tried… I haven’t bought ever in my life but it seems whenever mine eventually dies or gets lost or whatever, my family buys a new one for my birthday or Layla gives me her old one), it’s becoming ever more difficult to function without it. 

That’s because iPhones are more than just a telephone nowadays. They’re a GPS, a camera, a gaming device, a personal computer, and more, all rolled into one. Beyond that, however, in some restaurants you can’t easily access a menu without scanning a QR code (phone with camera required) or getting on a plane (some airlines operate only with digital boarding passes now, not something a Nokia 3310 is able to process). They, quite simply, are needed if you want to have a semblance of an efficient life. 

But that is quite ironic really, here I am complaining that I waste so much time on my phone yet at the same time the phone actually saves me money. If I was to get rid of my iPhone, I’d need to get a Satnav for my car, I’d need to ask for a physical menu in restaurants (or only go to restaurants that offer a physical menu), or buy an alarm clock to wake me up. 

Despite how useful and efficient the phone can be, I miss the days when not everything was digital. Take digital boarding passes, while it’s not the norm on every airline, it will be soon. It’s easier, faster, more efficient and in turn makes the airline more money - they save on paper, ink, staffing, and printing. But for me, printed boarding passes were great physical mementos of trips gone past. Not just a flight but a moment in time. Now, that moment is digitalised and deleted when the flight is up. 

So I do hope to go without my phone at some point very soon, perhaps relying on a brick phone for emergencies. Getting out a map when I'm driving somewhere I don't know or going to restaurants that still use physical paper.. and with that making sure to actively seek them out. Because places that haven't automated their menu likely haven't automated their cooking.

Despite the forward progress our phones have brung, I hope as humans, we can take time to go back a little too, when phones weren't the priority and people were.

Day 51/365: Running

Ran for the third time this week and, for the first time in God knows how long, for the third day in a row. And I definitely felt it. A much slower long(er) run than usual, but felt good to be on the feet for as long as I was. 

It was also nice to weigh in at 107.9kg post-run, my lowest recorded weight in the last two years and probably the lowest I've been in 3-4 years (unrecorded) at a minimum. Having gotten down to 108.7kg in 2024 and slowly gaining the weight back to peak at 116.1kg in December of last year, I knew I needed to knuckle down - and that meant running more, running longer, and eating better. Thankfully that has coincided as I begin training for this 50 kilometre timed race in May and I hope by then I may even be sub-100kg and in a good position for that race. 

One thing that draws me to ultra running is the almost lack of pressure to be "fast." The main goal is completing the distance. Sure, faster is better but just getting it done is an accomplishment. That doesn't mean I won't continue to try and get better at 5ks and 10ks, their priority just moves down the list for now. That being said, I actually think by running longer and further, my times in those events will come as well and I wouldn't be surprised if I hit a new parkrun PB soon as a result of my new training. 

It's going to be an exciting year for running.

Day 50/365: 50 Days of Blogging

Fifty days of writing a daily blog. Whether any of it was useful, funny, or good I will leave up to you to decide.

I have really enjoyed this process of finding time to write something at the end (or start) of every day, usually something that I have experienced or simply thought about. It has been quite reflective and I think it is making me a better writer, slowly but surely. 

The habit of writing has allowed me to submit two pieces to online travel magazines over the last month and a half, whether they get accepted and published is another thing. I have also written a piece for an online travel writing competition, which I am still in the process of editing for submission. I have submitted a pitch for an article to another online magazine. All this is far more than I achieved in the last couple of years of writing and it feels I am just getting started, even if none of these end up getting accepted or winning anything. 

On some occasions it has been a rush and I simply have had nothing to say, so have left my most fervent supporters disappointed with a simple one sentence blog. Nevertheless, I have written everyday without fail for the past fifty days, and I hope to continue this habit for as long as I have my laptop or phone and internet connection to upload to. 

Day 49/365: Let the Ultra Training Begin

So in twelve weeks I will be attempting to run 50km within seven hours and as such, I've started my training plan. It felt to get out and run at a comfortable "ultra-style" pace where I walked most of the uphills and ran the flats and downhills. I walked when I got a bit out of puff, and ran when I didn't. 

Running in the modern world can be all very complex with talk of "Heart Rate Zones" and "tempos" and "intervals" and "hill work" and all this jargon. And I think that's why I'm drawn to ultras at the moment, although I'm sure my mind may change at some point. Marathons and half marathons and 10ks and 5ks are all distances where everyone has their own idea of what a "good" time is. Yet for ultras, people rarely think "how fast did you do the ultra?" they simply shocked at the idea of doing an ultra! 

Ultras also take the complexity of modern day running - it simply comes down to: run as far as you can. Don't worry about time or pace or zones, just get out and get it done. Of course, races still have cut off times and limits, but that for ultras they tend to be quite generous. They also have aid stations with tasty food and fizzy drinks... perfect for those who enjoy eating as much as they do running. 

I'm sure the training won't be perfect to get me in shape for the ultra - there will be moments when I am sick or have a slight niggle or simply don't have enough time. But with patience and perseverance it can be done, and that is the goal. Just get out and run (and walk from time to time). 

Day 48/365: The Night-Shifter's Fallacy

Every week, I promise myself I will get something done on my first rest day after my final night shift. Every week, I find myself merely trying to survive the day. The turnaround from day to night shift and the fatigue of working two nights in a row, actively working against my circadian rhythm just as my body has adjusted to one normal day. 

The first rest day of four is, for all intents and purposes, a right off. No matter how hard I plan to get something done, it feels like I am fighting the physical, mental, and biological strain of night shifts. The guilt associated with making plans, especially in regards to running or fitness, is deepened when I eventually miss these on my first rest day. 

Somehow I forget about just how fatigued I get on these first rest days. It is a tiredness that runs to my core. My muscles are sore, despite not having done any exercise. My mind is chaotic and tired. Every step, every decision feels like a major obstacle to get over. 

Eventually I do by my second rest day... enough to think that maybe next week I'll be functioning on my first rest day again. 

Day 47/365: See yesterday.

I promise the blogs will come back to full potential very soon. But for now it is simply about writing something everyday. I've got to get ready for my night shift again soon and again I can think of nothing!

I like to think that even the act of writing a few sentences is better than nothing at all, even if I'm talking about nothing at all. One more sentence written is one more than I would have had if I didn't write it at all. 

Until tomorrow.

Day 46/365: Have this

Couldn't think of anything to write today and I have to get ready for work soon.

Day 45/365: Valentine's Day

Despite all efforts to avoid writing about Valentine's Day today, a rather uneventful twelve hour shift at work means I am left with little other choice. 

Valentine's Day is a day primarily for the women in relationships - I suppose getting flowers and chocolates and all that can make one feel very special. But for me, a miserable old bastard, the meaning of Valentine's has been ruined by its commercialisation. Restaurants and florists raise their prices to extort everyone. This year I heard of "Galentine's" for the first time - a Valentine's Day for friends... no doubt will make the card shops and florists happy.

It is a good chance to reflect on the last two and a bit years with Layla, however, with how fast it has gone and how much we've done. Without wanting to repeat everything I said on our anniversary day blog, if Valentine's does remind me of anything it's how much I love Layla and how much she does for me. Without her I'd be even more of a miserable bastard!

And for that, I can only be eternally grateful. 

Here's to many more (less commercialised and capitalistic) Valentine's Days with Layla. 

Day 44/365: When Will I Finish War and Peace

The downside of twelve hour shifts is it takes a bit longer for you to have that first taste of spring. Working a day shift means I still start work in the dark and by the time I leave... it's still dark. My fellow 9-5ers have probably started noticing the days growing ever so slightly longer, but for me we're not quite there yet. 

On the upside, I get more time off to counter the increased hours I worked, so there's that I suppose. 

As the year goes on I'm slowly coming to the realisation that I probably won't finish War and Peace as quick as I hoped. At first, I hoped to finish it in a month, then by the end of my Lithuania trip, then before I go on my next trip in a couple of weeks. My next goal is to finish it before Layla and I go to America and that is doable, but still difficult! 

I will likely start picking up other books, especially for my next trip around France, Monaco, and Malta I will take an Anthony Bourdain book with me. It would be rude not to read a bit of Bourdain while travelling around France.

Day 43/365: What Have I Done?

The last few days I've been milling over my running plans for the upcoming year and it doesn't help I've already changed my plans a few times. It also doesn't help I have not fully paid and confirmed anything other than my Half Marathon in Vilnius in September. 

My original plan was to run a 10km in London for Easter, then I changed my mind and decided I would do another Half Marathon in Faversham at the end of May. But over the last few days, after coming across a timed event in Gravesend in May, I decided to go ahead and pay onto that. The only difference with any of the other runs is I plan to do... an ultramarathon.

Bloody hell! Not quite sure how I ended up with that idea, but now the goal has shifted to running 50km in seven hours in a little over twelve weeks time. I'm going to have to seriously increase my training volume, but it will be worth it and it will be doable with the right mindset. The good thing about this event is it is done in loops and you don't commit to a certain distance, you just do as many or as little as you want in the specified time limit. But I don't want to sell myself short - my goal on the day will be 50km. 

So let's see how that goes...

Day 42/365: Why I Travel

In a couple of weeks I'll be off on my next adventure - a post-night shift, sleep deprived, solo trip from my workplace to... Malta. Once it is done I'll have visited two new countries that I've never been to before in Monaco and Malta but it got me thinking... who do I do this? 

Why put myself through the torture of jumping straight on a Eurostar train to Lille after four, twelve hour shifts in a row? After all sleep deprivation is indeed a form of torture in some countries. 

Firstly, I simply enjoy it. That feeling when you step off a plane, train, or bus in another country is quite simply like no other. New air, new food, new culture, new language - everything is exciting and different and I thrive in that. Whether it is trying to learn the three words I learnt on Google Translate on the way to the airport to find my way into the city centre or finding a cafe that serves a delicious coffee with a good spot to sit and people watch, there is a certain thrill which cannot be paralleled. Whether it is a far flung country on the other side of the globe or a few miles down the road, I get a buzz out of being somewhere new. 

I travel to write. Over the years I've come to love putting pen to paper (figuratively) to bring some of the exciting journeys and destinations I've been to to light. To quote the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he’s not the same man.” As narcissistic as it sounds, writing my experiences of stepping into the river marks into history my experience in that moment, in that place, forever. 

For me, lastly, travel is a privilege. The lottery of where and to who I was born to, means that I have the ability to travel freely to 114 countries around the world. With a bit of extra effort, I can travel to an additional 45 countries relatively easy as well. Furthermore, if I wanted to and if I invested the time and money, I could even visit every country in the world if I wanted to. 

I recognise the immense amount of privilege I have as a global citizen to be able to do that. Most people are not so lucky. As the old saying goes, "with great power comes great responsibility." And I do believe in that firmly. I have a responsibility, as someone able to travel, to go out and learn about the world. To go out and bring what I've learnt back to the places where I live, to spread awareness about our fellow human beings. To show that, if anything, the world is a lot smaller place than we realise. To understand that there is no such thing as an "illegal" human being just because they happened to be born in a certain place at a certain time. 

Every place I've visited has left its mark on me, both good and bad. I have developed friends for a few minutes and in some cases friends for a lifetime. If I was to never travel again, I could, with hand on heart, say that part of me belongs to places like Iraq with the most hospitable people; to Albania for being a country so small but with so much adventure; to Switzerland for being so bloody beautiful; and even to Namibia, for the resilience of its plumbing! 

I am a better person for traveling. 

Albania - the inspiration for my first ever book. A country so small but with endless possibilities to explore (2021). 

Hitchhiking to Moldova, in Mayaky Ukraine (2019).

Can you tell I like hitchhiking? This time near the Georgia-Armenian border (2019). 

Aranjuez, on the outskirts of Madrid. I lived with Colombians and spent six weeks learning Spanish (2021).

The Bitcoin Bar in Budapest, Hungary (2022). 

The Kurds are not just barbers on your local high street, they are fantastic people. A meal I enjoyed in rural Kurdistan after a man on the bus invited me to his home for lunch (2023). 

My friends Hussein (L) and Abdul (R) in Iraq. I am still connected with them on Instagram to this day after they invited me to hang out with them and their friends in Hillah, Iraq (2023). 

Day 41/365: Never Before Published (My Anthology Travel Writing Competition Submission from 2023)

Back in 2023, I submitted a piece to Anthology's Travel Writing Competition, in which I never heard back although I eventually found out that I never won, unsurprisingly. As such, the file has sat on my computer ever since, unpublished anywhere. And after yesterday's reflection on pitching articles to magazines, I remembered the competition and decided I will enter again this year. 

After re-reading my submission, it is clear why I never had a chance of winning in the first place, or even getting shortlisted. My piece was more of a very broad essay on Iraq and why it's a great place to visit as opposed to a singular piece on a moment in travel. I've learnt a lot since then and, I think, am a slightly better writer. However, for today's post I will share with you that submission so, at the very least, that piece has a place somewhere other than just my desktop folder on my laptop. 

It's not the best and is full of boring stats and tropes and doesn't evoke any emotion, if anything it reads more like a Wikipedia article. I'm still guilty of writing like this even today at times, but I hope it's interesting to learn from in the first instance on what not to do.

Most Governments Are Wrong About Visiting Iraq

Twenty years ago, on the 19th of March 2003, the US-led invasion of Iraq begun. Within three months, Saddam Hussein was captured. Within three years, he was dead and a brutal civil war had broken out. In 2013, the Islamic State occupied around 40% of Iraq and taken its second-largest city, Mosul, and had come within eight miles of taking Iraq’s main international airport in Baghdad. 

Twenty years later, in 2023, Iraq is back on the path to normality. Tensions remain between Shia and Sunni Muslims as well as with the government. 

Kurdistan, which is effectively its own country with its own borders, army, language, culture, food, and even visa policy, has come out of the last twenty years significantly better off than the rest of the country. Its western-backed Peshmerga (Kurdish Army) successfully fought off attempted ISIS infiltration. 

The Kurdish capital, Erbil, is a thriving city based around the citadel, a site thought to have been settled in over 6,000 years ago. Walking amongst the bazaar below, it is impossible not to feel a sense of excitement as street vendors sold anything and everything you could think of - be it kunafa, the traditional Middle Eastern dessert; second hand clothes; money exchanges; electronics. Anything you needed, you could get. 

Evidence of the region’s brutal past isn’t hard to come by. At a coffee shop in a local park, the worker comes from Mosul - he escaped in 2013 as ISIS militants took hold of the city. He is settled in Erbil now and speaks Kurdish, Arabic, and English. 

Before long, it is time to head out of the Kurdish capital. The road to Kurdistan’s second largest city, Sulaymaniyah (pronounced Slemani by most locals), lies deep in the heart of the Zagros mountain range, that spans across parts of south-eastern Turkey, Iraqi Kurdistan, and Iran. These mountains are known to be the hiding spots of some of Kurdistan’s more extremist separatist militants such as the Kurdistan Workers Party and the Kurdistan Free Life Party. Perhaps it is no surprise that the roads in these remote parts of Kurdistan are littered with Peshmerga checkpoints. 

Hospitality comes second nature to the locals here, being invited to a man’s house from the bus was unexpected, but an honour nonetheless. Dining on local mutton, biriani, and bread was the perfect meal and set me up for the rest of the day. They even offered a place to stay for the night, but the bright lights of Slemani were not far away, so the journey continued. 

Ranya, on the way to Slemani, is truly a beautiful place, surrounded on all sides by the snow-topped Zagros Mountains. It was hard to believe that this really was Iraq - it could easily have been mistaken for a small village in Switzerland. 

Slemani is a busy market town near the Iranian border. Today, the newer part of the city serves as an important business hub with high rise hotels littering the skyline. Perhaps Slemani’s most unique feature is its nightly food market. Every evening, Salim Street lights up with hundreds of food vendors selling shawarma’s, roasted nuts, crepes worthy of high end cafes in Paris, freshly squeezed juice, and more - it’s all found on Salim Street. 

It was this part of Kurdistan that perhaps suffered more than any other under the reprisals of Saddam Hussein. It was in the town of Halabja, 80km away from Slemani and on the Iranian border, where Saddam Hussein dropped mustard gas in 1988, killing between 3,200-5000 people and leaving many with permanent, life-altering injuries. Even today, this part of Kurdistan and Iraq has higher rates of birth deformities than anywhere else. 

Many tourists will go to Kurdistan as a safer alternative to Iraq, thinking that because, on most western maps it lies within Iraqi borders, it is the same or it counts as ‘visiting Iraq.’ But this way of thinking is not conducive with the just how different the two entities are. It doesn’t take long after arriving in Baghdad to notice the differences. 

While military presence is noticeable in Kurdistan, in Baghdad and Federal Iraq the level of military presence is overwhelming. In some areas, such as the airport or Baghdad centre, soldier filled Humvees line the street, all with the most advanced gear and weaponry. These guys have been trained and supplied by the Americans, and you can really see it. But it is not the military that defines Baghdad, it is a huge, diverse city which caters to all. Moutanabi Street is lined with vendors selling everything from books to barber chairs. In the mood for a professional photoshoot? Head down to Tahrir Square and look out for some budding photographers with their fancy cameras. 

But it is Kerbala, 80km away from Baghdad, that is the next destination. Visited by millions of pilgrims each year, Kerbala is home to the shrine of Imam Hussein, one of the Prophet Muhammad’s grandsons who was supposedly martyred at the Battle of Kerbala. While it is possible to visit the shrine, it is always busy - but that shouldn’t stop you from admiring its beauty from the outside, shiny green tiles, each one built and laid to perfection. 

Anyone interested in ancient history should visit the nearby town of Hillah too. It was here Saddam Hussein built one of his grand palaces overlooking the ancient ruins of Babylon. While parts of the ancient city were defaced by Saddam Hussein’s ego, marking stones and relics, the beauty of this place is undeniable. The history is remarkable, one of the first modern cities - civilisation began here. 

It is the people of Kurdistan and Iraq, however, that define it, not its past. While the history is fascinating, the people are some of the most welcoming you can meet despite the western invasion and interference that has plagued the last three decades.

Most governments advise against all travel to Iraq, most governments are wrong. 

Day 40/365: Pitching

The whole premise of this daily blogging is to make me a more consistent and better writer, even on days when writer's block hits hard. Part of becoming a better writer, for me, means getting published in some established magazines either in print or online. Naturally this means having to either submit articles or pitch them. So far this year I've submitted one travel piece and, today, made a pitch to a coffee magazine.

The hard part in all this is the waiting. In its own way its like a job interview where you may get good news (they accept), bad news (they reject), or worst of all... ghosted completely. 

You may ask "why does it even matter?" And that would be a fair question. My writing shouldn't be withheld from the world based on some person I don't know's judgement of what they consider good or not. But believe it or not, I do hope to work in the world of journalism and writing one day and to do that means being open to the scrutiny of a wider reading public and the editors that have access to those readers. Being scrutinised and pushed back on would make me a better writer beyond the flattery of friends and family who support me regardless of what I write (not taking it for granted, by the way). 

I hope by the end of the year I can have been published on some somewhat reputable platforms. That means this part of my writing is dedicated to pitching to various places, to which I hope I can present some success stories to you, the reader, by the end of the year at some point.

Day 39/365: FPL

There are some 12 million of us Fantasy Premier League (FPL) managers, the game which takes over our weekends for 38 weeks from August to May every year. Some of us make a team and forget after a few weeks, and some of us play with pure dedication, analysing the stats and results, always keeping an eye on the next player who's going to score goals. 

We use words like "differential", "blank", and "haul" that to outsiders must make absolutely no sense. If you see someone in the pub celebrate when his team scores but slowly sink down afterwards, he's probably an FPL manager whose defender has lost his clean sheet bonus. 

The game, for those of us who are sad enough to take it seriously, can really make or break our weekends and, like many, has broken me this season! Last year I finished with an Overall Rank of ~800,000 (out of 12+ million), not too bad for the first season that I played it properly. This season I'm currently ranked ~2.7 million so far.

While there is time to turn the season around, time is running out with just 12 gameweeks to go...

Day 38/365: Running through puddles

As I make my way round the parkrun course this morning, I can't help but nearly crash into the many people who swerve and stop as they try to avoid trench foot by skipping over puddles. Like an out of control train, all 110kg of me is difficult to change direction and stop once in motion so I take no notice of the puddles. After running in -21C at last week's parkrun in Panevezys, today feels tropical and I laugh to myself as I hear someone at the start tell their friend that it feels a bit "chilly" today at 7C.

I too used to care about not getting my feet wet or muddy but on my course it is now inevitable with large sections and swathes of the course covered in puddles and/or slippy mud. If anything, I found running through the puddles nice and cooling but actually also a lot more firm under foot. 

A good way to start a Saturday before the night shitft.

Day 37/365: Self-doubt

The last week or so has been a struggle with the motivation to read and write generally. It feels like I write to an empty stadium and that getting published by a magazine or website is so far off. A career in travel or war journalism so unrealistic and unobtainable means I sink further into a pit of self-doubt on if all this effort is worth it. By no means does it mean I'll give up, but just an honest and brutal take on where my headspace is. 

Trying to balance keeping fit through running, actually travelling, and working a full-time job to keep a roof over my head is a constant juggling act. To add, I recently royally cocked up a job interview for a Team Leader position and, ultimately, a chance at a pay rise, albeit a small one. 

All we can do is keep trying, day after day. See you in tomorrow's blog.

Day 36/365: Potato Pancakes

As I made my way up the stairs to my flat, I was greeted at the door by my girlfriend with a big smile. Behind her I noticed the smell of frying potato pancakes enter my nose, one that I am well accustomed to as a Lithuanian. What a surprise! My girlfriend had cooked a lovely dinner including cheese bites and cake for dessert in celebration of us being together "officially" for two years. 

It was a much needed meal after a long day in the office and I'm glad to have her in my life. It was two years ago that we were in Luxembourg together on our first official trip together, only a couple of months after meeting. Who knew were those two years could take us?! From Luxembourg to Liechtenstein, the Valais to Vilnius, and Dungeness to Dunkirk - we've travelled Europe and Britain alike, creating a host of memories along the way. 

Our biggest adventure, life, is infinitely in front of us and I can't wait to spend the rest of it with you. 

I love you, Layla ❤️

Day 35/365

 Waking up early despite the broken sleep was surprisingly easy. The journey from Baisogala back to the Airport also surprisingly easy despite some brief heavy traffic around Kedainiai. I don’t know why, but I find leaving easier generally. It’s only in the days I’m there thst my heart is heavy with grief. Nevertheless, I feel I managed to get the right balance of relaxation and exploration. Even in a place I know so well, I continue to discover new and interesting things in the region around Baisogala, be it the fantastic Lost Shtetl Museumm in Šeduva or Kavamanija Cafe in Kedainiai. If this proves anything, it proves that we don’t have to move far from where we know to discover new places. We can be explorers in places we seen all too familiar with. 

Beyond that, however, if there’s anything I’ve taken away from this trip, it’s confirmed to me my desire to move back to Lithuania at some point. Not necessarily Baisogala, not least due to lack of English-speaking job opportunities (although there is a Rheinmetall plant being built there, so far those jobs are quite technical), but the opportunities will continue to be better in the big cities - Vilnius, Kaunas, and Klaipeda for English-speaking roles. 

Seeing Lithuania covered in a blanket of the most beautiful white snow was otherworldly. In fact, I’ve never seen something quite like it - so vast and unending and unspoilt, despite it having been there for over a month now it is yet to turn into the grey and black slush that it inevitably becomes. It is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful countries in Europe, although I am bias. 

34/365: An attempt at a poem

Once again, a trip I booked so long ago has come and gone. 

I'll miss the creaky wooden floors and the painted-window doors.

I'll miss the old phone that sits in the corner and the electric heater that makes it feel like a sauna.

I'll miss the books on the shelves and the wind chime that bells.

I'll miss standing in your room and letting the memories loom. 

I'll miss you Senelė, perhaps watching along from the moon. 

33/365: Expering true cold.

With temperatures set to reach their lowest in the early hours of this morning, dipping down to a chilly -29C, I simply had to experience it. So, in just my pyjamas, I opened the door to the balcony and breathed in the cold air. 

In this moment, I experienced perhaps the coldest temperature I have ever experienced. Prior to this trip, the previous lowest I think I had ever felt was -15C, also in Lithuania during the time I lived here back in 2018/19. Experiencing such a level of cold, from the safety of a balcony door I could close at anytime, was actually quite liberating. The fresh air woke me up better than any coffee and, to my surprise, wasn't actually as cold as I thought (although I wouldn't have wanted to be stood outside too long in just pyjamas!). 

Moments like these make me wonder when I will again experience such extremes of weather? Given the rare winter Lithuania is currently experiencing, I doubt it will be next year. In fact, with global warming and the like, who knows when I will next experience such a level of cold?

32/365: Pas Zita

On the door of Baisogala's one and only restaurant, Pas Zita, is the opening times. Nigh on every day apart from Sunday's, it is open from 10:00am to 5:00pm. What the door says and what is the reality, however, are two different things. 

I waddled down yesterday (Saturday) to find it was closed, much to my disappointment. Today, upon seeing that it was "free cepeliniai for seniors" day on their Facebook page, I knew I had to get in early. You see, Pas Zita, like many village canteens around the world is the sort of place to close when the last customer has left. In a town like Baisogala, where there are less than 1,700 people, footfall quickly dies down after the lunch time rush. And if you're not quick, you'll miss it altogether. 

The hearty working class staple of the masses - cepelinai.

At bang on 12:00pm I pulled on the door that yesterday was locked, and found myself in this quintessential Lithuanian canteen. The entrance has a number of coat hooks to hang the vast number of layers everyone wears this time of year to counter the arctic conditions, -17C at the time of my leaving the flat. 

It's my third time here (out of about a dozen attempts mind you), so I know the drill. Up to the bar where I order a charcho (Georgian soup, popular all around Lithuania however) and cepelinai with meat, the hearty grated potato dumplings which Lithuanians the world over consider their national dish. In tourist restaurants in Vilnius, these are turned into gimmicks - huge monstrosities to advertise on their menus. Here in the village though, they are a humble working class meal for the masses. It's a Sunday and seniors get free cepelinai today, but I do see a few workers come in for their daily lunch too. It's quick, efficient, and hits the spot. 

Charchio - the Georgian traditional food famous in Lithuania. Rice, meat, spicy broth... what more do you need on a winter's day?

In the depth of winter, a meal like this is serious sustenance and with a belly full of warm, filling food I go out for a pleasant afternoon walk. It is cold of course but the sun is out, glistening on the snow. My life is content in this moment and my day complete. I look forward to my next meal at Pas Zita when I'm next in Baisogala, if I hit the lunch rush that is.