Author Archives: James

Galapagos – Life Aboard

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Ah, the Galapagos. Amazing wildlife, jaw-dropping geology, fresh air, champagne. It was just like that Lonely Island video…

Well, not really. Yes, we spent our days hopping from island to island. Yes, we saw the most incredible flora and fauna. And yes, we were on a sailing catamaran motoring (and very occasionally sailing) around the Pacific Ocean with a lovely bunch of travelers / holidaymakers for a week. But there was remarkably little booze. It’s not that there wasn’t any on board, it’s just that very few of us actually felt the need (which, after a few habit-forming years of a beer or two every evening after work was surprisingly refreshing).

Other than the occasional broken night’s sleep (see below) the trip was perfect. Lucy and I were blissfully free of the seasickness that occasionally poleaxed some of our companions. We got up in the morning to the sound of the ship’s bell. A hearty breakfast, a pootle around an island, elevenses, a little snorkelling. Then a three course lunch followed by a siesta or a laze on the sundeck. More island pootling, perhaps more snorkeling, then a three course dinner, a briefing from our on board naturalist (not that kind) and bed. It was all highly regimented yet strangely comforting once you were in the flow of it – like being back at public school.

The crew were top notch, the other passengers were good company, and we all happily exchanged trivialities at first before risking anything more of ourselves (yes, I have been reading Paul Theroux, but other than this minor plagiarism I have remained relatively immune to his more misanthropic tendencies). We couldn’t have wished for a better bunch.

On reflection – and I am writing this at altitude in Peru after a six hour bus ride – my favorite part of the Galapagos wasn’t a particular animal or island (although Darwin’s boobies were amazing). The best part of the trip for me was seeing such a range of islands at such different stages of development: a fresh lava island covered in nothing but surrealism… next to an eroded lava island with a few plants and thousands of seabirds… next to an island that has been completely overtaken by vegetation, complete with giant tortoises. It normally takes huge leaps of imagination to picture anything happening on a geological timescale – here you just have to hop on a boat and travel a few miles to see millions of years back and forward in time, with all the changes in animal physiology and behavior to match. Truly fascinating.

Broken night’s sleep? Well, I have had a new business idea. It’s a new type of alarm clock for stressed executives who are having problems waking up in the morning, and it will be the recorded – yet unamplified – sound of a fifty meter steel anchor chain being hauled out of its resting place by a fifty pound kedge anchor just one thin sheet of plywood away from your head. I can guarantee its effectiveness, as I have now mastered the skill of sleeping through “slightly bumpy night navigations” (with one foot braced against the ceiling of our cabin, and with the sound of the waves blotting out Lucy’s occasional yelps as she was thrown out of bed). The anchor chain alarm clock never failed to rouse me, however. A shame that it usually marked the end of the night navigation at around 3am!

Backgrounds – Galapagos

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We have gone slightly background crazy in the Galapagos – no doubt helped by the extraordinarily large number of photographs we have taken. Let’s just say: if in doubt, go to the islands and see for yourself.

Critterwatch Galapagos: Sea Animals

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If there were ever gang warfare in the Galapagos I believe the sea creatures would split along time honoured lines: Deeply Cute vs. Extremely Ugly (but cool).

On one side: marine iguanas, which rock a spiky prehistoric vibe and lie around in huge leathery evil-looking piles. Their minions would be the crabs, which are bright red and disposable – like those nameless expedition crew members in Star Trek – but which crawl, and run, and jump, and fight for tourists’ entertainment. They also shag on camera and walk on water from time to time, both of which are pretty surprising when you see them for the first time.

On the other side: sea turtles (cute, but a little dull – see Lucy’s opinions of tortoises, except underwater) and sea lions. Now, let’s get this out of the way: sea lions are cute. Deeply cute. Furry, shiny, frolicking in the water cute. Sandy, cuddly, lying in the sun in pairs cute. Baby sea lions are like neutron stars of cute, tiny, fluffy, bleating, big-eyed balls of pure cuteness from whose gravitational pull no unbiased critical opinion can escape. Did I just write that sentence? Yes I did.

The victors? Probably the pirates, who stopped in the Galapagos, clubbed the seals, ate the tortoises, trod on the crabs and left the marine iguanas alone because they smell of rotten fish. For our part, we wandered and snorkeled wide-eyed through the islands being completely ignored by all the wildlife (you are recommended not to get within two meters, and I am guessing this is lest you spoil other tourists’ photographs, as the animals seem truly nonplussed by all the attention).

We have the pre-requisite dozens of photographs to show for this trip, not one of which was taken underwater. Unfortunately our closet camera love doesn’t really allow putting our shiny new Olympus into those expensive, high-tech plastic bags which are completely seawaterproof unless you get them wet. As such, you will have to take our word for it that we saw about a thousand different species of fish (including the coral eating, sand-pooping parrot fish), octopi, stacks of sea turtles, penguins swimming underwater and playful, somersaulting, bubble blowing sea lions. When your biggest gripe is that you only spotted two of the three different types of local sharks then life isn’t too bad. Also, neither one of us got eaten by a shoal of hammerheads, which is a plus at this early stage of our trip.

Hello Makaga!

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Write a blog, they said (grumble grumble). Try to make it different, they said (grumble grumble). Engage with your audience, they said (grumble grumble).

Lucy and I decided a while ago that we would write the very occasional post to say hello to individual friends of ours that we are missing on the road, and we decided that it would be suitably arbitrary to address these to our most prolific blog commenters. Strange, I know, but roll with us here. So, with a grand total of five (hurrah), hello Matthew!

This is Matthew.

As you can tell, he is a bit of a creative genius. Product designer extraordinare, snappy dresser, burgenoning swing dancer and one half of the legendary Matthew and Michelle, he and she have livened up our New York nights out with their unique blend of style, panache and awesome outfits. Put simply, they rock.

But what can we do to pay homage to Matthew appropriately? Well, one of Matthew’s recent side projects was “April Neckwear”. Starting on the first of April, every day, for a full month (via Facebook) he did this:

It was great. We had serious tie envy. So, in honour of Matthew, we have decided to repeat April Neckwear, but amended slightly for our traveler status … and the fact that we aren’t exactly long on closet space in our rucksacks … and the fact that laundry day doesn’t come around too often. So, with apologies to Andy Warhol, here we go:

Matthew, mate, we miss you.

Time Flies

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We have just spent five hours flying East from Los Angeles to Miami. Five hours to go back over one month of driving. It feels simultaneously slightly ridiculous and actually rather awe-inspiring. This country is huge – how people actually managed to make it to the West Coast on foot and on horseback back in the day I have no idea.

Given the amount we have crammed into a month, it feels like we have been on the road for ages. However, given we decided to start our trip with a drive across the States, there was no Big Moment Of Arrival in a foreign country and hence no real feeling of departure. As a result, time has been playing little tricks on us: in Washington DC it felt like we were away for a long weekend. In Kentucky it felt like we had taken a week’s holiday. In Texas it felt like we had managed to sneak in a rare two week holiday (although the concept of an actual, untrashed two week holiday without being interrupted every single day by work emails and calls is completely unfamiliar to both of us). Only once we got into the canyonlands after two-plus weeks did it start to feel like something longer. Like gardening leave, perhaps? Who knows.

 

A hippie interlude if I may (Lucy has them occasionally, so why can’t I?). I honestly can’t remember a time in my life when I have been outside at night in the countryside for a long enough period of time to be aware of the moon waxing and waning.

But, like, dude, what does it meeeeeaan? Well, it’s been four weeks and I need a haircut – that’s what it means.

Laundry Day

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Well today was set aside for admin, laundry and the like. Oh yes, there was also a knife fight.

So, we have been travelling across the States for a month now. As such, we are holed up in San Diego in a not particularly inspiring hotel (you know the type – spend more on a nice dinner than on a room for a night) tying up loose ends before we head off to South America. I could write a short PhD thesis on the merits and potential downsides of outsourcing various parts of one’s life. I have friends who contract out most of the raising of their children; I have others who believe it is bad for the soul to have a house too big to clean yourself. Anyway, let’s not get into the specifics, let’s just say that no matter how successful I may (or may not) become, I don’t believe I will ever use hotel dry cleaning services unless someone else is paying for them. I mean, six pounds for a pair of pants – come on guys! Sooo … on the road I am becoming a dab hand at public launderettes, having now used one at least twice in my life. This afternoon I had a very happy hour or so indulging in the guilty pleasure of washing, drying, folding, matching socks, drying Lucy’s things. I also pottered for a couple of hours on my laptop, sorting things out for when wifi is less available, and we packed and repacked our rucksacks in different ways. It was a very happy, pottering kind of day.

Mmmm. Laundry.

Mmmm. Packing.

Mmmm. Pottering.

Oh, did I mention a knife fight? Did you want to hear about that? Well, we went down to Prospect Beach to check out the surf, soak up a bit of sun and eat half of our bodyweight in cold stone ice cream sundaes. It must be the school holidays as there were the usual tipsy sunbathing teenagers, there were a couple of couples with their sandcastling toddlers, a mumble of bad surfers were surfing badly. We were very happily sat watching the waves, eating our ice cream and wishing we were back in the office. Idyllic, really. Anyway, some of the teenagers were getting a bit rowdy – one guy and three girls, some swearing, nothing bad – and one of the toddler mothers went over to ask them nicely to tone it down a little. We couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but the body language was universal: open hands, pointing out the young child close by, gentle downward motion to ask to quieten down a bit. All standard.

Now, where I come from the response is to apologise and to calm it down a little. San Diego, not a bit of it – the response was immediate from (let’s call him) shorty, tattooed, baggy pants guy (or shorty, for short): “NOBODY TELLS ME TO QUIETEN THE F*** DOWN! NOBODY! DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, M*****F******?”. The girls started shouting at each other, then slapping each other, then the guys started shouting at each other, then pushing each other. At this point shorty pulls a knife, screams and lunges for the other guy, who (after a short period of almost visibly soiling his board shorts) plucks up his courage, smacks shorty in the face, picks up his skateboard and smacks shorty in the face, then picks up an oil-drum trash can and – wait for it – smacks shorty in the face. The lifeguards turn up, shorty waves his knife at them, and as a result seven (we counted them) police cars turned up and the police proceeded in an orderly fashion to – you guessed it – smack shorty in the face. Instant karma I guess. Shorty was then carted off to the cells.

It was extraordinary. During all of this the toddlers kept playing and we kept eating our ice creams, about 15 yards away. We finished our ice creams, the cops started taking witness statements. People stopped taking pictures and we rushed home.

You see, I had a wash on.

Improvisation in Joshua Tree

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I’m definitely not the first person to use a big fluffy air mattress in a tent. I’m certainly not the first person to fry the electric inflator of the mattress by running too high a voltage through it in an attempt to recharge it extra fast. I’m probably not the first person to jury rig an improvised air mattress inflator using … erm … a car exhaust pipe. However, I am probably one of a select few to do all of the above having woken up that morning in a five star hotel in Las Vegas.

We are in Joshua Tree national park, having driven from the Aria Hotel (cunningly yield-managed to an extraordinarily cheap price on a Sunday night); across the Mojave Desert (which has NO gas stations, for those of you who are thinking of setting out from Las Vegas with a half empty tank); along one of the few remaining portions of the original Route 66; and into the hills of Joshua Tree, all playing obligatory U2 at wildlife-scaring volume. It is meant to be the last hurrah of our flowery tent – due to be thrown away when we reach Los Angeles – and I am lying awake rather worried. The tent is cozy and snug, and we have a double air mattress full of exhaust fumes.

[The Tent’s Last Hurrah (although we eventually relented, and posted it back to the UK)]

Blowing it up actually worked surprisingly well, with Lucy gently gunning the accelerator on request and me clasping the valve over the car exhaust as if a good night’s sleep depended on it. The mattress leaks, however, and exhaust fume asphyxiation in a tight tent isn’t how I intend to go (skydiving head down into an active volcano, for those who are curious). Thinking it through very carefully, however: a slow leak, large tent vents, a fresh breeze and mandatory catalytic converters make it safe, and we sleep tight.

Joshua Tree is famously inhospitable. How the early settlers got their tent pegs in I don’t know. We sleep extremely well under a clear starlit night, then get up at 6:30am and trek for three and a half hours from through the scrub in the scorching heat, down Lost Horse Trail, past an abandoned gold mine and finally up to a view of the San Andreas fault. World class hiking, but we are somewhat national-parked-out at this point having been to Zion, Grand Canyon and Bryce in the last few days, and we are overdue in San Diego for running water, electric light and good sushi.

[Lucy doing her finest Joshua Tree impression – instructions: please wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care!]

Short Runs in Strange Places – Las Vegas

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There is a feature on the running machines in our gym in New York. While you are pounding away on an artificial slope in an air conditioned room surrounded by neurotic, exhausted office worker types you can dial up videos of great scenic runs of the USA. It’s called the Virtual Active system, and with surprisingly little imagination it transports you: alongside the Niagra Falls; through ancient New England forests in the fall; through the legendary national parks of the United States. I don’t know if it’s the pumping music, the endorphins from the exercise or that strange runner’s trance, but it’s actually pretty compelling, to the extent that when you finish it comes as a bit of a surprise to be transported back to New York City and the real world.

There is a particular run which is my favourite: half an hour through the deep canyons of Utah and the deserts of Arizona, with a final sprint along the Las Vegas strip. I don’t know what it is about this specific run that I particularly like – maybe it’s the bonkers scenery or perhaps, less kindly, it’s the virtual running through all the clotted crowds struggling from casino to casino. Anyway, I had promised myself numerous times in my little gym in New York that – one day – I would do the run for real.

Well, Lucy and are currently in the wish-fulfillment business, so here you are:

101 Uses for a Subaru Impreza

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So we went online and hired a compact car to take us across the States.

For those of you who are European, a short teach-in: rental car companies over here have historically bought cars very cheaply by locking themselves into long term bulk purchase contracts – good for Chevy, good for Hertz, until there is a massive economic downturn and smaller, more environmentally friendly cars become fashionable. At that point Hertz etc. have huge inventories of huger cars that nobody wants and that they can’t stop buying. Whenever you hire a car, therefore, they either beg or force you to take a free “upgrade” to some monster truck that does about eight miles to the gallon and steers like an ocean liner.

Anyway, rant over. Hertz gave us a “compact” Toyota Rav4, which full of fuel, people and luggage weighs a little shy of two tons(!). We stamped our little New York feet, and after much aggro and driving around town we ended up with a brand new shiny black Subaru Impreza with about 750 miles on the clock. Result!

She’s beautiful. She doesn’t have a name (unless someone wants to suggest one), but she sits happily on the motorway at 80mph for hours at a time, she handles beautifully, has just enough room for our luggage, comfy seats and a good stereo. Road trip car heaven, unless … you happen to take a black car from its native habitat of New York City and take it into the 100 degree heat of the sunniest places in the United States. Leave her in the sun for anything more than a few minutes and you come back to a shiny Japanese steam oven on wheels.

But we are resourceful, practically minded people. So far our little car has been:

A clothes drier


A pizza oven


An emergency James warmer


Any more suggestions on a postcard please!

There are horses, and there are horses. These are the latter.

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Dallas and Fort Worth – Texas

People have asked us if we are spending much time visiting friends on our way around the world, and we have had to say no. It’s not that we are friendless, it’s just that not many of them live in North Korea, Kyrgyzstan, Antarctica or any other of the slightly out-of-the-way places that we have chosen to spend our time. It was therefore a special treat for us to be able to pass through Dallas, where our good friend Julia lives with her family. We actually spent two days in the Dallas / Forth Worth area, and ended up experiencing both ends of the Texan horse, so to speak.

Let me explain: Julie breeds, trains and rides beautiful, elegant (and champion) Arabian dressage horses, like this:

Julie and Lee

Julie and Lee

And Dallas is in striking distance of the world famous FORT WORTH RODEO!

Lasso cowboy

Apparently, tripping over your own lasso is considered something of a faux pas in Texas

The two experiences couldn’t have been further apart:

  • At Julie’s we drank chilled white wine in her beautiful garden at sunset; at RODEO! we drank Miller Lite from an aluminium bottle
  • At Julie’s we had a high tea of pistachio ice cream and fruit scones; at RODEO! we had a cookie-flavoured milk shake that I made myself out of a vanilla milkshake and a cookie
  • We visited Julie’s horses on the outskirts of Dallas and saw her future world champion filly; while at RODEO! we saw a sheep being chased around the arena by a crowd of four year olds (and were laughing so hard we couldn’t take any pictures)
Future champion

Future champion. Pretty cute for a four month old.

Ah, RODEO! It was fantastically cheesy. It was absolutely awesome. They had thirteen year old proto-country singers twanging the Star Spangled banner. They had real life cowboys trussing steers against the clock. They had real life cowgirls racing around the arena with diamante bridles on their horses. They had displays of the kind of secret love that a Texan can only have for his tractor.

Tractor love

As a Zamboni is to ice skating, the beloved tractor is to rodeo

And, of course, they actually rode bulls. Very big, very angry bulls.

 

Bull riding

More camera love - high speed, telephoto, in the dark

We promised Julie that we wouldn’t think that Texas is full of cowboys riding horses (and we don’t, in no small part because of her wonderful hospitality and all round gracious awesomeness). But hey, go see the cowboys if you are in town.