Who wants to hear about my latest international-travel-related drama? OH YOU DO? Well you’re in luck. Because I’m stuck at Melbourne Airport and I’ve run out of book. Here is a timeline of today’s ineptitude, for your very own amusement.
When I first came to Phnom Penh earlier this year, I interviewed a really fantastic social enterprise called ARC Hub PNH for an article I was writing about prosthetic limb production in Cambodia and Laos. During the Secret War that ran concurrently to the Vietnam War, the Americans (illegally) dropped more
On my second night in Hua Hin, I make an elaborate show of pondering the wares of every food stall in the night market, despite knowing full well that I would end up back at the same stall as the previous night, working my way down the menu rather than
Thailand is famous for its fabulous street food… and the night market in Hua Hin, a little coastal town three hours from Bangkok, certainly doesn’t disappoint.
“This way looks pretty safe,” I say, marching ahead around the corner and straight into the trap: six, maybe seven Thai teenagers, eyes full of malice, fingers already on the triggers of their pistols. I freeze. Behind me, my companions are backing away, about to take their chances ducking through
“Tell me again where you’re going,” says my Nan, pouring me a Bacardi and coke with significantly more Bacardi than coke. “Your dad said something about North Korea?”
It’s Easter Sunday and the church bells are ringing over Palermo. We’re sprawled on the rooftop terrace of our apartment, watching the seagulls over the domes and palazzios and the Arab-Norman towers, the blue hills and the just-glimpsed sea. Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde is mingling with the shouts of a