Simeon takes a break

After 6 years in the Swiss banking industry I decided to take a longer break and travel around the world. This is what happened (emphasis on -ed) along the way. Yes, I am the king - or shall I write kween - of procrastination. My first backpacking trip ended in 2014. I am one (!) post from wrapping up that trip. And, oh god, I decided to do it again. Here's to another round of backpacking, another self-infused obligation to document what happens. Traveling since August 2022 and taking notes. When will AI truly derve its name and convert the countless snippets, that exist on my iPhone Notes App, to the pristine and Pulitzer worthy gems that form this blog? Also, and to quote the insanely funny Tracey Ullman: "times change and I must join the hideous freak show that is the modern age", one can follow me on polarsteps here: https://www.polarsteps.com/SimeonTakesAnotherBreak

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What started as a super catchy song stuck in my head 10 years ago, ended up haunting me to this day. Finally, the video documenting parts of my 1st extensive backpacking trip is done, at last, on my final day of my 2nd 10 month long backpacking trip! Fitting, isn't it?

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San Blas impressions

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Grande finale - with a bang, literally!

Ever since I arrived in Cartagena, every backpacker I met was raving about one extraordinary experience: crossing the Caribbean Sea to Panama by boat and visiting the San Blas islands on the way. The archipelago comprises approximately 365 islands and puts every other island paradise to shame and has recently gotten wider attention since it was featured in the famous Netflix series “La casa de papel”.

There are several boats that make the journey back and forth. Since I’ve heard that the days at sea are really rough I opted for a catamaran: two hulls are better and probably more stable than one, right? The mighty African Queen was the chosen vessel under the command of South Tyrolean captain “Rudy” Rudolph Gamberoni. His hair was curly and blond and all over the place, just like his personality, it seemed. The crew was completed by his Colombian girlfriend, who was the kitchen master, and a relative of hers. The passenger group was fun and diverse with the exception of an American solo traveler who had more neuroses than all protagonists of every Woody Allen movie combined. She was afraid of her own shadow and about as laid-back as a chihuahua on a mix of red bull and cocaine.

And so we set sail, leaving the high rises of Cartagena behind us and welcoming the wide open sea in front of us. The waves didn’t disappoint and left nearly every passenger leaning over the railing puking their brains out. Seasickness pills saved me from reverse eating, however, nausea was still more than inconvenient. A welcome distraction was the thrilling catch of an impressive mahi-mahi. That yellow beast, with its odd head shape, measured more than a meter. Here’s how Rudy harpooned that poor soul into another dimension. 

We were spoiled with the freshest mahi-mahi sashimi and a delicious feast for dinner. After two days of rough sailing we finally reached the calm seas of the San Blas archipelago. We couldn’t get enough of snorkeling in the pristine turquoise waters and admire the intact corals and fishes (fun fact: The plural form of 'fish' is the same as the singular form when you are talking about one kind of fish. When you are talking about more than one kind or species of fish, both 'fish' and 'fishes' are ok to use. Isn’t English a wonderful language?). 

After a beer and rum fueled lunch Rudy set the catamaran in motion heading to another island. I and the other backpackers ensconced ourselves on the nets at the very front of the catamaran for some sunbathing and digesting. As I gazed into the horizon I noticed something in the distance. I turned to Cassy & Rob, a lovely Canadian couple and fellow passengers, wondering whether that was breaking waves, which would mean that we were heading straight for a reef. Nahhh, our curly captain surely paid close attention and would avoid shallow waters in time, we tried to reassure ourselves. We became increasingly uncomfortable as the boat wouldn’t turn. Those breaking waves sure were a baaad omen so I ran to the back of the African Queen only to find the tipsy trio (Rudy, his GF and their friend) peacefully asleep while the goddamn barge was set on freaking auto pilot!!! I screamed, waking them up, and hectically tried to warn Rudy of the imminent danger. I’ll never forget Rudy's panicky eyes as he immediately turned the rudder. But it was too late. The boat hit the reef with a loud and terrifying bang. After the initial shock, we realized that the catamaran was stuck and its motor wasn’t powerful enough to free it up again.   

From here on I shall not entirely rely on my memory but rather resort to Cassy’s excellent incident protocol: 

As a group we decided to get in the water to see if we could push the boat off the reef. We informed the captain and he said this was good. Big mistake! There were black spiky sea urchins that spiked 4 people. Next, trying to get out of the water was difficult: the captain alternated the engines forwards and backwards, trying to get the boat off the reef, which created very strong currents that washed everyone back onto the reef. Eventually, everyone got back on board with some cuts and sea urchin spikes in their feet and fingers. About 20 minutes later, another man arrived in a panga boat yelling for us to get off our boat and into his panga. We were given no time to grab our stuff off the deck or collect our luggage. Once aboard the panga, we found that he was the captain of the Sailing Koala and he was going to drop us off on the nearest island. He told us not to worry because this happens all the time!? He then returned to help our captain get our boat off the reef. The next 2 hours were spent waiting on the island, which thankfully had a basic hostel and immigration services (I recall an airstrip, so it might have been El Porvenir island). Our boat was not moving from the reef. Then the captain's girlfriend arrived on a panga with bad news: the boat was sinking and the right hull was completely full of water. That is when we realized that she had brought some of our luggage but not everything. It required 2 more trips over the next hour to our sinking boat to recover everything. 

Of course my large and small backpack were soaking wet and completely glazed with what seemed to be motor oil. My camera and tablet were of course destroyed by the salty water. My iPhone on the other hand was nowhere to be foun..., oh God, under my pillow on the top bunk bed in the cabin in the, you guessed it, right i.e. flooded hull. No way I’d give up without a fight. I asked the panga operator to bring me back to the catamaran but he refused as it was too dangerous. I instantly turned to harsher measures and claimed that my insulin medication was still on board. This was a blatant and maybe inadequate lie but it did the trick. Back on the catamaran the chaos was in full sling. Rudy didn’t pay attention to me at all as the Sailing Koala was trying to drag the stricken African Titanic out of its misery. That gave me the opportunity to continue with my mission. Once inside the lopsided and half-flooded vessel I realized that the power was still on. Not a good time to get electrocuted. So I tarzan-ed myself across the kitchen stepping on the stove and dangling alongside a cupboard into my cabin where I found the top bunk bed still dry and my iPhone precisely where I had left it. Great success. I grabbed it and made my way back on deck, avoiding the potentially deadly water. But not before opening the cooler on the way and “borrowing” a bottle of rum. Given the circumstances we surely would need that later on. Back on the island I found the others in complete disbelief and the American girl in her umpteenth panic attack. 

For the next 3 hours we sat waiting for information. We discussed as a group we would remain calm for Rudy's sake, as we knew that he would be very upset and stressed out. Immigration gave us some water as we sat by the shore waiting. Approximately, 7pm Rudy arrived on shore with no explanation. It was translated that we would stay on the island at the hostel nearby. We arrived at the hostel where bedrooms were arranged, as well as dinner. Rudy disappeared instantly and was on his phone for the few minutes that we saw him. Again, the group decided to leave both Rudy and his girlfriend alone to give them time and space to sort things out.

We spent the evening processing what just had happened. This is where the bottle of rum, I heroically had salvaged, came in very handy.

In the morning it was time to confront Rudy with our demands. All we got however was a petty USD 100 in cash and rudeness. What’s more is that Rudy admitted that the boat was uninsured. Furthermore, while aboard the boat Rudy could not contact the coastguard as his radio equipment did not work. What would have happened if our boat was sinking in the middle of the ocean and we had to be rescued? The sheer horror!

At least the transportation back to Panama City was organized so we had that going on for us, which is nice (#insertmemehere).

I had very responsibly taken out several insurance policies precisely for events like these. But surprise surprise: They deny cover when the insured person is between countries and aboard a boat in the open sea. That meant no refund for the trip, the damaged or lost items nor for the immense emotional damage my fragile soul had to endure (oh the drama). Not even a confirmation from the authorities helped.

But hey, the whole thing makes for a hell of a story. If not for me than certainly for the live lobsters that Rudy had bought from the local Kuna people and then graciously released back into the sea after the reef incident. Luckiest day of those bastards’ life I’d say. 

To say the least, the last couple of days in Panama City were underwhelming. Rainy weather, unimpressive sights, sketchy neighborhoods, a horrible date with a self obsessed wannabe instagrammer and a party that didn’t live up to its own name. The mighty Panama canal however was indeed impressive and worth a visit. 

I was now more than ready to call it quits and fly back home to family, friends and my dear friend’s wedding.

It was an unforgettable, exciting and thrilling journey. Back then I already knew that it was not gonna be my last one. And here I am, writing these lines, nine years later on my second big backpacking trip, which is every bit as amazing as the first one. 

And as they say, three times is a charm, so I keep my fingers crossed…

PS: Ever since that incident, San Blas was a major trigger topic for me and it was clear that I would go on this trip again and so I did in October 2022. It was as amazing as everyone said it would be. I had immense luck with the captain, the other passengers and the weather. Of course I had to tell the boat wreckage story and guess what? The captain knew Rudy. Apparently he is known as “the clown” among the other captains. Not only that but he spilled some further tea. Get this: After the tragic sinking of the African Titanic (or Queen) he had bought another boat. That boat apparently did sink AS WELL! And now he’s still standing (or floating) with his third vessel “Alessandra”. The stamina this guy has is astonishing, I give him that.

PPS: Back in 2013, when I embarked on my backpacking extravaganza, I had a song stuck in my head called "U Got the Power" by Swiss Lips. Well, that song stuck with me throughout the entire trip. You'll find out soon, why....

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Colombia impressions

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Hallucinations in Hollywood and CV cosmetics in Colombia

As I was about to plan my final destination of my first world trip I had to take my criminally neglected CV into account. There must be a way to position my year off as an “opportunity for personal growth and development that would have a positive impact on my life and career” and not make it look like a self-absorbed ego trip for a spoiled millennial, I thought to myself. Learning Spanish in Colombia seemed like a great way to achieve this. However, I decided to take advantage of a cheap flight connection and visit Los Angeles for a short one-week stopover. The opportunity to reconnect with relatives and close friends of my father was also a major factor in my decision. After experiencing an extended period of independence, it was a real treat to be picked up from the airport, indulged with luxurious accommodation, delicious meals, and chauffeured around popular tourist spots, such as the Dolby (formerly Kodak) Theatre, which was preparing for the upcoming Oscars.

As the family lived in the suburbs, a car was an absolute necessity. However, as a backpacker without access to a car, I had to resort to taking the bus. It's really the case that in LA only people who can't have a car ride the bus. Of which 50% are crazy folks. During one such bus ride, I overheard a delightful conversation with two Latinas, whom I named Shaniqua and Latoya, who were overly made-up, gum-chewing, sassy, loudly chattering, head-bobbing, and gesturing while holding their mobile phones. Unfortunately, I had to get off the bus before I could find out if Latoya followed Shaniqua's advice to send her unfaithful boyfriend, Raul, to the desert or give him one last chance.

No trip to LA is complete without spotting celebrities. I already mentioned randomly spotting Stanislas Wawrinka at Universal Studios in a previous blog post. But during lunch at a trendy restaurant with my cousin and her boyfriend, I saw then-Bruce Jenner walking past us, and even though all the Kardashians look like dystopian clones to me, I immediately recognized him, or rather her now.

I hit it off with my cousin and her boyfriend, who suggested that we spend Saturday night together since they lived right on famous Hollywood Boulevard. Upon arrival, they confessed that they enjoyed smoking special shishas from time to time. Having heard of special cigarettes and baked goods before, I saw no harm in trying this innocent looking water thing. I took a hit from the special shisha, but apparently, I was too enthusiastic. Suddenly, my head was spinning, my heart was racing, and I didn't know what was happening to me. The couple was baffled and suggested that we go outside for some fresh air, but it only made things worse. The sounds and lights on Hollywood Boulevard were too much for me to handle. Of course a huge fire-red fire truck had to wee-ooo, wee-ooo right past us and shortly after a person in front of me stumbled and fell down while walking on the crosswalk. My senses were so overstimulated, I was clinging to my cousins for dear life. My paranoia had me convinced that the police would arrest us any moment. 

Thankfully, the couple guided me into a café and ordered an espresso for me, but to my dismay, it was a Disney-themed establishment with 10 meter high walls plastered with all sorts of Disney plush faces. The creatures seemed to stare at me with their capitalist horror eyes, and I felt like they were trying to suck my soul out of me. I barely awaited the espresso, begging my cousins to leave before Donald, Goofy, and co. could take me to another dimension. I was then dragged back to their apartment and put in front of the TV. Surely a gentle and non-flashy movie like Zoolander would calm me down. Surprisingly I slowly came back to my senses, which was reason enough for them to get rid of the problem, i.e. me. I was driven back to my hosts. Once back and surely by complete surprise to whoever reads this, hunger struck me like a ton of bricks, and I dove into the Bulgarian stew that was resting on the stove. Unfortunately, I was caught in the act by the lady of the house. I tried to make up an excuse, blaming my feeding frenzy on her impeccable cooking skills. My credibility was about as high as the survivability chance of a certain systemically important major Swiss bank. Hell, I was just glad to have survived the evening.

It was high time to change continents and head to Medellin. However, just the mention of the city name made my parents shriek in horror, as it was previously known as one of the most dangerous places in the world. And it was, however Medellin has undergone a remarkable transformation in recent years, with certain neighborhoods becoming more safe and inviting. In fact, in 2013, the Wall Street Journal named it City of the Year. The locals, known as Paisas, have a wonderful, drawn-out accent laced with a slight attitude that I was very eager to embrace during two months of language lessons.

"Maria, we need a few more suitable pictures for the grave of our beloved Juliana. Don't worry, Miguel, I have already picked two suitable ones!"

My progress in learning Spanish was impressive, thanks in part to my teacher, Leidy, who did not speak any English. This forced us to communicate in Spanish, even if it meant using hand gestures. Leidy's life was marked by the violence that plagued Medellin in the past and still persists to some extent. She had experienced the loss of her father due to gun violence, and she knew people who had never left their neighborhood. Shockingly, she shared stories of mothers intentionally letting their children die to receive money from the city. Child prostitution and glue sniffing were also major issues, with a bag of glue costing only 500 pesos (about 25 cents). The then-recently opened Museum Casa de la Memoria provides an impressive and thought-provoking look into Medellin's turbulent history.

Thanks to Leidy's help, I was able to rent an affordable room in the Envigado neighborhood. This gave me the opportunity to explore notorious Pablo Escobar's territory, away from the touristy Poblado area. The neighborhood is home to small shrines adorned with statues of the Virgin Mary. I discovered quirky bars with live music, where I enjoyed delicious snacks and washed them down with the abominable local liquor, Aguardiente. At night, locals would whistle to ward off unwanted spirits, and open and lit doors were often an indication of drug sales nearby.

The weeks flew by, quite literally in some cases, as I couldn't resist the chance to go paragliding around the hills encircling Medellin. The exhilarating G-forces and near loops were not for the faint of heart, but I savored every moment. After two months, it was time to bid adieu to Medellin and make my way to the picturesque coastal city of Cartagena, where I could continue to refine my fledgling Spanish skills for another three weeks. Amidst my very serious studies, partying was also on the cards. And with ample time at my disposal, I embarked on a week-long excursion to the nearby Tayrona Park, where I had the “pleasure” of sleeping in hammocks alongside my fellow travelers Or and Tiziana. Several visits to the chiropractor were necessary after that to save my damaged spine.

The end of my one-year trip was fast approaching, and I found myself reluctant to return home. But as if in answer to my prayers, I received an unexpected email from the airline Swiss, who were on the lookout for a so-called Swiss Explorer. The job entailed flying to a new destination with Swiss every week for six months and documenting the experience. All I had to do was create an application video and garner the most votes on Facebook.

As a broke backpacker nearing the end of his rope, I spared all expenses but certainly put in every effort to create a fantastic video. Despite my lack of experience, I was able to cobble together a reasonably decent result, except for the I guess now cringy intro and outro that I hastily recorded in my host mother's sweltering room in the dead of night. However, my elation was short-lived as my video wasn't published on time, and some favorites had already garnered an insurmountable number of likes. But as they say, fall down seven times, stand up eight.

So I kept on going. And for the grand finale of my year-long odyssey, I embarked on a catamaran crossing to Panama, which ended in an unexpected shipwreck disaster...

[simeon-takes-a-break]

Fiji Impressions - February 2014

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Bula, Fiji - on a shoestring!

I started my Fiji adventure with a minor offense. Entry required a proof of return or onward trip. As I wanted to stay flexible I put my photoshop skills to the test and forged an outbound flight confirmation. It worked like a charm and I was ready for some nice sandy beaches. Everyone recommended booking an island hopping trip across the Yasawa islands and that’s what I wanted to do. Until I checked the price tag which was outrageously outside of my budget or frankly anyone else’s who wasn’t the CEO of an international company with their shares listed on the New York Stock Exchange. In hindsight that was great which let me explore places off the beaten path. I had to adjust my plans and opted to go to the minuscule Beachcomber island just a stone’s throw from the airport and then known as Fiji’s party island. The gorgeous islet’s only resort featured a comfy one hundred man dorm (no joke), which was open air! Thank god it was low season and the dorm was “only” a quarter full. Given the limited space, very quickly a family atmosphere arose among the backpackers. There were common dinners, card games and in the evening also debauched parties. One highlight was certainly the hermit crab race, where you could choose a crab that represented your country.

There I also met Raj, a young, very shy local guy, who worked on the piping system. We chatted every day and once his job on the island was done, he invited me to his home. He stayed with his family in Ba, a small town in the northwest of the main island. I actually had no plans to travel to this area, but an opportunity like this doesn't come along every day, so I accepted the invitation, albeit cautiously. 

Before that, however, I decided to explore Mana island just a short but expensive boat ride to the west. The island was considerably bigger than Beachcomber and even featured an airstrip but again there was only one place to stay which was thankfully relatively affordable, three meals per day included. It’s been eight years and somehow I remember the especially tasty homemade bread rolls. I spent my days enjoying the pristine white beach, crystal clear blue waters and accompanying locals for a spearfishing session to a nearby sandbank. Did I mention the most spectacular sunsets ever? I didn't have a romantic date at hand. However meeting Nicolas, a very friendly Swiss dude from my hometown on the other side of the world on this remote island, was more than a worthy replacement. To this day I have three framed pictures hanging on my bedroom wall, one of which is from that paradise beach. 

Back on the main island, Viti Levu, I hopped on the overcrowded bus and arrived in Ba in “no” time. Bus rides in Fiji are something else. First of all, there’s always loud music blasting throughout the vehicle. Thank God, it mostly matched my music taste (unlike the dull, unoriginal, lazy, sloppy, repetitive, reductive (to quote Madonne here: “look it up”) and unbelievably enervating Reaggaton nonsense I have to endure right now here in Latin America). I mean, I was delighted to hear such masterpieces like “Gotta Go” by your very own local matador and Swiss Eurovision sensation Dj Bobo, then still untattooed teen heartthrob lesbian Justin Bieber or the actually lovely song called Kuchi Kuchi by Nigerian gospel artiste J’odie. While on stayed a couple of nights at a super remote hostel where the bus to reach said hostel had its final destination and it was always the same driver and in those places a bus arriving is a major event during the day. Back in those days the music was played from a USB stick, so I had a little conversation with the bus driver and what can I say, I am the proud owner of THE hottest February 2014 Fiji public transport music collection, period! Second, the bus seats are plastized so you either stick like glue to them or slide around in a pool of your own ass-sweat. Grandma Yetta from the Nanny highly approves though! IN addition, some of them don’t (or can’t?) switch their headlights on at night and are as fast as Usain Bolt with diarrhea spotting a toilet. I once got almost run over by one of them but the driver was kind enough to stop and give me a lift. It’s not everyday you run amok in a bus with breakneck speed at night while “Like, Baby, baby, baby, no” is ripping your eardrums apart.

Anyway, my stay with Raj’s family was something to be remembered. They are Indo-Fijians and were extremely welcoming. I had my own room and Raj’s mother would go to great lengths to prepare great meals for me. However and obviously, my eating habits got in the way. They couldn’t believe I didn't eat chicken (let’s be honest, whoever reads this doesn’t either). I was asked a thousand times if I might eat it prepared in this or that way. My pitiful attempts to point out that I “was” a veggie didn’t help either. Raj’s father was a serious man and visibly proud of their property. They grew their own passion fruits, starapples, coconuts, lime and sugarcane, all of which I was offered to taste. They knew Switzerland from various Bollywood movies and said it’s what paradise must be like. Sort of what we think when we hear “Fiji”. In the evenings Raj and his friends introduced me to Kava, Fiji’s national drink. Basically it's a mildly narcotic and sedative drink made from the crushed root of the yaqona strained with water. It is served in a large communal bowl as part of the traditional kava ceremony. When drunk, it creates a numb feeling around the mouth, lips and tongue, as well as a sense of calm and relaxation. The taste is unpleasant to say the least. Also it aptly resembles sewage water. But hey, when in Rome. 

After a couple of days it was time to move on. I decided to get Padi certified in advanced diving and Fiji was obviously the place to be. The rather remote island Taveuni to be precise. A quick 18 hour overnight ferry ride would do the trick of getting there. An excellent choice of transportation if it wasn’t for my stingy attitude. No way I would be paying for an expensive first class seat or god forbid a 20 Dollar mattress. Sleeping on the actual floor it is. The fact that the entire Fiji population has a serious snoring problem didn’t help either. Fiji’s “Garden” island didn’t disappoint. The diving was spectacular, yes. The adrenaline-inducing natural Waitavala water slides and the Lavena coastal walk featuring spectacular double-waterfalls and natural pools at Bouma National Park however were no less fascinating (thanks Udo for bringing the GoPro along). That was also the only time I hitchhiked, which involved asking some guards for directions, who were standing at the side of the road and supervising prisoners doing push-ups. At the hostel I was yet again invited for an evening kava session by three elderly locals, who decided that bad-ass synthesizer sound would be the perfect music backdrop. Obviously I ended up being the last man standing, or rather sitting. As a result I was offered beer (perfect, more alcohol) and “abducted” to the beach. Speaking of the beach, in a moment of insanity, and because the hostel provided amateur fishing rods, I somehow decided to try fishing by myself during low-tide, on razor-sharp rocks with nothing but bread crumbs which immediately dissolved once submerged. Needless to say that I almost strangled myself with the fishing line. And no fish were even close to being harmed in that pathetic process. 

My last stop in Fiji was tiny Caqalai island. I have no recollection of how Katja, a girl I met on the infamous ferry back to the capital Suva, and I decided to check this gem out, but I am glad we did. Google doesn’t even show it on their maps service and getting there was no easy task. The island hosts just one resort consisting of a restaurant and four simple yet charming huts with straw roofs. Electricity was exclusively provided through a mobile solar panel and battery, just enough to charge our phones. The weather was rather unstable so we mostly spent our days reading. On the rare sunnier days we snorkeled around the beautiful intact reef and I practiced climbing palm trees and picking fresh coconuts. One day I helped the entire island population of men (like four-ish) salvaging a half-sunken boat, another I decided to swim to a sandbank, all by myself. Katja was worried for me so she made me tie a buoy to my waist. One always underestimates distances when swimming. It took a whopping 30 minutes to reach the bank, so I was glad she insisted.

After a month of Fijian paradise it was time to cross the date line and fly back in time to Los Angeles. My Fiji adventure ended as it had started; with a thrill. Getting to the airport meant a private boat transfer to the main island and a public bus (again). Once on the bus I believed myself to be safe but at some point it halted and wouldn’t move for ages. Due to the persistent rainy weather the main road was partially washed away! Gone, adios, see you never. Unfortunately Sandra Bullock was unavailable to get behind the steering wheel, accelerate over 50 miles an hour and drive over the huge gap. A considerable detour later and several near-nervous breakdowns, I just about managed to catch my flight to L.A. where I met up with relatives and had the most bizarre Hollywood Boulevard experience.

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Australia impressions

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Not everything will kill you in Australia - but it goddamn tries to - Part 2

Melbourne is a charming city with an amazing European-esque vibe and temperatures as volatile as Bitcoin’s price recently (I wrote this in 2017, my 2022 version is screaming internally). Here my bank buddy and I were planning a fabulous road trip along the famous Great Ocean Road with a stylish convertible while the temperatures were as low as back in Zurich. Also, we were horrified to realize that there was not a single convertible car available for rent for our great adventure, which was scheduled to commence the next day. Who would’ve thought that we were supposed to reserve a car a bit ahead of time? I however managed to dig up one rental car company specialized in luxury sports cars that had one car left. A Mercedes SLK350. For a mere 1’400 bucks the sexy biest could be ours. That and the insignificant security bond of 4’000 Aussie dollars. I was so fixated on this convertible idea that I blended any red flags out and made the reservation over the phone. The next day I signed the paperwork and picked up the car, which actually existed.

We’re off to a good start, or so I thought. 

Driving this powerful baby along this iconic road was really something. Never mind the ghastly cold wind. Breathtaking scenery for 300 kilometres. In no time we reached the Twelve Apostles (actually there are only 8 stacks left), took the obligatory photos and were ready to drive to our accommodation for the first night. My buddy had chosen an eco-friendly farm with 2 guest rooms in the middle of nowhere which was more remote than the current location of the Curiosity Rover on freaking Mars. I’m serious. Gmaps didn’t find it, and neither did the car’s GPS. So we had to call the landlords and ask for directions which were something like this: turn right after the weird-looking tree, 3km after the blue mailbox at the so-and-so street. Very helpful. At some point the asphalt road became a narrow gravel path. Perfect for a goddamn expensive sports car with a suspension so lowered you could slice an atom in half. Did I also mention that non-paved roads were off limits according to the rental contract? There was no turning back as dusk was starting to fall and on top of that, obviously, we had lost any cell phone signal by now. Did I unknowingly sign up for a new season of “The Simple Life”?

I drove at glacial speed while I mentally deducted 10 Aussie dollars from the ridiculous security bond each time I heard a rattling beneath us. Just before midnight we finally reached the place narrowly avoiding a nervous breakdown. We missed dinner and the chance to soak up the remoteness but the room was very cozy, which is nice. 

The next day my buddy revealed to me he wanted to cancel the road trip and return to Melbourne. After just one day. The tension between us had significantly increased so it didn’t come as a complete surprise. I was still freaking angry and disappointed but eventually gave in. Some things are just not meant to be. So we packed our things headed straight back to the city.

I highly recommend traveling with people who are more or less on the same page when it comes to budget and activities. I still remember feeling so uncomfortable. There was always the feeling of inequality, a sense of indebtedness somehow, basically not being the master of one’s own fate. And I didn’t like it. And neither did he. Obviously. 

Back in Melbourne I returned the car but not before every scratch on the front bumper was properly registered. Thank god everything else was intact. I was told that the damage needed to be accurately estimated and I’d get back the difference on my credit card within two weeks tops. Little did I know that the whole thing would turn into a nightmare. Fifty (not kidding) emails and half a year later, long after I returned to Switzerland, I finally got my money back - from my amazing and precious travel insurance. But not before my credit card was charged another AUD 2’800 from this insane mafia company. Had to immediately block my card. Those inbred sons of %*ç#@! After some googling I found out that not returning the bond was their usual business practice. There were many other exploited customers and the company had re-named itself numerous times to whitewash their ongoing sins. Karma will take care of them one day! 

My buddy decided to fly back to Sydney while I stayed in Melbourne and that was it. It was time to get back on track and shake off the unpleasant episode. I crashed the couch of Michael, whom I got to know in 2008 while he was backpacking in Europe. The next couple of days I explored Melbourne on my own. How liberating. Boy has the city a lot to offer. For instance the city’s Luna Park, right by the beach with its main attraction, a very bumpy, very expensive 11 dollar ride on the oldest continuously running roller coaster worldwide, built in 1912 and one of the only three coasters in the world where a brakeman is needed to stand in the middle of the train during the ride. Well, a breakwoman in my case, a slightly corpulent one, as well. Her face radiated sheer boredom while operating the moving vehicle, giving the whole situation a delightful comical touch. 

Since the exhibition “Melbourne Now” was on, the whole city was sprinkled with art installations and cultural performances. I noticed a street artist drawing beautiful sketches and started talking to her. The next day we met for a walk through the delightful botanical gardens where we sat for ages chitchatting away. The picturesque romance was disturbed by the worst street singer in the universe. Not only did he perform the same annoying and awkward five songs he had in his repertoire, he was also spectacularly off-key, too. A gave him a dollar to stop. Maybe this was his business idea. 

There was also the annual Midsumma Festival celebrating LGBTQI+ culture (they keep on adding letters to the acronym - soon it’ll be faster to just recite the alphabet) where I wandered alone in the striking heat buying disgusting overpriced premixed drinks and eventually settling for good old wine.

BTW I detest watching sports (stereotype check!) but when King Roger is playing at the Australian Open then there’s no excuse. How were there still tickets available? It was incredible to see him playing against the Australian James “Ducky” Duckworth. The audience was cheering for their countryman but at the same time showing massive respect to the maestro. While they played in the glistening sun, my weather app was indicating a merciless 43°C. Meanwhile I was very much focusing on not fainting, sitting in my chair in the shade. How the hell they managed to play remains a mystery to me.

Enough already with civilization. Time for the real outback. I booked the flight to Alice Springs in the heart of Australia and embarked on a 4’000km long 10 day red centre & top end crocodile rock adventure safari. 

***************

Side note: It’s been over 4 years since I’ve posted on this blog and most of what’s about to come from my first world trip is a blurry memory sprinkled with some notes I cleverly had saved on my phone and are still around (yay, organized me). Why I’m finally coming back to finish the memoir after all these years, you might ask. Well, it’s been almost 9 years since the trip has ended. I found a great job, had the chance to further my career and save some money and here we are; 2022 - call it catch up after COVID, midlife crisis, victim of the great resignation or nostalgia. Instead of “quiet quitting” which is en vogue among Gen Z, I actually handed in my resignation letter earlier this year after a long time of battling with the pros and cons of such a step. Oh boy was it harder than a decade ago. Almost everyone around you has somewhat settled and has a clear path in front of them. Whereas I am going in the opposite direction. Giving up one’s career, or at least interrupting it, and with it a steady income is no walk in the park. The last couple of weeks were much more stressful than I anticipated. It’s insane how cumbersome it is to untangle an everyday life of a 39 year old millenial in Zurich. I had planned to enjoy Switzerland in summer for the two weeks between my last day at work and the beginning of the trip. None of that I was able to do. Up to the very last day I was running around and organizing things. 

One pain in the freaking a** was the eye laser surgery I decided to undergo. I mean, that’s a great investment and a huge benefit when it comes to traveling. Or so I thought. First of all, the clinic I went to (at the recommendation of several acquaintances by the way) turned out to be a Greek microcosmos. I could understand just about half of what the Hellenic doctors were mumbling; at best. In addition to their vague and imprecise explanations. Didn't boost my confidence. Anyhow, I decided to go ahead with the procedure as the machine is doing all the work, right? Second, at the ripe age of 39 one is advised to do undercorrect the “non-dominating” eye resulting in a so called “monovision” so that - once presbyopia kicks in - that eye can still decipher a text on the iPhone without having to set up the letter size to pensioner mode. Well, the actual surgery went super smoothly but on day 4 I woke up with a stabbing pain in my left eye. Diagnosis: beginning of an eye infection just after I had completed the cumbersome eye drop routine. The antibiotics solved that but prolonged my healing process from what was supposed to be 3 weeks to what is 4 months by now, with weekly medical checks. My family scared me into getting a second opinion. The (very) Swiss doctor there bitched super hard about the eye tavern. His behavior was far from professional, but at least he told me that it’s unfortunate but nothing to be scared about. One needs just more patience. So, having left Switzerland, my final check with the Greek eye bazar shall be upon my return. Alas! 

Yet, here I am, I’m doing it again baby. Simeon’s taking a break, again. Again? Again. At this age? Hell, yes! But first things first. Let’s wrap my last trip up, shall we?

*********************

Compared to the scorching heat in Melbourne, Alice Springs was surprisingly cold and rainy. Not what one would expect from a town in the middle of Australia during midsummer. And so I stayed at the hostel and watched Stan the Man win against Novak - Covid doesn’t exist - Djokovic at the quarter final of the Australian Open, Stan later went on winning the tournament and sure enough I bumped into him at Universal Studios in LA a couple of weeks later. He was kind enough to have his bodyguard take a pic of us. 

The following day I arranged a date with a friendly bus driver on Grindr who suggested visiting some natural pools a mere stone’s throw from town, which I happily agreed to. That distance turned out to be a 100km drive without cell phone reception nor other people whatsoever. Luckily I wasn’t trapped in some cheap Hollywood horror B-movie. He was super friendly and showed me around.

And then it was finally time to hit the road. The ten days were packed with spectacular sights, experiences and helluva lot of mileage. I remember spending my birthday camping right next to the famous Uluru rock (which we declined to climb out of respect / or lack of physical fitness). We slept in swags under the open sky on the ground while every goddamn insect seemed to move or fly around us. As it had rained a couple of days ago nature went batshit crazy and every single animal had started to mate, breed, hatch, fly, crawl, eat or be eaten. Scorpions, rhino beetles, spiders, ginormous centipedes and most of all flying termites. Millions of them. It was like an invasion, or the plague.

To make matters worse there was no alcohol and bedtime was 10pm. What a birthday. At least they sang to me the birthday song while the sun was setting next to “The Rock”. Its bigger brother Kata Tjuta was actually more impressive, something straight out of a Jurassic Park movie.

Further north we stayed the night near a natural waterhole, where we would dare a night swim. The walk alone was an adventure in itself as we passed countless toads, frogs, crabs and surely yet to be discovered species. Jumping into the pitch black water took some courage (no artificial lights anywhere) but was rewarded with a spectacular night sky. 

The closest I felt to being Lara Croft was at the Mataranka Thermal Pool and Rainbow Springs. Swimming in the crystal clear spring water amidst the lush forest was something I still remember to this day. Purely magical and not to be missed. 

Before arriving in Darwin, we got to explore the mighty Kakadu national park, Australia’s largest national park covering an area half the size of Switzerland. There we were able to admire huge saltwater crocodiles up close (a couple of days later we read in the news that a 12 year boy was eaten by one of them), swim under impressive waterfalls and witness a helicopter landing for a casual quick shopping stop, and almost walk into a giant spider and its web.

At the campsite I also witnessed a major Simpsons moment as the whole area was infested with countless fugly cane toads, an invasive species. They are too deadly even for Australian standards, have no natural predators and eat each other. Charming. To make matters worse I barely couldn’t get sleep due to my tent buddy’s respiratory malfunctions (i.e. snoring). The next morning I decided to address this sensitive issue only to be confronted with the fact that I was apparently snoring, too. Eh, tit for tat!

Enough with the endless road trips and crazy wildlife. What I needed was the promise of pristine turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, tasty cocktails and an opportunity to consume “earth’s finest water” without a bad conscience (let’s conveniently neglect my flight to reach that promised land). Bula, Fiji!

[simeon-takes-a-break]

Not everything will kill you in Australia - but it goddamn tries to - Part 1

After my stressful departure from the Philippines I was more than ready to have a festive, joyful and happy Christmas time at the sunny beach in Sydney. Well, Australia was not. First of all where the hell was summer? Seriously, I stepped out the airplane and immediately got hit by a blizzard and temperatures not seen since Roland Emmerich’s “The Day After Tomorrow”. OK, I might exaggerate a bit but this was supposed to be summertime in Australia. Instead it was more or less the bloody same temperature as back in Zurich (they had an unusual warm Christmas). Also, due to me missing my flight in Manila, I arrived late on Christmas Eve and by the time I checked in at the outrageously expensive hostel pretty much everyone had left the nest. I however had a plan and would stick to it, come what may. That was a couchsurfing community gathering at the beach to be precise. I hopped on the bus and got all the way out to famous Bondi beach only to encounter a pitiful group freezing their asses off on said deserted beach. The scenery reminded me of Jack Nicholson’s last shot in “The Shining”. I joined the last Mohicans for a round of festive holiday drinks and fucked off within 30 minutes. No way I would catch my death here.

Back in the city I found the hostel deserted so decided to venture out to find a cozy restaurant where I can be forever alone and eat my first ever Christmas dinner apart from my family and - much more catastrophically - without delicious home made Bulgarian food. Luckily, I found a small restaurant that served Croatian food.

I ordered some familiar dishes which tasted quite acceptable (no worries Mom, no one is even close to your impeccable cooking skills). Also I managed to facetime with la familia and some friends back in Zurich, bringing the overall depression level considerably down. After that my only friend was alcohol. That and karaoke. Entertainingly performed by drunk gays, drag queens and fag hags. Considering my situation this was to be assessed as a pretty good outcome.

The next day it only could go uphill as I met my sister’s friend Anja who pretty much started her world trip the same time as me but in the opposite direction and here we were on the other side of the world criss-crossing each other’s path. That girl has a voice of a 90 year old man who’s been smoking two packs of cigarettes since childhood. She seriously belongs in a jazz band or in a studio dubbing movie trailers.

The weather remarkably improved and we finally were able to fully enjoy Sydney as intended. Anja and her friend even let me crash their fabulous Airbnb flat so I could save a thousand or so dollars (goddammit Down Under got really expensive). I in turn introduced them to the equally fabulous and crazy Sydney gay nightlife. I am now in possession of some pretty interesting pics that will insure my pension should she indeed break it into Hollywood. (She already is on her way as she organizes by now Switzerland biggest award show - go gurrrl!).

And then it was time to meet a colleague from the bank I used to work at who had mentioned that he was planning his holiday in Australia. He thus suggested to join forces for two weeks and explore the South. I did share my concerns with him as we had totes different mindsets: I was backpacking for a year and he was a successful banker ready to spend my month's budget for a night at a fancy hotel. Eventually I gave in. Big mistake.

Our first days in Sydney were actually pretty great. The flat he booked was amazing, the parties we went to as well and I even go to see Yannick, whom I spent crazy days with back in Singapore as well as Irwin, whom I met back in 2008 during my first Aussie Aussie oi oi oi experience. Yes, I am that international. #humble #blessed #iknowhowhashtagswork

New Years Eve was a hoot. First of all we were amused how on TV they were showing some batshit crazy tourists who would queue for 24 freaking hours to grab the best viewing spot for the fireworks and then wait for another 18 hours for the spectacle to actually begin. Ain't nobody got time for that. Instead we decided to have a nice meal at the flat when suddenly we heard fireworks. What time was it? Did we miss something? Was our vodka diet kicking in (Lose 3 days in one week)? Was it really after midnight? Frantically checking our phones we realized that this was a family fireworks display at 9pm. Oh how goddamn unnecessary to confuse us just so little Timmy can get his own special fireworks.

Midnight was however approaching fast and we had no idea where to go. A special Sydney fireworks app came in handy displaying in real time which spots were still open. Not many as it turns out - 30 minutes before the clock was about to strike Cinderella hour (those crazy tourists were probably laughing now). It was already a miracle that we managed to get a cab to one of the locations we deemed suitable. 5 minutes before showtime we got there, managed to get in and out (the view was worse than seat 1 in row 1 in a movie theater) and just before we lost hope miracle number #2 kissed us: we discovered a small wall: and once gracefully climbed granting us full view at the famous harbor bridge. The fireworks were mesmerizing. Fueled by this great experience and cheap vodka red bull in oversized plastic cups we were ready to hit Sydney’s nightlife and properly celebrate the arrival of 2014. For some reason I have no clear memory of that night however I do remember that we somehow ended up in the backstage dressing room at a gay club. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Remember that movie “The Sweetest Thing” with Cameron Diaz and Christina Applegate?

Yeah, exactly like that. With the slight difference that the wigs must have been worth thousands of fabulous gold coins. Those drag queens have set their priorities straight. I’ll probably never will look as fabulous as I did in that moment. Long story short we got caught red-handed, screamed at and thrown out. Fantastic night, sweetie.

New Year’s Day was obviously very quiet so my body could rest… I’m just kidding. We went to “Daywash” a day party that cost us an arm and a leg, which equaled to precisely AUD 110, or 55 per limb. And it was absolutely utterly boring. The party crowd consisted of piles of sweaty muscled up flesh clones either self-absorbed or crazy due to questionable substances.

Time to ditch the day-zombies, bemoan the hard-earned and ill-spent 110 Aussie dollars, waive Sydney goodbye and check out Melbourne where the nightmare would slowly unfold…

[simeon-takes-a-break]

Philippines impressions

[simeon-takes-a-break]

It's more crazy in the Philippines

Ahhh, the first task of the young day has been accomplished. I arrived in Manila tired but safe and sound at 4am, which is basically the only time that the city is not suffocating in traffic jam. But to my horror my cute little hostel “Our Melting Pot” had no bed left until the afternoon. So I did what any sane 30 year old traveller would do. I tried to sleep on the fully exposed couch next to the check-in that was just large enough for me to lie down in the most graceful fetal position. Sure enough 30min after I found a resting position that wouldn’t ensure permanent paralysis guests were starting to wake up and make breakfast, people would check in and out and I would hear occasional comments such as “Is he dead?” “Ma’am, there’s a homeless man on your couch”. Ignoring these childish inaccurate statements I managed to rest for a good 15 microseconds and was ready to explore Manila. Of which I have no memory whatsoever. But what I do have memory of is David, an English bloke that popped in on the same day of my arrival, fresh as a daisy, while I was a walking zombie. He insisted on going to the red light district and I couldn’t have been more demotivated but he was very convincing (by not taking “no” for an answer) so I joined him. Conveniently the said district happened to be just around the corner. First we went to a Shisha bar where we met an older crazy Australian gentleman who was in “import/export” business. Now my “there’s definitely something shady” senses were tingling big time. He talked about how his Filipino fiancée is in “performance” art and showed me some pictures on the phone. My goodness that woman was barely of legal age, if at all and certainly seemed to be professional at “performance“ art.

Then he proceeded to advise me to put all my money into Bitcoin which was surely the next big thing. What a sound solid sustainable investment advice I had just received! Bitch, you crazy? This rollercoaster investment just had registered a tenfold increase in value and showed a volatility that’s greater than Donald Trump’s proposed wall. And who really, and I mean fully understands how Bitcoins work? Anyhow, let’s focus on the really important thing here that is midget boxing! Midget - freaking - boxing! I couldn’t believe it but on the facade of this shady bar “Ringside” it clearly was written.  David and I entered the place and were cheerfully greeted by a stampede of girls that were surely into “performance” art, too. Being 2 out of only 3 guests we were the absolute center of attention. The flock split in two so David and I were surrounded by at least 10 girls each. While he seemed to enjoy it, I felt slightly overwhelmed and tried to keep their hands off of me. It didn’t really work and so I used the gay card hoping that they’ll lose interest in me. Boy was I wrong. Firstly while half of the girls turned their attention to David, the other half was all the more interested in all sorts of juicy details surrounding my sexuality. Secondly some of David’s girls suddenly appeared in no time and joined the rest of the squad. That’s where I realized not all of them were technically “girls”. Oh for Christ’s sake. Great, now I have to deal with curious ladyboys. As I was defending myself and my --erm-- no-no place from their touchy brisk hands my salvation came in form of two midgets finally entering the ring. They were wearing boxing gloves and headgears and ridiculous pants that looked like diapers. The third guest was then chosen to act as a referee. At first the two little guys didn’t seem to do real boxing but one of them actually dealt him a real blow and that’s when all hell broke loose. Those vertically challenged men started to go at each other like there was no tomorrow. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the most surreal scenery I found myself into during my whole backpacking year: Me, tired as hell, in the red light district of Manila, with some random English bloke, in a shady bar, watching two midgets actually box against each other, while being simultaneously harassed by a healthy mix of ladyboys and hookers. Epic!

I guess even a day of volunteering for the typhoon victims at a local monastery wasn’t enough to wash off the sins I must have accumulated that night so I needed a quick a fun getaway from Sin City. Why not pay a visit to Islandception? What’s that I hear you ask? Fun fact: There’s an island within a lake within an island within a lake within an island within the ocean. You don’t believe me? Well first of all, how very dare you? And second, go google “Taal Volcano”. It’s just a two hour drive away from Manila and really worth seeing it. If you’re lucky you can spot Leonardo Di Caprio spinning his top on the edge of the volcano.

Also by now my hair started to look like a wig that you wouldn’t even mop the floor with so that half blond / half brown mess had to go. David, Christof (a great German fella from Hamburg) and I went to an old fashioned barber who conveniently didn’t speak a word of English. After China that was surely a piece of cake so I mimicked scissors that would cut just the blond part of and leave my natural hair untouched. The hairdresser smiled, nodded and plowed his razor right through my hair. I was always wondering how I’d look like bald. The answer was: not too bad actually. The lazy barber was thus tipped handsomely.

Back in Singapore a friend made me promise to not miss out “El Nido” located on the northern tip of Palawan and so the tremendous trio hopped on a tiny plane to Puerto Princesa with its adorable tricycles and drivers who hold their banknotes wrapped around their fingers (a certain face value per finger). How don’t they lose that shit at each turn? On the way to El Nido we checked out a really impressive underground river. Unfortunately it had rained and so the color of the water was more cesspool-ish than romantic pristine creek blue. The guide took us deep into the cave and showed us many rock formations that were all named after virgin Mary, Joseph, Jesus or a combination of the three due to their uncanny resemblance which by the way remained completely hidden from my unholy eyes.

I understand that now El Nido is swamped with tourists but 3 years ago it was a sleepy town nestled between massive rock formations and a couple beach bars with the obligatory Bob Marley sound (I really should get up to speed with this bloody blog or otherwise this will turn into a memoir). I had found the perfect spot to finally take diving lessons and on top of that was blessed with a gorgeous Irish fairy as instructor whose name, Aoibheann, no human could possibly spell correctly and pronounced something like “Eve + een”. El Nido is so goddamn perfect to do the Open Water Diver as you’ll find paradisiac shallow bays with crystal clear waters one could think it’s computer animated (I hated the part though where you need to take off the mask underwater, put it back on and blow through your nose to push the water out of the mask). The underwater world is rich and diverse and mostly intact so I actually got super spoiled as a beginner diver. Christof, a dive master himself, even convinced me to do a spontaneous night dive. (I totally wasn’t a bit tipsy when he talked me into it) Best decision ever. First of all I had no anxiety due to the amber liquid I had enjoyed shortly before. Second the ambiance was so soothing and the nocturnal animals were great. But the highlight was at the end where we were instructed to press our torches against our chests so that they wouldn’t emit light and we were emerged in the pitch black sea. Then we proceed to waive our hands and the water got illuminated by countless bioluminescent organisms. That was truly magical as if we were astronauts floating through space surrounded by tiny flickering stars.

Enough of this unbearable paradise, off to the next. I said goodbye to Christof and David and travelled to Oslob, south of Cebu. The village is famous for whale shark watching. To be honest I have mixed memories. On one hand it was really something. The gentle beasts are hugely impressive and you can swim freely with them. For a short instant I didn't pay attention and one shark bumped into me, a truly rough experience. On the other hand the sharks are only there because the locals feed them. You have a thirty minute time slot to swim with them and have pictures taken (for extra cash of course) which felt kinda stressful. In addition, some tourists were unbearably clumsy and touched the animals even though we were specifically advised no to. There other reasons I found online why this experience should be left out but I leave it to your judgement whether I should burn in hell for doing it.

The last stop on my Philippine adventure was of course Boracay. Touristy yet breathtakingly beautiful with its snow white powdery beaches it stole my heart. I stayed at a hostel called Frendz and immediately caught up with our backpackers. I intended to stay couple of days and ended up staying a fortnight. Now, I don’t exactly remember a lot of those times as the nights were much longer than the days and the days were used for proper hangover cures at the beach. I can however proudly state that I did my first deep dive to an upside-down plane wreck that was sunk in 2012 as a diver’s attraction. At 30 meters depth, I was told, nitrogen narcosis can kick in which can make you euphoric and impair your calculation skills. So I remember constantly solving some math equations and paranoid-wondering whether I feel funny.

My time in the Philippines slowly came to an end but without the obligatory big bang of course. So I had booked a flight to Sydney that was scheduled to arrive on December 23, leaving enough time to get settled, make new friends and have a fantastic Christmas Eve at the beach. I was aware that Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport is an architectonic masterpiece compared to Manila’s airport from hell so I made sure to leave 6 hours connection time in between flights. But Air Asia decided to indefinitely delay the flight out of Boracay without any information whatsoever. The clock was ticking away and so were my nerves. Finally, after 5 hours of waiting we could board the plane. To make things worse the crew let an entirely talentless child sing an endless song on the intercom. Did Florence Foster Jenkins have a grandchild? Here’s another fun fact: Manila’s airport terminals are NOT connected with each other. Instead you need to cab it if you need to switch terminals. And did I mention that rush hour lasts from 3 am all the way till 1 am? That's right. As if I wasn’t stressed enough it took a solid hour to reach the international terminal. Not only did I miss the flight but the ticket counter had already closed as well. I had no choice but spend the night at the airport waiting for the desk to reopen. I might have slightly cussed if I recall correctly. Side note: the staff canteen that I somehow ended in was very cozy. NOT. FML.

An eternity later I managed to get rebooked on the next flight for a surcharge of course and without any compensation from AirAsia. Thank god for a decent Swiss travel insurance. Well, back to my beloved hostel next to the red light district where I managed to sleep a bit. Before heading out again to the airport I went to grab a bite with a random girl I met at the hostel and obviously I told her the story and advised her to leave for the airport extra early. She said that she would have plenty of time as her flight was shortly after midnight the next day and surely the traffic wouldn’t be that bad. Hmmm, haven’t I heard this somewhere before? Correct, I did in fact twice. Just a month earlier my friends almost missed their flight back home as they had mistaken the date. They only made it as I told them the same story of another friend who did miss his flight for the very same reasons and here I was  suspecting that the same thing is happening to this poor girl. Of course I was right. We rushed back to the hostel and 10 minutes later I waived her off still wondering whether she made it or not. Well I as sure as hell made sure that this time I will make it but not before being ripped of by a cab driver who charged twice the price because of reasons. And off I was to Down Under where Christmas by the beach with tasty Barbie and watery beer would await me. Or so I thought….

[simeon-takes-a-break]

Taking a break from the break - hello Singapore-lah!

After four months of relentless travelling I needed a break from the break. There really is such a thing as travel fatigue and I was dangerously approaching this state. One becomes saturated with new experiences so that you cease to really appreciate them. Yet another temple, waterfall, food market, museum, new travel buddy you meet at the umpteenth hostel. High time to hit the breaks and hop over to what has become my 2nd home: Singapore, lah! I had spent a year working for a Swiss bank back in 2011 and 2012 and couldn’t wait to meet my then-found friends again. They say that Singapore is the Switzerland of Asia and it’s true especially regarding the price levels. So staying anywhere but under a bridge would’ve skyrocketed my finances to Greek levels!

The very convenient alternative was crashing my buddy’s place for an appropriate amount of time. And here’s another saying: guests are like fish - they begin to smell after three days. Well, I stayed for a month. With the result that Derpesh (that’s his nickname, his real name is way more ridiculous) doesn’t talk to me anymore and that I now have my first ever restraining order. Yay! A highly essential issue that caused cold war like ambience was the goddamn aircon in the room where we both slept. The sixty year old thing surely was installed when the Singapore state itself was proclaimed. And it leaked so damn bad, Julian Assange would have gotten a ‘heavy breathing’ orgasm. Derpesh had the astonishing talent to ignore the constant mind wrecking dripping all through the night. I on the other hand thought it was worse than waterboarding in Guantanamo. However this was still the better option than to deactivate the cooling machine that didn’t deserve its name. Within minutes the room would turn into a mini ecosystem that can be best described as a mix between Dubai during summer and a steam bath. And so I activated my engineering skills. Meaning: duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. As every little kid knows: if you can’t fix it with duct tape, you haven’t used enough duct tape. So the first attempt was to simply mask the leakage. Which worked. For like 2 minutes. And then dripping started again. I needed a new strategy. I mean the leaking itself wasn’t the problem for me. Who cares if the floor starts to decay? I’d be long gone by then. Devil-may-care. The problem was the repetitive sound: drip drip drip. It drove me batshit insane. The magic word that led me to salvation was surface tension. With duct tape. Highly skilled I constructed a duct tape path from the aircon down to a towel on the floor making it possible for the leaking water to silently devote itself to gravity. This patented solution worked indeed through one night but had to be reinforced each consecutive night. And finally I couldn’t keep up with this tedious task anymore and slept the final couple of nights on the couch in the living room. Best sleep ever.

My handyman skills weren’t the only ones that blossomed back then. I also decided to cook a delicious dinner for Derpesh and his roomies. Freshen up the things I learned during cooking class in Chiang Mai. So I ventured out to a weird Thai supermarket that was inside a huge building full of shops selling absolutely useless yet fascinating goods such as iPhone cases with huge breasts on the back. Yes, you read correctly. And OMG half of the food sold at the said supermarket was alive. I swear even the vegetables were moving. It took me a full two hours to gather all the ingredients my little cooking booklet advised me to. 90% of which I had no idea what they were or how to pronounce them. So I used the strategy that kept me alive back in China: grabbing an unsuspecting employee and simply pointing at stuff and the recipe and waiting for a nod. And it worked, or so I thought. Little did I know that disaster was upon me and my unsuspecting dinner guests. One tiny yet crucial misunderstanding had happened. But first I had to find a suitable replacement for chicken. I HATE chicken. And all my close friends make fun of that day in day out. Haha very funny. So what’s an appropriate alternative? Correct, squid and fish. Very much breathing and alive ones. Can’t get fresher than that can it? But with all that freshness came great cluelessness. Meaning they weren’t disemboweled. Meh, Derpesh surely would know how to do it. He did and was happy to instruct me how to do it resulting in a Tarantinoesque bloodbath in his kitchen. I vaguely knew that I had to be careful when cleaning the fish but the squid was a totally different league. First of all squids have a transparent bone that needs to be removed. Second they also are covered in a disgusting slimy skin layer that needs to be removed as well. Took me ages. Accompanied by all sorts of nasty comments while doing so. You see what great lengths I went to serve a delicious meal for my friend? Anywho. The curry composing went suspiciously well after that and it looked like a decent meal until someone took a bite and the disaster unfolded. Turns out I confused lemon zest with lemon leaf with the result that the whole thing tasted bitterer than your ex wife’s heart! Goddammit. All that effort for nothing. Ehhh, so we did what any sane pragmatic adult would do: we started drinking.

The reason actually why I timed my break in Singapore was Silvana, a true BFF. She was invited to a wedding in the lion city and so I decided to surprise her at the airport. She had no clue I was there and the look in her eyes was priceless. We spent some great days exploring the city, hanging out at Tanjong Beach Club, doing the obligatory shopping and enjoying great dinners. The night before last we met in Arab Street for drinks where we were discussing how this night would be our last night together and how it had to be special and epic. Basically their kids would one day hear about it over and over again. I also told the story about a friend of Derpesh’s and how we had met for drinks, him telling us how at this point in time the next day he would sit in a plane back to Canada and how sad that was and how I would call Derpesh the next day only to be informed that him and his buddy had stayed up the whole night searching for an alternative flight as they has realized that the plane was scheduled that very night shortly after midnight and thus confused the date. To which Silvana and her boyfriend burst out in laughter making condescending comments how stupid this was. Like who would be so foolish mixing up flight dates. So I made the remark that it wasn’t that unrealistic as one could easily make this mistake if a flight is scheduled shortly after midnight thus on ‘the next day’. And I was polite enough to point out that usually the Singapore Airlines flight back to Zurich falls into that exact category. Their laughter turned into a nervous smile as the pulled out their phones just to prove me wrong. After some scrolling and checking their smile vanished within milliseconds and their faces turned from decently tanned to ghost white. First I thought they were kidding but the sheer panic in their eyes told me otherwise. I mean seriously what are the chances. Not that small after all, eh? Ok, time check. The mishap meant basically 2.5 hours till take of. And we were sitting in the middle of the city sipping on some fancy cocktails. First thing (set priorities straight) down the drinks within a blink of an eye. Second, get a cab. Rush to the hotel. Pack wildly whatever one finds scattered across the hotel room (all that while Derpesh and me were witnessing this absurd scene with a 7/11 drink in our hands). Third, get a last totally messed up goodbye selfie. Fourth, have a heartbreaking goodbye split second hug at the taxi lane. Fifth, waive them off with a tear in the eye. Well, they made it and now we indeed have a story we can laugh about and they can tell their children.

The rest of my Singapore days I spent like a bored housewife. Sleep in late. Go to the gym. I even tried Bikram yoga and actually didn’t suck at it. Meet up with friends. Party on the weekends. However after a month I really needed to move on and booked a flight to Manila, Philippines. Operated by Philippine Airlines, your most trusted airline that is blacklisted in Europe. Comforting isn’t it? Especially since it was a nighttime flight crossing the South China Sea.

And off I went to the most traffic congested city with the worst airport I have ever ever had to endure and the most surreal nightlife I was blessed to witness.

[simeon-takes-a-break]

Kayaking nightmares, private island intrusions and a birthday weekend to remember - bring it on South Thailand!

The next day Rosie and her boyfriend Harry left to revive their maltreated bodies with a luxury detox extravaganza on nearby smaller island “Koh Tao” (now sadly infamous for the murder of two British backpackers back in September). Craig and I decided to stalk them and hopped on the ferry. The petite island is really charming with great beaches and a laid-back atmosphere. We couldn’t afford this expensive sinful wallow and so we walked along the beach to find a more affordable, hence honorable, option. We got lucky and found ourselves a simple but nice little hut right on the beach. Obviously we had to ruin Rosies and Harrys romantic getaway by crashing their bungalow which was indeed top notch. Private entrance, built on a hillside offering a breathtaking view over the beach and sea, flatscreen, a king size bed, bathroom with more towels than you can count and most importantly a freakin hot tub on the terrace. What a great mini break from everyday backpacker life.

We four, however, were on a mission: There’s this mini island, Koh Nang Yuan, and right next to it further two teeny tiny ones, all interlinked by white sandbanks. We simply had to see this rare natural phenomenon right off the northern tip of Koh Tao, seemingly within our grasp. I think it was Harry, who had the “genius” idea to rent kayaks and simply paddle to these gorgeous gems. At first it was great fun, yay kayaking, yay sweating off the rest of the alcohol from the epic half moon party, yay exercising. Gradually the fun transformed into fatigue, exhaustion and eventually sheer “we’ll die in the middle of the ocean, get eaten by sharks and what’s left of our corpses would only be identifiable by DNA analysis” - horror. By the time we finally reached the beach of Koh Nang Yuan we kissed the sand beneath our feet and slowly regained our senses. The three-island archipelago was indeed stunning, well worth the near-death experience (hey I’m not exaggerating “at all” here). While strolling along the white sandbank I couldn’t help but be completely baffled by what I think were South Korean tourists, sitting under parasols, every inch of their body covered by thick cloth so that not a single ray of light would reach their porcelain skin. I mean IS leaders would’ve called that over the top and would’ve suggested something more revealing; a burka for example. Beauty standards are not same everywhere!

As we were about to get back into our floating torture devices a guard suddenly approached us and asked if we had paid the entry fee. Entry fee? You say whaaat? Fun fact: This whole island chain is a private property meaning we were accused of trespassing. Pokerface! All of us maintained a perfect pokerface! Like pros we switched immediately to “innocent-confused-unaware-tourist”-mode. But it wasn’t that easy. The guard multiplied like Agent Smith from the Matrix movie into three guards. And they wouldn’t stop interrogating us how we had entered the island and why we wouldn’t bring money with us. That was us:

They really weren't joking around. The next chapter was opened once the big boss “general manager” entered the stage. He would be even more intrusive and demanding that we finally paid the entry fee. We in turn would insist being cashless, which of course wasn't true. But there was no going back. We had to go through this. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let us off the hook and ordered our immediate departure. Very well then. We had seen enough and so we continued our journey. New destination: an amazing hidden secret beach “just” around the corner back on Koh Tao that we heard off. Of course that goddamn beach wasn't around the corner. Neither around the second of third corner for that matter. By the time my paddle was covered in blood from my ruptured hands we all agreed to let it go and head back to the main beach which of course meant rowing all the way back. Surprisingly we made it before dusk, right when the kayak guy was about to call the nonexistent coast guard to look for us.

Well, time to say goodbye to the wild gang and head to my next destination. Kevin, an old buddy of mine from my Singapore days invited me to celebrate his 29th+++... birthday with a fabulous getaway weekend in Phuket. Now, Kevin hadn’t “exactly” the backpacker mindset. Quite the opposite actually. He and his friends booked themselves into the most exquisite luxurious resort set in the most exclusive area of all Phuket. Imagine my horror, when I realized that a room there cost more or less what I paid for accommodation for all of my time in Thailand. Per night! I needed an alternative. Hostelworld.com answered my prayers with an affordable place right at the beach just 400m away from my friends’ club privée.

It was quite the challenge to get there in a day as Koh Tao is on the east side and Phuket on the west side of Thailand. It took me an endless ferry ride from Koh Tao back to Koh Phangan to Koh Samui onwards to the mainland where I was pushed into a minivan taking me across country towards but not to my destination. You see, everyone else was heading to infamous Patong. I, however, needed to find this godforsaken place on the remote beach with otherwise only fancy places somewhere at the northern part of the island. My luck was that the only bridge connecting Phuket to the mainland was located exactly there as well. My brilliant conclusion: the van needed to pass this bridge. The genius plan thus was to jump out, simply make my way to the beach and walk to the bungalows. I had preloaded the map on my iPhone and could follow pretty accurately our position. At some point I screamed at the driver to let me out. Visibly confused he stopped the van and I hopped off. Then I realized, I was in the middle of nowhere on the wrong side of a 4 lane busy highway. Was this Phuket or freakin’ LA? Seriously, I had to wait an eternity for a crossing opportunity where I assessed my chances of surviving as reasonably high. And then I started walking firmly holding my iPhone leading me towards the beach. Did I mention there were no roads? No? There were no roads! Who needs roads when you’re a crazy person with a backpack clinging to a little piece of technology hoping for it to be showing the right direction. I surpassed several fences, an empty burnt down field, a deserted construction site and finally a field with some palm trees and scattered coconuts. Just as my back was really starting to hurt and dusk approaching worryingly fast I finally reached the beach. Now, all I needed to do was looking for a place that looked shabby enough to be mine. Twenty minutes later I finally did find it. My beach hut was as big as the mattress in it and generously equipped with a power socket and a light bulb. That was it. Charming. And even for this I paid more than double of what I had paid back in Koh Tao or in fact anywhere else in Thailand.

The next day I finally got reunited with Kevin. Not only he and his friends were booked in this amazing resort, no, now get this: he had a freakin’ villa on his own with a private swimming pool. I mean the contrast couldn’t have been vaster. It was breathtaking. Luxury everywhere! Top notch service. Ice? “Right away, Sir!” More chilled champagne glasses? “Certainly, Sir!” Further mixers? “We’ll sort out a rich variety this very instant, Sir!” Just 24 hours before it sounded more like: Toilet paper? “I feel gracious today so here, have some napkins!” Do you have a towel? “Sure, here buy this teeny tiny mini towel the size of a stamp for 20 Dollars!” Bed sheets? “We ran out of fresh ones, so feel free to crawl into your own sleeping bag!”

It was awesome, we drank a lot, chatted about old times and what had happened since. Bitched here and there about silly nonsense. We enjoyed great top-notch dinners by the seaside, embarked on a private catamaran trip with a Swiss skipper around some nearby islands and went to the fancy Catch Beach Club. Kevin really put a lot of effort into this weekend. I however began to realize that their mindsets and mine were visibly different. While I was seeing all this amazing lavish extravaganza and tried to enjoy every bit of it, I couldn’t help but notice how overly critical especially his friends were. Right, I get it. They had paid a lot for the weekend and certainly were entitled to expect a lot. But that also somehow meant that everything had to be spot on perfect. Every minor divergence from the expected ideal was sharply eyeballed and subsequently negatively commented. Set aside the justification this just always dampened the mood. Yes, I had the privilege to be part of this luxury getaway weekend but when I think back, it just gives a sour aftertaste, too.

Well this concluded my time in Thailand. Off to a well-deserved break from all the travelling: Singapore! My old friend (I had lived and worked for a year in the city state)! That meant: Reuniting with old friends, revisiting memories and finally no sightseeing whatsoever. Just getting on my best friend’s nerves as I crashed his flat for a total month! 

[simeon-takes-a-break]

South Thailand Impressions

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If the Full-moon Party had been twice as insane as the Half-moon party I witnessed, I probably wouldn't have survived!

Back in Thailand I decided to explore the North and the gateway to that was Chiang Mai, a city with a charming old part which used to be surrounded by a square-shaped city wall, parts of which still exist to this day. Coming from Myanmar I obviously had a temple overdose so I channeled my focus on something else; cooking for example. A full day of diving into culinary wonderland that is Thai cuisine. We created 5 amazing dishes that tasted heavenly, however even a blind 90 year old man with Parkinson’s could’ve achieved that too, since each ingredient was conveniently pre-chopped and put into a separate bowl ready to just be tossed into the wok. Except, for the goddamn green curry paste which consists of approximately 43’987 spices, roots, leaves and what not. Seriously, Asterix’ potion is easier to create! But after an eternity of chopping, pulling and grinding I managed to prepare a rather heavenly Green Curry. A month later I decided to recreate that dish in Singapore for a dear buddy and spent a full 2 hours gathering all the necessary ingredients in a Thai supermarket somewhere in the outskirts of the city. As if that wasn’t torture enough, I wasn’t aware that the fish and squid I bought were not disemboweled. A bloodbath in his kitchen was inevitable. Who knew that squids have a transparent bone that needs to be pulled out and a weird skin layer that is supposed to be removed before cooking? Guess what, not me! The cherry on the cake was that I confused lemon zest with lemon leaf or whatever which ruined the whole dish. And the Oscar for the bitterest curry goes to… Simeon! Epic fail.

My 3-Michelin-stars cooking skills on display

After a few relaxing days in Chiang Mai where I met a buddy from my China days, enjoyed a great drag queen show and nonetheless visited yet another temple (Ok, fine. Wat Phra That Doi Suthep indeed was impressive with a great view over the city) I decided to go to Pai, a small village further north. The trick was to rent a scooter and conquer the 150km-long road on your own as the drive itself was supposed to be amazing. Two Dutch girls, Denise and Emma, decided to join me and we hit the road. Getting out of the city on those teeny tiny bikes was a challenge on its own, but once we got off of the main road (not without taking several near-suicidal wrong turns) we were rewarded with an awesome journey leading us on a magical road with 726 turns, lush waterfalls and hot springs. According to Google Maps (no, not Apple Maps; we didn't wanna end up on the moon) it takes under two hours to reach Pai. Well, we needed a bit more, like how about freakin’ SEVEN! There was simply too much to see and explore. And if dusk wasn't approaching it would've taken us even more time.

Once in Pai we found a hostel called Darling guest house owned by a German guy and his slightly crazy female lady friend who called every single person “Darling” and greeted us with a selfmade bracelet. Oh well here we go, bracelet #2, might as well start collecting! Oh god is this the moment all my friends back at home warned me from; becoming a crazy hippie with rastas and bracelets singing Kumbaya by the fire? Oh no, the place HAD an outside fireplace. It was too late. The transformation had begun!

Naaah, just kidding. I think being slightly older (30, which in backpacker terms is the equivalent of nearly dead) helped to look at this whole world trip thingy from a rather down-to-earth point of view. I wasn’t expecting any major life changing revelations, to find myself or to meet the love of my life. Ok, I admit, I kinda hoped for the latter but it didn’t happen. Where is my Vodka Soda?

Pai indeed is something like a little commercialized ex hippie village with wonderful laid back cafes, small restaurants, a cute night market and great surrounding nature. No wonder I ended up staying much longer than anticipated. I would wake up late, go to the local cafe with swings instead of chairs, have a coffee, a tasty breakfast, another coffee and read a book. By the afternoon we would go explore the surroundings such as hot springs, yet another waterfall, and then have a relaxing evening with some drinks. There was also time for a crazy river rafting trip with the most ridiculous miniature hot springs (What is this? Hot springs for ants?) and dyeing my hair blonde (you know a sexy hustler blonde, darling, that all your friends would making fun of).

One evening Denise and I stumbled upon a cosy bar with live music so we decided to stay for a drink or two or three. You know the deal. At some point I went to the bar and ordered two mojitos but this time wanted double ones as the previous ones weren’t strong enough. The bartender must have been confused as I saw him make only one double mojito so I signaled that I wanted two double ones, at which point he completely snapped, became flat out rude and started provoking me. Ain’t nobody got time for that! So I just turned around and went back to Denise to enjoy the music. The crazy bartender however just got started, came at me, and grabbed me by my t-shirt wanting to handle the matter “outside” to which I refused. Then, a girl leaned over and said that she’d be coming to this bar quite often, knew this guy and we should better stay here. I should NOT go outside as she’d be afraid something bad might happen to me. Another woman appeared and pulled him away from me and I thought that finally this inconvenience was resolved. U-uh, it wasn’t! She came back and strongly advised to run like Forrest Gump. At this point I was slightly concerned to say the least. Who da fuq was this maniac? I decided to follow the local woman’s advice, grabbed Denise by the hand and walked over to our scooters. Just as we were ready to drive off, guess who emerged from the dark running at us like a crazy person. Correct, douchebag - obviously drugged up - lunatic bartender. He was screaming racial slurs (yeah it happens the other way round, too) and started kicking my scooter. A fight was imminent, I was scared shitless and had Denise to take care of, too. Out of the blue another actor entered the stage and succeeded in calming down the furious monster. But that didn’t stop our insane idiot to issue a death threat and hissing at me something like “Make sure I don’t see you ever again around here”. So we drove away as quickly as possible. Needless to say that the night was ruined but I decided to stay in Pai and luckily never saw that dork again. And with this I conclude the story of my most unpleasant encounter during my entire world trip. In hindsight not too bad, eh?

From awww to whaaa - just moments before the idiot bartender ruined the evening. 

Time to finally go wild at the insane Half-moon party in Koh Phangan, but that made it necessary for me to take back the 726 turns road back to Chiang Mai from where the plane would take me south. The van and its approx. 10 doomed passengers resembled with each additional turn more and more the roundabout scene from the Problem Child 2 movie:

A day later, alive and well, I found myself on Koh Phangan, in great anticipation of THE party of the year. Little did I know that I ended up at the village where the FULL moon party is happening and not the HALF moon party, which, of course, was to be going down on the other side of the island. The place was deserted, like something out of a Zombie movie, not a single soul around. Good job Simeon. I guess SOME planning & research would’ve been nice. Meh, let’s settle in and see what this place has to offer. How about another poor Aussie soul, Craig, who not only was in the wrong place like me but in fact had booked an expensive multi day group package with fun activities such as boat trips, pub crawls, water-sports and ended up being the ONLY one in the huge group of, well, ONE.

The full moon party happened already some days ago but the gorgeous beach was still being cleaned from the 20’000 men strong crowd gone wild. That’s why I chose to opt for the smaller Half Moon party. I had heard that the main party had grown beyond a healthy size and simply gotten way too messy.

Turns out there were more misguided souls and we formed something like a tiny parallel society in our very own dead town over the next days which we mostly spent in front of the TV watching entire seasons of friends as the weather was very English (trying to stay politically correct here). And then finally the Half-moon party day was here.

By that time we had grown into something like a little family and spent the evening painting our faces and arms with fluorescent colors and dressing up with cheap brightly colored tank tops and shorts. We inaugurated our outfits at the Full Moon party beach with first drinks, half a mushroom shake and balloons with laughing gas. And this boys and girls, is the closest I came to “drugs” during the entire trip. I mean, I was even too scared to drink a whole mushroom shake. And keep in mind that I spent a full 3 months in Colombia, too (where “cocaina” is literally around every single corner). Also, i am still too traumatised to write about the LA incident. Maybe one day! Thank you, I’ll stick to my Vodka. You are my God, potato juice!

At some point we were ready for the big deal and we got onto some sort of a pickup truck that drove us across the island to the venue.

Slightly intoxicated we arrived and were greeted by a sign saying something like “toilet included in entry fee” to which a hilarious English girl dropped the following “stop it with the generosity right there” I almost peed my pink cheap Half moon party shorts. I am a what friends at home call me “Party Häsli” or party rabbit, you get the deal but this was just insane even in my terms. Great venue, awesome tune and most of all an amazing party crowd. Throughout the whole night we stayed together and partied together like best friends! And we indeed were, best friends for the night of the nights! It was just truly magical. Even as a pouring rain started to leave us soaking wet within seconds we didn’t mind. We continued to go wild, as Rosie would say, an English girl Craig and I met back in Haad Rin (the deserted village). I mean it was raining cats and dogs and probably T-Rexes too but we didn’t mind at all. That was until I realized that I had my iPhone in my hot’n’sexy pink shorts that were literarlly melting away in the same speed as my faith in the little piece of electronics. Gosh, why do I feel like a Kardashian when writing the word “literally”, but in this particular case it was true. Streams of probably dermatologically tested (ha ha, I wish) pink color were making their way down my thighs. While screaming like an insane person, I furiously tried to switch the phone off to prevent it from further damage and eventually succeeded. And so we jumped and danced the night away until we all decided to go home. And by “all” I mean the rest of the crowd but me. Apparently I behaved like a spoiled suburb-high school-brat that didn’t want to go to school. But eventually I must have given in and we all got somehow back to our deserted village for a “midnight” snack, well more like a 4am snack. It still baffles me how we managed to get all together to this party, have an amazing night there as one gang, go back together as a “family” and have a goodbye dinner, well more like a porkfest, shortly before dawn. Indeed that night was magical, truly something special for me, filled with pure joy, surrounded by happy people in the pouring rain. The next day was obviously a hangover disaster made worse by my now dead iPhone. Ughhh not again! But this time I knew what to do. Off to the nearest restaurant begging the staff to put my dying lifeline into a barrel of rice. That much rice, as the saying goes, will attract overnight clever Asians, who will find and repair my iPhone! The restaurant staff agreed, the rest of the day was back to yet another season of “Friends” trying to live through our hangover and trembling anticipation whether the rice trick might work. Halleluja, it did! Well, the expected flock of technologically skilled Asians did not appear however the rice did its work and sucked up the humidity out of my little rectangular window to the rest of the world. The “slightly” inconvenient side effect was the damaged home button, which my resurrected iPhone must have registered as constantly pressed as the “voice control” spontaneously activated itself all of the freakin time! With the delightful result that not only my battery was faster dead than you can say “WTF” but that my credit was wiped out in no time due to overseas phone calls triggered by this possessed self activating voice controlled zombie phone. Fine, flight mode it is from now on!

Mature cultivated party crowd

I needed a calm, relaxing beach! Why not hop over to tiny cozy nearby island Koh Tao?

What could go wrong...

[simeon-takes-a-break]

North Thailand impressions (Chiang Mai & Pai)