Top 5 of 2015 - A Crobs Abroad Year in Review

Glasgow, Scotland, UK • December 2015 • Length of Read: 2 Minutes

2015 was a truly shit year. In January I had to say goodbye to my Grandfather, and then in October I had to say goodbye to my Grandmother. I started the year with two grandparents and finished it with none. Those missing seats at the Christmas dinner table were sorely, sorely, missed. 2015 was a truly shit year.

But life moves on and, rather than mope about, this fuelled my desire to work harder; explore wider; and become smarter. The in-your-face wake-up call that came off the back of these incidents was one of motivation to learn and grow; to take more risks; and to give less of a fuck what people think than I ever regarded as possible. I read 52 books (one-per-week), covering science fiction; autobiography; self-help; business; twentieth century literature; ancient philosophy; and psychology. I got back into the gym and put on 5kg of muscle. I furthered my Spanish, meditation, and guitar tuition. I really just kept as busy as possible. If I were to summarise my top 5 highlights of the past 12 months, however, they would be as follows:

• Went down an Olympic Bobsled Run in Latvia

• Completed a 10-day trek across the Sahara in Morocco

• Partied at a Music Festival on the Croatian Islands

• Hosted A Burns Supper and Performed an Address Tae a Haggis

• Qualified as an English Tutor

Among all this I also found time to complete my first full-length travel book which follows my misadventures across five different continents as I got comatose drunk on the Thai islands; kicked out of a Hungarian lap dancing club; kidnapped by the mayor of a Peruvian city; crashed a mountain bike on the world’s most dangerous road. and much more. See the online bookshop for more...

Music Festival Season in Croatia (Bucket List #123)

Hvar, Croatia • July 2015 • Length of Read: 7 Minutes

“…there is also a chill beach about a 10 minute walk to the North,” said Suzanna etching the nib of her pen along a paper map of the island, “but I’m assuming you guys are more interested in where the best nightlife is situated, yes?”

Our hostel owner had clearly dealt with enough male backpackers to know exactly why we had come to her beautiful island of Hvar and proceeded to give us a detailed run-down of exactly where to find the hottest girls, cheapest food, and most insane music. For a mother to a child under five she really did seem to have her finger on the pulse of what was going on, but the vibes she was emitting did also portray the image of a wild girl who must have more than a few tales of mischief from her youth. Upon asking if she cared to join us for a few drinks, it took a good bit of self-persuasion on her part to decline the offer in favour of some much needed housekeeping.

As we lounged on the patio, speakers on full-blast, a boy and girl covered in fluorescent body paint and dressed head to toe in neon cut-offs appeared on one of the overlooking balconies. Peter and Katie were a Harvard educated couple in their late-twenties who had tickets for the UltraFestival that evening, and had somehow managed to go so overboard on the fashion front that they looked completely out-of-place for a pool party rave. We told them that our plan, based on the wisdom of our sexy host, was to start at the Hula Hula before heading over to Carpe Diem around midnight and they agreed to join us there. Just then the bay windows of a neighbouring balcony flew open and another pair appeared above us.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the guy, “but did you guys say that you were heading out shortly?”

“Yeah man, you fancy joining us?”

“Sure, let us just get changed and we’ll be right down.”

Two minutes later Nick from Toronto, way of Boston, and his Swiss pal Laura were pouring a couple of vodka mixers beside us to take on the road. They had met at an International School in The States and in planning a long-overdue reunion had agreed upon the suggestion:, 'why not make it a summertime in Croatia?'

At first glance Hula Hula Hvar appears to be a make-shift tiki bar, the planks of wooden decking strewn across the rocky coastline looking more like a game of 'nature Jenga' that has got out-of-hand than a classy beach club. What this unique setting offers however is the wicked combination of outrageously stunning sunsets from the shoreline and incredibly strong cocktails, served in what can only be described as over-sized flower vases. As we wandered around sipping on the lethal concoctions from extra-long straws, Nick and I befriended a group of Canadians who had drank so much during Mediterranean Yacht Week that they'd been left mute, some lovely Argentinian girls who informed me that my Spanish was 'pobre' at best, and a girl who said the best moment of her life 'ever' was when she shared an elevator ride with Rupert Murdoch. I suppose the diversity of characters was just in-line with the absurdness of the awesome venue then.

As the clock ticked into the early hours of the morning we joined the crowds making their way back along the harbour to the main pier where Carpe Diem was situated; arm-in-arm with a couple of exceptionally hot bikini-clad Eastern Europeans until it transpired they were more interested in snaking some free drinks than conversing and sharing slices of cold street-vendor pizza. Entering the bar without them, we grabbed one of the free tables whereby a waiter was quick to come over and inform us that we were only permitted to remain seated if bottle-service was ordered.

"This one's on me lads" announced my mate Endy, whipping out his American Express before the rest of us could even deliberate the matter. "One bottle of vodka, some sprite, and a some beers to chase please monsieur." - God I love my friends.

Whilst we were waiting for the drinks to be served Nick and I ventured out onto the cobbled street and began chatting to a few of the passers-by. We had just approached a pair of Australian girls and were fluff-talking away when a Hulk of a drunkard barged over, muscles bulging from his skin-tight tank top and sporting a ridiculous snap-back cap that looked like it was cutting off the circulation of blood flow to his cranium.

"What do you think you're doing?" he barked menacingly.

"Just talking to our new girlfriends" I responded cheekily.

*SMACK*

The words had barely left my mouth when his ogre-like fist landed square on my left cheekbone. I staggered backwards, just managing to maintain my footing, and immediately scurried back into the venue. Thankfully the vodka had arrived in a large ice-bucket and I quickly took a handful of cubes and pressed them against my face.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked a concerned Gadams, my pal pre-empting the response and gearing himself up for a scrap.

"Some dude just leathered him" responded Nick, who sensibly hadn't bothered hanging around for the guy's next move either. "We were chatting up what must have been his girlfriend and he seemingly took a little bit of offence."

"What a dick, did you smack him back?"

"Mate, I couldn't even beat my way out of a paper bag..."

Thankfully the connection hadn't been with knuckles and once I was convinced there wouldn't be any serious bruising it was right back to the partying at hand. Peter and Katie had located us, following a slight de-tour back home to change out of their raving costumes into more appropriate attire, and we joked away until the first passenger boats started to arrive. Each night around 2am, when Carpe Diem closes its doors on the mainland, everyone gets ferried across to a small island now illuminated out at sea where the club continues its festivities off-shore until the sun starts to rise. Setting off, we spent the entire ten minute journey bellowing every patriotic Scottish song imaginable, much to the delight of DJ Oliver Heldens who also happened to be aboard, before paying the €20 cover upon disembarking that gave us entry into a mystical forest of a dance floor.

Between the curved spines of the leafless trees draped in fairly lights people were going absolutely mental, reacting to every nuanced change in the set list blaring from the sound system on the raised stage and the amps hidden in the foliage. There were four Irish girls dancing away nearby, and exchanging some craic we formed a large circle near one of the barrel-shaped tables as Heldens took to the decks. Half-an-hour of bantering passed, in which Gadams almost manage to convince one of the girls that I was  Connor McGregor's cousin and he Rory McIlroy's drinking buddy, before a wide-shouldered American 'bro' in a floral shirt squeezed into the middle of the circle and shuffled straight up to the gorgeous Sarah.

"Hi there, my name's Jeff" he announced as if he were King of the Jungle. "What's yours?"

"MY NAME'S JEEEEEEEEEFFFFF" Gadams and I screamed in unison before Sarah could respond, nailing Channing Tatum's accent from 22 Jump Street and the quote appearing on almost every meme posted on-line in the latter half of 2014. The girls burst into fits of laughter as the dude just stood there perplexed. Grounded on the spot, the fact that he clearly didn't get the reference in the slightest just added to the hilarity. In comedy timing, Endy then came wandering back from the bar and I couldn't help but take the liberty of introducing him to our new companion.

"Hey man, come and meet our new friend. His name is Jeff"

"MY NAME'S JEEEEEEEEEFFFFF" squealed Endy, causing another outburst from the group. The dude took one further glance, his face now glowing a distinct shade of scarlet, and marched off with his head slumped. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't speak to a single stranger for the remainder of his trip...

Sahara Trek: The Movie (Bucket List #121)

Sahara Desert, Morocco • April 2015 • Length of Videos: 24 Minutes

www.crobsabroad.com presents the first of a two part documentary covering his EPIC week long hike across the Sahara to raise money for charity.

www.crobsabroad.com presents the second of a two part documentary covering his EPIC week long hike across the Sahara to raise money for charity.

The full story behind this epic adventure and wild conclusion to the trip in Marrakech makes up part of my book Crobs Abroad: A Scot's Misadventures with a Backpack. Visit my online bookshop for more information by clicking the button on the top right hand side of this website.

Become A Cowboy For The Day (Bucket List #85)

Kroombit Cattle Station, Queensland, Australia • July 2010 • Length of Read: 4 Minutes

Included in the OZ Experience Bus Pass that Fraser and myself were using to travel up the East Coast of Australia, was an overnight stop at a cattle station in Kroombit. Somewhere between Hervey Bay and Rockhampton our driver had taken a slip-road off the main highway and with the Outback horror film Wolf Creek playing on the T.V up front we were now bursting along dirt tracks towards a vast expanse of nothingness. In such a desolate environment thoughts begin to creep into one's mind of nightmare-ish scenarios but thankfully we were in the company of a top Londoner called David and two class Irish girls in Rhiannon and Charlotte to keep the mood light.

As the mid-day sun shone high in the sky our bus pulled into the entrance of the ranch where we would be making kip for the night. A couple of years back some sharp farmers had the lucrative idea of converting their outhouses into bunks for backpackers wishing to 'live the outback dream' and 'feel the cowboy vibes', and now they entertain coach-loads of tourists with activities such as horse riding, clay pigeon shooting, and quad biking. What better an opportunity therefore to tick item #85 off the bucket list: Become a Cowboy for the Day.

We were welcomed with open arms by the staff and immediately treated to a hearty lunch of spit-roasted pork before being given access to the whole ranch for the afternoon. A bunch of us decided to go go for a wander up the hill to the back of the farm and after a nice half-hour stroll were greeted with a fantastic panorama of the barren surroundings. At the summit was a signpost that gave the distances and directions to a number of different capital cities around the globe - Fraser and myself were approximately 9,800 miles from home!

Turning to head back down we noticed that one of the other girls who had joined us was having extreme difficulty managing her footing across the rocks and loose impediments that littered the path. Soon to garner the nickname 'Unbalanced Girl' for the rest of her Aussie trip, Miram explained to us with a wry grin that when her mother accidentally dropped her on her head as a child she lost all sense of stability and to this day still finds it difficult to manoeuvre her way on unfirm terrain.

This out-of-the-blue statement caused each member of the group to react in one of two ways, neither very sympathetic. Charlotte, Fraser and myself immediately burst out into hysterical hyena laughter whilst Rhiannon and David just stood there with frozen expressions of perplexity on their faces. A couple of long seconds passed before it became quite apparent however that this wasn't a joke and she was being completely serious. Using all our strength we managed to regain enough composure to help her slowly back down to camp where we'd been told to rendezvous at 4pm, but the sniggering failed to subside until a good while later.... at which time we were standing in the middle of a pen, swinging lassos, and facing a trip of pissed-off goats.

Our first step to becoming fully-fledged cowboys and cowgirls was to learn how to tame farmyard animals and having been placed into teams of three we were pit against the clock with the challenge of 'goat herding'. The goal was simple: restrain it by its horns, flip it on its side, then pretend to mark it with a cold branding iron. My duty was as chief lasso thrower, but despite having consumed dozens of hours of Western movies found the technique a little harder than imagined, not being aided in the slightest by the fact the goats had decided at this moment to race around the pen like it were some form of NASCAR circuit. After up-teen failed attempts I eventually managed to target one of the slower, fatter, members of the now mosh-pitting mammals, and bringing it to its knees we managed to get the animal branded in a not so brilliant time; by which I mean we finished dead last!

As the light started to fade we headed back to the main part of the ranch where we were then given our second initiation: learning to crack a whip. I turned out to be a dab hand and managed to redeem myself slightly in breaking the sound barrier, but this moment of glory was soon to be shaken out by way of a daunting mechanical bull. Yee Haw!

Wanting to live up to their cowboy reputation, the ranch-hands insisted that the bull be set to the most difficult level - 6 seconds being the time to aim for and keeping in line with that target of the professional rodeo clowns. Well let me tell you, I don't think that even cumulatively our group of students would have reached that target. As the bull lurched into life, one-by-one we flew straight off the front of the machine as the bull twisted and turned like it was performing a rhythmic gymnastic routine; the boys each suffering nasty knocks in the 'cojones' department for their efforts.

The only way any real cowboy would numb such pain is with liqueur so grabbing some beers at the make-shift tiki bar we huddled around the wooden tables and ended up entering into a random game of al-fresco strip poker; our take on the traditional closing Mexican stand-off. I'd say that in our own individual ways we'd each earned our spurs that day and were able to leave the next morning with stomachs full of 'Cowboy Caviar' (their name for beans on toast) and cowboy hats firmly on our heads.

Useful Links:

Cattle Station: http://kroombit.com.au/

Snorkel The Great Barrier Reef (Bucket List #110)

Airlie Beach, Queensland, Australia • July 2010 • Length of Read: 3 Minutes

The Great Barrier Reef – one of the true wonders of the natural world. Situated in the Coral Sea off Australia’s East Coast it is the world’s biggest single structure made by living organisms and can be seen from outer space. Airlie Beach is the best location from which to go out and explore the Whitsunday Islands and the marine life that surrounds them. Many of the other backpackers that we had befriended had booked 3 day, 2 night party boat cruises by which to experience this, but due to our lavish adrenaline junkie lifestyle of the prior week, Fry and myself were now definitely shoe-stringing our way up the remainder of the coast. We therefore opted for one of the cheaper day trips provided by Ocean Rafting.

The combination of staying in a party town and the 2010 Word Cup being televised into the early hours of the morning meant that we inevitably arrived at the dock hungover and under slept. Here we did our best to appear sociable to our fellow seamen and the Ocean Rafting staff, a laid-back bunch of guys and girls who would be revealing the mysteries of the reef. Split into three different rafts, we were fortunate enough to be with the captain who was assisted by one of the best looking woman I had ever seen. Never have I been so stuck for words in my life and to this day Fry and myself still reminisce about this beauty who has become known is fables as 'Girl On Boat' (In the five years since, only the German abs instructor I had when living in Maastricht has come close to knocking her from this pedestal).

Now just to make it through the day without being sea sick.

Whereas the larger vesels take a day or so to reach the reef, Ocean Rafting’s speedboat could make the trip in just a couple of hours. Clinging on for dear life as we bounced over the choppy waves we were rewarded with a myriad of colours bursting through the crystal clear water. Once at a suitable spot the driver cut the engine, dropped the anchor, and issued us with flippers, masks and snorkels. We were then given a briefing to respect the coral, not to damage it, and not to swim too far away from the boat. Sounds simple enough.

Dipping my head underwater I was met by one of the most beautiful scenes in the world. As I floated serenely along the marine life came alive, with fish meandering among the dancing ployps. After about 20 minutes I was only just starting to take in the sheer wonder of this view when  my goggles began filling up with water. Rising to the surface I accidentally knocked some of the coral with my flippers – oops! Strike 1.

It soon got its own back however when, at the second dive spot, I accidentally grazed some of it with my knee and found that it could actually rip through one's skin like sharpened blade. I doggy paddled my way straight back to the boat where the captain looked at me with a “you idiot” smile that he had probably mastered over the years at the job. Having cleaned and dressed the would, I sat there whilst the remaining tourists came back on board, squinting their noses at my now sanguine beach towel.

We docked at Whitehaven Beach for lunch on sands consisting of 98% pure silica which made it a truly white coloured haven. After that it was a small hike of the island to take in the fauna and wildlife before heading back to the boat for our journey back to shore. On the way back we met up with the other two rafts that had split from us in the morning and to top of the day the staff showed us their driving skills by performing doughnuts around each other. The team managed to squeeze so much enjoyment out of just one day at sea and I would thoroughly recommend checking them out if you are ever wanting to tick ‘Snorkel the Great Barrier Reef’ off your own bucket list whilst not breaking the bank.

Useful Links:

http://www.oceanrafting.com.au/

http://www.whitehavenbeach.com.au/sites/default.asp