Now Available for Pre-Order - The Crobs Abroad Book

Upon graduating from University, Crobs slung a backpack over his shoulder and, along with four friends, set out on a quest to explore the world and meet its fantastic inhabitants. What started out as a summer wandering along the Gringo Trail of South America however quickly spilled into a continuing string of mishaps that saw him fall into a multitude of embarrassing encounters with locals and fellow travellers as he tailed off on drunken ramblings and misadventures across five different continents.

Whilst being kidnapped by the mayor of a Peruvian city; getting food poisoning in Argentina; crashing a mountain bike on the world’s most dangerous road; and becoming embroiled in a Brazilian drug trafficking scheme may be enough to deter some however, Crobs was just getting started. Follow his trials and tribulations as he then gets comatose drunk on the Thai islands; tossed down a Latvian bobsled run; kicked out of a Hungarian lap dancing club; and undertakes a sweltering trek across the Sahara desert. Will Crobs eventually fall into some luck?

The e-book version is now live on the Amazon Kindle store and can also be read on all electronic devices (iPads, laptops, tablets, e-reader etc). To get a copy then click on the book cover above or follow the link here.

6 Crucial Business Lessons from an Erasmus Exchange Program

Maastricht, Netherlands • October 2015 • Length of Read: 5 Minutes

Three years ago I found myself squished on the edge of a dirty old mattress in our homely Dutch student dorm. A bootleg copy of L’Auberge Espagnole was playing on a haggard old laptop and the mix of accents and dialects emanating from the tin-like speakers had my Austrian, French, and Swedish room-mates’ eyes rapt on the tiny 12” screen. The film follows the tribulations of a young man on a University exchange program in Madrid as he tries to acquaint himself with the customs of both a new city and the half-dozen other Western European students he find himself living with. We ourselves has been in that position upon arrival to the southern city of Maastricht just six months before, and as the storyline unfolded rafts of nostalgia waved through our veins. In a couple of weeks we would be parting ways and returning to the daily routines back home; suitcases brimming with memories.

Looking back now, there has been nothing in my life that’s set me up more for the working world than the people I met and the experiences I had during that semester abroad. What one learns from being thrown into a cauldron of such diversity cannot be taught in any classroom, and the personal development that comes with these new exposures is growth on steroids. Here are the six most crucial things I learned from my time in spent in The Netherlands that have proved bountiful in business life beyond higher education:

All Cultures Operate Differently

On a far-too-regular basis I would stagger back home from the pub at midnight to find my Spanish flat mate and her merry band of ‘amigas’ chopping and prepping veg in the kitchen. Likewise, when heading off to mid-morning classes I would frequently pass Marta in the hallway as she declared: “It’s time for my nap!” As a Brit who will rarely have dinner outside the hours of 6:00 and 6:30pm, and regards going for a snooze at 11am the sheer height of laziness, this started off as a bit of a running joke. I quickly came to the realisation however that just because I scheduled my day in a certain way, this didn’t mean it was the ‘correct’ way. Indeed there is no ‘correct’ way to go about structuring your time and everyone performs best when operating on their own personal schedules.

Fast forward then to my current employment where I frequently find myself working alongside people from different cultures who have these ‘alternative’ approaches to time-management and targets. More often than not these approaches also usually conflict with our culturally traditional methods. Having the empathy to realise that these individuals are not trying to be ‘difficult’ or ‘critical’ in any way however, and are just acting how they normally would, has allowed me to work and compromise in teams a lot more fluidly. Sometimes to get the best out of people you have to let them get on with their own thing.

English is THE Language of Business

A major flaw in the British education system is that, despite studying and sitting exams in foreign languages, only a small iota of pupils ever leave school being able to converse with locals in their native tongue. When first arriving in The Netherlands and finding out everyone bar my fellow countrymen and North American compatriots spoke at least one other language I felt extremely ignorant to the level that I was simply embarrassed to be monolingual. This was then only heightened in tutorials when  peers began discussing the answers to complex hedging and derivative calculations in what I would later learn to be only their fourth most spoken language.

What these friends soon pointed out to me however was that although they may well be able to speak fluent Swedish, Belgian and French, these languages were not of any primary use in an all-encompassing international setting. I may well only be able to speak one language fluently, but “English is THE language needed for the world of business.” Over the past couple of years I have managed to navigate my way across South America with intermediate level Spanish, but having recently returned from a Europe-wide training course which was ironically held in the Dutch capital of Amsterdam, these words still ring true. Slovenians, Maltese, Bulgarians, and Norwegians could all be found conversing together in one language and one language only: English.

The Benefit of Keeping in Touch

In his bestselling book on networking entitled Never Eat Alone, author Keith Ferrazzi cites a study that found “the ability to bridge different worlds, and even different people within the same profession, is a key attribute in managers who are paid better and promoted faster.”  This concept is defined as ‘social arbitrage’ and explains that the reason persons with these skills are so indispensable is that through their influential connections they have the ability to freely obtain and share the vital pieces information and ideas that help keep organisations ticking-over.

On exchange I made what I know will be numerous life-long connections on every continent on the globe (minus Antarctica) and these have already served to be beneficial for myriad reasons. As every individual has completely different resources and experiences to draw upon, having such a diverse group of friends means that advice on any topic under the sun is usually no more than a couple of e-mails or Facebook messages away. These ingredients make for being a crucial cog in the information gathering wheel, and keeping in touch with others also has the added side-benefit of eliminating the risk of forgetting names and faces.

You Are Always Representin’

Whether you like it or not, when abroad you are representing or breaking the stereotypes of a nation. Being one of only three Scots in a group of 500+ exchange students meant that I was at all times cast as that Braveheart-esque patriot, and there was some unorthodox honour behind that. Not quite the honour an Olympian would feel, but honour nonetheless... even if I never chose for it to be that way.

In the business world you may not have the banner of a nation draped over your back, but you will have the prestige and brand of your company to uphold. I have learnt that whatever you do in work should be congruent to the values of your employer and how they wish to be envisaged by the stakeholders of this Earth.

Comfort Can be Found Even in Foreign Environments

From literally bumping into an old friend on the streets of Budapest; to calling up a mate for a few beers whilst in Copenhagen; to receiving that precious e-mail from another acquaintance stationed in my company’s office in Vienna, the big wide world really does shrink when you get to meet its inhabitants.

My comfort zone was smashed into shards when I first stepped off that plane but I would now classify that unfamiliar Dutch city as a second home. With this it is much easier to undertake new challenges at work, knowing that even if something appears from the outset to be massive step-up, I will eventually get there.

Experience in A Foreign Country Jumps Out on Your CV

No personal development here, but the final crucial business lesson I’ve taken from completing an Erasmus program is that employers go ape-shit for candidates with these types of experiences. For all the above reasons and more, having spent time working or studying in a foreign environment will pay huge dividends when it comes to locking down that desired job. Not only will you have a broad variety of examples to draw from when posed with the now generic interview questions, but you will also be able to bring an edge to the company which only those who have been in a similar boat could fathom.

10 Dynamite Job Interview Tips

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

So you’ve made it through the initial online form submission; the psychometric testing; the aptitude screening; the phone call, and the Assessment Centre? Congratulations. Now all that’s left is the final interview and that 'dream' job is yours. Unfortunately however this is the stage where many people crumble, which is why I’m going to share with you my top 10 dynamite tips for leaving that unique and unforgettable impression:

• Greet the interviewer with a fist pump to show that you are ‘down’, then immediately rip the sleeve from your suit jacket, chuckling: “I like to dress the way I operate in the office – seamlessly”. Brush some fake dirt off your exposed shoulder.

• Walk into the interview room and immediately fling all of the windows open, turn on the desk fan, and declare loudly: “Things are about to heat up!!” Pretend to sit down, but immediately recoil and yelp: “God, it’s already an inferno in here”.

• Interviewers love a candidate who can bring new skills to their organization. Dance your fingers along the desk and announce: “I am a great pianist……. or as some would say, a KEY player.” Chuckle, throw a sweet up into the air, and catch it in your mouth.

• When asked: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years’ time?” point your fingers like a pistol at the interviewer and yell: “You’re fired!” Blow away the smoke and tuck it back into your holster to complete the shotgun salute.

• If asked the difficult question: “What salary are you expecting?” act out hitting a home run before responding: “is that a good enough ball park figure for you?” Complete a lap of the room, high-fiving everyone present on your way past.

• Employers like candidates to express potential weaknesses but don’t fall into their sneaky traps. If asked if there might be anything hampering your career progression reply: “No. Most see a glass ceiling, whereas I'm looking through a window of opportunity….” Breathe on this metaphorical window, then polish with a fake cloth.

• Mid-way through your interview flick open a switchblade knife and start chiseling the table. If the interviewer asks what you are doing, wink and say: “I’m cutting edge”.

• You will most likely be asked to tell the interviewer about a time when you showed endearing leadership qualities. Pin a war medal to your lapel, point at it, and say: “We lost a couple of great men…. and I’d rather not talk about it.” Shed a fake tear.

• Employers now will peruse your social network profiles for any inappropriate activity. Subliminally drop buzzwords such as productive, dynamic, and innovative into your usually mundane tweets and status updates.

• Respond: “4 minutes; 10 seconds” when asked about your previous experience, before rhetorically finishing: “I’d say that’s a pretty good ‘track record’ wouldn’t you?” Stand on your seat, uncork a bottle of champagne, and spray it in the direction of the interviewer; thus concluding proceedings and securing your employment.

Boats & Beers in Hvar

Hvar,  Croatia • July 2015 • Length of Read: 5 Minutes

Wandering along Hvar Harbour under the stale 40 degree heat of the mid-afternoon sun we noticed a chalkboard sign that simply read: ‘Rent a Boat, Mate.’ With such a genius piece of informal advertising there was really no choice but to see if the request still stood, so armed with visions of sipping a few cold ones as a pleasant sea breeze rolled through we wandered up to the guy at the kiosk to find out a bit more about this casual offer.

“Alright mate,” I greeted him, “do you happen to have any boats left to rent?”

“Sorry mate,” he responded. “Our last vessel was handed out at 10am this morning and they’re all already booked up until at least tomorrow lunchtime due to the music festival and great weather.”

“Aw that sucks mate, do you know if any of the other tour operators have spare boats?”

“No, unfortunately they don’t mate. Once we’ve rented all of ours my next action is to call around and see who has any boats left. The entire fleet is out on the water at the moment sorry.”

“Ah, no worries mate. Have a good day.”

Unperturbed, we continued along the harbour pathway; well-traveled enough to know that the guy was most likely lying. This meant also meant that we weren’t exactly surprised when stopped by the very next tour operator, a grinning black man perched on his bicycle-driven billboard that had been parked outside of the Carpe Diem bar in the exact spot where I’d been smacked the night before.

“You guys looking to rent a boat?”

“Yeah man, we are actually. What have you got available?”

“For the five of you I can offer this one for 2,500 Kuna” he said, pointing at the picture of a high-speed power boat with turbo engines, leather seats, and elaborate decking.

“Eh, we were thinking of something a little bit more basic and on the cheaper side,” was my carefully worded response.

“Okay, sit tight and I’ll be right back” he said quizzically; and with that started jogging along the pier front until he'd disappeared completely into the bustling crowds. Twenty minutes elapsed in which Nick and Gadams grabbed some lunch, stocked up on beers, and paid way over the odds for a volleyball we would burst before even returning to shore.

“You think he’s coming back?” I asked Endy, not convinced.

“Eh, I’m not too sure, but we’ve got fuck all else to do so let’s just hold on and see.”

True to his words, just a couple of short minutes later our man panted his way back over with the good news that he’d managed to source us a boat. What he neglected to mention however, having spared no time in taking our crisp hundred notes, was that the thing had been brought out of retirement and probably hadn’t been started in over a year. Heading along to the other end of the pier, past ships so large they could only have belonged to Russian oligarchs, we noticed a man standing on what was effectively a plank of wood with an outboard motor attached, ripping aggressively at the chord to the sound of repeated spluttering. When it did eventually kick into life, persistence proving to be key, it coughed like a chain-smoker having an asthma attack as he steered it from the holding pen to the water’s edge.

“You’ve got to be shitting me” said Gadams, letting out his trademark cackle. “That is the sketchiest, most un-seaworthy, boat I have ever seen!”

 “Yeah but when have we ever done anything properly?” I reminded him.

Squeezing into the floating wooden bathtub that looked to have been hammered together by a blind carpenter, Endy took charge of the motor which might have been pinched from a lawnmower and we trundled out into the vast ocean; facing near-capsizing moments each time we drifted into the wave trails left by those actually belonged at sea. Passing a nudist beach, we rounded a large island and scoped two boats filled with hot Spanish girls pulling into a cove where there were dozens of other vessels anchored up.

Having misinformed the tour operator about our experience, none of us having ever actually driven a boat before, we cut the engine a fair distance from the beach next to a similar-sized boat with 5 Aussies on board. The driver, sporting a rather fashionable captain’s hat; swimming shorts; and unbuttoned shirt that revealed his little pot belly, peered out from under his sun-protecting awning as we dropped anchor and let out a chuckle.

“You boys are going to be doing a lot of this out here this afternoon” he joked, rubbing his chest in the lathering motion one would do when applying sun-block. “That thing looks like it came from a scrap yard.”

“Yeah, it was the last boat left available.”

“No shit.”

Slapping the volleyball back-and-forth in the perfectly clear salt water we were soon interrupted by the arrival of yet another boat, this one proudly sporting the Brazilian flag. Speeding into the harbour straight towards the Spanish girls now paddling about, the two boys on board launched the anchor carelessly off the side and released the accelerator whilst still in motion in an attempt to make an impressive, sexy, and masculine entrance. Not going at all to plan, as the anchor failed to catch the ocean floor the pair of morons drifted hopelessly over some channel markers into a 'swimming only' zone, narrowly avoiding a full-on collision and scaring the life out of the beauties.

As the embarrassment levels rose, they then struggled to twist the keel back out to safety under a torrent of hilarious abuse coming from the Aussies, and once they did eventually get back across the markers into suitable waters they couldn't for love nor money get the boat started again. Laughing at their troubles, one of the girls gracefully hopped aboard in her skimpy bikini and with a single pull of the engine chord got the thing back up and running.

“What fucking idiots," concluded The Aussie Captain. "That is the most embarrassing attempt at attracting females I've ever seen in my entire life."

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...