Transformations. It’s that time of year when people starting writing lists and goals – a “new year, new you”. For 2019 I have vowed to actually do my knee exercises from the physio so that climbing volcanoes and trekking through the Patagonian wilderness in the coming six months is actually an enjoyable experience for me. So far, it’s the fourth of Jan and I’m absolutely NAILING it. And let me tell you, standing in a steaming bathroom doing one-legged squats while I basked in my new year’s hangover was a VERY difficult task. So with all the talk about resolutions, change and complete transformations, it’s fitting that we bring in the new year in a city that only twenty-six years ago was hailed The Most Dangerous City in the World, and now bursts with colour and culture, and was recently labelled The Most Innovative City in the World.

It’s the 21st of December. And strangely, it’s this day, more than any other day around this time of year that makes me think of family. Family and Paul Kelly… but mostly family. It’s easy to forget about Christmas when you’re travelling. You forget about which day it is, which month it is, and it’s not until we walked through the doors of a giant shopping mall in Panama City that we saw Christmas in full swing. So then you find yourself thinking about the fact you haven’t called your Mum in a month, you wonder how your little niece and nephew are going, you want to give your Dad a big hug, tell your brothers that you miss them… and while it’s easy to get upset about the fact that they are all so far away from you, you remember that you do have family at your reach. Your…

I’ve grown up in a family of travellers. My Grandparents on my Mum’s side emigrated on a boat from England, leaving everything they had and everyone they knew behind them to enter into the big unknown of “life in Australia”. My Dad spent the best part of his twenties abroad, travelling through the untouched countries of South America, living the “high-life” in England and selling his blood for money in northern Africa to “keep the dream alive”. My Mum travelled all throughout Europe with a friend in a Mini Cooper in her early twenties, even hijacking a tour bus at one point, and to this day continues trekking her way around the world. So it’s no wonder I find myself sitting in a steaming hot internet cafe in Leon, Nicaragua writing a travel blog. What hope did I have?!

Two weeks ago, I finally clocked my half century – I…

Travelling gives you a lot of time to think. And ironically for me, it gives me time to think about why I travel. Given how much I’ve travelled over the years, I’ve had many hours – days, in fact – to contemplate this question… and yet I still don’t think I know the answer. Sure, it’s great to experience new things and see incredible new places. But nothing can be as mentally challenging and strangely stimulating as travelling, in particular through the developing world. It’s a rollercoaster ride of emotions, and these last few weeks have been no exception.

People had warned us about Mexico. Funnily enough most of those people had never even visited the country and were relying heavily on hyped up media reports to spur their judgements. That aside, we had our own reservations about Mexico. The crime rate is at an all-time high, we know they target foreigners, and with the current “Trump Wall” situation, Americans were high on the list. And while we may not be American, driving an Alaska-plated van through the country certainly didn’t help. But with all of that said, we found ourselves two weeks into Mexico having had an incredible time, breaking all of the “Golden Rules” with absolutely no fall back and meeting some of the most friendly and helpful people in the world. Something had to go wrong soon…

The other night we camped at a temporarily abandoned restaurant on a secluded surf beach in the south-west coast of Mexico. The beach was affectionately known as ruta rapido as the Colombian cartel speed boats could reach Mexican shores in under 24 hours, providing an easy distribution channel for some of Colombia’s finest – directly into Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta. This was also where bodies were frequently discovered in bushes or ditches and it was everyone’s job to make it look like it was an accident.

Or, so we were told anyway.

There is something beautiful about sunrise and sunset. It is quite literally and simply just the rotation of the earth around a giant ball of fire, but metaphorically it seems to represent so much more than that – a fresh start, a clean slate, the bookends of a day. We have witnessed our fair share of sunrises and sunsets over the past week, which gave me time to contemplate which I favour. Sunset is more dramatic; it slowly climaxes to a finale of intense colour before ending in a dark sky littered with stars and planets. Though it’s the solitude of sunrise that I love most. What begins in complete darkness, slowly emerges into a new day. The sun creeps over the horizon, slices its way into the landscape before it, and the people who are lucky enough to witness it watch in silence, broken only by the soft clicking…

People are idiots. Not all people, like… Mother Teresa was pretty good. Nelson Mandela. Susan from Accounts. And I’m not talking people like Trump, because obviously he’s the worst. But I’m just talking about the lay person. The person you come across on an everyday basis as you journey predominantly through National Parks. But there’s plenty of time to get to that… for now, let’s focus on some of the best humans in existence.

So there we sat, relaxing at the bar, enjoying a simple jalapeno and pineapple margarita for $4 on Margarita Monday in the small and picturesque town of Banff basking in the wonderful mountain-scenery that surrounded us… and listening to the dulcet tones of “Oi c*nt, chuck us another froffie, would ya?!”

Ah… Straya.