Sorry about this being a rubbish post, but count it as a bit of background info as to why I needed (but certainly didn’t deserve) a summer of getting out and about.

If you ever happen to find yourself in Brussels on a Tuesday night and you’re in need of a drink and some music, try and find your way to Bonnefooi, a great bar near the Bourse (the massive steps outside what I think is a bank in the centre). Unlike most British bars which have a wide front and often a dancefloor, a lot of the bars in Brussels, including Bonnefooi, are long and narrow with the bar itself running along one side and are often split over several levels. This was all accompanied by a DJ providing an oh so mellow vibe thanks to some RJD2 and Squarepusher. After choosing to drink Kwak pretty much for the fact that you drink it out of something more suitably described as a quaffing device rather than a glass, I headed up the narrow staircase at the end of the long bar to settle myself for the evening on one of the sofas. Soon after setting myself down, the DJ took his leave with a fade out and was replaced by the joyous pops of a Hammond organ accompanied by a drummer on a 3-piece kit fed by a steady flow of beers. Whilst it’s possible to find similar bars in the UK, this is the sort of place the for some reason is so much easier to find in Europe. In my opinion, this is possibly down to the fact that the typical British night out is to get slaughtered whilst hurling yourself around to over-produced pop. Whilst this can be fun once in a while, you never get the same buzz from a crowd as you do from seeing a live band play.

When in Brussels, one of my favourite things to do at night is to buy a couple of beers and head over to the Grand Place with several hundred other people of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds. There are fat people, thin people, black people, white people, homeless people, executives, friends, couples, locals, tourists and people by themselves looking to just chill out. So many people just seem to head there for a beer bought in one of the night shops and to soak up the vibe. A vibe that is created by these people going there to soak up the vibe in the first place. In the dim light cast down upon the square from the buildings that box it in, you’ll heard people laughing, instruments being played and the general hum of chatter.Being able to just sit in one of the most famous squares in Europe, legally drinking a beer on the street and just either sit or lay there and have a natter is possibly the most social way of drinking possible.

The Grand Place is a rather odd place, being a blend of gothic architecture and something else that looks like it was dreamt up by the architect whilst on a particularly enlightening journey courtesy of a cocktail of opiates and various other psychoactives. Nothing really fits, each building was designed completely separately to its neighbour, in fact parts of the same building sometimes look completely different. They were all sort of just shoved in to place with a giant crowbar until they fit, and if they didn’t bits were just chipped off until they did. Whilst this all makes for a complete architectural Smorgasbord, it somehow just adds to the charm of the place.

As I said, it’s an extremely chilled out place. However, from time to time a wave of excitement may ripple through the crowds of people, as I found out on one of my last nights in Brussels. As myself and Madi were sat having a beer and a chat, a few wolf whistles were blown towards the opposite side of the square to us. Nothing too unusual of a place with so many people, however these whistles rapidly became cheers and laughter. As I stood up to see what the cause of the excitement was, I could see half a dozen women preceding the wave of cheers and whistles in a whirl of glitter and hair made most probably from recycled carrier bags and milk cartons. strolling across the square. Half a dozen very tall, squarely built women who clearly didn’t wear stilettos very often. Half a dozen very tall, squarely built, stiletto wearing women who were clearly not women.

Unfortunately, due to the fact I was on the other side of the square, getting to the ladies/gents quickly wasn’t really an option, so this was taken just before they left. But before leaving, prompted by the wave of whistles and cheers, the six of them walked up the set of steps behind them and on to a flat platform to elevate them above the crowds, whose entire focus was now on them, struck a pose, encouraging yet more excitement within the crowd, and then stepped down again to each stride out of the square with an air of purpose about them. They left in the same direction that they came from, so one can only conclude that the aim of their stroll through the square was purely to raise eyebrows and get themselves some attention. Whilst cheers and whistles were directed at them for the whole time from three hundred strong crowd, each and every one of those cheers and whistles had a hint of respect behind it and was of pure enjoyment. Not a single malicious heckle was thrown at them as they entertained the crowd for a brief couple of minutes.

I’ve just realised quite how long this post is (half the length of most of my university assignments, and it’d usually take me several hours with the encouragement of rum to get me this far on an assignment), so I’ll try to wrap it up. A few must see things to do in Brussels if ever you find yourself there are certainly a beer in the Grand Place, frites from Place Flagey (apparently the best frites in the world), and gorge yourself on chocolate. You’ll have a while to wait for the frites, and you’ll certainly have to put up with a little rudeness, however they’re worth it! And with the chocolate, you can eat as much Swiss chocolate as you like. Most of it is made in Belgium for the Swiss.

The shot above was taken whilst Skiing in Verbier, Switzerland in 2009 when we had a stunning bluebird day.

The sunset in this photo was shot in January of this year when filming for a university project at Dodd Wood. It was taken from the roadside of the A591 between Bewaldeth and Bothel.

This snowy view of the Anoch Eage Ridge was taken from Coire Gabhail in November 2008 after we had a lucky break in the clouds after a very bleak day on the mountain.

This stunning sea mist was shot as it rolled in over the foothills of the Anti-Atlas mountains on the coast of Morocco in February this year whilst I was out there on a paragliding trip.

This shot of Blencathra was taken on a bluebird day in Jan 2010 when out walking.

Just as a teaser though, we had an injured leg from a crash, several broken parts to our hire cars, the band that play in the bar in Star Wars (You know the one!) and me paying out of my arse to get a camera back that was never even used.

As well as that, I’ve got a rather substantial amount of photos shot of the paragliders and if you’re lucky, possibly some video. So just hold out whilst I do my dissertation…then I’ll do some more posting.

In the mean-time though, just to keep it relevant, have a man holding his canopy.

And not quite so relevant… have a moped by the sea (it was in Morocco though).

With the abundance of flat water (even though there is only one true lake), sooner or later it was inevitable that I’d end up in a sea kayak getting some lake touring done in the Lake District. Being one of the most beautiful places in the UK, it makes sense to get out and about to get to see all it’s natural beauty from a view point many haven’t and won’t get to, whether it’s in the mountains, on the crags or on the water. Doing it at night though….well you don’t quite get to see the place quite as well, but I’ve lived here 3 years now, I’ve seen it quite a lot and it seemed like it’d be more of a challenge at night.

Myself and two friends from uni (Luke and Laura), headed down to Ullswater layered up with thermals and armed with head torches, glow sticks and our paddling gear. After getting kitted up, we climbed in to our kayaks and launched in to the lake, breaking it’s obsidian like surface in a landscape bathed in moonlight. On such a still night, each of our paddle strokes was silent as our kayaks carved through the smooth surface with just the slightest rushing noise as the water ran along the sides of our boats. We’d launched around about the middle of the lake and were paddling down towards Pooley Bridge, some 3 and a half miles of paddling with water for a hundred or so meters either side of us and dwarfed by the dark outlines of the surrounding hills against a clear sky. Even with the glowing lights of the various properties dotted along the lakeside, the middle was a profoundly lonely yet peaceful place to be, but a place where the company of friends is very much appreciated as opposed to being there alone.

Taking a kayak out at night really isn’t a great way to see any of the sights of the Lake District, but it really is a different way to experience them and one well worth doing, especially on such a calm night.

When I was invited back to Morocco, I was naturally apprehensive. I know you should never judge a book by its cover, however, it’s almost human nature to do that. If you don’t have any good experiences somewhere, why should you come back with a positive outlook on the place? Now that I’m out here, I have to say I’ve had enough humble pie to even put Desperate Dans cow pies to shame. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to have held such negative views on Morocco and Moroccans.

I’ve had people offering me goods at massively hiked up prices, had kids trying to scam me into buying them new clothes, had people trying to sell me hash, but not one of them has done it with any aggression. That’s the major difference between everywhere else and Tangier. The local traders love to haggle, all it is is a game. Sure they want to get the best price for what they have for sale, but they’ll never sell for less than what it’s really worth, and it’s all done with smiles and a friendly handshake to seal the deal.

The kids will point at their broken sandals, trying to get you to buy them a new pair. A boy no older than ten ran up to me and started pointing at his old broken sandals, giving me the puppy dog eyes, putting his hands together in the hope of getting me to pity him. My reaction? I just laughed and told him no with a smile and a shake of my head. His reaction? He just laughed in response, shook my hand and then ran off again. That might seem a little cold hearted of me, however over the last few days I’ve seen different boys with the exact same pair of sandals trying to get foreigners to buy them a new pair. The next day, they’re be wearing neither the old broken sandals, or the shiny new ones, but a pair of decent enough sandals that they’ve had all along, just they’ve got a little more change in their pockets from selling the brand new ones.

Now the people selling hash….well they’re just selling hash. No knife pulling when you say no. No being followed and pestered by them to buy from them. They’ll often stay around for a chat though. Considering the people in this area have very little, they want to give as much as they can. Even after you’ve said no to giving them money or buying from them, they’ll often show an interest in where you’re from and what you do. Then of course you’ve got photos. As soon as you get a camera out, people will start popping out from everywhere to get in on the picture. Not long ago, all they wanted to do was see the picture, and that was all they could do. Now they’re asking for photos with you to put on Facebook!

This is the part I always struggle with, finishing a piece of writing. So I’ll just say that my opinions have been well and truly changed. I’ll write up some more about the trip soon.

“Follow me please sir”

This really will be a hassle! I’ve never been taken away for an interview before. Let alone one with someone that can’t speak English. I’d done nothing wrong and I knew it, but there’s still something inside you that’s making you nervous, that little “what if”. What if what?! “I’ve not done anything!” I kept telling myself, but as I sat in this small dark office with someone pulling my bags apart, I felt my heart start to beat faster, my legs start to tingle and my mouth going as dry as the Sahara.

“English, I need a translator!” I insisted. No way was I leaving all my gear in the hands of someone I don’t understand under circumstances I wasn’t sure about. All he could tell me was it was a professional camera and something about terrorism. Surely if I was a terrorist I’d be a little more subtle and wouldn’t be on a Thomson flight in to Agadir?!

A short tubby man waddled in to the office in his work clothes, it looked as though my translator was also the janitor in the airport. Great stuff! The more I tried to tell them I’m a student and this was part of my studies, the more they told me I needed a permit. It looked like I wasn’t going to win this one. Suddenly, the security official decided he wanted to see more of what I had, so he took my bag without warning, and just tipped it upside down on the cold floor of the office, spilling its contents everywhere. Talk about considerate!  Every single item that came out “what is this? what is that? what do you use this for?” Surely with things like Sony and Canon written all over everything, it’s obvious it’s not a knife?!

At this point, the group I was with had all gone outside without known I’d been carted off. “I need to go and tell my friends”, luckily, I was allowed out but after having my passport taken off me. Thankfully, the owner of the hotel we’re staying at is fluent in both French and English. Even if I don’t get this kit back, I wanted to know exactly where I stood. It seemed that Damien, the hotel owner, wasn’t too surprised about what was going on. Seems that the authorities over here are often a pain.

Turns out this was non-negotiable, I’d found one of the only straight members of the law enforcement community out here. Bribery wasn’t an option, the only one was leaving the camera with them until I got the correct permit to film in Morocco….despite the law saying I don’t need a permit.

After only an hour of sleep, trying to repack several already overweight and large bags to somehow all weight the right weight is nigh on impossible. Not even the poor student sob story worked with the check in desk woman! I think I ended up with all but one item being moved from my hand luggage into other peoples bags and a huge amount out of my main luggage. Always good fun at 6am in the morning!

Airports are one of the worst places in the world to wait. Most of the children are either bawling their eyes out, or running around manically with their parents doing little to stop them. Surely there are some occasions where a strong horse tranquilliser should be allowed just for social reasons? “Never mind, I’ll have a snooze on the plane” I said to myself. Again, my plans were scuppered by something that is now starting to become my arch nemesis where sleep in concerned! The Screaming Child! The row to my right, I had a woman vomiting, directly to my left, an arguing couple and their crying baby. This really was going to be the flight from hell! I was hoping a wing would fall off, or the engine would explode just for a few minutes of distraction.

After a boringly average landing, we all hopped off the plane to head through customs. As we walked across the tarmac, we were ushered by a security official who even though we were walking where he wanted us to, kept shouting at us to keep walking that there despite only being a few meters from him. Passports somehow got stamped unusually fast, and we’re through! Baggage reclaim, car, done! Or so I though…

Heading through final security checks on my way out of the airport I’m one of the lucky ones to get my bag scanned.

“Excuse me sir, what is this?”

“It’s a camera”

“And this?”

“That’s a tripod”

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to come with us…”

Stay tuned for the next chapter of the saga that is “Stuff that can go wrong, will go wrong!”

I was sat having a clear out of my computer the other day when I found a folder absolutely full of different trips planned out from a trip to Greenland via the Orkneys, the Shetlands, the Faroes and Iceland, to a trip down the the Pan-America Highway starting at Prudhoe Bay all the way to Capehorn including a way through the Darian Gap between Central and South America. These weren’t just ideas of trips, but somehow I’d immaculately planned out each trip including local contacts without even realising I’d done so much.

After reading through a few of my plans, I came to realise that planning a trip can be one of the most exciting stages of it. You start off with an absolutely blank canvas and you’re armed with a map, your notebook and your imagination. One idea creeps out of your mind, but that one idea can often open the flood gates to a barrage of ideas, from the ever so simple to the completely insane. “Be realistic” everyone always told me when I started planning some trips. Why? Why should I be realistic? Now I’m not saying we should all delude ourselves, but there really is something charming about letting your imagination run wild with ideas for a trip, as long as you’re able to reign it in. There is nothing better than laying in bed after a day of planning with millions of ideas about what could happen running through your mind.

For those of you that have already done a lot of research and logistics I’m sure this doesn’t need to be said, but for those of you that haven’t, don’t be afraid to go over the top. Don’t be afraid to bend the rules, or in fact destroy the rule book and burn it for heating when you’re cold and alone. What is sensible or normal to us, might not be to other people, and vice-versa. An idea that has been ridiculed by others might be completely doable given the right circumstances and support, just come out with enough of them, and eventually something will work.

This wasn’t written to tell you how to do anything, or how anything works, but instead how I see things, and above all, don’t be afraid to try and never stop dreaming. You’ll only find out if something does or doesn’t work once you’ve tried it, no matter how mad.

“Ahab says I don’t care who you are, here’s to your dream”