FNQ Sunsets!

Word of the week!

Guest blogger!

As we have many like minded travel friends, we thought it would be fun to share some of their adventures. To kick off; our very first guest blogger is Mathew Stein aka the legendary Steiny!

I should have gone to jail!

As the pack of dogs encircled me, barking viciously and uniformed men mounted on horses berated me in short impenetrable sentences, I remembered having two clear thoughts. Firstly, we should definitely not have squeezed through that chain link fence an hour ago. And secondly, I wonder if we’ll get to see the Mongolian President’s house.

Distressing as the dogs might have ordinarily been, on this particular day they were oddly farcical. This was partly due to the fatigue I was feeling having already walked forty kilometres and partly due to the inevitability of the scene now before me.

Eleven hours earlier, while drinking some particularly milky and even more salty, tea, I sat down with my hiking guide to speak to her about the day’s route. We were not far from the summit of Bogdkahn Uul in the Khentii Mountains just outside Ulaanbaatar and my pre-trip research had revealed that the hike to and across the rocky summit (about 2500m) was a dramatic one. We had been walking for the last few days and had agreed to summit the mountain on our final day before descending into a valley that would lead both to the capital and into some well-deserved rest and relaxation time. As I finished the salt lick that was my tea, I was excited by the dramatic peaks and valleys that were ahead. Prayer flags, tiny Buddhist shrines perched impossibly on rocky outcrops and pure streams of mountain water lay in wait. I closed my eyes in silent reverence for this place. I was beginning to understand why Buddhism had spread so quickly through this nation. Both the religion and the region radiated tranquillity.

My moment of tranquillity was short-circuited however, by memories of the rest of my pre-trip research which had warned hikers that upon reaching the summit of Bogdkahn Uul, numerous valleys radiated out like fans and a few of them are the private grounds of the President of Mongolia. Hikers should carefully select the ‘right’ valley to drop into after summiting less their descent will end with a chain link fence, signs in Cyrillic sternly reading “Prohibited” and “Trespassers will be fired upon” and a return hike up the summit of the mountain to select a different valley.

I did not know which valleys belonged to the President, and as it turned out, neither did my guide. I did not know how far we had to hike in order to reach the summit, neither did my guide. Evidently in Mongolia the vagaries of travelling overland such as distance and direction are routinely left to the horses people ordinarily travel on - a legacy I suppose of the fearsome Mongolian hordes that routed and conquered great swathes of the world in the thirteenth century on nothing more than horseback and a fearsome reputation. Unfortunately, we did not have any such noble steeds.

As the morning wore on and our hiking boots wore a path through the shrubs, I reminded my guide that we needed to be careful after reaching the peak. Maybe it was her stubborn hospitality that caused her to casually wave her hand in my direction as if I was being unnecessarily anxious or maybe it was her genuine lack of knowledge about exactly what was coming in the next hundred metres let alone what might be coming in the next few kilometres, either way, we both hiked nearly forty kilometres over the next ten hours and we were both walking this route for the very first time. Sometimes we were actually on a path; this gave me hope that at least someone had once been this way before. Most of the rest of the time we were up to our hips in dense bushland, walking where I doubt any other living soul had ever stepped before.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain, exhausted after a challenging hike, we debated at length which direction to head and therefore which valley to drop into. I was now plainly aware that I had about as much experience hiking in this environment as my guide did; that experience being exactly equal to zero, so I was confident in asserting an arbitrary downward direction and pressing forward.

 It was with some inevitability then, that a few kilometres down the mountain we were met with that exact chain link fence, foreboding barbed wire and Cyrillic “Prohibited” sign that I had read about just months before. What happened next however completely surprised me. I had already turned around and begun the slog back up to the top of the mountain when I spun around and saw my guide produce a pair of small wire cutters from her backpack and begin to snip open the chain link fence. I raced over to her gesticulating wildly in the direction of the signs in Cyrillic and repeating the word “prohibited, prohibited” as though I had a commanding understanding of the complex symbols and she was the naïve tourist.  

She told me bluntly that she was not walking back up the mountain. At worst, she hoped we would be arrested and taken to prison back in the capital. At best, I suppose she hoped to blame it all on the stupid Australian tourist who made her do it. Either way, she was done walking. If I’m honest with myself, so was I. It was a very hot day and we had run out of water quite some time ago. Capitulation is easy in the end.

And I laughed. I actually laughed as I pulled apart that gap in the chain link fence, squeezed myself through it and trespassed into the President’s private compound. No alarms sounded. No shots were fired. I thought, as a fool does, that we might actually get away with this.

I heard the dogs before I saw them. This is actually far more terrifying as you know they are coming but you don’t know which direction they are coming from, or how far away they are. As it happened, they arrived from every direction and formed a circle around us.

In my mind, the guide and the guards would simply exchange words to explain away the unfortunate series of events, they would purse their lips in my direction, I would look suitably chastised and they would escort us off the property. I was less than thrilled, however, when my guide simply pointed at me and burst into tears. This was not ideal. Every second that passed, I looked less an innocent and playfully mischievous tourist and more a kidnapper, emblematic of the brutally oppressive West.

Cometh the hour, cometh the bribe. I decided that nothing signposted unlucky tourist quite like photographs from my travels. As a tactic, it certainly wasn’t as blatant as offering money, but I did think it was a lot less likely to offend anyone and it just might be sweet enough a gesture that the guards would wave the whole thing off as an unfortunate event. With that I grabbed my camera and showed the guards the photographs that I had taken a week or so earlier in an orphanage I had been volunteering in. The very same orphanage that one of the guards, who had now dismounted from his horse, had grown up in.

 Belly laughs now filled the Mongolian President’s valley and the dogs, which moments ago were frothing with rage, were now panting and playing on the ground. The guard spoke animatedly with the other guards, hopefully about how lovely and charming I was, but more likely about his experiences growing up in the orphanage. My guide was now seeking to remove the knife she had placed firmly in my back just moments before by hugging me and slapping her thighs with laughter. I decided in that moment that I would not tip her.

As I sat in the back of a secured vehicle bound for down town Ulaanbaatar, I recalled my two earlier thoughts. Yes, I’m glad I squeezed through that chain link fence as I received a priceless and frankly unbelievable tale in return and; Yes, I did see the Mongolian President’s house, in fact, I got driven through his front gate!

A small budget can make for big stories. (China, November 2009) - Emilia Sinton-Stein

Anyone who’s travelled for a great length of time appreciates the importance of sticking to a budget.

So imagine my excitement when my Shangai hostel advertised a 3-day Yangtze River cruise for a quarter of the price that I had seen online…what a bargain! That may have rung alarm bells for most people, but having spent some time in China, staying in fabulous private hostel rooms for $10 a night and eating great meals for $3 a plate, I was now adjusting my expectations of the value of goods and services. The only stipulation by the cruise was that I had to share my cabin, which I was OK with, as I love any chance to meet fellow travellers. 

The day of departure drew upon me, and it did not concern me that I was the only westerner on the bus to the port. Nor did it did not concern me that our boat was the smallest, least impressive of those at the port (though those 5 star luxury vessels looked mighty appealing!). With a handwritten, scrap piece of paper as my ‘ticket’, I made my way to my cabin to meet my cabin mate.

…correction, cabin ‘mates’. Three middle-aged Chinese men must have seen my impression of a deer in headlights as I quickly retreated out of the cabin. I tracked down a female attendant to express my concern that I had been assigned the wrong cabin.

“But you must share with Chinese” she explained.

“Chinese…yes” I replied. “Man….no!”

Thankfully she relented, and I was given my own cabin. I’m confident that she assigned me the worst cabin as punishment, but it was the end of a long day, and I could hear passengers next door having what I assume was a sumo-wrestling match, so I was grateful. I simply plugged up the 10cm x 30cm hole in the exterior wall with a blanket, and used the extras from other beds to help keep me warm in the <10 degree foggy temperature.  Feasting on my 2min noodles and staring out to the Chinese countryside, I was ready to make the best of my situation.

The next morning I discovered that I was the only female passenger, and the only one who was not part of the ‘corporate group’ who were all travelling together. Three days away from wife and family equates to middle aged businessmen gone wild. In retrospect, their behaviour was not very different from a excited kids on a school trip, except that the drinking, smoking and gambling are allowed. Every day they giggled at the ‘odd man out’ who had to sit beside me on our day trip excursions, and on more than one occasion I saw them double-take at the other boats  full of white westerners and look back at me with a look that I perceived to be “why are you with us, and not with them?”.  However, like most school trips, a sense of solidarity builds over time, and when a group of us got separated from our tour on day three, they did not leave me to fend for myself…but did try some miming and grunting to indicate our predicament and lead us back to our boat safely.

The scenery was beautiful and the excursions were…not translated to English, so I can’t be entirely sure of what ruins/palaces/sites I saw…therefore, my story about the Yangtze is not really about the river at all.  

Gypsy's muse!

In the world kitchen!

Thought we could start off this new segment with a tribute to the Chinese New Year aka the year of the wooden horse! A strong and stable year ahead.

Chicken sweet corn soup.

Ingredients
2 finely shredded chicken fillets,
4  chopped spring onions,
1 sliced brown onion
4 cups of water,
2 teaspoons soy sauce,
1 teaspoon of crushed ginger,
2 chicken stock cubes,
1 beaten egg,
1 large can of creamed corn.

Method

Put shredded chicken in saucepan with water and add sliced onion. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Add everything else bar egg and bring to boil. Simmer for 3 minutes then stir in egg and serve.               美  味

Thanks to Michelle Long for the great Chinese banquets of years gone by!

Blogger's books!

We read this book quite a few years ago and it became a favourite of ours. It is such a sad, emotional story that empathises the effects of war on the common man. Set in Germany in the late 1930s, this book is truely powerful. Allies and enemies alike are all victims of the power hungry games of our world leaders.
We watched the recently made film version of this story last night and were emotionally stunned all over again. Fanastic adaptation of a brilliant book.

Australia Day!

In 2013, we visited 16 countries.The world is such an amazing place. We have traveled across continents, cities and magnificent mountains; encountering challenges, history, delightful cuisine and cultures different to our own. Lest we forget our own beautiful Australia!  It really is the lucky country. Every citizen has the opportunity to live a healthy, happy life in a safe environment. 

This poem really sums up what Australia means to us.

My Country
The love of field and coppice
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies
I know, but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror
The wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring-barked forests,
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops,
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us
We see the cattle die
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine
She pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze ...

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand
though Earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

**
Dorothea Mackeller

Residents of our down under paradise have been known by many names; Digger, Skip, Aussie, Bruce and Roo just to name a few but remember "I am, you are, we are Australian!"
Happy Australia day!

Long, long road!

Our journey home was pretty horrendous. Each flight with Lan was cancelled/delayed due to technical difficulties. We managed to secure a total of 9 hours broken sleep in three days and were crammed full of ham and cheese toasties. Never, ever want a toastie again! Touch down in Sydney Town, found us with just over an hour to retrieve our luggage, clear customs (penguin wooden spoon), transit to domestic terminal and check in.  Lea sprinted the length of the terminal like a marathon runner laden down with luggage whilst Brad (trying to keep up) chuckled at the sight. Long story short; WE MADE IT!
Luckily it was the only plane hiccup in the whole 4 months. It didn't impact on any plans and we were still home in time for work. Yuk!
We have had an amazing adventure and our blog is far from over so please stay tuned for next installment.

Gypsy's muse!

We're coming home!

On the day we went away,
"Goodbye"
Was all we had to say.
Now we
we want to come again and stay.
Oh my.
Smile, and that will mean we may.
'Cause we've seen blue skies,
Through the tears in our eyes
and we realize we're coming home.

We're coming home.
Everywhere, it's been the same feeling
like we're outside in the rain.
Wheeling free to try and find a game,
dealing cards for sorrow
cards for pain.
'Cause we've seen blue skies,
through the tears in our eyes
and we realize we're going home.

We're coming home!

Hurrah Paul!

A huge thank you to our travel agent Paul Egan for helping to make our travel dream come true.

Shop 3&4,
116 Collins ave,
Edge Hill.
40325446

Poa de Acucar!

It is from the top of Pao de Acucar that the true beauty of Rio de Janeiro is realised.  Like a storyboard all is laid out to see: the vast curve of Copacabana Beach, the curl, of Botafogo, the Santa Crus fort, Rio-Niteroi bridge, the many Favelas and the shimmering Lago Rodrigo de Freitas.  What enhances the experience even more is the manner in which you ascend to the peak.  Glassed in cable cars, glide and sway first to Unca Hill, providing us with stunning views of Botafogo and Guanabara bay and then to the top of Pao de Acucar to a vision difficult to forget.

Tribute to Peter!

Peter Allen - I Go To Rio

When my baby
When my baby smiles at me I go to Rio
De Janeiro, my-oh-me-oh
I go wild and then I have to do the Samba
And La Bamba

Now I'm not the kind of person
With a passionate persuasion
For dancing or romancing
But I give in to the rhythm
And my feet follow the beating of my heart

Woh-ho-oh-oh, when my baby
When my baby smiles at me I go to Rio
De Janeiro
I'm a Salsa fellow
When my baby smiles at me
The sun'll lightens up my life
And I am free at last
What a blast

Woh-ho-oh-oh, when my baby
When my baby smiles at me
I feel like Tarzan
Of the Jungle
There on the hot sand
And in a bungalow while monkeys play above
We make love

Now I'm not the type to let vibrations (Rio)
Trigger my imagination easily (Rio)
You know that's just not me
But I turn into a tiger (Rio)
Everytime I get beside the one I love (Rio)

(Woh, oh, woh, woh-oh, Ri – Rio)
(Yeah - Ugh - Rio – Ugh)

Woh-ho-oh-oh, when my baby (when my baby)
When my baby smiles at me I go to Rio (Rio)
De Janeiro
I'm a Salsa fellow
When my baby smiles at me
The sun'll lightens up my life
And I am free at last
What a blast

When my baby (when my baby)
When my baby smiles at me I go to Rio (Rio)
That's when I go to Rio (Rio)
Rio - Rio De Janeiro.

 

Cristo Redentor!

He stands arms out stretched over looking the masses.  His omnipresence provides solace to those huddled in the many Favelas and to the pilgrims who flock to stand at his feet.  For those with no religious nuance, Cristo Redentor caretakes over Rio from above. Standing 30m tall and completed in 1931 by artisans headed by French sculptor Paul Landowsky, Christ the Redeemer was proclaimed a new wonder of the world in 2007.

Like most art, a true appreciation occurs when one views the work from a distance. Cristo Redentor is no exception to this.  He domimates from his mountain top, his shape and form is visible everywhere and a mystical presence exists; however, when you get up close and personal this all vanishes, you are left with a tad disappointed and in fact more time is spent looking out at the views than at the big guy himself.

Rio de Janeiro, my-oh- me-oh!

We feel a tad over dressed as we meander down Peter Allan's Copacabana beach front.  Wonder jockettes, that lift and separate provide us with evidence that circumcision is alive and well in Brazil and G bangers or flosskinis attack ensuring increased sale of savlon. It did not take us long to realise that topless bathing has never caught on in Rio, in fact Brazilian women are not prepared to bare all and Brazilian men are not keen for them to do so. Surely, a contradiction to the amount of material used in their basic swimwear. There is no such thing as a bikini body, rather if you have a body you wear a bikini!

Daily; we stroll along the beach front from Lemme, to Copacabana and Ipanema, barefoot, amongst the sun worshippers, taste the salt on our skin and the cool caress of the ocean on our feet.  Stopping at a number of brightly coloured kiosks along the way we partake in the atmosphere and rehydrate.  We watch impromptu samba moves, the rhythmatic movements of Capoeara,  soccer and volleyball games that join the chorus of the waves crashing along the shore. Hawkers laiden with their wares roam, bellowing and seeking eye contact to ready themselves for a sale.  We take in the spectacle of the great curve of Copacabana beach from the embankment of Forte de Copacabana as paddle boarders bob on the ocean currents below.  The call of Caipirinha beckons us to the Copacabana Palace; here we sip our drinks poolside and scan the banana lounges for A listers . Finally; creatures of habit, we sit at the water edge at dusk , crack open cans of Itaipava cerveja, paddle the shore line, take in the beauty and reminisce about our amazing journey.

Rio de Janeiro in Brasil was chosen for our last sojourn on our epic, holiday adventure to provide us with time to recuperate. After the mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, waterfalls and wilderness we find ourselves a tad tired. Good reason for some well earned rest and relaxation, we thinks!

Adios!

The time has come,
adios dear friends.
To part our ways,
our lives to cleanse.

Tired and worn out,
you are now old.
Worked hard for
many, many miles strolled.

Through rain and sleet
ice, snow and sun.
Step after step,
we have had some fun.

Across the continents,
have we roamed.
Conquerered mountains,
you never moaned.

Glaciers tramped,
volcanos climbed.
To our feet,
always kind.

You have been loyal,
you have been true,
supporting us,
The whole way through!

Gypsy's muse!

Which came first?

The national produce in Rio seems to be havaianas. An abundance of shops within a small radius are dedicated to this humble footwear. You can also purchase these gems from beach hawkers; They walk the shores carrying umbrellas with havaianas hanging off it. Thirsty work!  You can own a pair of these designer toe rubbers for around 50 rs compared to $35 aud for a basic pair in Aus.
This brings up the question of which came first;  the Havaiana or the humble, Aussie thong?
Neither actually.  The protype originates back to 4000 bc. Those clever Egyptians not only made the pryamids! Modern flipflops descended from the Japanese in ww2;  where the Westerners adopted this idea. The Aussie thong first appeared in the 1950s . Much engineering expertise went into the design of these humble pluggers. By the 1960s they became a national Aussie icon. These durable shoes could be bought at variety stores at a cheap price. One international traveler who indulged claims his purchase lasted 10 years. He then repaired them with some wire and gained another two years wear! Brasil marketed their first Havaianas in 1962.... Bang; evolvution begins.

That all being said we actually prefer crocs!

I go to Rio!

Rio de Janeiro,  another cosmopolitan city in South Americia hosts a great variety of cuisines. Arabic, Japanese, Italian and Mexican restaurants can be found everywhere. Traditional, Brasilian flame grill restaurants known as Churrascaria are a meat lovers delight. One price, all you can eat buffet. Concept copied  Australia wide.

As our appartment was one block away from the famous Copacabana Palace Hotel circ 1923, we decided to pay a visit and partake in a caipirinha ( Brasil's national cocktail) made with cachaca, ice, sugar and lime. A very refreshing concoction whilst relaxing in the pool side restaurant "Pergula". We ordered traditional codfish balls as an accompaniment.  Delightful fried balls of cod, potato, cheese and oregano served with a spicy chilli dipping sauce.

Another traditional snack is paode queijo which are little bread rolls with cheese baked into them. For the sweet tooth; brigadeiro are Brasilian chocolate truffles made with condensed milk and covered in chocolate sprinkles. Reminiscent of rumballs minus the rum.

We chose Copacabana for our stay in Rio as it was beach side and known to be  the relatively safer option. Everything we desired  was right on the doorstep. Supermarket, bank, restaurants and the beach. Such a picturesque area surrounded by water and mountains; Rio Harbour was voted a new natural wonder of the world in 2011. The Copacabana promenade stretches 4 kms along  Balneario beach. A black and white Portuguese  wave pavement pattern follows the length  of the bay to represent the Brasilian , Portuguese influence.  Little refreshment stands line the promenade selling coconut milk in the shell ( maybe laced with rum), caipirinhas, beers and snacks. A sea of deck chairs and umbrellas cover the sands as young and old frolic scantily dressed in the waves. We overdressed in our togs and headed out to join the masses. Upon reaching the shoreline we were dismayed at the amount of garbage floating in and out with the tide; soft drink bottles,  marg containers, meat packaging,  you name it! After investigation and no swim , we learnt that the bacteria levels in the ocean are above acceptable world standards. Rubbish from the tip somehow finds its way into the water streams.  How and why? No quite sure. Do know that the  Rio council has been given a clean up or else date by the Olympic comittee.

What a shame it takes that threat to respect natural beauty instead of the beauty of natural itself!

Travel tip 15!

The early bird catches the worm. We recommend that you make the effort and visit popular tourist attractions earlier in the morning . We have arrived at several  places just before opening and have been rewarded with immediate entry (no queues) and people free photo opportunities. You always have time after to nick back to accommodation for a quick nanny nap before happy hour. Bonus!

Bridge over troubled water - Iguazu Falls (Argentina & Brazil)

It is the sheer physicality of Iguazu Falls that grabs our attention; water vapour floats through the air turning everything it touches into a slickness of early excitement and the Iguazu River screams with the realisation that across its 2.7km girth it will be expelled over 275 drops with an average fall of 85m to the rainforset canyon below.

An oxymoron of tranquility and power seizes us as we walk upon bridges and then platforms that provide a panoramic back drop to mother nature's beauty. These same bridges suspend us above massive sink holes as kilometers of water are sucked downward, and again they provide us with a soaking as they place us near the base of the falls.  Finally, there is no greater sensation than being underneath a fall and feeling the fury of the water upon your skin and this is exactly what we experienced as we doned our orange life jacket and jumped upon our awaiting jet boat.  We thundered across rapids to be placed in the face of the falls; water exfoliated and drenched, we raised our hands high above our heads and revelled in nature's roller coaster of excitement. 

Such is their beauty, that Iguazu Falls was proclaimed one of the 7 new wonders pf the Natural World in 2011.

Patagonia!

Open landscapes,
Snowcapped mountains,
Azure lakes.

Icebergs float,
Wind batters,
snow flakes fall.

Rain and sleet,
Sunshine,
Elements of nature,
Unpredictable.

Glaciers,
Blinding white,
Vivid blue,
Creaks and groans,

Thunder claps,
A sudden crack,
Ice cascades,
Tidal wave,

Icebergs emerge,
The giant settles!

Travel tip 14!

If you haven't got a booked transfer when you arrive at a new destination, it is a smart idea to check out the transport options inside the terminal before braving the masses outside. There is often shuttle bus services to hotels or to the city centre. Most airports have a prepaid taxi service too. This ensures a controlled price in a authorised taxi and prevents any nasty situations upon arrive.

The Dead Await - Recoleta Cemetery

It is a city of the dead, where elaborate crypts encase a history of corpses.  Murderers rest next to their victims, decomposed Presidents are entombed in a vault of marble and granite, mistresses and their bastard children reach out from mausoleums to their hidden lovers, even the great timelord, Dr Who lies preserved in his Tardis whilst we stroll, peering into crypts, photographing cherubs who stand guard over the relics of a gothic era.

As we seek out the  final resting place of Eva Peron, the spritiual leader of Argentina; we both have the thought that Recoleta Cemetery would fit right at home in Tim Burton's 'Nightmare Before Christmas'!

You have the right to Tango,

At first we move like a broken anologue clock,  out of time, our bodies rigid like a static second hand.  Constant corrections from our instructor leads to muscle memory kicking in and a fluidity of movement occurs.  With growing confidence we strike a pose, set our face to a wallpaper of passion and tango style around the floor. Having mastered the salsa and now the tango, we could be in the running for a celebrity guest appearance on Dancing with the Stars!

At the completion of our lesson a show awaits, accompanied by a 3 course meal and an all you can drink package. Pure Gold!  We sit transfixed as silken movements flow, legs intertwine and disolve into one, migrating to the beat of the music and exploding in a ray of colourful costume changes, whilst the heavy metal piano accordion wails a story of passion and betrayal.   Welcome to the land of the Tango!

Don't Cry for me Buenos Aires

Don't cry for us Buenos Aires the truth is we won't cry for you.  A town that never sleeps turns into a ghost town over the New Year period.  There is more life in Recoleta Cemetery than in the city centre; even McDonald's,  the multinational monolith fell into slumber.

Responsible Travel Tips !

Learn as much as possible about the Countries you are visiting ~ the religion, culture, local rules and values.

Learn some of the language and use it. Simple pleasantries will help break the ice and may cause a laugh or three.
Obliviously our Spanish is still in the rudimental stage. Hola, adios, grasias, bano, dos cerveza por favor but we were under the impression that there is an  international understanding of miming and pointing. At an ice ream parlour in Santiago, we pointed to the photo promotion for the vanilla ice cream in a cone. " dos por favor" and pointed to ourselves for good measure. After paying we were presented with tres chocolate icecreams. Huh?

Learn what's appropriate behavior and body language.
Whilst staying with our homestay in Lago Titicata , our little homestay boy broke wind. He looked up at us, held his nose and pointed to his brother. Proof of universal language. Hilarious!

Support local businesses,  hotels and restaurants. Brad's favorite ~ Eat local foods and drink local beers.

Dress modestly at religious sites.

If bargaining for an item,  bear in mind that a small amount could be extremely important to the seller. General rule, if you are happy with the price, no need to beat price down just for fun of it.

Be tolerant,  people have different time concepts and service standards in different countries. This doesn't however excuse dirty toilets!

If you are not suppose to flush paper down the toilet , Don't do it !