Ani, Turkey: Our first Silk Road city in ruins

Posted on May 11, 2013 by Delia

My decision to travel the Silk Road was made while rambling around the Lake District with Matty and the Mongoose – hunting out film locations from the legendary British film Withnail and I. Truth be told, I didn’t really know what I was signing up to.

The conversation went something like this:

Matty and The Mongoose are walking ahead on a dusty narrow path, surrounded by trees. Delia is dawdling and looking at flowers and thinking about how to get into Uncle Monty’s Cottage. The boys have a conspiratorial air about them.

The Mongoose: So mate, it’s been four years since we pledged to travel the Silk Road together – when can we make it happen?
Matty: Well Delia has suggested that her and I travel South America in 2013.

The boys lean their heads together and talk in low tones. Matty then hangs back and waits for Delia while the Mongoose continues ahead

Matty: What say the three of us travel the Silk Road together in 2013 and then we do South America on the way home?
Delia: Ok.

Some squawking, high giving and general elation. Followed by a long pause.

Delia: Where exactly is the Silk Road again?

The following months involved me learning about this ‘stan, that ‘stan, another ‘stan and ‘stan, ‘stan. I soon had a huge list of places I wanted to see… The shrinking sea in Uzbekistan, the gold statue of the Turkmenistan president that rotates at the exact same speed as the earth so the sun is always on his face in daylight hours, the beautiful pony treks of Kyrgyzstan and the countless yurt stays in Tajikistan.

But still, when we set off almost three weeks ago, I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect.

Europe was a wonderful whirlwind and then suddenly we were in Turkey. And I fell in love with Turkey. A far cry from the tacky beach resorts of the south coast, we visited the fairy tale land of Cappadocia before taking a stunning train ride through the mountainous north-east of the country to Kars.

But it was a little place called Ani, an old ruined Silk Road city, that made me stop in my tracks, stand still and realise what this journey is about.

Once the stately Armenian capital that was home to more than 100,000 people, today Ani’s crumbling city walls and ancient churches are surrounded by nothing more than velvet green hills and a gurgling river.

With only seven other tourists also exploring the ruins, which are spread over acres of land, it felt like we had discovered it quite by accident. It was both eerie and beautiful.

We had more birds than people for company.

The dramatic landscape rolls right into Armenia, a border which remains closed to this day.

The Mongoose gazes out to Armenia.

As we climbed up an old mosque tower (a dark, enclosed steep concrete staircase with a local who liked to brush up against me), and looked out on the view below it was suddenly so easy to see it as the hustling and bustling Silk Road city it had once been.

This excavation shows a whole street of what would have been shops, trading their goods and perhaps selling the silk that had just completed its long journey from China.

The view out to Armenia from the tower.

It was the sort of place that took you back in time, and made you imagine another world, another place. It brought history to life.

It made me think about back to that windy day in Penrith as we trudged to Uncle Monty’s ruinous cottage, and how glad I was for giving that one word answer. Because Ani is just the beginning of learning about a rather special time in history… and for me, that is what this journey is about.

Travel tips

We travelled from Goreme, Cappadocia to Kars to visit Ani.

We caught the airport shuttle bus to the nearest train station called Kayseri (our lovely Hostel – Shoestring- organised this for us and spoke to the driver to make sure he also stopped at the station on the way to the airport) and then caught a 16 hour sleeper train to Kars, which was – without a doubt the best and most beautiful train journey of the trip yet.

You cannot make train reservations in Turkey for sleeper cars etc online or by phone – you have to just turn up an hour early and do it there. We were assured the trains are never full as the Turkish find them too slow compared to buses. Sure enough we turned up (about three hours early as shuttle bus did not go any later) and got tickets at the station no prob at all.

In Kars we stayed at Otel Mirac, which was a basic but nice enough guesthouse (although the rooms STANK of smoke) and the guy at the hotel told us it would cost 40 Lira (£15) to go out on the minibus to Ani the next day, which seemed to be the only minibus making the trip as we had the place to ourselves. It was worth every penny.

Shooting Star Jewellery: Cappadocia, Turkey

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

Every epic journey should begin by wishing on a shooting star.

Just as we were about to climb Bali’s highest mountain last year, our guide took us to a clearing besides a temple and as we gazed up into the glittery sky, we watched a star dart into the distance and silently made a wish. There were many points on that climb when I counted my lucky stars.

And as we now begin our journey across the silk road from Turkey to China, it would seem that I have been again blessed with such fortune. Only this star fell from the sky about 5,000 years ago… and landed in Argentina. And instead of being just a flash before my eyes, this shooting star, or at least a tiny piece of it, is coming on the journey with us… around my neck.

I’m not normally one to spend time and money in jewellery shops when travelling, but there was something about Shooting Star in Cappadocia, Turkey that caught my eye. That, and the fact that for my birthday last year Matty promised to buy me a piece of jewellery on our trip.

Inevitably, I was like a magpie… there was a lot of ‘ooohing’ and ‘aaahhing’ going on. The beautifully presented shop, with exposed walls and rustic handmade wooden benches, was full of unique and original pieces of jewellery, using gorgeous stones from around the world.

Every piece was different yet it was all so reasonably priced. And as I wandered around with more than a handful of necklaces and rings that I was seriously considering blowing a month’s budget on, I couldnt help but wonder why everyone doesn’t make jewellery like this – she makes it look so simple.

She being Leonie Zikos, a Parisian fine arts graduate, who spends 10 months a year living in the fairytale land of Cappadocia, Turkey selling her beautiful wares.

It was at the point when I was clutching about five different necklaces and pointing at more in two different directions, that Leonie asked us if we’d seen her shooting star collection. By this point I was in a gem stone trance and just started at her slightly bewildered.

She led us across the shop, past some more fabulous designs…

And then we reached The Meteorite Collection. It turns out that Leonie works with star hunters that travel the world looking for meteorites. They head to known landing spots and look for the chunks that may have been missed when they first hit the earth – sometimes hundreds of years ago. While the larger pieces are sent to museums, Leonie will buy some of the smaller pieces and turn them into jewellery.

Leonie knows exactly where each meteorite was found and spends hours drilling holes through the dense metal to turn them into beautiful pieces of jewellery. Each comes with its own little certificate, membership number and details about when and who discovered it.

As I gazed at the the collection from space I reached out for a necklace that boasted a small, pointy piece of meteorite and the decision was instantly made. As Matty fastened the chosen ‘star’ around my neck, I closed my eyes and made a wish. Here’s to hoping it comes true…

Travel tips
Leonie runs Shooting Star Jewellrey in Goreme, which can be easily found if walking towards the Open Air Museum, from the Otogar. Her address is listed as: gafferli mahallesi müze caddesi No : 48 , 50180 Göreme.

You can like her Facebook page here. She also takes mail orders so you won’t miss out if you can’t make it to Cappadocia.

PS The meteorite on ny necklace fell in the Gran Chaco Gualamba region of Argentina. It is thought to have fallen 4, 000 to 5, 000 years ago and was first discovered in 1576. It is known as the Campo del Cielo meteorite, which means Field of the Sky.

Cappadocia, Turkey: Where Fairies and Pigeons are One

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

I can think of only one thing worse than kissing a frog to find a prince… and that’s kissing a pigeon to find a fairy, but that’s just how things roll in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Having fostered a strong dislike for pigeons over the years, I found this tale especially hard to come to terms with. Pigeons (aka rats with wings) litter town centres across the UK with their filthy excrement while flying dangerously low, as if scoring points with their mates in the sky every time an elderly lady shrieks in fear or a gaggle of teens duck unnecessarily. They are ugly, menacing and downright dirty. And, unlike dirty burgers, dirty birds are not good.

But in the beautiful, fairytale region of Cappadocia in Turkey, which boasts huge swathes of deep-cut valleys with phallic boulders and hills that resemble Mr Whippy ice cream, the pigeon is of upmost significance. Or at least it was.

In a land where people created homes and communities in the caves they dug through the hills and inside fairy chimneys, pigeons were kept, loved and cherished. Little holes can be found across the hills where the pigeons were kept.

The story goes that once upon a time humans and fairies lived together in Cappadocia, but alas, they did not see eye to eye. However, against the odds one man fell in love with a fairy and they were determined to be wed.

The humans were angry, livid… Outraged. They cried things like: “How did that big, hairy oaf manage to pull a dainty little fairy?” and: “This must be stopped, their children will look like a cross between Tinker Bell and Chewbacca.”

So the horrid humans hatched an awful wicked plan to kill all the fairies. They organised a fake wedding for the pair and sat all the fairies together so they could be easily killed. But just before the genocide was about to take place the fairies, realising something was amiss, all turned into pigeons and flew out of the windows.

The horrid humans, on reflection of their ghastly behaviour, felt ashamed and embarrassed by their actions. So they built homes for the pigeons and looked after them very well… Until the tourism industry took off in the 1950s, that is, and then the pigeons sort of fell by the wayside.

But nevertheless for years, pigeons were the pride and joy of the people here – they were used to carry messages between communities, their excrement was mixed with other ingredients to make a paint to decorate frescoes in the cavernous churches, and they were even used as a bargaining chip in marriage. (I know, can you imagine?! Daughters up and down the land crying: “Dad, am I only worth two pigeons to you?”)

So as we wondered, cycled and climbed up the dusty paths surrounding the hilly caves, I tried to come to terms with the suggestion that pigeons might just be fairies. I tried to imagine their diseased feathers turning into pink, glittery wings and their crooked little feet with missing toes transform into dainty, tiny fairy feet.

And the more I walked, and climbed, and looked, and saw, the easier it became to believe. Because after all, nowhere can be quite this magical and not have been filled with fairies at some point.

So perhaps next time I am in Stevenage town centre surrounded by pigeons, getting dangerously close to me in the hope I may drop a smidgen of food, I will remember this story and see them in a new light. I don’t think I will kiss them though. After all, a fairy in Stevenage would not last long at all.

Travel Tips

Where to stay in Cappadocia?

We stayed at the cavernous Shoestring Hotel, which has an amazing cave-dorm where a bed will set you back a mere 25 Lira (£10). Bargain. But more importantly, the staff are wonderful. They helped us organise our onward travel and made quite a few phonecalls for us to save us from the terrible if-I-speak-louder-maybe-they’ll-understand-me scenarios.

How to get to Cappadocia?

We took the night bus from Istanbul to Cappadocia – run by a company called Metro. You can book it online but make sure it stops at Goreme (some will stop before that but provide a shuttle service – just be sure onward travel is included!) It was not clear online so we ended up booking one through an agent in Istanbul. It cost the same price as online – 65 Lira (about £25). It departs at 8pm and 10pm and also has a day service. The 10pm bus is quicker, and took about 11 hours. The buses are comfortable, and the seats recline quite far back… I slept well at least! There is also a hilarious ‘bus steward’ dressed in a dickie-bow who feeds you cake and pours tea for a midnight snack.

The best street food in Istanbul: The Islak Hamburger

Posted on May 3, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you visit a city and need to tell the world about its crumbling city walls, stunning churches and mosaic mosques. Other times you need to eulogise about its food. Specifically a hamburger.

The Islak hamburger may only cost £1 and look like a heart-stopping combination of soggy bap and dirty meat, sold on unreliable street corners across Istanbul – but allow me to dispel such myths.

After purchasing said burger from a kind looking man at a stand on Taksim Square (where it had been sitting in a hot glass tank for longer than is probably worth thinking about), I was delighted to discover how soft the bread was. Biting into the warm, soft bap, a rich meat infused tomato sauce oozed out.

A few bites later, I was into the heart of the burger… a herby, spiced lamb mince pattie that made me make inappropriate noises and earn unfavourable looks from passer-by’s.

The Islak Burger is, my friends, the burger of kings, the king of burgers – the burger that looks down at Burger King from his hot, glass tank and mocks their dry baps and spiceless meat.

The pictures of me actually eating it are not suitable for public viewing but here’s me being all excitable by the stand.

However, if you are after something a little more fresh tasting then I can also heartily recommend making your way to the Gelata Bridge (that crosses over the Golden Horn) to one of the stalls where the fish is grilled fresh from the fishermen’s net. Meaty mackerel (or whatever the catch of the day is) is thrown into a crunchy baguette, drizzled in fresh lemon juice and topped with giant rocket leaves and crunchy onion slices, with a slight sprinkle of salt and paprika.

This will set you back just £2 – which means you can definitely go back for seconds.

Istanbul is a street food lover’s haven… We drank the juice of three freshly squeezed oranges (costing 50p) every day and munched on giant sesame seed sprinkled pretzels, costing about the same.

But it is the rows of dirty looking burgers that is the real secret gem in the city’s street food scene. Trust me*.

PS If you want to know more about the highlights of the city then take a look at my picture-led post from when Matty and I first visited Istanbul a couple of years ago.

*The hamburger was tried and tested after about four pints of Turkey’s finest Efes lager.

So, What’s Bucharest Like?

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Delia

As we hastily packed our bags* in a dorm room in Budapest, a balding, middle aged man from the opposite bunk enquired where we were off to next.

‘Bucharest,’ I replied, trying to shove two backpacks worth of toiletries into the top of my rucksack.

He slowly sucked in his breath through his yellowing teeth and gave us a knowing look. He had some advice for us: ‘Be careful of the Romanians, watch your bags closely,’ he said, before adding in a brighter and more positive tone: ‘But they do have hookers. They are very cheap.’

Hard to know how to respond to such advice, but fortunately time was not on our side as we had a train to catch. So, it was with that newly formed preconception of Romania’s capital, that we boarded the sleeper train to Bucharest. The Lonely Planet’s description that travellers often ‘depart shell shocked’ was also less than encouraging, and the Romanian in our carriage did his best to convince us to go anywhere and everywhere in his home country… except Bucharest.

But nevertheless, 17 hours later, looking almost as dishevelled as the city itself, we stepped off the train – to be greeted by stray dogs and a ferocious looking ticket woman who begrudgingly booked us onto the next train to Istanbul. In the meantime, we had 24 hours to explore the city.

It felt a bit like seeing your elderly grandparents surrounded by pictures of their younger selves… you can see how good they once looked and you know they didn’t always need a walking stick – but somehow you can’t really imagine it. Bucharest is exactly that. Beautiful, grand old buildings are now chipped and crumbling while once-glinting domed roofs are brown and rusty. Scattered among such shabby chic architecture stand the bland, concrete towers of the Soviet era.

The city is a picture of faded grandeur but just when you think you’re beginning to suss it out, Bucharest throws a curveball at you. Like the moment we turned a corner to discover a huge, tree lined boulevard that is six metres longer than Paris’s very fine Champs Elysees, with a huge, imposing palace-like building at the far end.

The Mongoose and I look onto the huge Palace of Parliament, the brain child of Comunist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, which was never finished.

And then just 20 minutes later we found ourselves on the cobbled, continental streets of the old town, where tables line the pavements and hundreds of people spend afternoons and evenings wining and dining into the early hours.

Irish pubs, Italian restaurants and bars that would not be out of place in Ibiza are hustling and buslting, as if waiting for European stag dos to discover them. One Glazweigan pub even displayed a banner claiming, ‘We proudly welcome heavy drinkers’.

Oddities at every corner

But just when we started warming to this strange city, which often seems completely at odds with itself, I saw that man in the hostel again… grinning and rubbing his thighs. Because sex tourism is clearly a well-cornered market here after all.

The 'information' stand in our hotel's reception largely contained exotic massage material.

So when my good friend rang me just after we had bid farewell to the city and asked, ‘So what is Bucharest like?’ I found myself stumbling over my words, unsure of exactly how to define the city… or what I thought of it. Is the architecture stunning or tragic? Is the vibe upbeat or desperate? Are the people happy or sad? Is it stuck in the past or looking to the future? I certainly didn’t leave shell shocked but I did depart feeling somewhat mystified by a city that still seems to be working out its own identity.

*We might have been packing our bags hastily because I may have developed an unfortunate habit of making up train times, which are actually completely wrong and only realised about half an hour before the actual time. This might have happened on more than one occasion.

A Dummies Guide to Surving Sleeper Trains across Europe

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Delia

Chugging along rolling countryside, watching green fields turn into slums, and slums grow into cities – there is hardly a more pleasant way to travel. So far, just six days into the big trip, we have already spent about 72 hours on trains.

We’ve sampled everything from posh trains with fancy buffet cars to rickety, smoke-choked carriages where even conductors are puffing away beneath the ‘No Smoking’ signs. We’ve sat, cooped up with strangers in couchettes, swigging wine from the bottle watching the world go by in Hungary, while rationing our last bottle of water meanly travelling through Bulgaria in the baking sun – and we’ve encountered many an unsmiling passport officer at borders, where the trains seemingly sit for hours on end.

Matty, the Mongoose and I will often glance up from our reading, journal writing or travel planning activities to exclaim excitement over the change in landscape, prompting all three of us to rush to the open windows and hang our heads out like panting dogs in a hot car. The phrase ‘travel is about the journey not the destination’ must have been coined by a train enthusiast.

And perhaps the best bit, for me at least, is snuggling down in my little train bed in one country, falling alseep to the reassuring chug of the train, and waking up in another country altogether.

Matty showing you how it's done on our Budapest to Bucharest sleeper train

But, there are you things you need to know before embarking on such trips. So, without further ado here are my handy tips for inter-railing across Europe on sleeper trains.

1) Shop, shop, shop! Buy all your provisions for the journey before you get to the station – you can never be guaranteed of a buffet car… as was the case on our 17 hour journey to Istanbul from Bucharest. Upon boarding a two-carriage train with just a small picnic for lunch, we realised the only facilities on the train consisted of a man in a white vest selling flat, warm fizzy water. In desperation this saw me buy Bulgarian Levs from a stranger and Matty and Donagh leg it across a random Bulgarian station mid-journey, with just five minutes to spare to get provisions.

They returned with this. And let me tell you Flirt Vodka will liven up any journey.

Matty and the Mongoose train feasting at a previous, better planned picnic

2) If you spy any rich-looking westerners, struggling with their over-sized suitcases, offer to help them. They will probably tip you, which will help buy those much needed drinks in the buffet car.

In fact, the tip was big enough for three large Weiss biers on our Munich to Salzburg train. True story.

3) Take lots of photos…

Train photos are cool. Here’s some of me and the Mongoose taken by Matty…

And a few more snaps…

4) When you go into the sleeper car, space is tight and you’re often sharing it with six people. Get everything you need for the night out of your rucksack before putting it into the luggage shelves above the top bunks – once it’s up, it ain’t coming down. Wash bag, towel, PJs etc…

5) Once the bags are up, sit down on the lower couchette with your roomies for the night- ask if you can push the middle couchette up to avoid having to hunch. You never know, they may just give you the best tips for your next destination… and at least it will avoid the whole carraige bunking down for bed at 8pm.

6) TAKE EAR PLUGS. TAKE EAR PLUGS. TAKE EAR PLUGS. Did I mention, pack some ear plugs? The snoring can be phenomenal… personally I think snoring tests should be carried out before tickets are issued and the snorers should be made to sleep together in a tiny little couchette where they can snore in harmony like a six-piece nasal band, making the kind of music nobody else wants to hear.

8) Open your eyes and enjoy… the train will take you through communites and parts of countries you would never otherwise come across. It’s magical.

Why you should visit Budapest…

Posted on April 28, 2013 by Delia

Every now and then you visit a place that you don’t just love, you adore. You walk through the streets but really you want to skip, you pause somewhere and you want time to stop, you go for coffee and imagine returning every Saturday morning with a paper… when you live there.

It doesn’t happen to me very often but when it does it hits me hard. Melbourne, Beirut, Lisbon, Brighton and Bristol. I could live in any of them. And now I have a new one for the list.. Budapest.

The last (and first) time I visited Budapest was 10 years ago and I was at university, travelling for the first time with a group of eight friends. But when I returned this time I felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I’m not sure if the city has changed, if my memory is terrible or I just saw the city with a youthful naivety all those years ago… but wow, Budapest is ace.

The skyline is exactly how I remember it. The fabulous Danube River swims between Buda and Pest, with each side boasting impressive architectural delights.

But the city has an underbelly that passed me by on my last visit… Dozens of old ruinous buildings, once home to a vibrant Jewish community before WWII, have been transformed into weird and wonderful underground bars and restaurants. The kind where No Smoking signs are made from lace and people sit in bath tubs while sipping G&T’s.

Matty and Donagh in Szimpla Kerta - the 'daddy' of the ruinous bars

Yes that's right, she is sitting in a bath tub

And if youre not sure what to order, try the Palinka hanging from the ceiling in a dispenser.

Even public transport is a little something out of the ordinary. The eclectic, electric street cars are like something out of a novel and the metro is so retro that it’s back in fashion.

On one of the city's many fabulous bridges

Funky blue seats line the platform

The city has a great big whopping list of ‘cool things to see’ including a palace that looks like a parliament and a parliament that looks like a palace, as well as a museum devoted to the history of communism ‘terror’. But when the sightseeing all gets too much and you just want to, I don’t know, sit back in a 40 degrees (Celsius) ancient bath, then fret not because Budapest has already run it and put in the bubbles for you.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Gellert Baths. The ornate complex, which dates back to the early 20th century, has an outdoor pool (surrounded by deck chairs), an indoor pool and about five mosaic-decorated thermal baths with water at various temperatures from about 35 to 40 degrees Celsius. For those that are feeling brave there is, what can only be described as, the most painfully hot steam room I have ever come across… followed by a plunge pool so icy cold that it leaves your skin pink and tingling as if repeatedly slapped by a pair of particularly brutal plump, bare hands.

And so it was, with tingling skin and slight hangovers we boarded the fabulous metro system for the last time to catch the sleeper train to Bucharest and continue our journey east.

But as we did so, I made a silent promise to return, wondering how long it would take me to master the Hungarian language and which coffee shop would become my local. Budapest, we have some unfinished business to tend to…

Where to stay in Budapest?

We stayed at the Wombats Hostel, which I can heartily recommend… it’s on the right side of town, in the heart of the ruinous bars and funky nightlife – but the hostel is also wonderfully clean and spacious. Our six-bed dorm cost just €10 per night, including breakfast amd free wifi. They even give you lockers for your valuables in the dorm.

Home for the night

Our dorm bathroom... I'm sure they were never this swanky last timeI travelled.

World In Pictures: Paris, Munich and Salzburg in 48 hours

Posted on April 26, 2013 by Delia

For me travel is about immersing yourself into another world, exploring new cultures and embracing different ways of thinking. But right now we’re not really doing that… We’re just a-hoppin’, skippin’ and runnin’ across Europe before starting a four month journey across the Silk Road from Turkey to China.

So, since leaving the UK on Tuesday we’ve travelled from London to Paris, to Munich and Salzburg – and tonight we shall be dining in Budapest. Of course I say that in the loosest sense of the word as we have rediscovered our old travelling ways and have been frequenting curry shacks and markets for ‘supper’. I even refused to use the loo at Munich Station because it cost a €1 – I don’t mind spending a penny… But a Euro?! Outraged.

Anyway, in keeping with our fleeting pace across Europe I thought a ‘World in Pictures’ post would be most appropriate (where I write less and let the pictures give an overview). We can’t pretend to have got under the skin of these cities but my, we’ve had great fun surfing the surface.

Our time in Paris totalled just 3 hours… We decided to spend it on the Montmartre, picnicking outside the Sancrecerre. This guy turned up with a football.

He was impressive.

So was the picnic. Matty wore stripes especially for the occasion.

Then it was off to Munich on this sexy sleeper train.

We threw ourselves right in the deep end with this wonderful lederhosen-adorned tour guide.

And concluded dat bratwurst ist gut.

The handsome Feldherrnnhalle in the Odeonsplatz square, Munich.

Lovely old state building with huge glass extensions, Munich.

The Englischer Garten, in the heart of Munich is the biggest public garden in Europe. People also sunbathe naked. I went there to gaze at the colourful fauna. Obviously.

When in Rome… We drank beer in Munich. We finished beer in Munich. Here’s me through Matty’s beer goggles.

And we’re in Salzburg! No, I don’t really get this either.

Donagh looking pretty with the flowers in Salzburg.

Salzburg Cathedral is a baroque beauty.

Inside the cathedral…

The beef goulash with dumpling was mighty fine indeed.

A view of Salzburg from the impenetrable fortress of Hohensalzburg Castle, Salzburg.

I am still coming to terms with the fact I have visited Salzburg without doing the Sound of Music tour… Tragic combination of travelling with two boys and having only an afternoon in the city. Somebody pass me a schnaps.

An Ode to My Friends: I Miss You Already

Posted on April 21, 2013 by Delia

It’s finally happened. After weeks of meticulous planning, months of hard saving and years of dreaming we would be on the road again, the time Is here. Yesterday we bid farewell to our little home in Nottingham, with its freshly painted walls and sparkling clean surfaces, carrying only our rucksacks on our backs. (And, if I’m honest, quite a lot of Asda carrier bags containing all those precious bits and bobs that we had forgotten about – to give to my mum at St Pancras.) So we kind of looked like overloaded turtles/bag ladies as we waddled out the house for the last time. (Matty was especially working the bag lady look).

Make no mistake, our backpacks are ram packed. I have a year’s supply of asthma inhalers, contact lenses, trekking gear and a minute amount of clothes. But sadly, the one thing I wanted to take most of all – the one thing I that’s been hardest to leaving behind – does not fit in my bag.

My friends and family. The people that have made the last six years the truly fabulous years they have been. Painting over the graffiti wall on our landing (pictured above), which was full of messages from our loved ones, was definitely the hardest part of getting the house ready to let. So before I fill this blog with the world… in words, I want to just say thank you to the people who have made my world what it is today.

Here’s a few snaps from our very lovely leaving dos:

As my mother recently wrote on a friend’s Facebook post: “She will miss her friends so much.” And I will… More than even my hardest goodbye hugs could convey.

Keep in touch, much love xx

Everything Must Go! Selling your world to travel the world.

Posted on April 16, 2013 by Delia

It was when I started blowing the ‘raving horn’ at a recent car boot sale and screaming: “Everything must go – 50p – everything must go,” that I realised I had reached a new level of desperation.

With just half an hour to go, I declared that everything could go for 50p – nothing was sacred.

My mother looked slightly incredulous. “Even these?” she asked, pointing at my collection of unopened Clinique miniatures – the last remaining evidence of all the ‘second skin care items’ I have purchased in a bid to get the all-so-necessary free gift.

“Especially those,” I glowered.

A lady came over (who had already bought one of Matt’s jackets for £2.50 after making me try it on to convince herself it was actually quite feminine) and picked up my bottle of fancy-pants tinted, shimmery SPF 15 sun cream.

“I’ll give you 30p for this,” she offered. I grabbed her pennies gladly. I’d loved that cream but alas, the lid had long since gone and it would be sure to turn everything in my rucksack into a brown, shimmery mess if it came with me. It had to go. Like all my other half used, much loved lotions and potions.

That’s me with my good friend Carly. She works in sales and was responsible for about 80% of our sales that day… Watching her sell Love Actually as a porn film to a middle aged man was a personal highlight.

As the morning drew to a close I ran off to collect more charity bags from the car boot organiser to avoid returning home with the loveless goods. We filled up about 6 bin liners with all my wise little purchases from years gone by, ignoring the slightly racist man opposite selling bird tables who was muttering something about Bob Geldof ripping off charities and how, if it wasn’t for immigrants, he wouldn’t be selling bird tables at a car boot sale.

Truth be told, I’d have given even more to charity if I’d been permitted but the charity shop at the end of the road sort of asked me to stay away earlier this week.

My recent giveaways on Facebook have been more successful – friends have gladly taken my old Tupperware, spices and condiments – although I’ve had less interest in an assortment of coat hangers I kindly advertised to my loved ones last night.

And perhaps slightly more worrying than that, is the lack of interest we’ve had in the house so far. Ah yes, that little thing. The small matter of covering the mortgage while we swan around deepest darkest centra Asia.

Almost three years ago exactly we bought our lovely little three-bed terraced house in Hyson Green, Nottingham… eating pizza with our hands and supping bubbles to celebrate picking up the keys. For three years we loved, cherished and thoroughly enjoyed our little home – but now it’s time for someone else to live on the door step of the best curries that Nottingham has to offer.

Yes, I have written this blog to try and convince you to rent our house. So without further ado (putting on my best Lloyd Grossman accent), ‘who lives in a house like this…?’

My, what a LOVELY door… And great bins.

And with a courtyard perfect for the looming summer’s evenings.

Through the keyhole and into the lounge… (The rug is still up for grabs for first available collector etc).

A nice, spacious kitchen/diner. Are you sold yet?

Crikey, look at the fitted wardrobe on that. Just like a scene out of Clueless. Quite.

“Darling, we simply must live here,” I hear you cry.

Top floor bedroom.

Best loo north of the River Trent. Fact.

And a room for little Joey.

By the time you’ve reached this point, I’m sure the agent’s line will already be busy – you should have called after reading the first line. Those of you that are now considering emigrating from Oz and elsewhere to Nottingham, I can assure you that you will not miss the beach life. The Old Market Square is transformed into a beach (fully equipped with deck chairs and a bar) every summer. You will be very happy here.

Meanwhile, we are now a mere six days from beginning our big journey from Nottingham to ‘nam across the Silk Road. We have spent weeks selling everything we own for just a few pennies, cleaning out a house that we love but has no tenants yet and wondering what to do with the Rover 25 that should never, ever be combined with a moustache in any circumstances.

Yes, you too could look this good. Just over 100,000 miles on the clock, 4 months MOT and guaranteed sex appeal. I’ll even throw in the car for free. All yours for just £400.

In sum, giving everything up to travel the world at an age when you own more than a few bags of clothes and a wok (circa 2006) is tricky… Truth be told my mother is having kittens. There are, of course, risks, worries and concerns but then again we wouldn’t be doing any of this if we wanted an easy life.

Instead we are choosing to travel a corner of the world where hotel televisions sometimes double up as CCTV cameras and visa rules are harder to follow than camel tracks in the scorching desert sand. It’s not meant to be an easy ride… But something tells me it will be a little bit more memorable than a bottle of fancy-pants, shimmery suntan cream.

Bring on the adventure x

World in Words

By a girl who loves to write, eat and explore…