Jack London once jotted down, “a bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog”. For six months I had sunk into earth up to my chest, mixed concrete with flimsy shovels, been stomped by a rain season that fell …

In preparation for a recent interview with travelsiteslinks, I went through my photos of Guatemala for the first time in many years. Here’s a short selection of some of my favourite pics.   La Antigua   Whilst living in Guatemala, I worked as a builder in the local poor communities. Here’s a few snaps from …

My epic hitch-hike story is now online at GoingAbroad.com Part One Part Two  

    This article is now live on TravelSexLife !!!  

Bolivia is a country that is almost equally split between its indigenous populations (with the vast majority being made up of the Quechua and Aymara peoples), and mestizos and whites. Efforts that began after the 1952 revolution to bring the indigenous further into national affairs came to a climatic point in 2006 when Evo Morales …

The four days I spent in Pamplona for the fiesta of sanfermines were some of the craziest times I have ever had the pleasure of living. I arrived in the city, located in the Navarre region of Spain (or Basque Country) a day before the fiesta and things seemed eerily quiet…the silence before the storm, …

Over the past two years I had tried several attempts at hitchhiking around Europe. My first was with two friends when we hitched from Britain to Morocco as part of a charity hitchhiking event. Life was difficult on the road with three people. Cars were less inclined to stop; three people all wanted to make the …

  Many moons ago, right at the start of my journey to become a writer, I sent an article to a travel magazine called ‘Vagabundo’. It was about my misadventures in Guatemala, specifically when I turned up at the airport to catch a flight home to the UK and couldn’t pay the departure tax. Someone …

I will always be disturbed by the image of a twenty-stone woman, hair tugged back tight, flip-flops slapping against the concrete, strolling past a crowd of bemused Marrakech stall-owners in nothing more than a short skirt and a blousy vest. Luckily my friend was just as amazed and raced back to take a photograph. But …

I was only fifteen days into my Argentine journey and my vibrations were still fresh enough for me to smile and nod to the Americans who turned to me, the only Brit, for reassurance that my palate tolerated this ‘Welsh’ tea as well. I was a heathen and couldn’t tell the difference between piss and …