Taking it easy on the Zambezi

It’s not often that you can say you entered into a near-death experience voluntarily – that in fact, you read the disclaimer, thought to yourself, “This sounds highly unsafe”, and then proceeded to sign it anyway. The next thing you know, you’re perched casually in a pool at the edge of the largest waterfall in the world, deafened by the indomitable roar of the plummeting water, nothing but your desperate grip on a frayed rope preventing you from taking the 108 metre plunge that looms only a metre ahead. You’d think, in this situation, that your thoughts would be preoccupied with the immediate threat to your existence – if you had a hand on the magical Weasley clock from the Harry Potter series, it would most definitely be pointing at mortal peril at this moment. Instead, I found myself merely hoping that my bikini top would stay on long enough to get a decent photo. #priorities.

This is one of the more extreme ways to enjoy the wonder that is Victoria Falls. Spanning an impressive 1609 metres, the waterfall, known locally as Mosi oa-Tunya (“the smoke that thunders”), lies on the Zambezi River on its path between the borders of Zambia and Zimbabwe. Another daredevilish sight-seeing option is the bungee jump off Victoria Falls Bridge, where thrill-seekers can hurl themselves 111m down into the gorge below. For those not willing to dangle precariously over the falls or toss themselves off a bridge, the National Park provides a safe, on-land opportunity to view the majestic, mist-making cascade. 

I have to say though – however foolish it may be – not much beats the adrenaline rush in the Angel’s Armchair. This experience is usually offered as a package of the Devil’s Pool and Livingstone Island Tour, but at the time of our visit the Devil’s Pool wasn’t safe for swimming, and so we went to the Angel’s Armchair instead. The tour of the island consisted mainly of squelching around in the mud, wearing some chic flattering green rain ponchos, half-listening to our guide and wondering how much longer it would be until we got into the water. Afterwards, we were rewarded for our reckless behaviour with a very tasty breakfast enjoyed on the island (they even had warm scones. And you know how I feel about scones). 

Ohh yes.

I visited Victoria Falls from the town of Livingstone on the Zambian side, named after the Scottish explorer who discovered the falls in 1855. Having spent the month prior to this working in an isolated hospital in rural Malawi, Livingstone was like NYC to my companions and I. There were shops! Bakeries! Nightclubs! Even a chippers - which, in true Irish style, we were to become well acquainted with on our search for curry cheese chips in the early hours of a Saturday morning..

The infamous Sunset Booze Cruise is a quintessential part of any backpacker’s trip to Livingstone. A boat trip up the Zambezi, a BBQ dinner and an open bar until the sun sets – what more could you want? There’s even the opportunity to spot a sneaky croc or two on the way, if the Zambezi Specials haven’t addled your eyesight too soon. A mixture of vodka, gin and whiskey with a dash of orange juice and some interesting illuminous green liquid, these cocktails focus on delivering the most alcohol possible, at the expense of taste and your stomach lining. Just what was needed to cater to the large amount of Irish students on board. One of our compatriots was on his second Booze Cruise of the week – an NUIG man, wouldn’t you know ;) – and he warned us that when the sun set and the boat turned around, the bar would close. We took note of this, and as we were chatting, we kept watch for the slightest change in the boat’s orientation.

The drinking games began. The gin continued to flow. The sun dipped down to the horizon. The boat began to turn. We flocked to bar en masse.

“Three Zambezi Specials please!” 

“I’m out of gin!”

“Ok, vodka Diet Coke so!”

“I’m out of vodka!”

“Ah, alright whiskey Diet Coke so!”

“…I’m out of Diet Coke!”

“AH JAYSUS GIVE ME ANY SPIRIT AND MIXER YOU’VE GOT!!”

Between 3 people. Oh dear..

A raucous rendition of Boyzone’s “Baby Can I Hold You Tonight” in the downstairs cabin is the last memory many of us have of that evening, before we came to hours later in the afore-mentioned chippers, on a mission to satisfy our carb cravings. My friend had ordered a box of chips, and was given a plastic bag to transport them home in. She took the bag, and, unwatched by the staff, toddled her way to the condiment counter, where, in her Zambezied state, she proceeded to pack the large bottles of ketchup and sweet chilli sauce from the counter into her bag. Nothing we could say could persuade her that this was unnecessary and that she should leave them for the use of other customers. She was adamant that she must bring these delicious relishes back to the hostel with her. Eventually, we came to the compromise that she would take one bottle only, and the sweet chilli sauce was reluctantly exhumed from the bag and left behind. She has since been diagnosed with alcohol-induced kleptomania. :P

We woke up the next morning, the aroma of gin imbuing the air, a lonely ketchup bottle lying on its side on the floor. Victims of the Booze Cruise, merciless at the hands of an open bar, we wallowed in self-pity and tried to piece together the night from looking at our photos. Some questions were answered, some memories recovered, while others – such as, “Whose foot is that?!” – remain a mystery to this day.

Alcohol and chips were not the only luxury our newly beloved metropolis had to offer, however. A slightly more gourmet experience was our Afternoon Tea at the Royal Livingstone Hotel. The Royal Livingstone is a five-star hotel situated on the Zambezi outside of the town, near the head of the Falls. With its marble foyer and rolling grounds casually populated by wild zebra and antelope, it’s not the usual type of establishment frequented by grubby backpackers, but we had heard good things from friends who had been in Livingstone before us. And so we scrubbed the dust from every crack and crevice and donned our finest gear (/only remaining clean clothes that weren’t Africa pants) and headed off to Afternoon Tea.

A traditional singing group serenaded us while we made our wary entrance to the hotel, feeling just a tad out of place as valets delivered BMWs to the door and suitcases larger than our bodies were lugged to and fro. Having subsisted on a diet of rice and beans for four weeks, our bellies were crying out for something a little extravagant – well, we were in the right place. As bountiful as a table at a Hogwarts feast, a lavish spread of cakes, quiches, sandwiches, tarts, petit-fours and scones was laid out before us in a buffet style banquet. 

Wait - buffet?! We panicked. Tea had started half an hour ago, and we assumed that once a certain tray of treats was empty, it would not be refilled. So we grabbed our plates and hastened to fill them with one of almost everything on the buffet, lest we miss out on a single delectable morsel. Some of the other patrons cast amused looks at our loaded plates as we lugged them back to our table. We merely laughed and congratulated ourselves on our impressive hauls. Those fools with only the one egg and watercress sandwich on their paltry platters! How sorry they would be when they realised they’d missed out on the last of the strawberry tartlets. And smugly, we sat back and scoffed down.

Moments later, the doors to the kitchen swung open, and a host of polished waiters appeared, pushing trolleys of food to refill the trays that had been so brutally ransacked by the invading Irish. The strawberry tartlets were replenished. The egg and watercress sandwiches were overflowing. We exchanged sheepish looks. And wondered if it would be acceptable to go and get one of those new chocolate pastries that had appeared..

A few hours later, when the pain in our stomachs had finally subsided, we sat by the river, sipping cocktails and watching the sun on its diminuendo colour the coursing waters coral. There is a quote by Ernest Hemingway written on a wall in the dining room of the Royal Livingstone; “I never knew of a morning in Africa when I woke that I was not happy”. And we agreed that, even on the gin-scented mornings, even on the days that dawned on dozens of new mosquito bites, our time in Livingstone – and indeed, our trip as a whole – was the very same. 

Berlin in brief

Christmas 2014.
The first time since coming to university that I didn't have Christmas exams, meaning that I could enjoy the run up to the holidays properly for a change. My housemates and I were in full Christmas mode. Fairy lights bedecked our living room, Hark Hear the Bells became our apartment anthem and Christmas jumpers were daily attire. But despite the spirit of the holidays flourishing inside our flat, something was missing outside..
Let's face it - the Christmas markets in Ireland are rather disappointing. The Docklands Festival was the best offering in recent years, but it was overpriced and lacking in atmosphere. The arrival of a host of wooden huts at St Stephen's Green last Christmas got my hopes up - a much better location and stalls that were actually festively decorated. Four hotdog stands and a Wok 'n' Roll later, my hopes were quenched. My Yuletide yearnings remained unsatisfied. 

The solution to my problem was clear - to get that Christmas kick I so craved, I'd have to travel to the motherland of the Christmas market - Germany. Berlin was a city I'd long wanted to visit, ever since I'd missed it on my inter-railing trip around East Europe four years ago. My boyfriend - although attracted more by the prospect of well-stocked record stores than mulled wine - had a similar desire, and so in the first week of our Christmas holidays, off we went to Berlin.

The markets did not disappoint. They were fabulous, from the lights, the stalls, the produce and the sheer amount of them - we visited three different ones, each far beyond anything we've had here in Dublin, and still there were plenty we didn't make it to. 
We drank mulled wine. We ate roast chestnuts. We zoomed down an icy hill on a rubber tire. 

The Christmas market at Gendarmenmarkt.

Delectable goodies on all sides..

 ..none more delectable than the Gluhwein, of course ;)

I'd have been satisfied by just visiting these markets and heading back to Ireland with a box of Vanillekipferl and my souvenir Gluhwein mug in tow. But Berlin has so much more to offer, and so we dragged ourselves away from the Christmas markets long enough to take in some of the other tourist attractions too.

I would highly recommend a visit to the Reichstag Dome. Set on the roof of the parlimentary buildings, you get a fantastic view across the city, and the Dome itself is spectacular. It requires booking in advance, but it's free (we love free things) and you get an audio guide to listen to as you walk in a spiral up the side of the Dome. The officials are a tad scary though. Eye contact discouraged.

We took in a 3 hour walking tour on our first day, which unfortunately also happened to be the coldest day of our trip (an emergency pit stop in H&M for wooly socks and gloves had to be made). There are all sorts of tours you can do, but we opted for the classic historical one with Sandeman's. This is also advertised as free, but really you're expected to give a donation of around €10, which is actually very reasonable given the length of the tour and the knowledge of the guides. The tour is not the most aesthetically pleasing, but it's extremely interesting and a great way to get an overview of the history of the city.

Pariser Platz, with Brandenburg Gate in the background

The Jewish Holocaust Memorial

Remnants of the Berlin Wall

We also visited the East Side Gallery, where the remains of the Wall are far more cheerful than those pictured above, and Museum Island, where a student ticket costs just €9 and gets you entry to four amazing museums. 

A section of the artwork at the East Side Gallery.

Renoir - Summertime at Alte Nationalgalerie

Sarcophagi at Neues Museum

Carved lions at the Pergamonmuseum

Of course, I couldn't do this post without talking about the food. Berlin is brimming with excellent restaurants and street food markets - but I think I'll let the photos do the talking here ;) There are some great Berlin food blogs you can consult if you need inspiration or want to find a particular type of cuisine - try Foodie Berlin and Berlin Food Stories.

Taiwanese bao and Berlin Balls at Street Food Thursday in Markthalle Neun, which boasts an impressive array of food stalls, each more delectable than the last. Decision-making at its most challenging.

Vietnamese pho at District Mot in Mitte

Baked pumpkin and potato with cranberry cream cheese at Neue Heimat 

Chocolate schnecke from Zeit Fur Brot

Brunch at Barcomi's Deli

No trip away would be complete without finding a scone and soy cappuccino..

I like to sample the local cuisine whenever I travel. But I'm going to be honest with you here - I'm not the biggest fan of sausage.

Now now, stop that, you dirty-minded divils. ;)
I'm not the type to wake up after a night on the Morgans and crave a dirty sausie sambo. Superquinn never won me over with their celebrated cylindrical sizzlers. 
But there's something about a juicy Berlin bratwurst that beggars belief..

Succulent, delicately spiced, served on fresh bread rolls to a pair of very cold, hungry Irish tourists.. It was sensational. It's not something that I would eat every day (certainly not now that I've gone vegetarian :P), but I couldn't go to Berlin and not sample this traditional cuisine.

In the same way, I felt I couldn't go to Berlin and not sample the traditional nightlife. Those of you who are into the dance scene will be aware that Berlin is revered as the current techno capital of the world. It's home to some world-famous clubs like Berghain and Tresor, where top techno DJs like Ben Klock and Marcel Dettman are residents and which are notorious for their strict door policy. Tips for getting in include: Don't speak in the line. Don't be too drunk. Don't go up in a group with more than 2 boys. Don't be a tourist. Not a lot to ask now, is it?
We were there mid-week, meaning most clubs were shut until the weekend, but Tale Of Us were playing in one of the large clubs, Watergate, on the Wednesday night. We decided to chance our arms at getting in. Sure, two pale, ginger(ish) Irish people, with a bottle of wine downed on the U-Bahn and not a word of German between them - what could go wrong?
We joined the queue around midnight, watching nervously as some people walked back down the line looking dejected. We made friends with the toothless homeless man wobbling up and down the queue in search of alcohol. We practised saying "Ich spreche kein Deutsch". We shared some vodka with the alt-looking Slovenian pair behind us in the queue (until the homeless man caught wind of it and that was the end of that). And finally, around 12.45, we were at the door. Lines prepared, IDs in hand, expecting but dreading rejection... 

Hours of stomping techno later, we emerged into the early-morning light, shells of our former selves. Inside, the music thumped on, the fists pumped on, but we weary travellers slumped on home. Watergate had defeated us, but what a glorious battle it had been..

So inconspicuous..

Berlin may not be as warm or welcoming as some other European cities in terms of its climate, its people and its architecture, but it more than makes up for it with its history, its diversity and its arts and culture (yes, techno counts under culture). Normally after I visit a new city, I don't intend to return in the near future - I'm on a world mission, you know. That Scratch Map ain't gonna scratch itself ;) - but Berlin is an exception to that rule. I'd gladly return at the next opportunity that arose - plus a few extra pairs of socks and minus any notions of vegetarianism ;)

having a whale of a time

So, this is the first of those, ahem, weekly travel posts I loosely you promised a while ago :P apologies for the tardiness - I've been really busy the last while baking spelt scones, writing scenes for a panto and most recently, watching some of my classmates get half-naked on stage while wearing nipple tassles. But that's a story for another day ;)

Earlier in the blog I shared a picture of the moon that I took during my trip to Mexico in summer 2013. I spent four weeks in the Sian Ka'an biosphere reserve, located just south of Tulum, monitoring coral as part of a marine conservation project. The Sian Ka'an reserve includes a section of the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef.

I'm just HOOKED on diving...

All going well, we dived 8 or 9 times during the week, with weekends free to travel to local sites and cities. I could probably dedicate a whole blog to stories and photos from this trip - from diving with sting rays, barracudas, turtles and more, to guzzling tacos, to partying in Playa del Carmen (an excellent place to celebrate your 21st birthday, I'll have you know) - but for now, I'm just going to concentrate on one stand-out experience that remains to this day unlike anything else I've done.

Shark-diving was never something that had featured prominently on my extensive and ever-growing bucket-list. It wasn't that I found the idea daunting, or that I'd decided I wouldn't do it under any circumstances - the idea of being lowered into the sea in a confined space, unable to swim around, just didn't particularly appeal to me. So when fellow volunteers at Pez Maya (our camp in the Sian Ka'an) started recommending a trip to Cancun to dive with whale sharks, I was hesitant at first. However, they recounted a very different tale to what I had imagined. No cages, no barriers, but instead, the opportunity to actually dive in and swim freely alongside these amazing, colossal fish - I was sold. Jaws, here I come. 

The waters off Cancun play host to migrating whale sharks from mid-May to mid-September. Myself and another volunteer, Ali, went swimming with the sharks on our last weekend in Mexico. We booked with a company in Playa, and on the morning of the trip, travelled from there to the port in Cancun, where many tour companies convened to have breakfast, distribute life-jackets and rent out wetsuits. There were underwater disposable cameras for sale or Go Pros for rent, which usually I would dismiss as money-making gimmicks - however, this is one occasion when it's worth spending the money. You're deFINitely going to want pictures of this. Luckily, we were already equipped with a Go Pro, on loan from a fabulous Pez Maya buddy :)

It was a one and a half hour bumpy boat ride from the shore to where we would find the sharks, during which our anticipation and excitement continued to grow. The same could not be said for the grumpy German girl sitting across from us, whose face suggested that each bump drove the figurative stick further up her - ;) 

We were rEELly excited..

So it was to her relief and our delight that we arrived at the whale sharks' feeding area and joined the throng of boats already there. The 8 of us on our boat were divided up into 4 pairs, each pair having three opportunities to swim with the sharks. Our Mexican instructor fired off some rapid instructions - "Go when I say go swim ahead of de shark don't touch de shark don't get hit by de tail ees very painful" - wait, sorry; what was that last one?! "Ok, go go GO!"

I don't think I will ever forget that first moment when I stuck my head under the water and saw this 25-foot creature advancing towards me, its gargantuan mouth wide open and ready to swallow me up. The National Geographic profile on whale sharks comments on how "the beast.. passively filters everything in its path" - I still believe that if I hadn't gotten out of the way, that shark would have just gone on swimming and obliviously sucked me into its depths.

I'd ROD-ther not be eaten, thanks.

It was absolutely exhilarating. Our instructor would tell us where and when to look, and we would stick our heads under and fin furiously in an attempt to stay alongside these gentle giants. More than once I had to scramble to avoid being hit by a massive tail sailing serenely in my direction.. 

I'm not CODding you, I was struggling to keep up..

Ali and I couldn't resist swimming as close as possible to them, snapping away with the Go Pro at all times of course - here you can see the shark feeding on some small fish, and below you can see two remoras hitching a ride on his back!

If you need an idea of SCALE, there's me up in the corner - 

these guys are roughly the size of a bus!

We ended up getting to swim with them four times - grumpy German girl didn't want to take her last go, surprise surprise - and still it wasn't enough. It was surreal to be so close to such a huge creature, and for it to be completely unphased by our presence. If you ever need to be reminded of your insignificance in the world, I can assure you a whale shark is the creature to do it ;)

The boat ride back to the shore - and the rest of the day, for that matter - was spent reliving every second we'd spent in the water - they were "actually so big like" ;) It truely was an unforgettable affair and something I would recommend to anyone (bar maybe those with a fear of fish. I don't think any of you ichthyophobics out there would be too keen on it). The SOLE problem I had with it, much like a safari in Africa, was the potential disturbance casued to wild creatures by the sheer volume of tourists and the noise of the vehicles. It's hard to believe that this doesn't bother the sharks in some way - how great of a disturbance this is, I'm not sure. If you do ever find yourself in Cancun though, and you decide to swim with the whale sharks, make sure to do 3 things; 

1. Rent a Go Pro.

2. Get on the boat with the crabby European lady, in the hope that you can steal one of her turns later. And

3. Remember the phrase "passively filters". Ain't nobody want to end up like Jonah.  

(PS - I hope y'all noticed my none-too-subtle fish puns dotted throughout this post ;P )

where the sky begins..

Inspired by tonight's amazing moon, I dug up this photo I took last summer on a scuba dive expedition in Mexico. Our camp was in a national biosphere reserve (Sian Ka'an, near Tulum), so from the moment the sun rose in the morning over the Caribbean sea, to the time the burnt orange moon made its appearance in the evening, we were surrounded by stunning nature - both under the sea and above :)

"to roam the roads of lands remote.."

"..to travel is to live".

I was asked before by a friend what it is about travelling that I love so much. A simple question to answer, I thought, given that travelling is a passion of mine, and I prepared to launch into a euphoric eulogy that would aptly convey this to her –

- but then I stopped. The word that had lined up along my tongue lingered there, lacklustre. Everything was so horribly cliché; yes, I love discovering new places, and yes, I believe travel opens your eyes and your mind and – yaawn. Who hasn’t heard that before?

I found myself struggling. I couldn't satisfactorily put into words why, for me, there is no happier feeling than watching the sun sink over a novel horizon. Why I spend a ridiculous amount of time (all of those afternoons sitting idly in the corner during OPD clinic..) planning where I'll spend my next three summers, what European city I want to visit next, where I want to live for a year when I graduate. Why the first word I associate with “lonely” is “planet”.  

It’s an individual thing, discovering a love for travelling, but at the end of the day, many of our reasons for enjoying it overlap – and that’s why these clichés develop. If I was to answer her now, having mulled it over in the interim, I might tell her that for me, it’s the ineffable feeling of freedom. Or I might borrow those simple yet succinct words which resonate with me so strongly – to travel is to live.

I used to think I'd done a lot of travelling - or a fair bit, at least, given my age. I thought I'd seen plenty of this pleasurable planet of ours. Well on my way to becoming a woman of the world; globe-trotting glory within my grasp - and then my boyfriend gave me a present of a Scratch Map. For those of you not familiar with the concept, a Scratch Map is a map of the world with the countries covered in gold foil, and with the aid of a coin, you scratch off the countries that you've visited.

I expected mine to be a kaleidoscope of my global conquerings..

Hmm. Not quite. Not counting countries I’ve stopped over in, and only counting states in Canada and the US (I felt it was cheating to do otherwise), there is an immense amount of gold left. If only I’d been to Russia..

So though I'm not quite the jet-setter I thought I was, I'm not Boeing to let this get me down. ;) I’m hoping to do a weekly travel post here (although let’s be honest, if it’s fortnightly I’ll be doing well) on some of my favourite places that I’ve been – and hopefully, over the next while, I might get to scratch off somewhere new and tell you guys about it!

I looked at my Scratch Map earlier and thought how this was a rare occasion where the more gold that I have, the worse that I’m doing. Not a great attitude, though, is it. Pessimism was never my cup of tea. 

So I’m going to take a different perspective; the more gold that I have, the more that still awaits me. :) 

chasing a hummingbird

snapped this buzzer two years ago on Coronado Island in San Diego, having spent two hours the previous day trying to get a shot of one in Balboa Park - they are speedy lil things! i think it may be a female Anna's hummingbird (based on some fiiine Google searching), but if anyone wishes to correct me, please do!