Hot. Hot. Hot.
For the less travelled readers [1] who devour my near weekly musings as a respite from their humdrum lives, it is mid summer in the southern hemisphere. It’s still surprising - to many others, though not me - that while half of the world is glumly freezing its genitalia [2] off in near total darkness, the other half is bathed in glorious warm sunlight.
And heat. Suffocating, oppressive heat.
QUE CALOR! Spanish for "It's so f***ing hot. This screenshot from the weather app on a friend's phone (I don't do smart phones) shows typical temperatures expierenced in the Sydney region this summer. No matter how hot it gets, however, The Glorified Gypsy is capable of withstanding it. If anyone even thinks about moving the fan above my bunk bed they'd better be prepared for 21 different ways to die (or be injured).
What truly astounds is that the inhabitants of either hemisphere never seem to expect the weather they invariably get, despite it being more or less the same. year in year out. All the time.
As Australia swelters through another weekend of another summer of high temperatures, all one hears are complaints about “how hot it is”. About how they can’t “escape” the heat. They’ll walk into the hostel, for example, and kick up a fuss about why there isn’t any air conditioning. Or, if they turn the fan on at its highest setting, complain it agitates all the dust in the dorm room, or circulates the smell of the bed sheets.
It’s like choosing to live on the moon but then whinging about having to wear a space suit.
It comes as little surprise to confirm [3] that I am able to adapt to any climate in either hemisphere or at any altitude. I’m equally at home scaling the shivering heights of Snowden, as I am collecting seashells [4] on a Cuban beach in 90% humidity.
It’s just who I am. As much as I have an innate sense for backpacking, it would be arrogant not to acknowledge part of my skill set as a traveller is to learn from experience. Say, for example, I inadvertently took a wrong turn and found myself in barrio Siloé, Cali, it would be foolish to continue taking photographs of the gathering crowds of aggressive young men, even though black and white images of impoverished people tend to get published in travel magazines and National Geographic. No. I would discreetly hide the camera under my t-shirt or toss it aside. I’d then, in hindsight, have either turned around and walked rapidly away, or not have taken the photos in the first place. Nor would I have assumed that showing them the photos on the screen afterwards would make things any better. [5]
STREET LIFE: I snapped this gang of violent youths after I inadvertently stumbled into the barrio known as Siloé while in Cali, Colombia. This, and the accompanying essay entitled "Young Narcos of Colombia" which I submitted to National Geographic, was never published. In fact, the sub editor - after months of inquiring - finally responded. She doubted some of of the facts raised in my article, and also implied the gang of violent youths looked more like innocent school children. Trust me, they weren't. Technically they did attend school, but one only has to observe the psychotic stare of the child front-left know the only graduation he'll make is when he's made by his gang boss for shooting somebody's grandma.
It may take you a few more goes before the lesson is really learned but trust me, you will. Before long it will become second nature to distrust anybody from the third world.
So when people ask for advice on how to deal with the heat I say this. Embrace it or ignore it, but never deal with it. You have to become as one with the temperature.
Here are a few suggestions on how to embrace or ignore it:
1. Get outside and welcome the sunshine into your life. It’s true Australia has a horrific rate of skin cancer on account of the hole in the ozone and all that. Bizarrely, I’m convinced if fair-skinned readers got out in the sun just a little bit more they’d build up a resistance to the UV rays, much like one does with alcohol and drugs. Before long, you’ll be able to spend the majority of the day at the beach with only minimal application of sunscreen or need for clothing. [6] I rarely come up in heat rashes these days.
2. Sweat is natural, so why fight it. I realised quickly in my backpacking career that deodorant was just another item weighing me down. If fellow travellers left behind a stick Nivea or Sure in the mouldy shower room, certainly I may treat my armpits to a quick roll. If not, however, that’s fine too. In many ways, having people wary about approaching you can have its advantages, especially if one wanders into the wrong barrio. (See above). Accepting perspiration is, in my opinion, the key to any person enjoying travel in the tropics.
3. Take control of the dorm room fan. Every now and then a new face will appear in the 8 bed dorm and question why the fan is always pointed directly at my bed. Why, they ask, can’t we at least rotate the fan so everyone receives a burst of stale air? My answer: The clammy heat can often make people more irrational and tetchy and prone to saying or threatening things they wouldn’t normally say or contemplate. But when it’s 40ºC in the shade even a pedant would excuse a man for sometimes, just sometimes, wielding a a Swiss Army knife in a menacing fashion.
[1] A misleading phrase given I expect all of you reading this are “less travelled” than I am. No, specifically what I mean are those, say, still living in a certain south coast English town whose closest brush with culture is their weekly trip to the Sunday markets to buy discount trainers from Indian stall holders.
[2] Ordinarily “balls” would be the genitals of choice to use in this phrase. In the interest of objectivity and inclusion, I'll stick with genitalia.
[3] For you already assumed it.
[4] To make necklaces. One of the basic tenets of FreeStyleTravel™ is to fund one’s own travel and not rely on, say, a trust fund like many “backpackers” actually do. By collecting shells and then employing a simple guajiro to make them into necklaces, I’m able to then sell them for $2 sometimes $3 a piece. That’s from something that washed up on the beach for free. Everyone wins: I continue to travel and the guajiro gets a cool 10% of the profits if I happen to pass by his or her way again.
[5] Interesting fact: many poor Latinos already have access to a smart phone and therefore have photos, or are capable of taking photos, of themselves.
[6] Besides, regular check-ups with the doctor should see that any worrisome moles are zapped away with only imperceptible scarring. I wear my sideburns long anyway so mine are barely visible.