The Glorified Gypsy
The travel writings of a vagabundo
When the borders shut, I improvised and planned on hiring a Kombi to do the east coast of Australia - a feat that would have broken my own record of 41 times. Of course, the Queensland government put an end that. All that was left, then, was the state of New South Wales.
Read MoreAs they’re fond of saying in Latin America, mi casa es tu casa; and that’s very much the philosophy of The Galah. (Though not legally mine, when you’ve resided in any hostel for as long as I have it’s only natural that I think of it as mine). It’s your home away from home. Naturally, mi casa es tu casa is more something one says, rather than fact and most people tend to accept that; even so, some habits are best kept to the privacy of the shower cubicle or undercover of darkness once “lights are out” in the dormitory. Pablo will eventually learn this.
Read MoreWhen I eventually did leave Pablo’s I was left with that nagging feeling of wanting to repay him. As I munched away on a ¾ Corralisima Todotorreno burger and studied Pablo’s miserably gaunt face and his bony fingers as he ran them around the greasy inside of the empty carton of small fries to extract as much nutrition as he could, it dawned on me: If I couldn’t pay it back to him, what was to stop me paying it onwards to someone else?
Read MoreNow that Winter has wrapped its moderately cold fist around our necks, the question most backpackers have is do they stick or twist? In other words, do they stay in Bondi and see the winter out like a trooper, or should they head north to warmer climes, like a Janus-faced friend who disappears when times are tough.
Read MoreAll the big outdoor apparel companies have borrowed heavily from me, no more so than Kathmandu. The image of a brooding hiker standing atop a mountain or very steep hill is classic Carlitos de Jeffers. It would be a no-brainer, then, to send a photographer out with me the next time I do Bondi to Coogee or similar.
Read MoreI immediately drew attention to her intolerance by highlighting the hypocrisy of her views. If she was at a local fair and a kindly fireman invited her son to erect his ladder or unfurl his hose, I’m sure she wouldn’t only let him, but encourage him too.
Read MoreWhen I handed my CV to the bar manager I was deeply offended when he asked me to show evidence that I had (a) a valid visa, and (b) that the visa had work rights!
Read MoreAs 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.
Read MoreThe intention of this website was originally to celebrate immigrants. Be something to unite the world in these dark times. For what else is a backpacker other than an immigrant? When I began investigating, however, I soon realised there were already a number of websites dedicated to helping immigrants believe they are normal and welcome, so I decided to chronicle my own experiences instead.
This dear sweet toothless old lady is not my mother. But she could have been, had I been born in a micro desert in Colombia. My point? That child sitting behind her probably doesn't have Coco Pops for breakfast either. Actually, I entered the hut to record their poverty and know for a fact he doesn't!
Surely, Carlitos, you hail from the British Isles - whenever you travel to far-flung places you’re an expat. Immigrants are brown skinned and poor.
Wrong! I take great pride in calling myself an immigrant. In fact, reading their stories on the two Immigrant websites I searched, I was struck by how much I had in common with refugees from Sierra Leone, Syria and Afghanistan. Growing up in the south of England during the 1980s could be just as harrowing as having one’s mud hut destroyed by a US drone. For example, I remember one particularly harsh winter when the boiler broke down and my working class father had not the means to repair it. How we shivered through those freezing months!
We returned from a summer holiday to Portugal one year to find the local church gutted by a fire. With the local council’s budget groaning under the cost of providing welfare and cleaning vomit from the streets, the ruins of this former place of worship remained a constant blight throughout my adolescence. To add insult, I wrote a letter to the actor Kevin Costner when I read he was to star in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves because I thought the ruins would be just the kind of place Robin and his merry men would have sacked before dishing out the goods to others. Kevin eventually replied and I was dismayed to learn the film was already "in the can". Besides, he said the Safeway supermarket would have been visible in the background.
I also recall with bitter clarity visiting the houses of better-off friends and noting the high-end brand names stuffing their larders: Kellogg’s Coco Pops, PG Tips, Heinz Baked Beans and every kind of crisps under the sun, from Wotsits to Quavers to Hula Hoops. Compare this with the binary coloured Tesco own-brand products which lined the shelves of our larder and you begin to realise life in Eastleigh and Aleppo aren’t very different at all. We could be have been twinned.
By sharing my tales and learnings from a life of travel I hope the peoples of the world will come together as one.
Love conquers all.