Twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things

Burgerz How do you picture your burger? A juicy thick slab of beef?  Sandwiched between two buns? Perhaps it will be served in a neat cardboard box for leisurely consumption elsewhere. Perhaps it will not be consumed at all, but thrown. This is what Travis Alabanza experienced on Waterloo bridge in broad daylight in April, 2016. A burger aimed and landed. A trans slur hurled and heard. Nothing was done and a mark was made. The burger is ubiquitous, much loved and universal. It is also the site of violence as trans artist Alabanza explores in a seventy minute piece of theatre designed to implicate each and every audience member. That we as individuals must ‘step up’ is the unavoidable message at an unwritten and contingent conclusion.  The burger serves as a deliciously emotive storytelling device. Made right in front of our eyes, we watch its journey from little parts to a recognisable ‘whole’. Part comic cookery show, part memoir but always making sure that we, the aud...

Beside me sits my thumbed copy of Dervla Murphy's Full Tilt, the published diary of her solo bike trip from Ireland to India in 1965. As well as inspiring ideas for future travels it also reminds me that my own more local bike backing adventure deserves recording, at least for posterity. Around Dingle Peninsula in seven days. This adventure was prompted and suggested by a dear Australian friend who would visit me for a week. It was architected by yours truly. Hearing from another friend that we should 'definitely' visit the Rose of Tralee festival 'for the craic', the idea was set in motion (or should I say 'gear'?!). I set about researching cycling potential in Kerry and, more importantly, bike hire. I got as far as finding the bike rental out fitter (they would also rent panniers--very importantly) and decided to outsource the research of bike routes into more capable hands. Thankfully my cycling fanatic father had many contacts and I soon had two emails i...

Traveling, everyone says, changes you in some way. You come into contact with other cultures, other people, new ways of thinking and push yourself out of your comfort zone. Now home after 9 months of flirting with South East Asia, 7 months of which were in a committed relationship with Vietnam, I am being asked by many people: "do you feel different?" , "how did it change you?" These are both questions that I find incredibly difficult to answer--the truth, as they say, 'is in the pudding.' This means that I am a delicious sweet treat and to know if I have changed, I must be gobbled up. My insides, my very core, sampled and treated like a delicacy. Which it is. I imagine a mixture of condensed milk, ginger, spring roll and a generous dash of rice wine to garnish. A fine cocktail of predominantly Vietnamese flavours. A heightened 'sense of self' however is one sure fire result of traveling, particularly solo traveling. You are your own best friend, o...

Bridges are wonderful things: They allow an undisturbed, birds eye view onto mayhem below whilst maintaining a safe distance. Combining with an eye level glance through building's windows, they perfectly satiate crytoscopophilia. This thought came to me as I ambled slowly along a particularly wonderful feat of engineering which conjoins Saigon's District Four to its beating heart and epicenter, District One. I looked down and mused that it was like a party that I had not been invited to or did not belong in, yet the superior height of the bridge had the happy effect of not allowing me to feel left out. The artificial superiority gave me access and views that I otherwise would not have got if simply standing and staring. After all, it's rude to stare. That's what everyone says. Not from a bridge, I say.  I stood and watched old ladies sitting on their haunches with spilling baskets of vegetables in front of them, they peeled and gossiped, gossiped and peeled; all acc...

A recent visa run led me once again across the border of Vietnam and into the kingdom of Cambodia. I was joined by a Welshman and three Vietnamese students from homestay. A schooltrip where the students mind the teachers. To get to Cambodia we took a night bus from Saigon to  Hà Tiên, a taxi from there to the border and then another bus to our destination: the riverside town of Kampot. Almost as soon as the border was crossed, a chorus of "it's just like Vietnam" began from our Vietnamese companions. With such a shared history, it is not surprising. In 1698, under the Nguyen Dynasty, South Vietnam officially began a separation process from the Khmer kingdom. Divorce proceedings can be a lengthy process however. For me, a visual reminder that we had crossed the border was the sight of delightfully colorful, wooden stilt houses. Under the bulk of the main house which is raised on four stilt pillars, is a shaded area perfect for hammocks and overflow. Above is the main home,...

I sit on a stone bench outside my new home on a monotonous street of terraced houses  ( which could belong to a Parisian Boulevard  )   regularly and have long phone calls to relatives and friends. Without fail, during these blabber sessions, I am visited by rats and cockroaches who remind me just how far I am from home or, for that matter, downtown Paris. Their squeaks echo from holes centimeters from the bench and cockroaches try to explore the new pale hillocks which are my feet. (I don't let them succeed in this mission, I'm not feral   )   My home in Ho Chi Minh is a Homestay, an apartment which is occupied by 35-40 Vietnamese students and 8-10 foreign teachers like me. In the Homestay I live and eat for free in return for teaching English for 3-4 hours per day. My homestay's street is not typical of the streets in Saigon but belongs to a housing estate called 'Cityland Centerhills' a residential project hinting at The American Dream which seems to cap...