Explore with Fran

Join me on the journey as I travel, eat, and drink my way around the world

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie…oi, oi oi

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My dad wrote a porno.  I didn’t think I would ever write those words.  Well you wouldn’t would you? If your dad hailed from the northern extremities of Scotland.  All the way from Buckie, on the Moray Firth coast.  And yet this is how I start the blog.  Why, you may wonder?
Well, this month, a friend of mine put me onto the podcast of the very same name.  And I can’t tell you how deranged I have looked since, hysterically laughing out loud on the commute home from a staid day in the office.  This is when you can justifiably use the acronym “lol” when instant messaging your mates about it.  
It is not the “erotic” content of the book.  It is so far removed from erotic to be laughable.  Literally.  It is more “50 Shades of an old perv’s mind”, than the Christian Grey variety.  The podcast takes the form of the author’s son reading a chapter, whilst getting critiqued (read, taking the piss) by a couple of his friends.  If you like typical British humour, of the “saucy seaside postcard” variety.  Download a few episodes.   Just don’t blame me if the men in white coats come to cart you off the bus, due to your inability to stop inanely giggling in public places.
Talking of “50 Shades”, and old pervs, it has been quite a month since we bade farewell to my old mate Steve.  I’m glad to hear he is able to stave off poverty for a while longer, now that he has again found himself gainful employment.  Your retirement plans will need to go on the back burner for now squire.  But on the plus side, you will be able to treat yourself to a more sumptuous breakfast than sliced toast and tea.
And for me?  I have given notice to end my experiment with employment as a permanent member of staff.  It seems it did not sit well with me.  All the internal politics, and associated brouhaha.  And so, I will imminently be returning to the contract (freelance) market.  Something that I am very excited at the prospect of.
I will be taking up a 6 month contract, back into IT project management with one of the smaller banks here in Australia.  I will be starting at the outset of a 2 year programme, so hopefully, I will get my head down, make an impression, and I will have work beyond the initial 6 months.  If not, there are plenty of items on the travel bucket list, just screaming out to be attended to.
The other significant news this month is that I have now completed, and had approved, my application for Australian citizenship.  Along with the reams of bureaucratic paperwork all these things demand, it also entailed sitting a citizenship test, which was passed in quicker time than it took me to just tell you about it.  Twenty questions, multiple choice, with just a few wriggly ones in there.  I now know what a wattle is.  And the colours of the Torres Strait Islanders flag. This knowledge alone should hold me in good stead for the future.
All that remains now is the formality of an official ceremony, which is likely to be some time early in the new year.  This is the final step before I can get my Aussie passport.  I will no doubt devote more time on my whole road to citizenship, since arriving in 2012, in a future post.
A jacaranda in full bloom
Since we last spoke, spring has well and truly sprung.  The clocks have changed.  The trees have started blossoming.  My beloved jacaranda trees are once again in full bloom.  And walking through the Botanic Gardens early one Sunday morning recently, you couldn’t escape the unmistakeable aroma of eucalyptus.  Without doubt the one smell that I immediately associate with my new home.
And with the spring, comes the warmer months, and thoughts of summer, and xmas.  After being on the road in Australia for last two December 25, this year I will be celebrating my birthday at home, with friends and family.  Having been warned that my guests enjoy a tipple or two, I can no longer close the cupboard doors for wine and beer bottles. Keep this to yourself, but I have had to resort to hiding the good stuff. Anybody know where I can buy Fosters in Sydney?

For the day itself, Xmas, I live in hope that Sydney smiles down on me.  The two years that I have spent at home since arriving in 2012 have been dampened by the ubiquitous Sydney rainfall.  Grand plans of champagne and picnic on the beach, sporting ridiculous xmas hats,  were washed away. This year I am hoping all will be different.  The weather.  I’m not sure about the hats.

Ubud, Bali
But before then, we have a holiday to Bali.  In November.  This trip will be to Ubud, a place I have not visited in over 16 years.  I am sure the once quaint little town, quietly hidden away amongst the rice paddy fields, in the centre of Bali, has changed immeasurably.  In some part as a result of Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir, “Eat, Pray, Love”, which resulted in half of America descending on Ubud, in the same way that Rome, and all the ashrams in India benefitted (suffered?).  
If I can find time to put down my piña colada, and book(s), I will dedicate my next blog post to the trip.

Until then, adios amigos.

Party like it is 1994

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One of the pleasures in living in such a beautiful city, is being able to showcase it to visiting friends and family.  Seeing the city through the eyes of a tourist brings to life how amazing it is.  How picturesque it is.  As sometimes you can take it all a little for granted.


I had the opportunity to do this again this month, albeit one of my visitors has indeed previously lived briefly in the Harbour City.

He had last visited Australia 16 years ago, but it was our original backpacking trip, many lifetimes ago, that we mostly reminisced on, having a great time catching up, visiting haunts old and new.
I don’t think we have changed a bit!
The last time we roamed these streets together was back in 1994.  When we arrived as fresh faced 23 year olds, landing at the Youth Hostel in Glebe as our first port of call.  Little did we know just how much that first stop on the grand tour would eventually go on to shape parts of our life. That we were very green behind the ears in terms of travelling would be an understatement.  

Indeed, before embarking on our 12 month backpacking trip down under, I had only previously left the UK for as long as 1 week.  And only twice.  Formative trips to Ibiza, and Tunisia, were my maiden overseas journeys from England.  And these were on 1 year passports, that were made of cardboard.  Who is old enough to remember these?

And there we were, transitioning from colleagues at “the Halifax”, into friends who were planning (a term used in a VERY loose sense), to jet off down under, with nothing more than an over stuffed backpack, and a sleeping bag appended that looked more like a tog 32 quilt.  Something I soon dispensed of in a St Vincent’s charity bin.

Steve had packed his so full that he couldn’t even carry his on day one, his dad having to traipse through Manchester airport with a 65 litre Eurohike pack on his diminutive frame.

Fast forward 22 years, and on a wet Friday afternoon, I logged off for the week, packed away the laptop, and I made my way around the corner to Kent Street for our first drinks together in Sydney in many a long year. For the Down Under leg of the “annual boy’s reunion tour”.  Albeit without two key members.  Fear not chaps, we drank your share too.

Any of you that know me well will know that I love a spreadsheet.  Be that judging burgers, tracking my spending, or making sure I am in the right place, on the right day when I visit the UK.  Laugh as you might, the spreadsheet is an indispensable tool in my armoury.  One that people soon see the benefit of, and then request their own, tailored version.  Steve’s spreadsheet was under my aegis, baselined via a Skype call, and subject to change control.

Now, whether a daily breakfast of white toast, and a cup of tea, made in his hotel room, was in my version of the spreadsheet is debatable.  Once I had reiterated that Sydney, and Australia as a whole, is famed for the brunch offerings, he did finally venture out.

Then again, if the only eggs you will eat are of the fried variety, you don’t need to venture too far to satisfy your cravings. An insatiable desire for pineapple, on everything, proved a little more difficult to accommodate.

I used to, in fact I still do, to be honest, give my old mate some stick about his reluctance to part with any unnecessary cash. However, he gives me enough ammunition.  He may not like actually buying a newspaper, rather he treats WHSmiths as his own personal library. But as they say, look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves. And how else would he be able to act like the late Pablo Escobar, and roll around on his bed full of notes.



Line of the trip following a farewell dinner in Mosman…

“What is the fastest and easiest way to get back to the city?“

“A taxi.”

“What is the second fastest?“

I’m gonna miss you mate.  We had fun. Safe trip back to the UK, and, subject to you securing gainful employment, I’m looking forward to taking the Annual Lads reunion to Spain next year.  This time with a full complement.  ¡Adios amigo!

For me, it is time to repurpose the spreadsheet, and start afresh, so that our visitors at Xmas, get the full benefit.  

I need to start by checking those brunch options.

Top 9 things to learn before coming to Australia…(from the archives)

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This is an old post, but a good one to revisit.

About living in Sydney…

Having just passed my 4 year anniversary of living in Australia, I thought it very timely to write about the things they don’t tell you in the glossy brochures.  Or at the fancy work expos for working down under.  Or that you don’t find out from other friends living here.

Australia is a fantastic place to live.  I love Sydney.  Every day I am reminded of how lucky I am to be here, passing the glorious Opera House on my daily commute, the sun reflecting off the harbour, with the famous green and gold ferries bringing in commuters to the city. But you know me well enough now to realise I can also find something to gripe about.  Find the cloud in the silver lining.  And here are my top gripes.  At least for this month.

1.  Having to do your personal tax return every year.  By law.  And for the last couple of years, still getting a hefty tax bill.  Despite paying (what you think is the right levels of tax) each month direct from your employer.  How do you work that one out?  Medicare levies.  Surcharges.  Blah blah blah.  Stop.  It is not going to change anything.  But I can still complain about it.

2.  Despite a country renowned for its weather, and love of the outdoors, there a surprisingly few (very few) beer gardens.  How disappointing is that?  Mr Sunshine comes out on another glorious summers day, and you want to have a refreshing cold pint of beer, al fresco.  I still look back very fondly on such sunny days, sat out the back of Dicey’s bar in Dublin, having a few ice cold Magners.  Instead, you are stuck indoors, the sounds of pokies ringing in your ear, and being blasted by sub zero temperature air conditioner units.  Or so it feels.

3.  Football.  Oh god.  Now you have got me started.  You have to either give up your love of the beautiful game, or resign yourself to very late nights, And/or very early mornings.  And going to work bleary eyed after a mid week feature, yet again putting the scousers to the sword.  Ok, ok, less so in recent years.  But now we have the Special One, teamed up again with the Special Juan.  And the good times are coming back.  I can just feel it.

4.  They call “rugby” football.  And also, some other game, played by men in vests and shorts that were fashionable in the 1980s, in Melbourne, gets called football.  It is very confusing.  The world game is football.  The one actually played with your feet.  The one with the egg, the niche sport, is played with the hands.  And is rugby.  Or Aussie Rules.  Or League.  Strewth.  I can’t keep up.

5.  It rains.  It rains a lot.  More than London.  Here is an actual fact.  Well, if you can believe what you read on Wikipedia.  I didn’t get time to get to the State Library to check the official records from the Bureau of Meteorology.  The annual rainfall in Sydney through 2015 was 1337mm.  This compared to London of 594mm.  There should be a salary supplement just to buy umbrellas as they seem to blow inside out so often in the gales that whip through Sydney CBD.  And woe betide if you don’t wear the right footwear to work, or you will be sitting with wet feet all day.

6.  People are always “looking after you”.  Despite making it to adulthood in one piece, it seems you can’t be trusted to look after yourself in Sydney.  So people are employed to do it for you.  Take a trip to the football as an example.  You and your mates want a beer?  Let’s hope there are not more than four of you.  Otherwise you will need a chaperone to go and actually buy the drinks.  The thing is, you can only buy four drinks at once.  So no buying in rounds.  This is to protect you from getting drunk.  Yes, just like when you were back in school, and the teachers were looking out for you.  Sydney is so kind to continue this service well into adulthood.  Even if the bar person can see your 5, or 6, or 7 other mates.  Right besides you.  Oh no no no.  Far too dangerous.  You have to get one of your other mates to stand at the side of you, get their own money out, and buy any beers that exceed your quota.  I kid you not.  This has actually happened.

7.  Whilst I am on drink, as it’s a good subject, Sydney seems to be regressing in to a nanny state.  Lots has been written about Sydney lock out laws, and how they are having a negative affect on the city’s nighttime vibrancy, so I won’t touch on that.  But, just try and order a whisky past a certain time.  Neat you say?  You want your whisky neat?  Oh no.  We can’t be having you behaving like a lout.  You are likely to get drunk and punch the nearest person if you do that.  A much better idea would be to spoil your 16 year old Lagavulin single malt with a dash of cola.  And not just any old cola, but roller cola.  Surely.  There’s a good boy.

8.  Bouncers.  All of this is if you can even get past the bouncers, who are a different breed in Sydney.  On a night out, you will be stopped and asked, “have you been drinking tonight?”.  How do you answer that ludicrous question?  With a straight face?  “Oh no, we have all just come out tonight, round all these busy, noisy pubs, drinking water.  It seemed the most fun thing to do.”  What you actually do is quickly, mentally make a decision on what is the “right” number of drinks to have had by 10pm.  Apparently “four” is the wrong answer.  As I have found out to my detriment.  Things reached the nadir when one pal was asked to leave 3 pubs in one night, for being inebriated.  Funny thing was, he looked markedly sober compared to some of the other people in the pub.  But, we were in an Irish bar I suppose.  Imagine the ignominy of being asked to leave an Irish bar for being drunk.

9.  This last one is not a gripe.  It’s a labor of love.  Burgers, and the analysis of.  Yes.  There really is a spreadsheet.  It all started as a Burger Off, with colleagues.  A bit of fun, with fellow burger loving friends.  Until Sydney took over, and burger loving became very hip and fashionable.  So typical of Sydney.  Now, there are probably as many places selling all varieties of burgers, as there are Facebook groups extolling the virtues of each.  Something I saw last week just captured the zeitgeist perfectly.  Ladies and gentlemen, I leave you with the Pokeman burger.  I am out of words.

 

Fran versus food

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I have never been an advocate of diets.  Too short-term-ism thinking.  As though your health is a mini goal to be achieved.  It is much better to become a jerf.  No, not a jerk.  Somebody who “just eats real food”.  Do this.  With the right portion sizes.  Keep active.  Sleep well, and for the right durations (for you), and let nature do the rest.
If I ever needed proof that this was as “scientific” as it got, the 4 weeks prior to the recent holiday provided it.  In spades.
The Body Coach, 90 day plan.  Shift, shape, and sustain, each in a 4 week cycle.  The first cycle completed before heading off to the land of food.  Where the unofficial motto is “go big, or go home”.
Initially, I was skeptical.  Firstly, of the amount of food that you can actually eat.  But also, the cost of it.  Good food isn’t’ cheap.  Let’s not start on the opportunity cost.  Of spending most of my waking hours trawling around supermarkets for obscure ingredients, such as kinowa.  What?  That is not how you pronounce it?  Silly me.  Quinoa (keen-wah), the magical grain of the Andes in South America.
However, all that aside, I soon stopped complaining once the magic started happening.  Week 1 done.  Good sized portions of food consumed, with regular high intensity training sessions, and the kilos started falling away.  Four weeks in, and on the cusp of the overseas trip, 4 kilos had been shed.  Just like that.  As I say, magic.
Now it was time to throw it all out of the window, and binge of some of the world’s best comfort foods.
1.    Burger – Stout  (Santa Monica Boulevard, Los Angeles)

I could write on and on about burgers.  Believe me, I could.  Limiting it to just one was difficult.  So I have gone for the very first one we had on the trip.  Which was as good as anything else we had the 3 weeks we were away.  Yes, I finally got to try the famous Californian chain of “In-N-Out”, which I loved.  But they were more a fast food style cheese burger.  Whereas the ones at Stout we more substantial.  Gourmet burgers.  Thick juicy, homemade patties.  In a soft brioche bun.  Washed down with a local craft beer.  A heavenly start to the trip.




2.  Clam chowder – Chowder Hut Grill (Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco)
This is my second visit to the Chowder Hut Grill.  The first being over 10 years ago.  And I had the exact same dish.  Second time around?  Amazing.  Even better than I had remembered it to be.  The clam chowder was delicious, with a hint of spice.  And the sourdough bread bowl holds up well whilst you eat the chowder, but then is soft enough to break up when you have finished, to enjoy with the residual chowder.  This is not the fanciest of places, but the chowder speaks for itself.







3.  Fish Tacos – Cheryl’s on 12th (1135 SW Washington, Portland)
If you want to try fish tacos anywhere in Portland, try them at Cheryl’s.  You won’t be disappointed.  The fish portions were immense.  And the salsa probably one of the best I have had.  That’s before I start on the guacamole!  And as an aside, Cheryl’s was one of the best diners we visited on the whole trip.  A fabulous place in the heart of downtown Portland.




4.  Mac and Cheese – Beechers Hand Made Cheese (Pike Place Market, Seattle)
Like mac and cheese?  Like it as much as I do?  Well, I doubt that, but lovers of this culinary delight should head to Beechers, at Pike Place market.  Avoid the queues of misguided tourists down the street at the “original” Starbucks, and get in line here.
Beechers self proclaim their version of mac and cheese to be the “world’s best”.
After two portions, I am inclined to agree.  Using the cheese made fresh on site, which you can watch them making, the finished goods are probably the freshest, tastiest mac and cheese you will ever taste.  Ever.  Take no notice of a little thing such as they don’t actually use macaroni.  It is substituted by penne, but who cares!


5.  Corned Beef Hash – Glo’s café  (1621 E Olive Way, Seattle)
Corned beef hash.  Not the first dish that springs to mind for a lot of people when talking about foods you crave.  But me, I have always loved a good hash.  And nowhere does it better than the good old US of A.
When we were researching food options (believe me when I say we spend a lot of time doing this) in Seattle, Glo’s corned beef hash was described in terms so glowing (no pun intended) I knew I just HAD to have it.  Soon.
Oh.  My.  God.  Literally…OMG!  If the portion sizes weren’t so gargantuan, I would have ordered and eaten it all over again.  As it was, I couldn’t walk out of the diner, and had to be rolled down the hill sideways back into town.



6. Hot Dogs – Dog Gone It (801 Government Street, Victoria, BC)

If you have ever seen the “Hot Diggedy Dawg” stand at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Fran, and was remiss enough to not get a dog, you would also be spending the rest of the vacation hunting down one of these treats.
It did look as though the dog tasting may have passed us by, but thankfully, we did find this place on Vancouver Island.  And what a treat it was.
A classic wiener, with onions, emitting a glorious aroma, reminiscent of fairgrounds of my youth, and one with bacon and cheese, topped with ketchup and mustard.  My mouth is watering just at the memory of it.
And I’m not sure anybody does the “classic” shake better.  Wow.



The one that got away…
Cherry Pie – the quintessential end to any meal in the States, is with a bit of pie.  And I do love me a bit of pie.  In my opinion, the king of pies is the cherry pie.  This harks back to a previous backpacking trip through South America, where I washed up at dusty San Pedro de Atacama in Chile, with enough money for the last piece of cherry pie in a little bakery I found, and a coffee.  All ATMs were out of cash, and I was about to spend my last pesos on this pie.  But lord was it ever worth it.  It kept me happy until the next day when the town’s two cash machines were replenished.  And I have lived on the memory, sat in the plaza in San Pedro, strains of rapid fire Spanish piercing the air, like gun fire, as the sun set, ever since.  A perfect moment in my life.
So, on the trip, it was on my hit list to try.  But, like always, when you want something, you never seem to see it.  I could get everything from pumpkin, to pecan, to pizza pie.  But my beloved cherry eluded me.
The one I didn’t understand…

Having hit Canada, and found a decent bar for some liquid refreshments, we started getting asked if we wanted any “Caesars”.  At this point we weren’t hungry, and only wanted drinks, so politely declined.  It was only after we noticed every bar advertising Caesars that I decided to do a little research, and found that we weren’t actually being offered a salad, but in fact a local drink.  A Canadian take on the Bloody Mary.  It turns out that this Canadian concoction is little known outside it’s shores, so I felt a little less stupid.  However, I never did get to try a Caesar and will have to keep it on my list for the next time that I am in that beautiful country.

Musings from Mosman

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Welcome to the latest update from the Yorkshire Expat, where we will spend some time talking about how the year is progressing so far (very well, since you asked), what is on the horizon (quite a bit actually), and whatever else springs to mind as I’m writing.
If you didn’t know, but I will assume you do, it is May already.  We have passed the fourth, so no Stars Wars jokes here.  Or is it Star Trek?  I can never work out the difference between the two. 
Looking in the rear view mirror, at the calendar, it never ceases to surprise me at what is already in the dust behind us.  Where did the previous 4 months go?  A full third of the year over already.  Only 230 days to Christmas.  Did any body else buy some Christmas crackers (bon bons in local parlance.  No, I don’t understand either.  They are crackers for gods sake) and cards in the January sales?
The biggest story of the year so far is the recent move to a new apartment.  When I say move, I use the word loosely.  More of a shifting.  Just up the road.  About 500 meters.  Why would you do that you ask?  Well, certain criteria had to be met.  A second bathroom, for the overseas visitors bringing chocolate from the UK each year.  Tick.  A larger balcony to be able to make the most of the weather, allowing for al fresco dining.  Tick.  Still within walking distance of our favourite cafés, restaurants, and bars.  Tick tick tick.
Now, as we weren’t moving far, in our wisdom we decided not to hire a van like normal people.  We would use a car we were hiring for a trip to Mudgee (wine country, which was amazing), and just make a few trips.  The hiring of cars is made very simple with the concept of “GoGet”, where you join up, receive a magnetic card, check the website for a car parked near you, book for any duration starting from 30 minutes, then turn up, swipe the card on the windshield, get in, and drive.  Simple. 
Driving through Mosman with a mattress hanging precariously out the back of the car, avoiding police cars, and looking a tad ridiculous.  Multiple trips were made either side of Easter weekend, by which time we thought we would be done.  We weren’t.  Being only about 500 meters away from the new digs, we figured we could easily move the remaining bits on foot.  And it would be easy.  It wasn’t.
We looked at each other on a dark Tuesday night, with the dawning realization we still had lots to carry.  And thus, doing what needed to be done, we traipsed through the streets of Mosman looking like Syrian refugees, carrying gas bottles for BBQs, mops, clothes horse, vacuum cleaner, and lots of other detritus.  What happened to the so called de-cluttering, before moving?  As always happens.  It gets left til it’s too late, and all your shit comes with you to the new place.
In the lives we now find ourselves living in, the necessities are somewhat different than they were for our parents generation when they set up home.  Their “wireless” was probably a big, dusty, brown hunk of a thing that sat on the mantlepiece, spitting out weekly episodes of the Archers.  Or stirring speeches by Churchill.  Ours is a little white box with flickering green lights.  When it works.  Which is another story.
We took the opportunity when moving home, to move broadband providers.  This was driven by the fact that the rights to show the live English Premier League games (every single one of them) have been bought by Optus, with Foxtel (the local SKY) losing out.  In readiness, a move to Optus broadband followed.  Quickly followed by nothing but problem after problem with the reliability of the service.  Our wi-if is patchy, at best.  I am going to get very annoyed if the same problems start occurring during live football matches.  At godforsaken hours of the night.  If I was a project manager, oh, I am, I would be flagging this as my biggest risk to Optus being able to satisfy the thousands of subscribers wanting their weekly fix of the beautiful game.
Recently, we had a public holiday (you would call it a bank holiday in the UK), ANZAC day, where we took the opportunity to have a long weekend in the country again.  This time in the Hunter Valley, where, conveniently, there are shit loads of wineries.  This makes me happy.  Also, like Mudgee, we booked somewhere quiet and remote.  This time, very remote.  The weekend involved lots of wine tasting.  Lots of cheese tasting.  Peace.  Quiet.  And a hot tub.
This (not the hot tub) got me thinking what it would be like to have a tree change?  If this is not a term you are familiar with, I would usually call it a sea change.  Up sticks, quit the busy city life, and move somewhere quiet, living a life far removed from the current one.  Maybe make cheese.  Keep animals.  Open a little coffee shop.  Etc, etc.  You get the picture.  One of the challenges is picking the right place.  Getting the balance between social and solitude right.
For example, as much as I like Darwin, a very small place on the northern coast of Australia, I’m not sure I’d want to be ensconced there for any length of time.  Subsisting on a diet of titties and schnitties may not be everybody’s cup of tea.   And whilst Gulgong, near Mudgee in central NSW, does the best Rogan Josh in the whole of Australia, could I live in a place that only has one street, and you had to eat curry every day?  Well, thinking about it…
So for now, the sea change remains a pipe dream.  One that I continue to percolate on.
Maybe it will brew into something on my upcoming holiday, or vacation, as they like to say where we will be heading.  A road trip up the west coast of the US ticks some long held boxes personally (Big Sur anyone?), as does finally getting to Canada.  A place I have been threatening to visit since making friends with a Kelowna local, whilst travelling Australia many years ago.  This year I will finally get to Canada.  More specifically, to Vancouver.  This is a trip that fills me with great excitement.

Will there be pics?  You bet.  Will there be a few American cheese burgers involved.  Without doubt the burger spreadsheet will be getting updated.  And will it all be captured in a future blog.  You can count on it.  Just keep reading.

The changing face of travel

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Reading an article recently got me reminiscing about the first real trip I did.  Not the week I had in Tunisia riding camels.  Not the week in Ibiza, avoiding San Antonio.  An actual backpacking trip.  Years before flash packing was a glint in an entrepreneurs eye.  There was no “flash” in the travel we were to embark on.  Not even on the camera we had.  No, seriously, it had NO flash.  There are probably people reading this who don’t understand that statement.  Does this help?
Example of 110 camera, introduced by Kodak in 1972 
My, oh my.  Taking pics on that old thing.  And wandering to the chemist on Pitt St Mall in Sydney, paying extra to get the 1 hour processing.  The height of excitement.  Then, when the pics came, nervously flicking through to see what of the night out in Kings Cross actually got captured.  I lost count of the times we either exclaimed, who IS that?  Why is that girl sitting on your knee?  Who are those lads drinking schooners with us?  Those halcyon days.
The intention is not to rehash the original article I read, but to give me chance to reflect on times past, and the changes that seem to have happened over the years without me really noticing.  I still feel like that excited 23 year old.  Knowing there is a whole world out there to explore.  I am a little older, and wiser now, but I still have that excitement about the world.
Traveling in 1994 was very different to traveling now.  No email.  Internet?  What was that?  All we had was our trusty guide book of choice.  Mine being then, and still, Lonely Planet.  But what hefty tomes they were.
Booking your next hostel over the actual telephone.  The big ones in the street, that you put coins into.  Not the one in your pocket the size of a small caramel slice.  No kids, those weren’t invented at this point.  Mobile phones, not caramel slices. 
Passing on your contact details by getting out a pen, and ripping a piece of paper from your travel journal.  Knowing that you were never going to see, nor contact 99% of the people.  But it felt good to do it anyway.  With your new lifelong “friends”.   That is something that never changes, whatever the technology we use as enablers.  Friendships don’t need social media. 
And as for writing to let people know what you were up to.  Well.  You had to actually write.  With a real pen.
Poste Restante.  What a quaint idea.  If you wanted a letter to reach you on the road, you told people which city, or town you would be in, and added c/o Poste Restante.  And miraculously, it arrived.  You went and queued up with all the other travellers, and vagabonds, with your identification.  And collected your mail.  I still have a box full of letters from that time, collected from post offices around Australia.
A few years after that seminal trip, I found myself back down under, travelling around New Zealand, tying in a quick visit to the sister, who at this time was living it large in Bondi.  Sans children.
What was this strange phenomenon whereby fellow travellers were jumping straight off the bus upon arrival in Christchurch, and running into the nearest café?  All lined up, clearly visible through the front window of the cafe, each sat at a computer terminal.  Were they taking some kind of online exam?  Playing computer games?  No, the age of the Internet cafe had arrived.  With pay as you go access to email, and allowing you to upload (if you had the time and money for the incredibly frustrating upload and download speeds) photos.  At lot had seemingly changed since 1994.  A brave new world indeed.
I had to join this brave new world, and so, far my next major trip, a round the world (RTW in travel parlance) I found myself travelling all the way to Leeds to hunt down an elusive Internet cafe.  I say ALL the way to Leeds, and those readers from home will know this is not far at all.  But in those days, it just highlights how few and far between these mythical Internet cafes were.
Not that I knew what one of these places of magic and mystery were, but I had read that I could go there and get an email address.  Whatever that was.  A legacy of this remains to this day, the reason I have “99” appending fcormack on my hotmail account. This was the year I set it up.  A poignant, and constant reminder of a marvellous year.
Having an email address was only half the story.  Finding a place down a dusty side street in Delhi that somebody had told you had a computer so you could email…who exactly?  I think I was an early adopter in this email malarkey, which meant the options of who I could write to (electronically) were very limited.
And boy, were these internet connections slow!  You paid by the 5, or 10 mins usually.  And before you had written “wish you were here” you had spent next week’s beer and bed budget.  Imagine my relief some years later when Stelios finally got into the game, creating his big orange “EasyInternet” cafes.  Game changers at the time, that I have used in places from Berlin to Barcelona. 
Traveling now is unrecognisable from my early days.  My last real trip was at the end of 2010/start of 2011, all around South America.  Most people I met were carrying expensive bits of kit such as MacBooks, and large expensive SLR cameras.  Not to mention the mini computers, masquerading as phones, in their pockets.  Or it’s the ubiquitous tablet, used to capture and share every waking moment of their trip.  Be it the food.  The amazing sunset.  The “undiscovered” beach they have just discovered.  The one first mentioned by Tony and Maureen Wheeler in the very Lonely Planet guide to South East Asia, Across Asia on the Cheap, from 1973.
I have a wry smile to myself, seeing some of the content in today’s travel blogs.  From the “digital nomads” currently traveling all four corners of the earth.  They sometimes really believe they are exploring uncharted waters.  Seeing things with human eyes for the very first time.  The reality is that they probably aren’t even the first person in their hostel to see it.   But you know what, that is part of the beauty of travelling.  Thinking you are Phileas Fogg.  Educating the masses to the big wide world out there. 
What is true is that the act of travel is no longer a luxury.   Or even a rite of passage as it once was.  It’s just something you do.  Because you can.  Because life is short, and it sure beats working.  And because the world has shrunk to the point that any of us can be anywhere we want to be.

You just need to decide where that is, and make it happen.