OR, NIGHTMARES IN LONDON. Do tell if you have travel dreams, nothing too risque mind. OB. I am writing this on a Sunday morning and it’s a very hasty dream morsel which no doubt I […]

All you want to know about mature solo travelling.
OR, NIGHTMARES IN LONDON. Do tell if you have travel dreams, nothing too risque mind. OB. I am writing this on a Sunday morning and it’s a very hasty dream morsel which no doubt I […]
OR GETTING TO GRIPS WITH ANOTHER CULTURE, THE OLMECS.
Alert: This is a light-hearted travel blog from two years ago before I publish a more serious one about the birth of the Mayan city-state empire in its Pre-Classic era! The “Mother Culture” being inextricably linked to the developing Mayans
Brutus, you gave us all so much joy. You were a fine specimen of a dog and also funny, stubborn, naughty and very inquisitive. You will never stop me from loving all things bulldogs and life.
When I say bizarre it’s more of a tragedy really, a Spanish church plonked on the top of a huge pyramid, this with a full view of one of the local temperamental volcanoes, Popocatépetl or more easily known as ‘Popo’ and Iztaccihuatl or ‘Izta’. According to one Aztec Legend, Popo was a great warrior who loved Izta. He went off to war and when Izta heard false news of Popo’s fall in battle, she died of a broken heart. When Popo returned to find his love gone, he vowed to always watch over and defend her. The shape of Iztaccihuatl mountain is that of a ‘sleeping woman’. It is also said locally, that when trouble is brewing in the world Popo becomes active
Although I had time to spare that first day and I never really fitted in to pretty old town Peubla, I did see that it was mostly the fact I was tired and dispirited by this time, and to be fair to me, most of the fucking place was closed.
My Odysseun saga has taken me all round the Yucatan peninsula and further, on various road trips. In these times of adversity I think I can safely quote Sinatra and say ‘I did it my way’
OR, HOW I STILL HAVEN’T GOT BACK TO THE UK. FROM THE JOURNAL. This retrospect is another example of how I was faring. How I was too mentally unstable to ever have had to be […]
HONEST REPORTS, DAY BY DAY FROM QUARANTINE HOTEL, HOLIDAY INN HEATHROW OR GETTING HOME AND READJUSTING TO LIFE ON THE OUTSIDE. (CONTINUED FROM ‘DAY ELEVEN, SATURDAY RELEASE’) Crazy though it may seem, readjusting was tougher […]
The extraordinarily rude Indian woman driving the bus insulted each one of us four who decided six quid was a bargain to get the hell out of there.
HONEST REPORTS, DAY BY DAY FROM QUARANTINE HOTEL HOLIDAY INN HEATHROW. (SEE DAY NINE HERE)
All other news from today has been made irrelevant as I just received a call from my son that Brutus our British Bulldog has been taken into hospital with severe breathing problems. This news is the final straw. This is new torture whilst I’m still not allowed to leave here until one minute past midnight. A day when I felt relatively happy has now developed into a terrible crying jag. I simply feel that the ground I walk on will never be safe again for this is literally the final straw. This wonderful kind magnificent boy is now in peril and only just turned six years of age, young even bulldog standards.