tn2 Magazine Issue 9, 2012-13 SPECIAL TRAVEL EDITION

ISSUE 9 3RD APRIL 2013

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CONTENTS

YOU ASK ME WHERE THE HELL I’M GOING . . .

So that was it then. The 2012-13 academic year. Did anything actually happen? I wouldn’t know, I’ve had my head buried in this laptop for the past several months, churning out a magazine for you to read. I hope you’re happy about that. Still, it is with considerable regret that I am writing an editorial for the first and last time for this, our final issue of the year.

To mark this momentous occasion you are holding the first ever issue of tn2 dedicated to all things travel. You’ll be taken pretty comprehensively around the world with the most notable exception being Australia and New Zealand, but you probably have a brother or sister there anyway who can tell you all about it, such as things are. Instead you can look forward to: our series of travel diaries; our features on LGBT holidays, the merits of inter-railing and working holidays; our 4-page Festival Guide; and, of course --- we couldn’t leave it out --- the sex diary. There is also plenty of (semi-sarcastic) travel advice just over the page there. Hopefully you will stick this in your bag and take it home with you and put it to good use if, like myself, you haven’t already arranged your summer plans. But even if you have there is plenty in here that will be handy for future summers, reading weeks, gap years, and, if you’re a fourth year, for filling that space in between graduating and securing gainful employment (good luck with that by the way).

For those of you who are sticking around for another while, you can look forward to this year’s Deputy Editor, Henry Longden, taking over my role. It has been my absolute privilege to lead tn2 this year and (cliché alert) I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. One thing’s for sure, though: you will enjoy it even more next year under Henry’s capable stewardship (and I’d say he writes much shorter editorials).

I could not have done any of it this year, though, without the aforementioned Editor-to-be and with all the hard work and enthusiasm of our staff, so thanks for everything guys. I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank everyone on the Trinity Publications Committee and TN Editor Rónán Burtenshaw for their support. Finally, and on a more personal note, I’d like to thank my family and you, Nora, for your unrelenting patience and encouragement throughout what was at times a stressful year.

It has been completely worth it though, because you all pick up the magazine and read it, so sincerest thanks. Anyway, they’re playing the music . . . dive into our final issue for the year, good luck with exams and have a great summer!

Aaron Devine, Editor 2012-13

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THE SPECIAL TRAVEL EDITION

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Editor & Creative Director Aaron Devine Deputy Editor Henry Longden Associate Editors Declan Johnston // Ciar Boyle-Gifford Copy Editor Eoin Tierney Photo Editor Matthew Wilson Contributors Gabija Purlytė // Deirdre Molumby // Paige Crosbie // Hugo Fitzpatrick Alana Ryan // Tom Moloney // Tara Joshi // Jennifer Duffy // Issy Thompson // Morgan MacIntyre Rory Tinman // Nora Eastwood // Ciaran McGrath // Molly Garvey // Neasa Conneally TN2MAGAZINE.IE // 3

OPENERS

BE A CUNNING LINGUIST

LAWYER UP You don’t want to get banged-up abroad, so have a look at our brief guide to the quirks of some foreign legal systems. One may even save you money . . .

In Singapore, it has been illegal to chew gum since 1992, but due to a free trade agreement it is allowed for therapeutic value only.

If you’re running low you need to head for a doctor.

A few phrases for your travels. Some are more useful than others . . .

Brazilian Portuguese

In Denmark, you don’t have to pay for your food unless you are full at the end of your meal.

Legal - Cool - Can be used to describe anything from people to music. É o jeitinho brasileiro - It’s the Brazilian way - The answer to all of your questions.

Oí, árbitro! Cadê o penalty? - Hey, ref! Where’s the penalty? Shout as appropriate at the television or referee.

Que diabo . . . quem projetou esta cidade? - What the hell . . . who designed this city? - For when you wander the streets of Brasilia looking for your hotel – the city is designed in the shape of an airplane.

In Longyearbyen, Norway, dying is illegal. Due to the permafrost restricting the decomposition of bodies, they insist on shipping all the terminally ill over to the mainland. Check your travel insurance.

Japanese Mo da-meh. Yoh-para-chatta. Go-men - No more, I am already drunk - When you’ve had your fill of sake.

Ko-ko wa do-ko? Wa-ta-shi wa da-reh? Na-ni mo wah-kah-nai - Where is this? Who am I? I don’t understand anything - For when that first phrase didn’t work.

Ee-show ni kah-rah-o-keh ni ee-koh ka? - Shall we go to karaoke together? - For a night on the culture.

Ah-nah-tah wa ha-ruh no ee-chee ban no sah-ku-rah yo-ree utsu-ku-shee - You’re more beautiful than the first cherry blossom in spring - Capture the heart of one of your Japanese hosts.

In Thailand, don’t slag off the monarch. If what you say is judged to be against the king, you’ll be watching your back for 15 years to come. All complaints of Lèse-Majesté will be investigated.

Polish

In Saskatchewan, Canada, it is illegal to drink water in beer parlours

Idźcie w pokoju Chrystusa - The Mass is ended. Go in peace Poland is famously the only country more Catholic than Ireland.

You’ll probably have to go once. Consider it a Critical Mass. This means you’ve gotten through it.

Jak zawsze mówiłem, Trzy kolory: Czerwony jest najbardziej niedoceniany trylogii Kieślowskiego - As I’ve always said, Three Colours: Red is the most under-appreciated of Kieslowski’s trilogy - There’s never any harm in having an informed opinion.

Co ma piernik do wiatraka? - What has gingerbread to do with a windmill? - Essentially it means “what’s that got to do with anything?” but some idioms are just too good not to use.

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(Source: UBS)

36 Russia

China

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Germany

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USA

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Vietnam 0.70

Australia

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Spain

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28 Columbia

India

We’ve figured out how many minutes you have to work in different countries per pint of beer, so you don’t have to.

You’re welcome.

53 Mins of work required to purchase 500ml beer

BEER TIME

1.70

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Retail price for 500ml beer, $, 2011

OPENERS

DIGS, LAZARUS, DIGS!!!

Our rundown of ten of the best and most interesting hostels around the globe

THE BOWERY HOUSE, NOLITA, NEW YORK Originally built as a hotel in the 1920s, this hostel has gone through many stages in its history, including a stint as temporary lodgings for soldiers returning from World War II. Handily located in near SoHo, Chinatown and the Lower East Side of Manhattan, The Bowery House will prove to be a stylish and inexpensive base from which to explore the city // theboweryhouse.com Palmer’s Lodge

PALMERS LODGE, SWISS COTTAGE, LONDON Set in a beautiful stately mansion in the north of the city, Palmers Lodge allows for a touch of luxury to any trip but without excessive costs. Even the dorms feel extra comfortable with each bunk having its own curtain for privacy and a light for reading. It’s not the most central but is handy to plenty of parks, London Zoo and Camden High Street // palmerslodges.com/swisscottage/hostel THE GARDEN BACKPACKER, SEVILLE Among the orange-lined streets of Seville this hostel surrounds a beautiful, cool Spanish garden. In the evening they offer an hour of free Sangria and cook up classic Spanish paella and tapas // thegardenbackpacker.com

FREDERICK’S HOSTEL, ST. PETERSBURG You wouldn’t even notice this place is there from the outside. You’re buzzed into an old European style building and once you’re in, there are frescoes and eighteenth century architecture everywhere mixed with fake plants and multi-coloured Ikea furniture. It’s odd // tinyurl. com/cfzxuue GALLERY HOSTEL, PORTO As the name suggests, this hostel functions as an art gallery when it opens its door for biweekly exhibitions of local artists’ work. The 19th Century surroundings add to the sophistication and there’s an in-house chef who can knock up traditional Portuguese dishes for just €10 including wine // gallery-hostel.com

Gallery Hostel

PLUS HOSTEL, BERLIN Perfectly located close to one of the last remaining stretches of the Berlin Wall and just over the river from Watergate nightclub, this hostel has its own indoor swimming pool and sauna if you’re looking for somewhere to relax after a long day exploring one of Europe’s most exciting cities // plushostels.com/plusberlin

ADVENTURE BREW HOSTEL, LA PAZ The quality of La Paz’s hostels is proved by this being a little-known gem, despite having its own brewery and offering unlimited free pancakes for breakfast. The rooftop bar holds one of the best nights in the city and offers a selection of liquid prizes for tasks such as running the next keg up from the cellar below // theadventurebrewhostel.com VAGABONDS, BELFAST With both a communal BBQ and a wood-burning stove this hostel has all the bases covered. Just next to Queen’s University, it is located a short walk from the centre of a city which is on the up. It has just been voted the 6th best hostel in the world // vagabondsbelfast.com Citadel

CITADEL YOUTH HOSTEL, JERUSALEM The building is about 700 years old and looks like a cave – some dorms even have pigeon nests on the windowsills. There are some great rooftop views of the city and in summer you can sleep out on the roof under the stars with the Dome of the Rock in the background // tinyurl.com/d2q8b8j OLD CITY ESMA HOSTEL, ISTANBUL Old City Esma Hostel in Istanbul doesn’t look much. But ascend the spiral stairs past thousands of thank you notes on the walls, and past flirtatious young manager Sakir at the desk, and everything changes. The kitsch little rooftop bar has a secret weapon: astounding views of the Haghia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, just a minute’s walk down the road. And a party every night, if you want it // oldcityesma hostel.com

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FOOD

TAKING THE ROAD

LESS TRAVELLED Molly Garvey speaks to one of the founders of Fumbally Café, an eatery with truly global influences

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hen closed, it is like it was never there. But when open, your senses are overcome. The smell of baking bread, freshly chopped herbs and the greasy goodness of falafel draw in the nose, and the sound of local eggs sizzling, organic coffee brewing and laughter prick the ears. You cannot help but turn and investigate the Fumbally Café. Managing to fill a huge space with beaten sofas, soulful music and serving affordable bites including an eggs and ham breakfast and their signature falafel lunch, the folks behind the Fumbally seem to be on to a recipe that works.

I sat down with one of the co-founders, Aisling Rogerson, to chat about food memories and food travel. Food has always influenced her travel decisions and, judging from the generous use of spices and taste combinations in the café’s fare, the exchange was mutual.

The atmosphere fostered in the Fumbally is definitely one of “relax and enjoy the food”, so it comes as no surprise that it has its origins as a festival stall. Aisling recounts that herself and Luca, the other Fumbally founder, used the money made at the festivals to fund research trips to London, Berlin, Sicily, New York, Morocco, Istanbul and, closer to home, Dingle and west Cork. When asked to name a country, if any, that has directly influenced choices made in the kitchen she confidently replies, “Morocco and Turkey.” She recalls trekking over the Rif mountain range in Northern Morocco and encountering the hut of a berber shepherd. Not sharing a common word between them, the berber produced steaming bread out of a makeshift oven, coupled with a slate of black olives that had been left on the rocks in order to allow their precious oil to be naturally released. The group and the berber literally broke bread, coming together through the simple fact that they all had to eat at that point in time and what they had was shared. The simplicity and generosity 6 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

of this meal struck Aisling and has influenced her commitment to the creation of simple dishes of which high quality ingredients are the central focus.

The word “travel” automatically evokes exotic sights and sounds but it is really through food that a traveller can get deep into the local culture, experience aging traditions and communicate without need of words (mostly because your mouth is full anyway).

Other food memories of Aisling’s come from Turkey, where she recalls that breakfast was often a square of honeycomb, a smear of buffalo clotted cream, bread and Turkish tea, all eaten on a sunkissed pavement.

However, it is not always necessary to get on a plane to find the exotic. Sometimes all you need is to change the frame. Aisling mentions a sausage sandwich fried on tinfoil over an open fire, eaten with eggs and wild greens after a surf on Achill Islands as being up there with her favourite food/travel experiences. “Its all circumstantial,” she reasons. “Food is the place, the people, the time.”

Bar the occasional shower, Ireland has much to offer the hungry traveller. Rural areas perfect for foraging, a respect for origin and quality and a revival of traditional preserving and cooking methods can all be found in the food-orientated communities of East Cork, Clare, Galway and Waterford, to name but a few. Aisling marvels at how, for the food makers and producers of West Cork, “food is their lives.”

I ask where is next on the map. “Japan. The ritual and respect they have for food, tea especially, is remarkable. Korea and Melbourne for coffee. And Copenhagen, to have lunch in Noma.”

On that note, we finish our tea and walk out into the rain.

Remember, it’s all circumstantial.

The Fumbally Cafe can be found on Fumbally Lane, Dublin 8

DIARY

WHEELS OF FORTUNE WORDS Hugo Fitzpatrick In the summer of 2011 I went on a bicycle trip from San Francisco to Seattle with a friend --- 1000 miles/1800 km in 18 days. I had never done anything like it before but it's something I can't wait to do again

Day 1: San Fransisco to Sam Taylor State Park The start of the trip, the first step went . . . interestingly. We left the frat house we had been crashing with some friends from home hoping to get across the Golden Gate Bridge by 10. Five minutes down the road and Finn’s pedals broke off his bike. It took a bit longer than anticipated to get them replaced and now he has to cycle the 1000 miles on flats. Crossed the bridge, packed with tourists (you’re never a tourist yourself on holiday), around 3 but once we got going there was a real feeling of excitement. Sam Taylor State Park is nice, has a hiker/biker area to camp in among the Redwoods.

Day 2: Sam Taylor State Park to Bodega Bay Woke up this morning to find half our food eaten by raccoons.Completely forgot that wildlife is a real threat here. Fortunately the many Cliff Bars we bought in San Francisco survived. Also found the rack for my bag had snapped one of its stands but it’s nothing duct tape couldn’t fix. We started amongst the Redwoods this morning and tonight we are camping on a beach. Met another cyclist going

the opposite direction coming to the end of his trip. Apparently we have some difficult days ahead. We shall see.

Day 3: Bodega Bay to Manchester Beach State Park Really nice cycle today along the coast with not much by the way of civilization, just a few fishing shacks. Chowed down on Cliff bars for lunch - we have sixty of them, probably going to be lunch for the whole trip. Finn’s rack came free of his frame, but we got incredibly lucky: a group of tourers travelling south had the spare parts needed to replace it. Got directions from a sheriff to the campsite which is pretty bleak, no other campers or cyclists here.

Day 4: Manchester Beach State Park to Westpoint This is the last day before the biggest climb of the trip over a mountain called Legit. A lot of cycling around small bays and inlets: downhill, stop to turn 90 degrees and climb back up the other side. Ran into a cyclist from New Orleans who has been touring for the last ten months and is now heading down to Mexico to continue; really

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puts our trip in perspective. Camping in a site on a cliff. The water is undrinkable but a passing car gave us a load of bottled water and some fruit, something I only just realised I haven’t eaten for the last four days.

Day 5: Westpoint to Standish-Hickey State Recreation Area We’ve been getting up earlier and earlier to beat the headwind that prevails against us most of the time. Pasta breakfast at 6 and then on the road by 7. I was pretty nervous today about climbing Legit. It’s almost 550 meters higher than our starting point at sea level. Not an easy climb but really rewarding, especially the descent. Stopped early today at 11.30 to rest up.

Day 6: Standish-Hickey State Recreation Area to Ferndale Fairground The Highway 1 ended today and we’re now on the busier 101. This was a long day of cycling, around 130 KM. Most if it was through the Avenue of the Giants, huge ancient Redwoods which was breathtaking. Passing through busier towns now. Our guide map said we could find camping at Ferndale, which is a town full of well preserved Victorian houses – it’s a bit weird. Turns out the campground is a fairground and there’s a State Fair in full swing. Our tiny tent feels a bit conspicuous next to all these RV’s...

Day 7: Ferndale Fairground to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park Today started off poorly. We left the state fair and took a wrong turn immediately adding 10km to our route. It picked up though when we met someone travelling in the same direction as us for the first time! He was an old guy named Mike and had travelled from San Diego. Passed him by, but kept on bumping into him throughout the day. Nice guy. The latter half of the cycle was amazing. Passed by beautiful lagoons on one side and the Pacific with impressive sea stacks on the other. This campsite is in a large forest and has the first real metal bear boxes for storing food. It’s a bit worrisome.

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Day 8: Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park to Harris Beach State Park Eventful day! We finally passed the border into Oregon. Goodbye California. Already Oregon seems a lot friendlier to cyclists: the hike and bike areas in the campsites are much cheaper and come with showers. What a luxury, the last shower I took was back in StandishHickey. There was a bunch of people in the campsite who were also touring, and Mike made it this far too. Learnt that he was doing the trip to prove his friends back home wrong. Much respect.

Day 9: Harris Beach State Park to Humbug Mountain State Park Decided to go for a shorter ride today, after the marathon last few days we are back on track. Picked up burgers and had a barbeque at the campsite - great idea, especially the smores on the fire afterwards. A real treat after nine days of pasta breakfast and Cliff Bar lunch. Met a pretty cool old German man at camp who was touring with his daughter and her partner. Didn’t see Mike, I think he finally

“YOU’D THINK THE MAJESTY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN WOULD GET OLD, BUT IT’S STILL AS IMPRESSIVE AS WHEN WE STARTED. TODAY I FINALLY GOT A CHANCE TO SWIM IN IT AND IT IS COLD ”

DIARY passed us out.

Day 10: Humbug Mountain State Park to Sunset Bay State Park You’d think the majesty of the Pacific ocean would get old, but it’s still as impressive as when we started. Today I finally got a chance to swim in it and it is cold.

Day 11: Sunset Bay State Park to Honeyman State Park Cycled through what can only be described as Lake Country today.

Ended up at Honeyman State Park which is the start of the sand dunes. These dunes are amazing: bigger and more golden than anything I’ve seen before. People were boarding down them. There was very friendly Canadian couple in the campsite who were touring together (and thought they had a small tent. HA! Couldn’t believe it when they saw ours).

Day 12: Honeyman State Park to Beverly Beach State Park Apparently today held the best views of the whole cycle if we veered from the path some. We weren’t quite sure where the Cape Perpetua lookout point was, and asking the tourist office proved fruitless they sent us on a mountain bike trail. Decided to go on it anyway after hiding our bags in some undergrowth. We found the lookout point after and true enough, the view was amazing - we could see the last three days of ground we had covered behind us. This evening we met a cyclist named Kyle at camp who worked for Velo Orange and built a big campfire with him.

Day 13: Beverly Beach State Park to Cape Lookout State Park We had heard about this seafood restaurant/brewery named The Pelican from cyclists coming the opposite direction all through Oregon and today was the day we finally got to try it. It was right on the Pacific next to a long white beach. Food was delicious but America’s laws and a strict waitress meant their homebrews were off limits. After lunch was tough as we cycled through the dunes under a hot midday sun, felt like a desert. A few tall climbs after that but I quick dip in the Pacific and I feel fine now.

Day 14: Cape Lookout State Park to Seaside Got a flat today and used up my last tube, then broke the valve as I was pumping it up. This happened beside some major roadworks so we chatted to the builder that was controlling traffic and she in-

formed us of a nearby town that might have a bike store. I cycle as fast as I could down to it on a half pumped tyre almost abandoning Finn. The shop assistant there told us of a nice place to camp for the night so we are set up now in a small wood behind a wealthy estate he directed us too.

Day 15: Seaside to Mt. St. Helens RV Park Slept poorly, thought there was someone creeping around the tent.

Finn informed me it was only the rain and that I was delirious. It’s possible. Crossed the Columbia River today, the bridge over was like a rollercoaster - a big twisting climb then a huge, steep drop.

That marked the end of Oregon and the start of Washington. Almost finished now. Met a guy called Craig Cheesman who had just finished a tour and bought us dinner. Just about made it to camp before dark.

Day 16: Mt. St. Helens RV Park to Harrison RV Park Got a good glimpse of Mt. St. Helens while cycling today, although the road was really hilly so it was quite a tiring day. Made a long detour to Wal Mart to pick up supplies and are camping in a grim trailer park tonight beside a railway station. Still, there are warm showers and somewhere to sleep. Luxury.

Day 17: Harrison RV Park to Belfair State Park The penultimate day of the trip! And the last full day of cycling.

Finally availed of the American fast food institutions and had two Blizzards (which are basically three McFlurries together) for lunch.

This must’ve done something to Finn because he blazed ahead of me in the afternoon, I struggled to keep up. Finally we were the jaded ones at the campsite when we met with the other cyclist. Told him a few tales.

Day 18: Belfair State Park to Seattle Threw my alarm out the tent this morning, no more getting up at 6 to beat the wind. Had one last pasta breakfast just for the sake of it and set off to catch the ferry into Seattle. Contemplated cycling into the city but we didn’t really feel like navigating the roads leading to it. The ferry was a great way to go though, we got a view of our goal and there was something very final about leaving the ferry when we got into the city, like we had just stepped off a Disneyland ride that the past eighteen days had been. Got to the hotel and spent a good half hour trying to shave my beard with a flimsy disposable razor.

Back to civilization.

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FOOD DESIGN

THE SOAKAGE A BRIDGE TOO FAR AND THE SAUCE

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They've been a winning combination for as long as anyone can remember, and each have existed in some form or other for centuries, so Henry Longden and Declan Johnston explore the world for pizza and beer to show how they transcend borders as well as time

Pizza Brain

A SLICE OF THE INTERNATIONAL

Pizza Brain, Philadelphia Pizza has become so ubiquitous that we forget how much of a social experience it is. There is no better place to rekindle your excitement than the Pizza Brain pizzeria in Philadelphia, home of the world’s largest collection of pizza memorabilia and art. Pizza Brain, opened by artist Brian Dwyer after his 2010 pizza-themed art show “Give Pizza A Chance”, quickly garnered more attention and excitement than he could have dreamt of starting out. Talking to Brian it’s hard not be infected by his enthusiasm for the social aspect of pizza. The pizzeria combines community spirit with an artistic atmosphere. Brian regards this as one of the true successes of Pizza Brain, remarking, “How interesting it is that companies spend tens of millions of dollars every year to try and get people excited about pizza and we’ve done it with virtually no budget.” Pizza Brain is located in the suburb of Kensington that hasn’t had a restaurant in two decades. Pizza Brain epitomises what it is that pizza does: bring us together.

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Popolano’s Pizza, Kabul Pizza is the great normaliser. What could be more comforting after a bad day at work or a rainy commute home than to invite friends over, get pizza, and kick back with a movie? Well sometimes that just isn’t possible. Under the Taliban there were only two sit-in restaurants in Kabul and certainly no pizza. Popolano’s Italian restaurant became the first to fill that void in the early 2000s. Initially a hit among the large ex-pat community, Popolano’s is now more popular with Afghans. The classic Popolano’s pizza is chicken tikka – which takes the place of pork-based pepperoni – for 350 Afghanis (€5).

Things are done properly, with a thin, crusty base and real jalapenos to give some added bite. They’ve gone from strength to strength and now are Kabul’s first chain restaurant, with two branches.

Back Alley Pizza, Dawson City Millau Viaduct Dawson City, a stop off on the Top of the World Highway across the Yukon, was home to 40,000 people including Jack London during the Klondike Gold Rush. Today that number is 1,319. The closest town, Mayo (not named by some nostalgic Irish adventurers, but after the wandering Victorian circus midget Alfred Longden Mayo) is 200km Deputy Editor (and self-professed bridge nerd) Henry away.you In terms of eating, options are thin on the ground.

What you takes on a tour of Europe with these impressive structures will find though are seriously tasty pizzas from Back Alley Pizza.

Owned by popular man-about-town Tony Dovas, who heard in 2002 about a potential gap in the Dawson City pizza market, it was built for free by a bandneed of travelling German carpenters.

If bridge experience no longerapprentice be a passing glimpse, or ever passing through your way the Yukon a you’re one day excursion.

Why noton indulge yourdown passions with a River to see the Northern Lights,away, you can do no better share a pizza bridge-oriented weekend or perhaps plan athan full flung with Dawson’s residents.

They’re some of the warmest, peoEuropean voyage incorporating the best of the best fromfunniest Rople out there. man to suspension and all the way through to inflatable? Although it is impossible to say when the first bridge was built, we are sufficiently satisfied that since then man has stopped, turned and awed at these seemingly impossible structures. It is hard to think of times without bridges; cities, nations and roads must have come to an abrupt stop at the sign of cliffs and water. However, since the bridge, our lives have enjoyed a remarkable level of connectivity and they have united people the world over. Pay your respects.

For the real bridge purist Mostar bridge in Bosnia and Herzegovina is an absolute favourite. It isn’t long, wide, or particularly high but the respect it demands, as it casually spans the insignificant Neretva River below, is quite remarkable. The wickedness to which men sink was truly seen in 1993, when, after standing for 427 years, the innocent Mostar bridge was destroyed by shells in the Balkan conflict. Luckily society was able to unite and construct a beautiful replica by 2004. The man who gave orders for the shelling, Slobodan Di Fara Pizza

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outh East Asian street sellers often use a phrase to describe knock off merchandise, “Same-same but different.” Well beer and pizza are prime examples of the fact that no matter where you go in the world there are certain things that are same-same but different.

These classic comforts are enjoyed by millions of people, but everywhere breweries and pizzerias have their own little interesting and local takes on the original.

DRINK DESIGN Di Fara Pizza, Brooklyn Sometimes the joy of food is in its artistry and craft. Domenico DeMarco has operated Di Fara’s Pizza for nearly a half century and has turned it into a pizza lover’s Mecca. Since the Italian immigrant went into business in 1964, the legend of Di Fara’s has spread far and wide. It is labelled “New York’s best pizza” practically annually.

Three of DeMarco’s seven sons now work there, although the old signore is still seen rolling dough and chopping fresh basil with a kitchen scissors over the pizzas and Sicilian pies. DeMarco’s may be the only place in New York to charge $5 a slice, but the place has not gotten too big for its boots. It still has only fifteen seats, linoleum floors, fluorescent lights and the same Baker’s Pride oven DeMarco bought when he opened. Expect a queue though – waiting two hours or more, is the norm rather than the exception. The wait will be worth it and you can use the time to re-enact the Soup Nazi queue from Seinfeld. Some pizza just comes to be the epitome of the town where it’s served.

Switzerland The Monsteiner Brewery lies resting between the silent, snow -touched Swiss Alps; the tranquil water that individually breaks the alpine silence is the key ingredient in the crystal-clear lager. The four friends who originally set it up as a private party homebrewoption have now truly exploited their natural surroundings and offer snow train trips, Nordic walking, snowshoeing and bobsled riding, topping the cake with a cheese-fondue finale at the end of the stressful day.

“THE MONSTEINER BREWERY LIES RESTING BETWEEN THE SILENT, SNOW-TOUCHED ALPS; THE TRANQUIL WATER THAT INDIVIDUALLY BREAKS THE ALPINE SILENCE IS THE KEY INGREDIENT IN THE CRYSTAL-CLEAR LAGER”Ponte Vecchio

CROSS-BORDER BOTTLES

Murree Brewery

“There’s no bridge like a superfluous bridge. no one has recognised This as much as donegal counTy council who, in 2009, had The arTisTic vision to spend €17 million shiTTing ouT The mulroy bay bridge”

Argentina Arriving in Ushuaia you become quickly aware that you are a horrifically long way from anywhere. Many you meet will board an icebreaker and take a 10 day tour of the sub-Antarctic; others will head north, the nearest city being 20 hours on a bus across the deepest of Patagonia’s plains. The southernmost city in the world is an isolated purgatory which has a distinct air of anticipation. Most people wait in one of the fine saloons facing the south-south Atlantic. Despite the cold, the locals have found a way to get the yeast activated and now run three microbreweries. The Beagle is the most interesting, with an IPA, Red Ale or Stout on offer; the flavours are deep, thick and warming.

Mostrar Bridge

Praljak, is currently on trial for war crimes. These days, local youngsters now jump off the bridge for the entertainment of tourists.

The Ponte Vecchio in Florence harks back to the days of Medici rule in the most stunning of Italy’s cities. Flanked with rows of stalls below, the bridge acquired its top deck when Duke Cosimo I de’Medici fancied strolling from his residence to the government palace without encountering the tradesmen below. Moving the meat sellers and their odours from below, he installed some of the most sought after self-portraits of the time to line his private walkway. In more recent history the “Vasari Corridor” has fallen victim to a mafia-commissioned terrorist attack, and hosted Mussolini and Hitler. Its views impressed the Fuhrer enough to receive a pardon when the German bombers subsequently attacked the city in 1944. Today the shops below USA offer all the jewellery and Gutter Vuitton that you could possibly Milwaukee, Wisconsin is home to that watery crap Miller lager, but need. the locals will hang their heads in shame if you think that’s the end The world’s highest bridge, the Millau Viaduct in of it. It is in fact the beer capital of America, offering a massive selecSouthern France, doesn’t neutralise the problems of torrential tion and history in the business. When at the bar, talk to locals and water, traverse sharp drops or navigate impassable landscape, get some advice on the cities’ best, but if you’re going on a brewery but it aggressively oversees the difficulties caused by a quaint tour it has to be Lakefront. Legend has it that back in the day it was French town in the Roquefort Cheese region. It is huge. As the an out of control drink-all-you-want. Today is almost as good: for second pylon stretched higher than the Eiffel Tower it became your seven bucks you get an enthusiastic tour, souvenir pint glass, the tallest structure in France. Arnold Schwarzenegger is reportplenty of beer (“officially”four pints) and a polka dance. On Fridays ed to have asked the council about the bridges’ popularity; there they also put on a “Fish Fry” which has been consistently voted the is no public information on their response. best in the city.

But there’s no bridge like a superfluous bridge. A bridge for bridges’ sake. No one has recognised this fact as much “MILWAUKEE, WINSCONSIN IS the HOME as Donegal County Council who in 2009 had artistic vision to spend €17 WATERY million shitting out the Mulroy Bay Bridge. The TO THAT CRAP MILLER LAGER, concrete hump solved the longstanding need to connect noBUTwhere THEwith LOCALS WILL HANG THEIR HEADS nowhere, its two lanes sleekly feed on to single lane IN SHAME IF YOU THINK THAT’S THE but roads, proving that architecture can not only be pointless, also inane.

END OF IT. IT IS IN FACT THE BEER Bouncy castles and rivers come pretty high up on the CAPITAL OF AMERICA” list of least compatible entities, but Parisian architects Atelier Zündel Cristea are trying to outdo their British counterparts China by building something even stupider than London’s MillenDon’t like boozy Australians, sponsorship or being ripped nium ‘Wobbly’ Bridge. corporate The designers were struck by the lack of off? Then stay clear of Munich’s Oktoberfest and pop along bouncy inflatable structures spanning the Seine, alongsidetothe Qingdao for their attempt at to an“playfully” international festival from deprived right for locals get tobeer work.

The proposal 10th-25th August.

The local and national government co-fund suggests three gigantic doughnuts with trampolines strung the up in event, between. and foreigners are often showered with free-drink offers.obstaIt’s Apparently there have been Health and Safety situated on a beach, so a late afternoon drunken nap is on the cards. cles.

Lakefront Brewery

Pakistan The most obscure (and probably dangerous) place to start on any global brewery tour will be those countries where alcohol is banned by society and Sharia law. Historians attribute the invention of booze to the Middle East, with the official bans (resulting in 80 lashes of the whip) only arising in the 70s. However, Pakistan has a booming bootlegger scene, with reports that Beer Barons are easier to come by than a delivery pizza. The Murree Brewery is Pakistan’s only (official) brewery and was one of the first in Asia. Due to downsizing of potential customers in the 70s, they decided to concentrate on quality, and it is now the best Pakistani domestic pint you’ll put away.

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TRAVEL

OFF THE MAP E

verybody loves a holiday. It’s time to get away, acquire some stories, and see how they live on the other side. I was born the victim of idealistic parents who decided the ideal environment for child rearing was any number of countries that required urgent development aid, conflict resolution, or some other such strife. So holidays for me tended to be a little different. I’ve never been to the United States or Spain, but Zambia, Turkmenistan, the West Bank and Sudan, sure. What I’ve learned from this is that the world is unfathomably large and is in fact an umbrella for hundreds of smaller worlds, some less travelled than others. The untravelled ones have riches untold and they are worth discovering. You just need to acquire a different set of travel skills.

Starting with Zambia: land of my youth, home to the roaming buffalo and spectacular natural wonders. It is necessary to adopt an instant suspicion of anything pre-planned. What’s required 12 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

is a degree of spontaneity. When you arrive, don’t heed the advances of tourist agencies telling you that the south is the spot you really want. Don’t misunderstand, Victoria Falls are spectacular, but there’s so much more unknown in the north.

We come to our second required attribute: patience. It’s going to take you about 20 hours of car travel on the Great Northern Road to get to Kasama, the ideal base for Northern Province adventures. There are many wonderful spots to stay in Kasama but I would recommend the Kapishya lodge. This allows time in the pool – a set of azure-blue, bath-warm natural hot springs in a clearing covered over by palm trees. The only difficulty is leaving. You also won’t need to worry about it being crowded or the rush for sun loungers.

If you do pull yourself away, visit the Mwela rock paintings: 1,000 images drawn by mankind during the late Stone Age, detailing life in this natural Eden. The painting of the soul of a lion

TRAVEL Declan Johnston dares you to go on holiday somewhere that is less than conventional.

How about Zambia, Turkmenistan or Sudan?

Former President Niyazov used extraordinary wealth from natural resources to create a superstate with himself as a figure of cult worship. He peppered the country with gold statues, one of which always revolves to face the sun. When challenged on whether he thought this represented a massive waste of money, he replied that he agreed that while they don’t need these statues and portraits, the people demanded it of him. They also demanded that he rename the months of the year after his family members, the national news reader recite an oath at the beginning of transmission every night wishing that her tongue fall out should she defame the president or Turkmenistan, and that he write a book of all his wisdoms to be placed in every home, school and hospital, which any member of the population would have to read three times in order to obtain a driver’s license. Niyazov died in 2007 and has been replaced by the slightly more liberal Berdimuhamedow, but that really isn’t saying much.

Obtaining a visa will be the biggest challenge. This requires creativity on your part. My advice – make friends with someone in either the diplomatic corps, the oil and gas industry, or shrimp fishing, as these are the only foreigners allowed in the country. After you have made friends with these people (not that unusual), get them to issue you an official invitation. When you get to Turkmenistan, prepare to be constantly amazed by the capital Ashgabat, a cross between Las Vegas and Pyongyang. They have constructed gargantuan skyscrapers, surrounded them with airconditioned bus stops and endless fountains. The city of Ashgabat (population 0.5 million), despite being in a desert nestled between Afghanistan and Iran, uses as much water as all of Chicago.

After that surreal experience, you could make for the seaside town of Turkmenbashi, which Niyazov modestly called after himself, although I would recommend the small but quaintly named town of Mary. Beneath the exterior of crippling overlordship lies a very interesting country, seen “BEFORE YOU ARRIVE, BROADEN YOUR MIND, QUESTION EVERYTHING AND COME WITH NO PRE-CONCEIVED NOTIONS” in Mary. Mary has spectacular views of Central Asian desert, camel caravans, and the ancient site of Margush, a little known civilisation as old as Mesopotamia or Egypt, and the home of Zoroastrianism. It’s almost like slipping back a millennium onto the Silk Road between China and Europe.

One last word of advice. Oppressive regimes are into monitoring things in almost voyeuristic detail. So don’t be surprised if absolutely everything you do, say and hear is recorded in intimate detail. Also don’t forget that every time you move around you have to register with the local police station and receive a stamp on a document called a propiska. If you forget to do this, you may or may not have to pay a large fine, write a confession and Lake Tanganyika, Nsumbu national Park, Zambia get a huge red stamp in your passport. Before you arrive, broaden your mind, question everything, and come with no pre-conceived notions. Dictatorships are a lot more nuanced than they appear in history books. But I’m not saying you will be surprised . . . passing into the body of a hunter is the highlight. If you’re feeling

Sudan is one of those countries in the world that has beactive, you can make for Nsumbu National Park, a nature reserve come lost in a heap of opinion columns, investigative reports, and off the beaten tracks of African wildlife spots. Virtually unmolested International Criminal Court testimonies. Without doubt, a series by human interference, herds of elephants, buffalo and even lions of severe humanitarian disasters have taken place over the last 50 roam this stretch of land hugging the south coast of Lake Tangyears that I cannot hope to possibly describe the full extent and anyika, Africa’s largest lake. Round it all off with a beer and some horror of with words alone. That said, it also means that one of the freshly grilled Nile Perch watching the sunset at Tanganyika Lodge most hospitable, ancient and unique cultures of the world has been and falling asleep barefoot outdoors to the sound of lapping waves. drowned out in a torrent of sorrow and outrage.

Not everyone is a nature lover though. In fact you may

If you have a sense of adventure, of history, and a desire be an admirer of the human world and all of its quirkiness. Never to experience the fringes of the human experience, then I cannot fear, there are plenty more off-the-beaten-track opportunities for recommend a holiday in Sudan highly enough. Again getting a visa you too. North Korea is a hard place to get into, so make for Turkwill take creativity, but this time more in the way of politeness. menistan. I guarantee you will walk around in a state of permanent Sudan isn’t completely averse to tourism, but you do have to prove disbelief: in terms of dictatorships, Turkmenistan is the gold standthat you have no ulterior motives as well; there aren’t that many ard.

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TRAVEL people desperate to enter Sudan after all. Send your passport to the consulate in London and it will help if you have pre-booked hotels and gave an indication of your travel plans.

Assuming this goes well and you arrive in Khartoum, you will be transported to the heart of one of Africa’s largest cities, with a population of 7 million people. They say it’s a city that never sleeps, but one must come to terms with the fact that there is next to no nightlife. Bars aren’t really a thing here, so get used to tea. Also, be prepared for heat and sand. Khartoum though is a truly fascinat“WITH SUDAN, ONE OF THE MOST HOSPITABLE, ANCIENT AND ing place, but not in the way any European city is. The majority of foreigners there are UNIQUE CULTURES OF THE WORLD HAS BEEN DROWNED aid workers or diplomats, and they never OUT BY A TORRENT OF SORROW AND OUTRAGE” really explore all the city has to offer. Not to worry. Some of the hotels have the bright idea of running a minibus tour of the city on Fridays. This is well worth doing. Yourself as the budding tourist will form a group with some German aid workers, Chinese oil engineers, and a poorly disguised CIA agent “on a tourist trip through Mali, Congo and Sudan”. They will take you to the fort of Omdurman, a monument to one of the great forgotten episodes of colonial history.

In remote western Sudan, in the 1880s, Muhammad Ahmad appeared proclaiming himself the Mahdi, the man in Islamic eschatology said to rule the world and rid it of evil before the Day of Judgement.

He garnered an incredibly large following of very poorly armed men who within months had overthrown the British colonial leadership in Khartoum, founding an alternative capital across the Nile at Omdurman.

They actually managed to hold out until 1898, when Lord Kitchener of Ballylongford, Co Kerry, after living among them for years in disguise, led an extraordinary expedition down the Nile -- lifting battleships on Nubian Pyramids, Sudan and off at various rapids and building a railway across the desert -- and succeeded in defeating the Mahdi’s men at Omdurman in a dramatic shootout. Today the Mahdi’s tomb lies in a quiet suburb, covered with an enormous mosque.

On your tour, you can take in the sights at the souq, an busy market where everything from centuries-old gold ornaments to Kalashnikovs and camels can be bought. The men glide along, wrapped in dazzlingly white robes and turbans, the women covered in long, colourful cotton dresses and headscarves.

On Friday evening, when the heat of the day has passed, make for the outskirts of Omdurman to witness one of the most intense religious services on earth. A huge crowd of heterodox Sufi Muslims gather to chant and pray together. The crowd separates out to form a circle as men dressed in traditional robes parade round and round the circle in step. They chant the same prayers over and over to the beat of a drum.

As they go on, one or two will suddenly break from the group and throw his hands up to heaven, beginning to spin. He will spin until he works himself into a trance of euphoria, whirling to the ever-quickening pace Niyazov statue, Turkmenistan of the drum until he falls to the earth in a crumpled, twitching heap.

Then others will follow. You will be breathless by the end of it, as the sun sets, leaving the crowd to disperse in silence.

Unfortunately, it will be difficult to see much of the rest of Sudan because of various government restrictions and ongoing violence in regions. Again though, with a bit of research and initiative, anything is possible. Highly recommended is a trip to the Nubian pyramids, which pre-date the Egyptian ones by 500 years. Approximately 250 pyramids of varying size and design are scattered across the site, now drowning in sand. As your feet give way underneath you on the dunes, you feel time dripping away meaninglessly. You could be standing in the same windy, silent spot 3,000 years ago and it would look the same. Apart from the tops of the pyramids –Italian explorer Giuseppe Ferlini blew those up to get at potential gold ornaments in the 1820s.

You have arrived in the Summer of 2013. The world is beating to thousands, millions, billions of rhythms. Count none of them as impossible to reach. With a particular skillset, which is easily acquired along the way, you can see everything you would like to see in this world.

Go for it. Find yourself in the last place you expected to.

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WOMEN --WELCOME

WOMEN

ILLUSTRATION Ciar Boyle-Gifford

Ciar Boyle-Gifford considers the risks and rewards for western women travelling in the Middle East

A

hand fell upon my shoulder as I walked away from my hostel in Cairo for the last time, and I froze. For a moment my mind was both utterly blank and somehow full of dread. I turned my head.

Standing there was Aisha, a young woman who served breakfast at the hostel. She was smiling sheepishly at me, pushing something shiny towards me. I smiled back and my relief must have shown.

The shiny thing was a plaster model of the Giza Pyramids, complete with a little sphinx, all painted gold. I looked up and thanked her awkwardly, unsure if it was a gift or whether she thought I’d forgotten it. Aisha’s English was hardly more than a couple of phrases (considerably better than my Arabic), but she gestured that it was a gift and managed the word “friend”. She nodded to my male friend, and went back to the hostel. That was an astoundingly clumsy encounter on my part. I failed miserably to reciprocate, or even properly express thanks. I was just too taken aback by this random act of friendship from a woman I had only waved to and smiled at in the previous weeks.

A friend of mine who lived in Cairo for a year travels through the Middle East frequently and knows plenty of people in Palestine, Lebanon and Jordan. Her stories are grander than mine – like being rescued by the women on an all-female train carriage when a man boarded and tried to sexually assault her, or being on Tahrir Square for the protests of January 2011, when police closed streets and brandished tear gas and batons. Split up from her male friend (arrested) and unable to get home, a family of women – complete strangers – took her in, fed her, and they talked all night. She couldn’t have felt more at ease.

The truth is there are aspects of some Middle Eastern cultures that make it difficult for travelling western women. My friend’s assailant on the train went straight for the only foreign girl in a crowded carriage. Walking down the street you will feel eyes

stuck on you and it is hard not to occasionally feel uncomfortable.

However, it is important to note that the situation is more complicated than any cavalier statement about Islam and supposed misogyny could suggest: there are important factors at play such as poverty, disempowerment, lack of education, as well as sheer fascination with tourists. In an unfamiliar cultural context, it can be hard not to second-guess yourself and wonder if you’re doing something offensive. The fact that on the street you are likely to come into contact with people who are struggling to make a living, and that you represent the main source of what little money they can make, means that tensions run high in those encounters.

These are broad generalisations. I make a point of talking about Middle Eastern cultures plural, because variation is huge.

In Lebanon you can essentially dress as you like (secular Beirut women will compromise nothing for style), and in places with more European tourism, such as Istanbul or Cairo, there tends to be more acceptance of western habits. Beyond those national variations, the shift in attitudes across economic classes is huge, with the wealthier levels of society far more comfortable with western ways.

As a woman, there are certain things you need to do for a successful trip. You need to bring scarves, especially if you intend visiting a mosque. You should also resign yourself to keeping a little humility in your demeanour and try not to be offended if men do not address you directly. Be respectful and acknowledge your own ignorance – but under no circumstances let yourself be manipulated. The final, most important thing that you must do is be open to your experience. My experience has been that the women of the Middle East are an intriguing group. It is unfortunate that as a tourist you may not come into contact with many beyond the kitchen workers at your hostel – but do not ignore them. In difficult times, and easier ones, they can surprise you.

“IT IS MORE COMPLICATED THAN CAVALIER STATEMENTS ABOUT ISLAM AND MISOGYNY; THERE ARE IMPORTANT FACTORS SUCH AS POVERTY, DISEMPOWERMENT AND LACK OF EDUCATION” 3RD APRIL 2013 // 15

WORK

WORK

PLAY

D

ifficult manual labour teaches a young college student with commitment and alcohol issues some important life lessons.

The first and arguably most important is that paracetamol and buttered toast provides a panacea to rival the most sophisticated and advanced medicines of our age. The second is that if you are picking grapes, it doesn’t matter how late you stayed up last night or how much wine you decided it was a good idea to drink; once dawn arrives, ready or not, you have work to do. No quarter is given to the fickle ones: the seminar dodgers and the essay evaders (notably – yours truly). The third is that delicious wine arrives at a close second to butter and toast. But what was I saying about alcohol?

Taking part in France’s annual grape harvest is a privilege that rivals few others. Beginning anywhere from mid-to-late August to early-to-mid September and lasting just shy of three weeks, “Les Vendanges” is a special time for any wine maker. That there is no exact English translation for the phrase speaks to the special relationship France has with its wine. Sure, we anglophones can call it “the harvest” or, worse still, the “grape harvest” – ugly, clunky locutions that fail to grasp the mysticism that surrounds this season – but that is to mishear what “Les Vendanges” is all about. In French we are allowed to hear all of the sensuality and mysticism wine making has to offer. What we are not allowed to hear is the brutal nature of the work involved.

Commitment was mentioned earlier. Days start at dawn.

The weather in Southern France is nearly as capricious as it is here in Dublin. The first vines are picked when there is just enough light to see, and the mornings can be cold and damp and dark. But as soon as the sun rises you are reminded of exactly where you are. The sun

16 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

beats down throughout the day, leviathan and cruel. Those indigenous to Ireland and the rest of the British Isles be warned: your day is spent crouched down beneath the hot sun, making sure not a single grape is left unpicked.

And make sure you do. Most of us have experience working jobs behind bars, waiting tables, perhaps even tending farms.

But no matter what you have done, you will never have encountered the sheer and all-encompassing work ethic of the vendangeur. It is a badge of honour to not only finish your vine promptly, but that not even the smallest of young grapes (in the franglais you are certain to adapt: “putain de merde, these fucking grapions” is an oft-spoke phrase) are left behind. The calls of “ALLEZ, ALLEZ, ALLEZ” that echo around the vineyard are hardly even necessary. No one wants to be a slow grape picker.

Lest you are misled, the real flavour of the vendanges comes from the people you meet. My vendange was led by veteran pickers and healers (one of whom espoused the virtues of aspirin and dairy products) from Romania, Polish friends who captured moments in photographs, a mechanic peculiarly capable when it came to clearing vines, and the local and traveling French who taught me the language and the lay of the land. I learned how to while away warm, easy evenings playing chess and drinking wine, swimming in rivers and cooking wild boar. I forgot phone numbers and websites and my skin always smelled of sulphurous earth. When I came home I brought the vendanges with me: my bones were sore but I was happy.

And I still have buttered toast and paracetamol for breakfast.

HARD

HARD M

aybe you get home sick, maybe you can’t afford to go away, or maybe travelling is just not for you. Whatever your reasons for staying in Ireland this summer, there are still opportunities for work experience, you just have to look a little harder.

Contacts are a major factor in finding any kind of employment in Ireland, but film-set work is perhaps one of the more interesting jobs you can end up in. Fortunately, the Irish film industry is continuing to grow and we have both charming cities and lush, green countryside locations to offer national and international filmmakers.

Two summers ago, I worked on a feature film shot in Co Wicklow, offering me the chance to take in the beautiful Wicklow lakes as I worked. While I had the title of Trainee Assistant Director, I essentially had the responsibilities of a runner. Although the runner is bottom of the food chain when it comes to the production side of film making, it is where a lot of top people in the industry start off and at no point did I feel in any way looked down on.

One of the great things about working as a runner is you are free to wander around various departments, and everyone is very willing to teach you about their contribution to the filmmaking process. I not only received training as an assistant director but also got the opportunity to work behind the scenes in the production offices and learned from the camera department.

The film I worked on was a Danish musical oddly enough, so it was somewhat of an international environment. Between production, make-up and camera departments we had crew from Ireland, Denmark, and Spain working together on set.

People from different origins have different mindsets and ways of going about their work.

Working on an international team and taking into account such diversity, there can be conflict on a film set. Being in the middle of all that can be both exciting and stressful.

They don’t call

WORK

There are many ways you can earn money this summer.

Here are two suggestions for how to increase your bank balance while experiencing something new at the same time HOME Deirdre Molumby ABROAD Tom Moloney

the position “runner” for nothing. There is a lot of actual running to be done from one side of the set to the other, getting equipment, snacks and coffee (particularly the latter) for everyone. I often found myself taking care of (or just talking to) the cast, assistant directors and extras, and it was actually really enjoyable instead of taxing, while also being interesting. There are so many people with all kinds of stories to share in Ireland. In addition, if you’re helpful and friendly, you can make contacts and people want you back for more jobs. The development of these interpersonal skills is vital for any future career, whatever it may be.

Being a runner is not for the faint hearted. There is a lot of hard work, with night shoots from 2am onwards being particularly strenuous, and there can be much standing around doing nothing. You get fed (and hopefully paid), but you also get rained on, and there can be some really unpleasant individuals amid all of the friendly and helpful ones. That said, it’s very interesting and, for me anyway, fulfilling work. As in a film itself, anything is possible, and I acquired stories about Anne Hathaway and Jim Caviezel, had lunch with one of Denmark’s leading actors Ulrich Thomsen, and got sent to Paris for the day to – I kid you not – collect make-up. Working on a film set tending to the needs of egos, you’re bound to end up with a few great stories. Our emerald isle still has much to offer.

3RD APRIL 2013 // 17

QUEER

THE NIGHT IS YOURS

Rio de Janeiro

Morgan MacIntyre and Rory Tinman recount the ups and downs of their trip across Mexico, a country that is, it seems, as troubled as it is exciting and beautiful

Ciar Boyle-Gifford suggests a few possible holiday destinations for the LGBT community and offers up some useful advice

A FEW IMPORTANT TIPS • Always, always research your destination before planning anything. Hostile attitudes may crop up where you don’t expect them to, or places might just be more welcoming than you’d think. For legal information, there’s a great map at ilga.gov.

• There are a wealth of good guide books out there with specific sections for LGBT interests. Invest in one. Alternatively, check out outtraveller.com for lots of information worldwide.

• Almost anywhere you go, even within Europe and the States, it’s a good idea to keep public displays of affection to a minimum.

Regardless of the social climate, all it takes is one aggressive individual to make your trip difficult.

“Gay tourism” is an exploding industry, and it is quite literally changing the world. In recessionary times, more and more areas of the world are opening their arms and minds to the LGBT market – and suddenly, a world of opportunities is opening up beyond San Francisco Pride Week. “Queer” culture is growing in urban scenes from Mexico City to Tokyo, and it’s effecting real legal change in many places. These are just a few examples of that trend, along with some of the best ways to enjoy it as a tourist.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Rio is a city on a mission. In 2010 a quarter of tourists to Brazil’s second largest city were gay \and since then, tourism officials have been working hard to get that number even higher. The plan is to become world capital of gay tourism – and it’s going well. So far, the government has been vocal on issues surrounding the LGBT community, introducing anti-bullying laws to protect gay and lesbian students, anti-discrimination laws for clubs and bars, and even specific vocational training courses for transvestites. The air is redolent with banner-flying positivity, despite occasional attempts to intervene by religious-right groups. As Brazil’s first transsexual supermodel, Lea T, has pointed out: “It’s really incredible that . . . a place they call a third world country is doing something few first world countries have done.”

What makes Rio different to most popular LGBT destinations is the lack of barriers between straight and gay worlds. It is 18 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

unlike other cities with thriving gay scenes, where public displays of affection are often still taboo; Sexual Diversity Coordinator, Carlos Tufvesson, has been quoted as saying, “Do we need to have gay restaurants? Gay food? Gay waiters? Here in Rio, my love, you can [kiss anywhere]. Otherwise we’ll go there and shut them down.”

The Rua Farme de Amoedo and its surrounding area in the Ipanema district are particularly popular meeting places, with explicitly gay clubs such as Bofetada Bar and the techno-heavy Lounge dotted among countless other gay-friendly bars. The nearby beach in the same district also has a reputation as one of the world’s best gay beaches.

Buenos Aires, Argentina Strolling along Buenos Aires’ sweeping boulevards, stopping at one of the many gorgeous outdoor cafes, you might be forgiven for thinking you were enjoying a warm Parisian evening in Montmartre.

But the architectural illusion won’t last long once you meet the local inhabitants. This is still a South American city, and that fiery Latin temperament is as clear in the party atmosphere as it is in the manic driving.

All the same, the attitude here to the gay community has proven to be perfectly level-headed. The Argentinian congress has been building on tolerance legislation since the 90s, culminating in 2010 with legalized same-sex marriage – a “same name” and “same rights” arrangement, replacing the existing civil union legislation.

QUEER The general atmosphere now is one of mature acceptance of gay and lesbian couples as part of life’s rich tapestry. There is not the same youthful flag-waving, shout-it-from-the-rooftops approach that you will see in Rio; down here it is a much more chilled affair. You just don’t have to worry.

That is not to say there is no fun to be had. The Palermo Hollywood, Las Cañitas and Recoleta neighbourhoods are full of both gay and gay-friendly bars and clubs. As a city it seems to have some fundamental time-keeping issues, though, as the lively nightlife rarely gets going before midnight.

Cape Town, South Africa Gay freedom fighters such as Ivan Toms, Justice Edwin Cameron and Afrika Tatamkulu have played a huge part in the redirection of South African politics, and in the post-apartheid period the promotion of LGBT interests is an important part of the country’s commitment to diversity.

From a tourist point of view, there is no better place to see that commitment than in the annual Mother City Queer Project.

The Project is essentially a gargantuan fancy dress party, held every December since the law against discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation was passed. In recent years, themes have included “It’s a circus”, “Farm fresh”, and “Lights, camera, action!”, and it has repeatedly attracted some of the best cabaret and drag acts from all over the world. If you’re going to Africa, this is about the biggest welcome you could hope to find, rivalling similar events as far afield as San Francisco.

If you can’t make it for December, Cape Town remains a vibrant and welcoming atmosphere for people of all kinds. Neighbourhoods like Sea Point and Waterkant keep the party going all year round in popular gay clubs like Beaulah Bar and Crew Bar. In general though, it is worth remembering that attitudes are never totally homogenous in a society, and the huge gap that remains between the wealthy and poor in this place means that tensions can run high on any issue, whatever the legislation says.

Mother City Queer Project, Cape Town

Bangkok, Thailand Thailand is already one of the world’s most popular destinations for students or gap-year travellers. It’s a long way, but its dirt cheap once you get out there and offers experiences a world away from here.

Thailand is one of the most tolerant countries in Asia, and in Bangkok there is a palpable culture of acceptance to people of all gender identities and sexualities. There are still some political barriers to the gay community (same-sex couples do not receive the same legal benefits as heterosexual couples) but on a personal level, and especially as a tourist, you will be welcomed with open arms. The worldfamous Songkran festival in April offers a huge LGBT celebration, where the whole of Silom is closed to traffic and transformed into a huge waterfight/bar party lasting for three days.

“ATTITUDES ARE NEVER TOTALLY HOMOGENEOUS IN A SOCIETY AND THE HUGE GAP THAT REMAINS BETWEEN THE WEALTHY AND THE POOR IN SOUTH AFRICA MEANS THAT TENSIONS CAN RUN HIGH ON ANY ISSUE, NO MATTER WHAT THE LEGISLATION SAYS” Cuba & the Caribbean This part of the world has had a bad reputation for its approach to homosexuality in the past. The active persecution in Cuba after the revolution, along with the general homophobic attitudes held by many people on certain Caribbean islands such as Jamaica, are not easily forgotten. But the French, Dutch and US islands have traditionally been more accepting, and in recent years there has been a huge surge in the promotion of LGBT culture in certain islands and cities. The Curacao tourist board is marketing itself specifically as a gay-friendly destination for instance, with a commitment to a “Live and let live” attitude.

El Mejunje, Santa Clara, Cuba

Cuba, above all, has been working to put itself on the “Gay map”. Havana has opened up a handful of successful gay bars, with particular favourites including Escaleras al Cielo (or, Stairway to Heaven) and the Café Cantante mi Habana music venue. On the street, you can see lesbian and gay groups sipping rum and letting the stereo blast at the midsection of the Malecon, near Vedado. Santa Clara is the most LGBT-friendly city on the island, and it celebrates that status with an annual gay and transvestite festival, held in mid May. It is also home to El Mejunje, a venue famous as a paradise of acceptance and fun, with flamboyant drag shows and wild parties of world renown.

Interestingly, the background to this shift is the 2011 relaxation of restrictions between Cuba and the US, which allowed an unprecedented influx of gay tourists from America. Their presence has reinforced an existing movement towards change (particularly through the influence of hit film Fresa Y Chocolate) and the result is clear. Nevertheless, it is important to remember just how recent this change has been – after all, social attitudes don’t morph as evenly and quickly as tourist companies would have you believe. There is a lot of fun to be had in Cuba, but it is still in a period of flux, so this is not somewhere you can expect to feel totally free just yet.

3RD APRIL 2013 // 19

DIARY

HOW ‘BOUT MEXICO? Morgan MacIntyre and Rory Tinman recount the ups and downs of their trip across Mexico, a country that is, it seems, as troubled as it is exciting and beautiful

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street food on the steps of a beautiful building, we chanced upon a love encounter: a young army-clad couple holding hands in a private spot, guns in holsters. First impressions were mixed.

Day 1-3 We arrived in Mexico City, home to over 17 million, in the wee hours of the morning. Exhausted and bleary eyed, we were taxied through quiet streets beginning to wake. Hours later, we emerged, slightly more rested, to protestors chanting through the square and police lined up in their droves at each corner, riot shields ready.

This was only aggravated by Justin Beiber coming to town. The navy-blue uniform of the police force stalked us but soon we were exposed to the real charm of the city’s protectors. Grabbing some

Day 4-6 We left the city for a change of pace, to the sleepy Patzcuaro. This colonial village sat among rolling hills overlooking a beautiful but elusive lake. Known for its plazas, time was easy to while away with a book in hand. We only paused during our time there to play card games and stock up on baked goods sold around the edges of the square. Couples dressed benches here and there, and every evening when soft light warmed the cobbled streets, people kissed, sang, and danced.

Patzcuaro’s charm had been lovely but always just out of reach. I opened the guide book at Zihuatanejo, where (spoiler alert) Red and Andy of The Shawshank Redemption reunited. Like everyone else I always dreamed that someday I might escape to join Red, working away on his boat, his chess board ready. So we waved goodbye to dreamy Patzcuaro with hopes of blue water and

ine months ago my mother slipped a magazine across the breakfast table. It was opened at a double page spread – a picture of a mother and her child moments after they were shot to death in Mexico. That was a few days before I booked my flight to Mexico City with a plan to travel for a month with my boyfriend. In the time leading up to my departure I was inundated with messages, posts, mails all from my mum and all containing horrific statistics and pictures of harrowing scenes. Mama told me not to go. Of course, I went.

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DIARY white sand.

Day 7-8 Life is not a movie. Towns grow, people modernize, boats pollute.

The centre of Zihuatanejo looked like any western holiday destination. The shops sold flip-flops, internet, burgers and bikinis. Red described what was then a small fishing village as “a warm place with no memory”. Nowadays it would do well to remember.

Day 9 As the sun rose and shone through the bus windows, we woke to scenes of devastation. In the last few days a storm had hit the Oaxacan coast. Trees were held up by electricity lines, homes and shops were destroyed. We were on the road to Mazunte, and as we drove on, the damage only got worse. The recommended accommodation in Mazunte was a cabana, traditionally built on the beach from wood and straw. Our hopes weren’t high.

Day 10-13 With no idea of the real extent of the damage, we wandered off the bus. Lost, tired and aimless, we bumped into two young locals who introduced themselves as “Eagle” and “Singing Crow”. Their beachfront hostel had been wrecked, save for a couple of cabanas just off the beach. There was no electricity or running water, but all we wanted was a roof over our heads and that was, by and large, what we got.

A couple of days passed, we swam in the rough sea and drank on doorsteps with the locals. We met Bob, an elderly yank who had seen it all and said that nothing was quite like it used to be.

Despite the destruction, spirits were high and people were working hard to repair their homes.

Day 14-17 It was hard to leave Mazunte. There was a heart-warming hopefulness about the place. But how could we begin to have the time of our lives while people were only rebuilding theirs.

The City of Oaxaca lay ahead of us. The prospect of a working toilet, a sturdy roof and cooler temperatures encouraged us as we were jostled up and down mountains, throwing up out of the windows. Oaxaca was a small city, where no buildings seemed to stand above the others. It was packed with art galleries, music halls and metropolitan cafés. The bustling markets sold everything from ponchos to gerbils. The ruins, “Monte Albán”, overlooked the city and offered an afternoon of exploration, climbing and a beautiful view. We spent longer than we had intended rambling through the streets here. Eventually, feeling too comfortable, we decided to move on. We bought a guitar for $30 and jumped on a bus for the jungle, Palenque, tomorrow.

However it was days before I was able to enjoy the shade of the Mayan ruin while swimming in the waters below that the cover picture promised. We were less than a mile from the site.

Day 21 At last we emerged, blinking into the light and soaring temperatures, to find not the mirage I had conjured up – sprawling ruins that climbed out of the sea – but finely manicured lawns that might be confused with a green on a championship golf course. The beaches on the outskirts of the ruins were beautiful, but with so many tourists, prices were well above average while food quality was well below.

We headed for Merida and weren’t looking back.

Day 22-25 We felt at home in Merida. Tequila was shared over candles with songs between locals and travellers. People swapped stories, tips and bug spray. We spent our days swimming in some of Mexico’s finest Cenotes (natural pools), while nights passed drinking wherever we found friends. We could have stayed forever but alas, we had to make our sorry way back to Mexico City airport and with five days to do it.

Day 27 Our last stop was San Cristobal de Las Casas, a colonial-style town, home to the 1994 Zapatista uprising. It had a European feel which either delighted or disappointed travellers. A large crafts market sat behind an ornate cathedral, where foreigners and Mexicans alike spent their pesos on hand-made trinkets. The Zapatista dolls were especially popular; they came complete with balaclava and rifle, and were brandished as a sign of change, or hope that the balance of power in Mexico will shift one day.

Day 29-31 Our last days in Mexico were spent sailing through the Sumidero Canyon, where crocodiles bathed beneath spider monkeys that adorned the trees above. Cool evenings were passed wandering around delicate streets dipped with colourful bunting. Once more, I began to think, “I could live here.” Then my mother called: “Three police men have been shot dead in Mexico City Airport.”

“I’m coming home.”

Watch Morgan’s music video on Mexico: http://bit.ly/P4lcAp

Day 17-20 For the first time in weeks we were among other travellers. Sleeping in a cabana in the jungle reserve, nowhere was the rainy season more apparent. At four o’clock everyday there was heavy rainfall. You could set your watch by it. We spent our days at waterfalls, jungles and ruins, and were normally back before four to spend some time reading and playing guitar in the rain.

Fallen victim to a bad chorizo torta, my first experience of Tulum was not as I imagined it to be.

The beautiful ruins of Tulum were included in almost all top-ten picks for Mexico. More often than not the ruins graced the front cover of guidebooks, so I was familiar with the picture: the ancient ruin standing tall in the white sand, framed by the Gulf of Mexico.

3RD APRIL 2013 // 21

FOOD

THE SOAKAGE AND THE SAUCE They've been a winning combination for as long as anyone can remember, and each have existed in some form or other for centuries, so Henry Longden and Declan Johnston explore the world for pizza and beer to show how they transcend borders as well as time

Pizza Brain

A SLICE OF THE INTERNATIONAL

Pizza Brain, Philadelphia Pizza has become so ubiquitous that we forget how much of a social experience it is. There is no better place to rekindle your excitement than the Pizza Brain pizzeria in Philadelphia, home of the world’s largest collection of pizza memorabilia and art. Pizza Brain, opened by artist Brian Dwyer after his 2010 pizza-themed art show “Give Pizza A Chance”, quickly garnered more attention and excitement than he could have dreamt of starting out. Talking to Brian it’s hard not be infected by his enthusiasm for the social aspect of pizza. The pizzeria combines community spirit with an artistic atmosphere. Brian regards this as one of the true successes of Pizza Brain, remarking, “How interesting it is that companies spend tens of millions of dollars every year to try and get people excited about pizza and we’ve done it with virtually no budget.” Pizza Brain is located in the suburb of Kensington that hasn’t had a restaurant in two decades. Pizza Brain epitomises what it is that pizza does: bring us together.

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Popolano’s Pizza, Kabul Pizza is the great normaliser. What could be more comforting after a bad day at work or a rainy commute home than to invite friends over, get pizza, and kick back with a movie? Well sometimes that just isn’t possible. Under the Taliban there were only two sit-in restaurants in Kabul and certainly no pizza. Popolano’s Italian restaurant became the first to fill that void in the early 2000s. Initially a hit among the large ex-pat community, Popolano’s is now more popular with Afghans. The classic Popolano’s pizza is chicken tikka – which takes the place of pork-based pepperoni – for 350 Afghanis (€5).

Things are done properly, with a thin, crusty base and real jalapenos to give some added bite. They’ve gone from strength to strength and now are Kabul’s first chain restaurant, with two branches.

Back Alley Pizza, Dawson City Dawson City, a stop off on the Top of the World Highway across the Yukon, was home to 40,000 people including Jack London during the Klondike Gold Rush. Today that number is 1,319. The closest town, Mayo (not named by some nostalgic Irish adventurers, but after the wandering Victorian circus midget Alfred Mayo) is 200km away. In terms of eating, options are thin on the ground. What you will find though are seriously tasty pizzas from Back Alley Pizza.

Owned by popular man-about-town Tony Dovas, who heard in 2002 about a potential gap in the Dawson City pizza market, it was built for free by a band of travelling apprentice German carpenters. If you’re ever passing through on your way down the Yukon River to see the Northern Lights, you can do no better than share a pizza with Dawson’s residents. They’re some of the warmest, funniest people out there.

Di Fara Pizza

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outh East Asian street sellers often use a phrase to describe knock-off merchandise: “Same-same but different.” Well beer and pizza are prime examples of the fact that no matter where you go in the world there are certain things that are same-same but different.

These classic comforts are enjoyed by millions of people, but everywhere breweries and pizzerias have their own little interesting and local takes on the original.

DRINK Di Fara Pizza, Brooklyn Sometimes the joy of food is in its artistry and craft. Domenico DeMarco has operated Di Fara Pizza for nearly a half century and has turned it into a pizza lover’s Mecca. Since the Italian immigrant went into business in 1964, the legend of Di Fara has spread far and wide. It is labelled “New York’s best pizza” practically annually.

Three of DeMarco’s seven sons now work there, although the old signore is still seen rolling dough and chopping fresh basil with a kitchen scissors over the pizzas and Sicilian pies. DeMarco’s may be the only place in New York to charge $5 a slice, but the place has not gotten too big for its boots. It still has only fifteen seats, linoleum floors, fluorescent lights and the same Baker’s Pride oven DeMarco bought when he opened. Expect a queue though – waiting two hours or more, is the norm rather than the exception. The wait will be worth it and you can use the time to re-enact the Soup Nazi queue from Seinfeld. Some pizza just comes to be the epitome of the town where it’s served.

Switzerland The Monsteiner Brewery lies resting between the silent, snow -touched Swiss Alps; the tranquil water that individually breaks the alpine silence is the key ingredient in the crystal-clear lager. The four friends who originally set it up as a private party homebrewoption have now truly exploited their natural surroundings and offer snow train trips, Nordic walking, snowshoeing and bobsled riding, topping the cake with a cheese-fondue finale at the end of the stressful day.

“THE MONSTEINER BREWERY LIES RESTING BETWEEN THE SILENT, SNOW-TOUCHED ALPS; THE TRANQUIL WATER THAT INDIVIDUALLY BREAKS THE ALPINE SILENCE IS THE KEY INGREDIENT IN THE CRYSTAL-CLEAR LAGER”

Murree Brewery

Pakistan The most obscure (and probably dangerous) place to start on any global brewery tour will be those countries where alcohol is banned by society and Sharia law. Historians attribute the invention of booze to the Middle East, with the official bans (resulting in 80 lashes of the whip) only arising in the 70s. However, Pakistan has a booming bootlegger scene, with reports that Beer Barons are easier to come by than a delivery pizza. The Murree Brewery is Pakistan’s only (official) brewery and was one of the first in Asia. Due to downsizing of potential customers in the 70s, they decided to concentrate on quality, and it is now the best Pakistani domestic pint you’ll put away.

Argentina Arriving in Ushuaia you become quickly aware that you are a horrifically long way from anywhere. Many you meet will board an icebreaker and take a 10 day tour of the sub-Antarctic; others will head north, the nearest city being 20 hours on a bus across the deepest of Patagonia’s plains. The southernmost city in the world is an isolated purgatory which has a distinct air of anticipation. Most people wait in one of the fine saloons facing the south-south Atlantic. Despite the cold, the locals have found a way to get the yeast activated and now run three microbreweries. The Beagle is the most interesting, with an IPA, Red Ale or Stout on offer; the flavours are deep, thick and warming.

Lakefront Brewery

CROSS-BORDER BOTTLES

USA Milwaukee, Wisconsin is home to that watery crap Miller lager, but the locals will hang their heads in shame if you think that’s the end of it. It is in fact the beer capital of America, offering a massive selection and history of the business. When at the bar, talk to locals and get some advice on the cities’ best, but if you’re going on a brewery tour it has to be Lakefront. Legend has it that back in the day it was an out of control drink-all-you-want. Today is almost as good: for your seven bucks you get an enthusiastic tour, souvenir pint glass, plenty of beer (“officially” four pints) and a polka dance.

On Fridays they also put on a “Fish Fry” which has been consistently voted the best in the city.

“MILWAUKEE, WINSCONSIN IS HOME TO THAT WATERY CRAP MILLER LAGER, BUT THE LOCALS WILL HANG THEIR HEADS IN SHAME IF YOU THINK THAT’S THE END OF IT. IT IS IN FACT THE BEER CAPITAL OF AMERICA” China Don’t like boozy Australians, corporate sponsorship or being ripped off? Then stay clear of Munich’s Oktoberfest and pop along to Qingdao for their attempt at a beer festival from 10th-25th August.

The local and national government co-fund the event, and foreigners are often showered with free-drink offers. It’s situated on a beach, so a late afternoon drunken nap is on the cards.

3RD APRIL 2013 // 23

TRAVEL

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ABOARD With the increasing prevalence of low-cost carriers, most international travel, these days is by air. However the train offers an interesting alternative which is exciting in its own way, as Alana Ryan discovered on her journey around Europe

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f you’ve ever been even slightly curious as to whether or not it’s possible to live on Lidl-brand Milky Ways and rich tea biscuit sandwiches on a month-long basis, then inter-railing is for you. Unlike the ubiquitous J1 --- the other typical studentfriendly jaunt abroad that inter-railing is often compared with --- inter-railing succeeds in allowing your inner child (who in this author’s experience is actually at risk of type 3 diabetes) to take the reins.

Gone are all the ramifications associated with a J1 and other working holidays, like personal responsibility, advance planning, and the need to source a house, a job, a phone, a bank account, and a social security number. Holidays aren’t for that kind of malarkey. Inter-railing merely requires that the individual has that aforementioned snack handy – although really any bargain bar will work – and an infant-like enthusiasm which refuses to be squashed by the rigidity of train schedules and sleep deprivation. While the J1’s merits lie in teaching perseverance and patience when faced with the trials and tribulations of adult life, inter-railing fosters a more hedonistic, Dionysian lifestyle philosophy. Don’t like a city? Move on. Not that happy with the gritty hostel? Grab your deposit and find another. Tired of your companions? Make new train buddies. And so on . . . After all, you’re only young once.

The above examples are not to trivialise the interrailing experience but merely to suggest that its virtue lies in its flexibility. Removed from the traditional start-date-end-datepredictable-middle-period version of a holiday, you’re free to explore and capitalise on the things which inspire and captivate you. For all those “50 Reasons to Stay in Ireland” lists, there’s really nothing like a bit of the Mainland. From Berlin to Budapest, there are countless galleries and museums to visit and most of them have decent student discounts. Highlights for this writer included the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, the Chagall Gallery in Nice, and Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam.

If the whole culture side of traveling isn’t your thing, the endless free walking tours – Sandemans New Europe Walking Tours being the perennial favourite – offer the chance to ex24 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

plore but with the added bonus of being accompanied by someone who, for all intents and purposes, may as well be a really knowledgeable, funny friend. The pub crawls attached to Sandemans also merit a mention. For roughly a tenner you’ll get as much free beer (or wine if you’re fussy) as you want for the first two hours, as well as the chance to meet a host of other travellers – and before you know it you’re all lost on a street corner at 4am, happy as Larry nonetheless. Late nights are usually accompanied by early starts, which can be quite tricky, but as long as you keep your sense of humour it will all run smoothly. My abiding memory is having a 9am hostel check out after only getting in a few hours before. On that occasion my “super-sound travelling companion” was intent on climbing up to Prague Castle in the searing heat before the midday train. Fun times as ever.

But, in truth, that’s the kind of day which makes interrailing so special. Again unlike the J1 – where you can expec to enjoy tired frat parties, days squandered on Skype, and working eight-hour shifts – inter-railing makes you move. Each morning, irrespective of the night before, you get up, go out and savour the sun and the sights. Then, if all comes to all, and your feet don’t think they can trek anymore, there are always numerous public parks allowing for a quick nap. Not a bad way to spend a summer.

Check out www.interrail.eu for more information

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TRAVEL

1. So you’ve taken the train from Moscow to Beijing? That’s not the Trans-Siberian --- that’s the Trans-Mongolian.

The real Trans-Siberian runs from Moscow to Vladivostok.

12. The last four days of the West-East journey, from UlanUde to Vladivostok are the longest and loneliest of the lot.

You could lose Ireland in Russian East Asia and never find it again. If your sense of scale hasn’t already been changed irrevocably, this will do the trick.

Meanwhile, if you have a bit more cash to spend during your summer, consider Ciaran McGrath's twelve thoughts on the Trans-Siberian Railway

2. You can do the whole thing in nine days. But that long on a train would drive you crazy. Get off the damn train once in a while. In fact, get off as often as you can. There’s a lot of Russia to see.

4. The scenery doesn’t change much from dawn until dusk.

The glimpses of Russian country life will keep you staring out the window though. Hayricks in fields too large for fences or hedges, and entire families stacked on motorbikes and sidecars.

5. Time is elastic on the TransSiberian. Everything runs on Moscow time, but the timetable is more aspirational than actual.

Make friends with the carriage attendant—the Provodnitsa—and she’ll keep you informed. Especially as to how long stops at stations will be—you don’t want to turn stretching your legs into getting stranded.

6. Learn to take your tea or coffee black. Hot water is free, but milk is nowhere to be found. Food can be pretty tricky. Quality in the dining car can be variable, and while platform snack stalls are convenient, there can be a “gastrointestinal” risk factor. Speaking of which . . .

TRANS-SIBERIAN

3. Speaking of which, if you’re going to take a train across Asia, why would you fly to and from either end? You can take a ferry to Korea or Japan, trains to Europe or a ferry to Scandinavia.

11. Russian travellers predominate the TransSiberian. But every so often you’ll run into other travellers --- swap tales and advice, then go your separate ways.

10. How many people do you know who have ever been to Vladivostok? It’s a western enclave at the end of the world, packed with Russian military and navy leftovers. Plus, the view from the top of the hill at sunset, over the massive Zolotoy Rog Bridge, is like nothing else on earth.

9. There’s no border crossing like a Mongolia-Russia border crossing. Stretch your legs, make friends with the stray cows and spend eight hours reading a good book while you wait for your passport to come back.

8. The Trans-Siberian is not technology friendly either.

You can leech off low-voltage plug sockets to top up your batteries now and then, but forget about reception outside cities. Get comfortable with a return to the pre-mobile age.

You might even enjoy it.

7. Don’t get too fussy about toilet facilities. A hole in the bottom of the carriage will have to do. Trying to keep clean using only a rickety sink on a four-day trip across Siberia is more of a struggle. Wet wipes are your friend.

3RD APRIL 2013 // 25

SEX/OP

THE ONE ON A "ROMANTIC" WEEKEND AWAY

HEY, DID THEY EVEN ASK FOR YOUR HELP? TRAVEL

FRIDAY “I’ve never been outside Wicklow,” she told me. I put our bags in the back of the car as she sat in the passenger seat playing Pokémon Red. “You’ve been to Dublin. You go to UCD.” She tutted. I started the car. “But that’s not very far away. I’ve never gone far away.” For someone so fascinated by the idea of travel, she spent quite a lot of time staring at Pokémon on the drive to Sligo. “It feels so foreign here,” she said when we pulled up at the hotel, before she took my hand off the gear stick and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re like a Lapras, ferrying me around safely.

“SHE WANTED TO HAVE SEX SOMEWHERE IN THE SHOWGROUNDS WHILE EVERYONE ELSE WAS WATCHING THE MATCH. SHE LOOKED AROUND FOR THE WHOLE FIRST HALF BUT THERE WAS NOWHERE GOOD. ‘THERE ARE TOO MANY PEOPLE HERE. YOU COULD HAVE AN ORGY IN THE TEA ROOM IN UCD WHEN A GAME IS ON AND NOBODY WOULD NOTICE.’”

We went to a pub called Connolly’s on the recommendation of a native, and she talked about Travellers. I’ve never met her father but she insists he is a Traveller lothario who goes around impregnating well-to-do women. “Look at me,” she said, “drinking pints in Sligo. Who’d have thought this settled Traveller would ever actually travel.” Despite March’s coldest rain, we drunkenly kissed in front of a chipper. “Chips make me randy,” she said. “It’s probably the stout,” I said. “Oh yeah, stout makes me mad randy.” She’s ravenous after alcohol. My body hurt as I fell asleep. “I’ll mark the comment card tomorrow,” she said. “‘Great beds for riding,’ I’ll say.”

SATURDAY She said she wanted to have sex somewhere in the Showgrounds while everyone else was watching the match. She looked around for the whole first half but said there was nowhere good. “There are too many people here. You could have an orgy in the tea room in UCD when a game is on and nobody would notice.” I was tired. We walked Ben Bulben earlier in the morning and she insisted we had sex “to spite that Joyce prick”.

“Yeats,” I had said, but I may as well not have said anything because she had my jeans and boxers down by that stage.

Mid-coitus, she wrapped her arms around the back of my neck, and legs around my waist. “Pick me up and fuck me against that tree,” she said. I did as I was told. “You’re so fucking strong, you big cunt, now fuck me like a Traveller.” She was only small, a few inches above five feet and less than half my weight. She had very weak bones and used to regularly break them in falls that might have been innocuous for others. There’s a name for the condition but I can never remember it.

We went back to Connolly’s after the match with a group of Sligo Rovers fans. She drank pints of Guinness like it was being rationed and I carried her back to the hotel later. She was so light.

Fields of Gold is playing softly as “malnourished” black babies wail “plaintively”. “Starving” children eye the camera with “doleful” eyes and mothers look on with “pained” expressions.

“Everyone” is a victim of HIV/AIDS and all girls are forced into female “genital mutilation”. Bono and Geldof enlighten us to the fact that it’s “a land where nothing ever grows”, where “no rain nor rivers flow”. Politics are universally “tribalist” in a climate where corruption is rife and dictators thrive. Culture is an “ahistorical, homogeneous” block. Everyone and everything is plainly “primitive”. The “antithesis of civilisation” – this is the Africa that pop culture and the media present.

Volunteering can be one of the best ways to move beyond the reductionism of conventional stereotypes in order to gain an appreciation of real people and their lives. At its best it enlightens privileged westerners to the complexities of people who have been trivialised to a foot note in the history of human development. In this juxtaposition of ethnicities, a spirit of commonality can be fostered which cuts across the discourse of us-versus-them.

“AT ITS WORST, VOLUNTEERING ABROAD CAN PERPETUATE A COLONIALISM WHICH DENIGRATES THE AGENCY OF PEOPLE WHO LIVE WITHIN THE COMMUNITY”

However, at its worst it can contribute to the perpetuation of a colonialism which denigrates the agency of people who live within the community. There’s something slightly unsettling about the idea of numerous white teenagers and young adults dropping into a village for a few weeks to disappear again within no time. Why is it that a group of eager eighteen year olds should be responsible for painting and refurbishing a school when there are numerous able-bodied local people who could accomplish the task in a more efficient and direct fashion?

I would argue that if enough research is put into the type of organisation, its history and programmes, volunteering for a full summer can actually be a very worthwhile experience. This is however contingent on the programme operating in such a way that the summer experience is but one aspect of an overall connection with the schools/orphanages/ hospitals at the centre of the issue. Any organisation worth its salt should actively involve members of the local community, drawing on their often superior knowledge as to best practice.

Cultural relativism may have its critics, but on a basic level it’s imperative that work is structured in such a way that it recognises and values the ideology of those who live there.

To my mind the person who reaps the majority benefit from the venture is the individual who participates, rather than the so-called “recipient”. A summer away can provide the impetus to educate oneself with respect to a country’s history, politics, society and culture, in a much more thorough approach than a cursory glance at a newspaper ever will. The connection may technically end with the flight home, but on some greater level it only begins there. Lastly, the international solidarity engendered by volunteerism affords us perhaps the first real opportunity in our lives to address the inequality of our fragile world in a spirit of partnership.

Alana Ryan

SEX OP “THE DRIVE BACK WAS LOVELY. THE BATTERIES RAN OUT IN HER GAMEBOY SO SHE HAD TO TALK TO ME”

SUNDAY We went to Mass in a local church. She was adamant that we went, “to see if it’s like mass at home”. It was. In the line for Communion, she asked if I would consider having sex in a church. All I could do was shush her.

The drive back was lovely. The batteries ran out in her Game Boy so she had to talk to me. “Thanks Lapras,” she said.

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DIARY

A SOVIET SOJOURN Declan Johnston documents his fascinating trip through Abkhazia, the tiny state on the edge of the Black Sea, where he finds himself in the highest corridors of government, and plays some Stalinist snooker

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he map of the world, with all of its neat lines, colours and names, is indelibly framed in our mind’s eye. What interests me about maps though are the areas that defy classification: the shaded regions, the dotted lines, and the names in brackets.

Those spots that represent ambiguity and uncertainty on the canvas we have covered the world with; little reminders that we’re human and entirely incapable of coming to any sort of satisfactory conclusion about anything. Thus, when I bought a giant map of Eurasia to hang on my apartment wall, the tiny republic of Abkhazia lying on the eastern shore of the Black Sea caught my eye.

When the Soviet Union broke up in 1991, it produced a glut of tiny pseudo-states. In Moldova the province of Transnistria determined to go it alone, while the Nagorno-Karabakh Republic proclaimed independence from Azerbaijan. In Georgia both the mountainous region of South Ossetia and the coastal province of Abkhazia decided to create their very micro states. Abkhazia is recognised by only six other countries, three of whom are islands in the Pacific Ocean. In 2008 the President of Georgia Mikheil Saakashvili decided to invade Abkhazia against the wishes of Russia, hoping that NATO would weigh in behind him and begin World War III. As it happened, NATO seemed somewhat less keen on this idea, and Russia moved in to protect its tiny ally. This means that nowadays

Abkhazia isn’t exactly a tourist hub, despite once being one of the most popular resorts in the Soviet Union. But three friends and I decided we were going to seek some sun, Soviet style.

To get to Abkhazia, we would have to start in Moscow. You can’t just fly from there to Abkhazia either; you have to fly to somewhere near Abkhazia. Sochi in southern Russia was the most logical choice. A relatively big city gearing up to host the Winter Olympics in 2014, it is just an hour from the border. And so our plan came into being.

Day 1 A beautiful Russian dawn, complete with hanging mist and glowing orange skies, generated some serious wanderlust as our taxi sped along the open road. We breezed through Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport, picking up our handwritten boarding passes and a €2 breakfast of caviar and coffee. Airborne, I drifted into sleep and only opened my eyes when we hit tarmac a couple of hours later. A quick scan of the airport from my window. Very small. Wait. What did that say? Gelendzhik? Where the hell was Gelendzhik?

A muffled announcement informed us that Sochi airport was closed due to fog and wished us a happy stay in beautiful Gelendzhik.

The doors opened and the confused passengers were ushered off the 3RD APRIL 2013 // 27

plane, into the airport car park. My Finnish companion found a decent bench to fall asleep on. It was that famous Nordic calm at work. My English companion and I studied the guidebook frantically. A quick look at Gelendzhik: not exactly a glowing review. A bus scrambled by the airline materialised to take us the rest of the way to Sochi. A glance at the map showed that a relatively short jaunt down the Black Sea coast awaited us.

As it turns out though, the road between Gelendzhik and Sochi seemed to be a homage to a blindfolded drunk’s walk home.

Feeling more than a little queasy, we were allowed one toilet break in a rundown fuel station. Our Finnish friend, being a man who was wise in the ways of the world, managed to blag some sandwiches from the dour-faced attendant. 40 roubles a pop for a slice of cheese on white bread. The rest of us followed suit. “Sandwich please.” “60 roubles.” “What?” “80 roubles.” A look outside over long stretches of isolated mountain confirmed our fears. Sigh. “Fine, I’ll have two.”

“OK. 200 roubles.” Arriving in Sochi, a swim alleviated the day’s travel-induced stresses. A lone dolphin even temporarily joined the group. As the sun set, it seemed the world slipped away with it.

Day 2 Joy all round the breakfast table. Today we would finally enter Abkhazia. The bus trip this time was uneventful, but rainy. We sailed through Russian immigration while admiring the flashy modern border post, all glass and steel. The Abkhazian side was somewhat less glamorous. We approached the shed that everyone else seemed to be congregating around. We handed in our passports. This prompted furious discussion in Abkhazian, which isn’t the most audibly soothing or reassuring of languages.

Eventually we were ushered into a cabin. Sat at the desk in this makeshift office was a man in military regalia who had been harnessing cigarette smoke to convert the room into some sort of nicotine sauna. He motioned us in and poured some tea while he copied our names silently into a ledger. Eventually he got up, gave us a card with a handwritten address, and informed us that our visas could be picked up there on arrival in Sukhumi, the capital.

On leaving I caught sight of a portrait of the delightfullynamed President Bagapsh on the wall. I couldn’t be sure we hadn’t actually just met President Bagapsh – the resemblance was uncanny.

We decided it must have been his brother. We all piled into an awaiting bus and made for Sukhumi. While a lot of the country had been 28 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

deserted following the war, it was still pleasingly picturesque.

An hour or so later, after a relaxing drive through lush green forests, past sea vistas and over art deco bridges from a more prosperous time, we found ourselves in downtown Sukhumi. First, we needed to make ourselves legal. The building indicated by the address on the card had a guard hut outside it. This seemed gratuitous at the very least.

Someone else had left some old crockery, a tattered suit, and radio parts next to the hut on a chair, in the hope someone would want them. “Sorry, is this the Ministry for Foreign Affairs?” “How should I know? Sergei! Is this the Ministry for Foreign Affairs?” Sergei, who looked a bit clueless with his shirt untucked and hat at a jaunty angle, appeared shrugging his shoulders and said, “Yeah . . . I guess so.”

We were waved in. As it turned out, the entire government operated in this four-storey building. We found the Ministry for Foreign Affairs next door to the Ministry for Finance. There were three employees – the minister, the deputy minister, and the secretary. The minister turned out to be charming and he chatted away as he produced our visas from a printer under his desk. He wrote his phone number on the back of a piece of torn notepaper and told us, “If you have any trouble, just give me a call.”

Now that’s service. Fáilte Ireland take note.

We thanked the esteemed minister for his help and he showed us out the back door, which led into the car park of the “presidential palace”. Fairly sure we saw the President (or possibly his brother) smoking in the doorway. He had three Mercedes, one hatchback (evidently a pragmatic man too), and an old Soviet Lada with a precariously hanging bumper in the presidential fleet. We waved and walked out onto the seaside promenade. This was obviously once a thriving holiday resort in Soviet times. Now it all looked rather forlorn, like a dystopian vision of a totalitarian Blackpool. A few men played backgammon, one fished by himself, and an old lady sold tasty piping-hot coffee from a kiosk.

Paint flaked everywhere, bullet holes and graffiti covered abandoned cafes, and the pier looked dangerously rickety. Over Amra Café, an iron dolphin which had once straddled the entrance was now falling at a jaunty angle, threatening to throw itself into the sea. But we had priorities, we needed a place to stay. We flagged down a car and offered him a few roubles if he could find us a spot to stay the night. Our man left us at an unmarked garage door and told us to knock, before driving off. Hmm. Our fears were unfounded as above the garage there was a small but clean “guesthouse”. We paid a nominal fee and set off to enjoy a supper of fresh fish by the seaside, washed down with Abkhazian wine, all under a fluttering national flag. The good life.

“THE FOREIGN MINISTER WROTE HIS PHONE NUMBER ON THE BACK OF A PIECE OF TORN NOTEPAPER AND TOLD US, ‘IF YOU HAVE ANY TROUBLE, JUST GIVE ME A CALL.’ NOW THAT’S SERVICE. FÁILTE IRELAND TAKE NOTE”

DIARY although, to my disappointment, it was shut on Tuesdays.

Novy Afon is too small to stay in, so we decided to make tracks for the slightly larger, but less attractively named Gagra. We rented rooms for about €4 from a family with a small vegetable patch near the seaside. We stocked up in the local grocery store with bread, cheese, sausage and beer, and sat out the rest of the evening on the stony beach overlooking the sea. I decided I really could get used to this.

Day 3 It was up early and to the shore for a swim. We sat on the stony beach for a while after gazing out over the sea. It all came to an unhappy conclusion when a terrifyingly Soviet bulldozer started to trundle in our general direction. We decided to wait it out – surely this guy would move for the only four people on the entire beach.

Nope. We had to gather our towels and clothes as the rogue driver cleared the beach of tourists. Odd.

We needed to move on from Sukhumi today, so I headed to the market to buy a map. Eventually I found a newsstand. It was run by three older gentlemen fairly well on for this time in the morning. They were delighted to meet a tourist and pulled me up a chair. The man with the bottle looked at me and said he’d sell me the map if I had a small tipple. He passed me a shot glass and then started to pour the homemade vodka out all over the table. I simply slid the glass underneath the errant stream.

We were soon back on the road, looking for the small town of Novy Afon. We were deposited at an enormous bus shelter that looked like it was designed by a committee of four year olds and 90s ravers. It was a giant, concrete, multi-coloured clam. The town was less exciting, and seemed to consist of three very quietlooking shops. A battered grey Mercedes saloon screeched up at our feet. An old lady hung out the door and yelled, “Guys, do you want a lift?” We politely declined. Shrugging her shoulders, she reached into the back seat and pulled out some dog food, which she then opened and poured out all over the road.

A dog came bounding over the town green to lap it up while she watched, puffing on a cigarette and smiling. It seemed like a regular appointment.

We wandered off and into one of the shops, which turned out to house the world’s largest collection of Abkhazian-themed tat.

I was delighted. Postcards, T-shirts, baseball caps, flags, beachwear, fridge magnets . . . you named it, they had it with an Abkhazian flag on it. I bought a fridge magnet, bumper sticker and an “Abkhazia – country of soul” T-shirt. Novy Afon started to look up after this. There was a peaceful Orthodox monastery which was covered in beautiful frescos and capped with golden cupolas. There were old ladies selling all sorts of homemade wares (we bought a jar of chili and some homemade peach cognac) and there was a fort which offered a spectacular view over the seashore. Novy Afon also has the world’s deepest cave,

Day 4 After the most relaxing swim yet on a deserted beach with glass-still water, we struck out on the final day of our travels through Abkhazia.

We had heard in Novy Afon that Stalin had a holiday home in Abkhazia that you could visit. After making enquiries all over town, we eventually found that there was another one on the Russian side of the border on the way back to Sochi. And so we gathered our memories and Abkhazian wine and left the “Seven Star Country” behind us.

On the bus back to Sochi, we hopped off just short of town at the site of Stalin’s dacha. The man himself was from Georgia so liked to holiday in the region. It was as lavish as you might have expected, but the most interesting part was the billiard room. You might wonder whether dictators are at all dictator-like in their everyday life. Well I would point you in the direction of Stalin’s snooker table. There were two cues. One was a lot heavier than the other. It was only after a while that you noticed too that the ball actually only physically fitted in four of the six holes. Having had our fill of tyrannical snooker, we made for Sochi train station and the end of our own Soviet package holiday. It was difficult to imagine more of an unadulterated, uncommercialised and unique touristic experience out there.

It isn’t every day you wake up in a non-country.

“A DANGEROUSLY RICKETY PIER AND ABANDONED CAFES COVERED IN GRAFFITI AND BULLET HOLES . . .”

3RD APRIL 2013 // 29

Taking place in the mountain region of Nagano near Tokyo, this dance festival is relatively new and relatively small (a capacity of around 7000).

Seeing acts such as Of Montreal and XXYYXX in a secluded venue somewhere in the snowy peaks of Japan is a very surreal but exciting prospect indeed.

TESTY FESTY

Clinton, Montana 31st July - 4th August $16 testyfesty.com For those of you who are not familiar with the Rocky Mountain Oyster, it is a delicacy of deep fried bull testicle. This festival celebrates all things cow bollock with tasting plates and competitions for best balls. For the more faint hearted there is a gift shop which sells various testicle themed paraphernalia, bands and various games and competitions. Even if you are not planning on heading to the event, a look at the blurb on the website is a must. The event is over 21s only.

Cathedral Quarter Festival Belfast 2nd-12th May cqaf.com Expect great comedy across the board with street and visual art Life Festival Belvedere House, Mullingar 24th-26th May €138 Weekend Campsite Ticket A celebration of electro by the lake

Nagano, Japan 1st-2nd June taicoclub.com

Galway Arts Festival Galway 15th-28th July galwayartsfestival.com Grizzly Bear, classical music and theatre

TAICO CLUB

Celtronic Festival Derry 26th-30th June celtronicfestival.com £30-40 for 5 days Ireland’s answer to Sonar

The biggest games convention in the world, this isn’t just for manufacturers and developers. It also allows the public to get their hands on the latest and greatest gaming offerings, including plenty that haven’t yet arrived on shelves. Crowds of over a quarter of a million might seem offputting, but you can hope that it’ll be organised with typical Teutonic efficiency (whether or not that’s an appealing thing these days is another matter).

Mountains to Sea Book Festival Dun Laoighaire, Co. Dublin 3rd-8th September mountainstosea.ie Packed programme including Howard Jacobsen

Cologne, Germany 21st-25th August From €6.50 gamescom-cologne.com

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THE FESTIVAL GUIDE

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SEATTLE FILM FESTIVAL

FIVE FESTIVALS IN A FEW WORDS

Young and Foodish London All Summer youngandfoodish.com Top chefs experimenting with plain food

Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3) Los Angeles 11th-13th June www.e3expo.com The next generation of consoles revealed

Seattle, Washington 16th May - June 9th $6 - $12 siff.net Seattle is the most highly-attended film festival in the United States, with more than 150,000 visitors annually. It lasts 25 days and offers a wide range of films including both premieres and classics. The lineup includes more than 270 features and 185 shorts. Its 2013 Women in Cinema event is a highly-anticipated event this year. This festival will open with German Hannah Arendt, close with Ginger & Rosa, and will feature a number of films by female directors from this year including Lore and Midnight’s Children. Tickets are reasonably priced, between $6 and $12, depending on the screening. There are student discounts available (which are even better if you become a SIFF member) as well as Early Bird specials, passes and packages.

Edinburgh International Film Festival 19th-30th June Tickets from £7.50 www.edfilmfest.org.uk Diverse, all-encompassing programme available to all

Nag Panchami Snake Festival Maharastra, India July – August Snake Charmers, snakes in pots, SNAKES

5 Things To Consider - Go coffee tasting, avoid starbucks and head down to Slumptown Coffee Roasters - Head out of town and discover the beautiful wilderness beyond - Tuck into some Asian food, try the Tamarind Tree in the International District - The Pike Place Market is the oldest continuously running market in the country – watch the fishmongers throwing the fresh salmon - The cheapest and best clam chowder is Ivar’s which you’ll find around the city

Herräng Dance Camp 29 June – 3 August One-week full programme €500 www.herrang.com This one time, at dance camp . . .

FIVE FESTIVALS IN A FEW WORDS

10th PAX Prime Seattle, Washington 31st August - 2nd September $65 Three Day Pass prime.paxsite.com Grassroots gaming available to all

Sziget Budapest, Hungary 5th-12th August Earlybird €199 www.sziget.hu Amazing music and Hungarian intrigue

Lyon Biennale of Contemporary Art Lyon, France 12th September - 29th December www.biennale-de-lyon.org Global contemporary art with a strong narrative

Foligno Medieval Jousting Festival Perugia, Italy 12th June, 12th September Local men jousting and pretending to be knights

Annecy Film Festival Annecy, Southeast France 10th-15th June www.annecy.org Animation films by the lake and idyllic ambience

VENICE BIENNALE Venice, Italy 1st June - 24th November From €14 labiennale.org

This is, arguably, THE most well-known and prestigious festival of the visual arts in the world. The title chosen this year is The Encyclopedic Palace, referring to an idea patented in 1955 by Marino Auriti for a museum that would house all worldly knowledge. Over eighty countries will set up their national pavilions, eight of them, including the Republic of Kosovo, for the first time. Among the most famous names are the likes of Cindy Sherman, Charles Ray and Tacita Dean, while Ed Atkins, currently on view in Dublin’s own Temple Bar Gallery and Studios, is one of the young artists confidently holding their front.

ROADKILL COOK-OFF Marlington, West Virginia 28th September

Cook offs are a big part of the American summer. And this is one with a bit of a difference. Competitors must utilize game which could in theory have been road kill. This includes raccoons, possum and deer. Last year’s winners included Stuffed Bear-Ron-A-Soar-Us and something called South of The Border Nachos, which seems like a kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of dish. However, if you find yourself in Pocahontas County in September you’d be mad to miss it.

SYDNEY FILM FESTIVAL

Sydney, Australia 5th-16th June Flexipass $140 sff.org.au If you’re heading down under this summer, bond with the locals at the Sydney Film Festival, which celebrates Australian and New Zealand productions in its 60th anniversary. The 12-day festival screens a huge range of films including documentaries, short films, animation and features from around the world. It takes place in venues across the city and there are free exhibitions, talks, panels, parties, live music, performances and DJs in the Mitsubishi Theatrette to avail of. Last year’s prize winner of $60,000 was Greek drama Lore. Single tickets available from May, flexipasses available online now.

WHITE NIGHTS FESTIVAL

FIVE FESTIVALS IN A FEW WORDS

Secret Garden Party Cambridgeshire, England 25th-28th June From £170 www.secretgardenparty.com Hippy art and music, undeniably fun

Melt! Festival Ferropolis, Germany 19th-21st July Weekend Pass €119 www.meltfestival.de Diverse music in an abandoned quarry

St Petersburgh, Russia 24th May - June 14th wnfestival.com

This is an arts and music extravaganza held in St Petersburg every year to celebrate that fact that there is on average 19 hours of daylight in the summer. The festival includes ballet, opera and classical music, all held in the magnificent theatre of the city. There is also an annual celebration of the end of the school year with parades and fireworks called the Scarlet Sails.

Add to this carnivals and street art and performances and you have 10 days of mayhem on your hands. Try not to get caught out by the raising of various bridges around the Russian city. You could end up being stranded on one of the islands at 3 in the morning.

5 Things To Consider - Go to one of the cities many Banyas (or Sauna suites) and endulge with private sauna, pool table, bar and plunge pool. Avoid Fridays when the mafia normally turn up - After shows go to Dostoyevsky’s local, now suitably called The Idiot, all orders will arrive with a complementary shot of Vodka - In Russia beer was only classed as alcohol this year, so don’t be too worried if you see people casually walking with a can in hand - Check out the schedule for the Mariinsky Theatre where the festivals top ballets and opera will be housed in splendour - You’ll get ripped off if you use an international ticket vendor – just turn up and try your luck

Lasseters Camel Cup Alice Springs, Australia 13th July www.camelcup.com.au A race of camels with Aussies on their backs

Maker Faire 18th - 19th May (California) 21st-22nd September (New York) Weekend Pass $35 www.makerfaire.com Tech, art and craft; an education for all

Nice Jazz Festival Nice, France 8th-12th July Daypass €25 www.nicejazzfestival.fr Jazz evenings in the warm and beautiful French town

THE FINAL SAY Neasa

Conneally

“THEY THROW YOU TO THE MERCY OF THE PERSON WHO DECIDES IF YOUR LUGGAGE PASSSES MUSTER AND WHETHER IT FITS INTO THEIR CAGE OF DOOM”

passes muster and whether it fits into their cage of doom. You can actually see the disappointment written all over their faces when you succeed and they lose out on hefty check-in fees.

Once on board, you are subjected to the eye-melting yellow and blue colour scheme, which makes it more akin to being on the 46A than on a jet aeroplane. The seats are a particular joy, still warm from passengers on the previous flight and absolutely tiny, with all “perks” such as the front seat pocket for your magazine completely stripped away.

Throughout the flight, stewards pace up and down the aisles, shilling paninis, scratch cards and electronic cigarettes, which just adds to the atmosphere; it’s like being on Henry Street on the run up to Christmas.

When you do finally land, you are subjected to that awful trumpeting fanfare that your plane has actually arrived on schedule, which is basically them just congratulating themselves for doing the job you paid them to do.

Maybe it’s because I’m a massive snob, but I am an out and proud Aer Lingus fan. I love their snazzy green outfits, reading yet more interviews with Colin Farrell in Cara Magazine and the gleaming cathedral to the Celtic Tiger that is Terminal 2. I cannot think of anything worse than Aer Lingus being bought out by O’Leary; luckily the European Commission seems to think the same, who have blocked the bid on the grounds of competition concerns.

In defence of Ryanair, they have opened up European travel to everybody and, yes, have brought some healthy competition to the market, with the more traditional national carriers lowering their prices in response. Although essentially acting as the cattle truckers of the sky, they are good at what they do. As long as you play by their rules, make sure that you do all the hard work, and realise that your ticket fare doesn’t cover the staff smiling at you, you’ll eventually get to your destination and that’s when the true adventure can begin.

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When it comes to travel, and indeed life, how you get there is just as important as where you’re going. The days of glamorous, luxury air travel are long gone, with silver service and champagne distant concepts when you’re standing in your socks in security, hoping that all your liquids are adequately decanted into 100ml bottles inside little plastic bags, and that you haven’t accidentally brought along a dangerous weapon like a pair of tweezers or a bottle of water. Although some pains of modern air travel are universal, no matter who you fly with, there is one airline in particular that just seems to go out of its way, and actively derives pleasure from making your life hell.

Of course I’m talking about Ryanair, everybody’s favourite low cost, low comfort carrier that will whisk you quickly to your destination (or about 100km away from your destination) as long as you manage to successfully book a ticket from their inexplicably hard-to-use website. Famed as much for their loudmouth CEO who is as polarising as his business methods, Michael O’Leary himself is notorious for attentionseeking stunts and causing as much controversy as possible.

His latest wheezes include threatening to charge for using toilets on board and installing standing-only sections on planes.

The Ryanair “experience” all starts with the boarding pass fandango, where you will be charged through the nose if you haven’t already checked in online and brought your own piece of paper, because God forbid that you should actually receive a service that you’ve paid for.

Once you’ve successfully made it through the XRay machine, you then walk to your gate, which is so far away you basically end up walking to Louth. Upon arrival you must immediately start queuing, as there is no assigned seating or guaranteed space in the overhead lockers, which always adds a frisson of excitement to the start of your holidays.

You are then thrown to the mercy of the person who decides whether your luggage

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