So…what better time than now for a reader survey! I want to kick The Professional Hobo into a new gear, and in order to serve you best, I need to know a little more about who you are and what you need. This survey will invaluably help me do just that, so I can deliver on what you ask for.

At just seven questions, I’ve tried to keep it short and relatively painless.

And if simply loving my Site isn’t enough of an impetus to complete the survey, here’s the golden carrot: I’m giving away a free signed copy of 10,001 Ways to Live Large on a Small Budget to one lucky reader who completes this survey, shipped free of charge to wherever you are. The winner will be randomly chosen in just over a week’s time on Monday, March 15^th and notified by e-mail. All you have to do to enter is complete the survey!

Please click here to take the survey.

PS – To my e-mail subscribers: you are very important to me! Please click through to take the survey. Thanks!

Related posts:

1. While I Travel, Do I Sell my House, or Rent it Out? (Reader Questions Answered)
2. I am a Published Author!
3. Where We Live

Hello folks! Before we see where I’ve had my words of wisdom published in the last month, I’d like to give you a little update as to my short-term travel itinerary: on Sunday I’ll be on a plane to New Zealand for a whirlwind 10 day tour of the North Island for a nationally syndicated television show called Alive. For their first episode, they had Tim Ferriss (among others) on, so I feel pretty honoured to be invited to tag along for a week and a half of solid adventure. I’ve seen the itinerary, and it’s extensive!

After that, I’ll return to Australia, where I’ll formulate and announce my next round of travel plans. This year promises to be a busy one!

And now that we have that out of the way, please enjoy this roundup of published pieces. There are lots in the hopper…I’ll keep you posted, of course.

Wise Bread

How to Avoid Getting Your Credit Card Canceled

Your credit card could be canceled this year, and quite possibly without any notice either. Don’t get stuck with a canceled card at the cashier; read this article and arm yourself with information and advice to avoid having your credit card canceled just when you need it the most.

Financial IQ Test: How Healthy is Your Budget?

Budgeting is one of the hardest things for any of us to do well – and stick to. It requires discipline, attention to detail, and persistence. But it doesn’t have to be impossible; and effective budgeting can actually be quite empowering. Here’s a Financial IQ Test to help you determine how healthy your approach to budgeting is, with some resource articles to help you improve on identified areas of weakness.

AMEX Open Forum

18 Ways to Save and Go Green in the Office

The office kitchen is an often used yet underutilized resource for you and your employees. It is a gathering place, and one that provides a sense of home in an otherwise sterile work environment. It is also a place of consumption — not only the consumption of food, but also the unnecessary consumption of resources. Create an office kitchen that is environmentally friendly, and not only will you save money, but you will also lead by example and inspire employees to take these sound practices into their own homes. Here are some easy ways you can go green in the office kitchen, and save a few bucks while you’re at it.

Car Sharing for Businesses: Save Money and Go Green

Car sharing is taking off among individuals in urban centers who need a car but prefer not to own one. This trend is also gaining popularity with businesses, which use car sharing services to replace their in-house fleet, or to provide workplace and employee-use vehicles that are otherwise unaffordable. Commercial car sharing can even increase workplace productivity, save money, and of course – help the environment.

Related posts:

1. Roundup: February
2. Roundup: October 16th-November 15th
3. Roundup: December 1st-15th

Canberra (pronounced more like “Can-bra” with the emphasis on the “can”), gets a bad rap.

“Why would you want to go there?” was a question I had to answer more than once about visiting Australia’s capital city. Most of the people asking this question were Aussies themselves. For many tourists, Canberra doesn’t even make their radar screen.

And although Canberra may not be home to as much excitement and variety as Melbourne or Sydney, I quite enjoyed my time there.

Of course, a good chunk of what made Canberra the awesome place that it was, was the incredible hospitality and company of my Canadian friend who now lives there – whose name is also Nora. Wait – it gets weirder: we discovered while visiting together that we actually went to the same performing arts high school, and we were both drama majors. Thank you, Mr. Yates, for being the cue that we may have shared the same science teacher!

(Cue in Twilight Zone music now)…

Okay, strange coincidences aside, here are a few miscellaneous observations about Canberra, Australia’s capital city:

Canberra is very much a planned city. Canberra’s creator (Walter Burley Griffin) scribbled out the initial design on a cotton cloth in 1912 as part of a design competition. He won – and now his garden city design is enjoyed by Canberra’s 341,000 residents.

Canberra is very green. Griffin intentionally designed wide avenues and tree-lined streets to make Canberra a nature-filled city. Practically in the middle of it all are two mountains: Mount Majura and Mount Ainslie, both of which (despite the radio towers and weather stations on top) are havens for nature enthusiasts and nature itself.

Canberra is very…round. The main roads of Canberra are arranged in concentric circles. This wreaked havoc with my internal compass, and I’ll admit I spent most of our time in Canberra completely lost and wondering which way was North. .

Rush hour lasts about 20 minutes. And even in the height of traffic, it doesn’t take you much longer than 20 minutes to get anywhere in the city. It has the feel of a big city and small town at the same time.

Canberra is not very easy to get to, or from. Sure, traveling there from Sydney is a non-event with buses and trains regularly running the four hour trip. But traveling from Canberra to Melbourne – the next closest major city – (without flying) involves an 11 hour journey consisting of multiple buses and/or trains. When I commented on this idiosyncrasy, Nora (not me, the other one) drew parallels to Canada’s capital city of Ottawa. There seems to be a method to the madness of keeping a capital city a little bit out of the way, for security reasons if nothing else.

While at the bus station near downtown (if you can call it that), I found “Rudd Street”, presumably named after Australia’s current Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd (who as you may recall, I go way back with). Considering this was a fairly centrally located street that must have been recently named, I have to wonder how many other unnamed streets there are in prominent locations, waiting for a Prime Minister to come along and bless them with their identity.

Despite what seems like a high cost of living (I was shocked at real estate and rental prices), Canberra is a very “liveable” city. Outdoor and sport enthusiasts appreciate the nature trails and mountains (both in the city limits and very close at hand), it is easy to get to most places (with a car), and it is safe and friendly.

All the museums have free admission. The only exception to this rule is when a famous exhibit is being showcased, in which case a special fee is levied. I think this is a fabulous feature, for both locals and visitors, and I wish that Ottawa’s plethora of interesting museums could follow suit.

And interesting museums, indeed! I only saw a tiny smattering of what Canberra’s museums have to offer, but it is extensive. The War Memorial Museum in particular gets great accolades.

Where Canberra gets its bad rap is because it lacks nightlife and is (not my words) “full of stuffy public servants”. Alas, most of the people I met were fantastic, and I didn’t go out drinking at night, so I can’t truly verify or nullify either of these accusations. What I do maintain, however, is that Canberra is a very liveable city, and a great addition to my personal Australian landscape.

Related posts:

1. The Manly Scenic Walkway, and How to Catch a Bus in Sydney
2. Australian Seagulls, Spider Bites, and Blue Mountains
3. Big Island Differences

First, we took advantage of a gorgeous day (the first that wasn’t rainy in ages) to visit the Blue Mountains. Although they weren’t particularly blue (they’re supposed to have a blue-ish hue to them from all the eucalyptus oil in the air, but it wasn’t apparent on this day – likely because of previous rain), they were indeed beautiful.

One of the towns nestled around the Blue Mountains is Leura, with a small population and a huge collection of boutique shops perfect for window shopping. Stop at the Red Door Café for a wonderful meal if you’re in the area.

On the second consecutive beautiful day, we took advantage of the sunshine and visited Wollongong to enjoy prawns on the beach and to meet some Aussie seagulls. Wollongong has miles upon miles of surf-friendly beaches, and after school, it isn’t uncommon to see hoards of students in their uniforms headed for the beach with schoolbags on their backs and surf boards/boogie boards under their arms.

If you have seen the movie Finding Nemo, you’ll identify with the world-wide call of the seagull: Mine, Mine, Mine! Well here at Wollongong while we enjoyed our delicious prawns, the Aussie seagulls crowded us, looking for handouts in typical seagull-style. But this time, instead of Mine, Mine, Mine, I’m sure I heard their own individual Aussie incantation: Mate, Mate, Mate!

No, really. I did.

And if that wasn’t amusing enough, the oversized and gangly pelican that eventually joined our mob of seagulls looking for food rounded out the fun!

And now, for the spider part of the story.

As you may recall, I’ve not had the best of luck with critters that bite and sting. In my first two weeks in Hawaii, I managed to get attacked by centipedes twice, the second onslaught rendering me incapable of walking for a short time.

So with my luck and now being amongst the highest concentration of icky spiders and snakes of anywhere in the world, I had wondered how I’ve survived this long in Australia largely unscathed. Now, I don’t have to wonder any more.

One night, a spider – or spiders – must have decided was I just too delicious for words, because I awoke in the morning with dozens (quite literally) of bites. 37 bites to be exact. Although I don’t know what kind of spider it was, I’m willing to bet it wasn’t poisonous since I’m not dead yet.

But each day since then has been an adventure in discovering how these bites have mutated. First, it was the standard symptoms: itching and swelling. But a week later when I’d have suspected they would have largely dissipated, they were instead mutating in gruesome and slightly painful ways.

Fevers and other internal physical symptoms aside (!), these bites were hours of entertainment. Some of the bites resembled blood blisters, while others turned hard and became raised from the skin. The heat, redness, and swollen hard skin radiating from each bite rounded out the look.

Still thinking this was all quite a bit of fun (indeed, I have a perverse idea of what “fun” is), I showed my war wounds to a few Aussies, who highly suggested I seek medical attention – immediately.

(The pictures below were taken when I was still amused by them, the day before I asked for advice. Just imagine those bites as bigger, darker, and all over my body, and you get the idea!)

Not having Australian medical coverage and having dealt with travel insurance and hospital visits not once, but twice since leaving Canada, the thought of going to yet another hospital sent shivers down my spine. After the Dengue fever fiasco I had resolved that unless I was on the brink of death, I would not file any insurance claims and would pay cash for whatever medical attention I needed.

So instead of going to the hospital, I went to the pharmacy to get a second opinion.

And they told me to go to the hospital.

Defeated, I asked my host if she would like to show me a part of Canberra that not many tourists get to see: the inside of an emergency room. But we didn’t get very far; after being told by ER administration that it would cost $400 for the simple privilege of seeing a doctor (tests and incidentals are extra), I promptly replied that I’d rather die from the bites and reeled out of there.

Instead we found a medical clinic which charged a quarter of that amount, and 20 minutes later I walked out with a prescription for some antibiotics that would kick the heck out of whatever infection seemed to have a hold on me and was now making my body turn an interesting purple colour.

Days later, there is little evidence of the 37 bites of which I was so proud. And truthfully, I’m not even sure they were spider bites, although it’s an educated guess based on previous (isolated) spider bites. My body continues to be pillaged by antibiotics, but overall I survived the incident largely unscathed. I’m actually kind of disappointed I don’t have some grotesque scar to show as a war wound!

Sometimes they say the best travel adventures are mis-adventures. With a smile on my face, I can now say I’ve been attacked by Australian spiders (or something like it; let’s just say they were spiders, shall we? It sounds better for effect) and survived the incident. On to the next adventure – hi ho!

Related posts:

1. Centipede Bites: The Worst Hawaii has to Offer
2. Eek! The Australian Huntsman
3. Canadian versus Australian Coins

Russell Slater is a freelance journalist currently hopping on a bus, eating a baguette and listening to his walkman. It’s no surprise then that he likes writing about travel, food and music. He is a regular contributor to Uruguay Now, Brazzil, Matador Travel and A Different League, writes occasionally for a number of other websites. Please enjoy a week-in-the-life of Russell, as he sniffs out honey in Argentina.

Ever since I first tasted the honey in Argentina, I have been unable to forget it. Honey has always been one of my favourite food stuffs, not least because it has helped me through some horrendous pollen blizzards during many an English summer. It truly is the food of goods, able to make anything taste great (I dare you to try pasta with just honey and cinnamon).

This fascination with Argentinean honey has led me to Concordia, in the Entre Rios province of Argentina. I have come to find out how they make such good honey. I also want to improve my Spanish and get to know some of the locals, but the honey is my main priority. Through some contacts I made when I was last here I have managed to get a phone number for a beekeeper who has agreed to let me shadow him for a couple of weeks and learn the ropes.

Day 1

It seems I have not planned this well, for it is the first day of my diary and I am on a bus. Nothing ever seems to work out the way it was planned. This is especially true when you forgot to plan anything in the first place. The good news though is that I am on an Argentine bus and not a Brazilian one. Without experiencing either of these buses it may seem like there would be very little difference between them. How wrong you could be! To ride a Brazilian bus is to fit your entire body into a space that only a stray dog could find comfortable, to constantly look up at the bus conductor as he walks by and wonder if he’s going to give you that packet of biscuits you’ve been waiting so long for, to maybe offer you a pillow or a sheet, or just to tell you that the toilet is now functioning. None of these things will happen.

So as I plump up my pillow, pull my blanket up to my waist and prepare to tuck into the rice, milanesa, bread and milk-based dessert that has just been served to me, I am considerably happier on a bus than I have been for a while.

Day 2

When I wake up it is light. We stop on a main road and almost everyone gets off. I tentatively ask the conductor if this is ‘Concordia.’ I cross my fingers for a ‘no’ but he goes for the opposite.

I get my bags and stand by the side of the road as the bus drives off. There’s a couple of roads that lead off from the one I’m on, but seem to head into the great nothing. I see a taxi driver in the distance so make my way towards him. I ask him where Concordia is. He tells me it’s “far… very far.” When I ask if there’s a bus going that way he tells me only one bus runs each day, and it passed by about two hours ago. Never one to pay for a taxi unless it is 100% necessary I obligingly throw my stuff in the boot and head off to Concordia.

It seems I arrived on the worst possible day. It is Monday, Tuesday is a National holiday, yesterday was Sunday. I am in some kind of holiday vacuum. Technically it’s a work day, but the chance of people coming to work between two days off is about as likely as finding a Brazilian Stoke City Football Club Supporters Club.

This prolonged holiday also carries with it the added bonus that almost everywhere in the city is full. Finding somewhere to stay is already looking slightly iffy. There are no hostels in Concordia and the cheapest hotels are around 70 pesos. After just paying 25 pesos for a hostel in Puerto Iguazu I wasn’t looking forward to the price hike. I had also looked into the possibility of couchsurfing during my time here but could only find three people on the site, of which only one replied. She then proceeded to send me on a wild merry-go-round of directions to make phone calls to various places in the city, which she would no longer be at because she sent the message about five hours ago and due to the lack of Internet cafes during the holidays I was a little late in replying. As she failed to answer the very basic question, “is there any possibility of staying with you?” I decided to give up the trail.

I eventually find a posada (guesthouse) that seems okay. It is a lot more than I want to pay, but I am tired and they have Internet and a bath, and the girl on reception is ultimately enough reason alone to stay, so I do.

I ring the beekeeper every couple of hours but there is no reply. I guess his phone is on holiday too.

Day 3

In my head the idea of a week spent reaching Concordia and learning to beekeep would be full of excitement. I have been known to have a loose grasp of excitement previously (the lights in my eyes when presented with a crossword or a chocolate digestive being cases in point) but constantly facing the answering machines of absent Argentinians hour after hour is not it.

I manage to speak to Alcides and somehow understand that his high-pitched country voice is trying to tell me something, directions not surprisingly, and so I scribble something down that seems like a plan, and cross my fingers for tomorrow.

Day 4

After rigorously exploring the bright lights of Concordia I am finally able to go and meet Alcides. I follow his instruction carefully. I am to take the 12pm bus to La Criolla, get off at the terminal and give him a call. When I arrive in La Criolla the terminal has a strange look about it. I walk around. It is quite clearly closed, wrapped so tightly in protective plastic it resembles a packed lunch. Chances of getting inside are slim to none. I wonder how I am going to make that call. I look around but there is little sign of life.

After a while a couple of school kids come walking down the street. Maybe it is the first time they have ever heard the word ‘telephone’ because they look at me as if I am carrying the ‘New World’ upon my shoulders. ‘Maybe there is a telephone on another street’ seems to be the best I can get out of them and I continue walking. My clothes begin to make more and more noise as I become more aware of the burgeoning quiet around me. While contemplating taking a U-Turn into another avenue of vague nothingness, I notice a sign in the distance, something a little bit official. As each step makes the words more visible I realise it is for the Police department and pick myself up into something of a gallop.

The officer’s quick-witted quirps are so sharp they leave me in a complete mire of misunderstanding, wishing I’d chosen to ask the dirt on the ground instead. Once he realises his job is to help people, he asks me exactly what it is I want. I tell him I am after a phone. They want to know who I am going to call so I tell him Alcides. He takes me inside where two men are watching television. After many puzzled looks one of them, a tall man resembling one of those deep military rucksacks stufed with clothes, trundles off down the road to another house to call Alcides for me. “He’ll be here in a minute” he tells me when he gets back.

It is a relief when Alcides arrives and even more of a relief when he asks if I want to go straight out into the field. I am ready to do something after dawdling about for a couple of days.

A short half-an-hour and various swigs of matte later I find myself in beekeeper’s robes in the middle of the Argentinian countrside.

Today’s task is to kill all of the queen bees. This involves finding them first. Each hive contains one queen bee and up to two or three million normal bees. Plus, the only difference between the queen and the rest is that she is slightly longer, more cone-shaped and is a bit more red in colour. Surprisingly I soon get the hang of it and am picking out the queen from each hive in seconds flat.

We finish up about 5pm and go back to Alcides’ place. There I meet one of the great flaws of my plan. The next bus to Concordia, where I am staying, is in three hours at 8pm. This wouldn’t have been a problem except it seemed that Alcides does not really have any place to relax. So we spend half an hour standing by the orange tree, another half an hour by the roses, a full 45 minutes watching cattle auctions on TV (and they say Argentinians are obsessed with meat!) and another half an hour by the car. This leaves me with just 45 minutes left, which with a rather radical change in pace, we decide to stand by the backdoor. Maybe this shouldn’t be a problem, Alcides is a really nice guy, but there are only so many questions I can think of regarding bees, Argentina, the countryside, football and anything else he might be interested in, and almost all of these questions are met with one-word answers and very little else.

Day 5

Today’s task is to create new queen bees, which involves taking a very dodgy-looking egg-like substance, mixing it with a little honey and a tiny bee embryo and placing it in a wax panel, which is then inserted into the hive. In about 4 or 5 days new queens will be born, and since new queens mean more honey this is a very good thing indeed. After spending roughly two hours setting-up these new queen-bees-to-be, Alcides retrieves a panel of fresh honey from one of the hives and then cuts a huge chunk out of it. I shove the whole thing in my gob in one foul swoop. It really is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted in my life. Sweet but not sickly. I take another chunk and savour the taste of the honey before spitting out the wax that remains. We take the rest of the panel to Alcides’ house where he squeezes it into a jar for me to take home.

I also get my first bee sting. A small amount of honey had deposited itself in my beard after my tasting session. This must smell great for the bees flying around as they all flock to my face to have a sniff. Eventually one gets caught in the carpet of my chin and retaliates with a quick sting. After 5 minutes of numbness I feel normal again, and really begin to wonder what all the fuss is about. It is by far the least painful bite or sting I have ever received. Still, it doesn’t stop me from running into the van every time another bee starts flying around my face (Alcides tells me this is definitely the best method of escape, and he is right, they really don’t like the inside of vans for some reason!)

I don’t get back to Concordia until 9pm. I am staying at the Bowles club, at 50 pesos by far the cheapest place I can find (despite still being above my budget) but after arriving for the second night it has already begun to depress me. With nowhere to relax other than a small, un-cleaned room with stained white plasterboard walls, iron bars for windows and lukewarm shower, it is quite far from being a nice place to bed down after a hard day of working with bees in the Argentine sun.

So, I decide to go around every hotel in town and try and broker a deal for 50-60 pesos per night, but for a place with a bit of character. Eventually near the main square I manage to find somewhere with a couple of living rooms, Internet, cosy room, TV and pretty cheery staff and settle on 60 pesos for the night, a good dip from 70 which is the norm.

I head back to the Bowles club, sleeping all the better for knowing that I will have a shiny new bed and place to stay the following day.

Day 6

I wake and head straight for the new hotel. It’s a fair walk – about one hour – which with a huge backpack and guitar, and in the Argentine sun, can be somewhat draining. When I arrive I am told the person who is staying in the room has decided to stay for the weekend. But hold on, I made a reservation last night and have the receipt to prove it. Sorry they tell me, they didn’t realise the person wanted to stay longer. And the reservation? Does it count for anything? Unfortunately not.

I grab my bag, cancelling the whole week’s reservation and head back out. There really were no other options that came even close to this one, and so I decide to cut my losses. After a while, after paying far too much for average accommodation and facing that reality for the future too, it seems like the best thing is just to get on with life, and not worry about missed opportunities. It has been amazing to meet Alcides and to get something of an introduction to bee-keeping, but it’s impossible to be relaxed without a nice place to stay, and when all of these are hugely out-of-budget it makes things very difficult indeed.

I ring Alcides to tell him the news. He understands. Somethings are just not meant to be. I head to the bus station and head off to Rosario. This is a place I know has hostels.

Day 7

Rosario is a step back into the traveller’s life that I am now so accustomed, a land of endless Bob Marley, of exchanging lists of destinations with everyone I meet, of wishing people would ask more interesting questions (‘what’s your favourite ice cream?’ would be a start), of walls that seem to talk in a language of bangs and coughs, and of having to chop onions with a tiny serrated knife.

I decide to step outside. Rosario is a city like no other, yet one that seems to get universal praise. It’s a few blocks before I find a park and somewhere to sit. Two couples are dancing to the tango at one end of the park, looks like its being filmed. A couple of young guys in black shirts and arms covered in cuts stand watching, arms draped over each other. I watch in anticipation of mischief but none comes along. Eventually they come and sit next to me, where they proceed to shout strange fragments of words at irregular intervals and to the general ignorance of anyone around them. I change benches, heading to the other end of the park. This seems to be a better choice. I am transfixed by all the girls walking past, trying to imagine their origins, their stories. Italian, goth, German, Spanish, Russian, student. If there was a more poetic way of writing about gawking at girls as they walk past, believe me, I would write it here.

It’s nice to be back in a place which is able to accommodate a traveller with a huge dent in his pocket and not much jangling when he walks the streets, but also a massive shame to be far from the countryside and the bees. I really want to see those queen bees hatch but things can’t always work out the way they are planned. I suddenly have an idea to head to Patagonia. It is October and hence not a bad time to go to one of the coldest and windiest places this side of the Antarctic. Suddenly I am consulting bus times, pulling out my tattered copy of Bruce Chatwin’s ‘In Patagonia’ and realising that once one door shuts, another one will soon be open, or you could just climb out of the window.

Oh, and neopolitan is always the answer. I like to have options!

Russell is currently in Montevideo, designing a website and writing a variety of articles for an English-language travel guide to Uruguay, which are available at Uruguay Now. After that, he will be returning to Brazil, and will head up the North coast beginning in Rio, in search of music, football, and a fine array of fruits! You can read about his latest adventures at On The Road to Find Out.

If you are a long-term or full-time traveler and would like to have your own week-in-the-life published on The Professional Hobo, drop me a line and I’ll send you some guidelines! Cheers.

Related posts:

1. A Week-In-The-Life of Sue: Road Schooled
2. A Week-In-The-Life of Corbett: Free Pursuits
3. A Week-In-The-Life of Kelly & Mike: Have Internet Will Travel

Manly Scenic Walkway Stats, by Nora Dunn

Length of Walk: 10km

Estimated Duration of Walk: 3.5-4 hours

Actual Duration of Walk: 2.5 hours (no, I didn’t run, but I sure did break a sweat with the uncharacteristic humidity)

Lizards Spotted: 18

People Spotted: 8

Runners Spotted: 1 (yes, they’re people too, I know)

Aboriginal Carvings Spotted: 6

Failed Attempts at Catching a Bus in the Pouring Rain: 4

The Journey

While taking the ferry to Manly from Sydney’s main harbour (and passing across the Sydney heads with the open ocean on the other side) we all enjoyed some zero gravity moments and fun waves that soaked anybody standing outside on the first level. 20 minutes later we pulled into laid-back Manly harbour.

(Note: city ferries are in general a wonderful way to see a place for very little money. Buy a pass and ride the ferries all day…in Sydney you can see quite a bit by virtue of their extensive ferry system. And no, it’s not always a wet’n’wild roller-coaster adventure.)

From there I was on a mission to find the Manly Scenic Walkway before the rain that was upon the CBD (central business district) followed me out, as I suspected it would.

But rain was far from an immediate concern, as Manly was bathed in sunshine and warm weather.

The Manly Scenic Walkway is very easy to find from the wharf, and is well-marked. Initially you walk through well-established neighbourhoods and gawk at houses that are right on the coast. Sydney has a lot of coast, and as you might suspect, much of it is enjoyed by residential neighbourhoods.

A few kilometers in, the walk enters Sydney Harbour National Park, which is where the fun begins. I took in awesome views of the ocean, rugged cliffs and coastline, golden secluded beaches, quiet picnic spots, and more lizards than I have seen in my entire cumulative time in Australia.

Sydney Harbour National Park makes up at least half of the walk’s terrain, and the difficulty would be classed as “medium”. Be prepared for lots of rock steps (lots and lots of steps), but nothing that a decent pair of runners and good sense of balance can’t get you through.

Speaking of shoes, a 10km walk is not a huge deal (for me). However if you walk about 15km on each of the prior two days, you may want to wear shoes that you didn’t buy at a thrift shop two years prior. I need new shoes, if not new feet entirely.

Some other highlights of the walk through Sydney Harbour National Park include well-preserved aboriginal carvings, lush green canopies, and stunning natural viewing platforms.

The lowlight of the trip was my learning curve in catching a bus back to the city. By this point it was well and truly raining, and my well-weathered rain jacket was being truly tested, while my pants and feet were soaked.

After finally locating what I figured was the right bus stop, I marveled at the sheer number of routes that were scheduled to pass by. With one eye on the street to see if one of about six different buses that go into the city was enroute, I desperately scanned the schedule boards to see which route would take me to where I needed to go, cross-referencing the destinations with my soggy map to ensure I would be going in the right direction.

All in the pouring rain, of course. My poor paper map ripped out of a guidebook didn’t last long.

Minutes later, yay! A bus hurtled around the corner. I smiled widely and stood expectantly at the side of the road, leaving room for the bus to pull off the busy street to pick me up. As the bus careened by me, covering me from head to toe with a wall of water, the bus driver looked at me confusedly and held his arms up as if to say “what do you want?”

I held my arms up in the same fashion in response, as if to say “are you kidding me? I want to catch the bus, you idiot!”

I repeated the same performance with the following three buses over the next 20 minutes.

I’m not sure if it was desperation or education by necessity, but by the time the fourth bus rolled around the corner, I stood in front of it. There was nothing nearby, no shelter to take refuge in, and nobody to ask what I was doing wrong. At this point I would rather have been run over by the bus than watch yet another one plaster me with oily water from the road.

Miracle of all miracles: it stopped! I didn’t even care where it went – I got on.

Lucky for me, it was headed in the right direction, and the less-than-impressed bus driver quoted me the fare which I dutifully gave him.

As I watched the bus make stops along the way into the city, I learned one very key lesson about catching a bus in Sydney: you need to hail it for it to stop.

My musty clothes and mildewy shoes will be a testament to this lesson forever more.

Related posts:

1. Random Observations from Sydney, Australia
2. Shoes: Necessity or Luxury?
3. Why Would I Want to Visit Canberra?

Disclaimers aside, Sydney has been an interesting trip so far. After meeting up with @frank_in_oz in Melbourne for an iced mocha to die for and engaging conversation that could have lasted for days (thanks again, Frank!), I hopped on the overnight train to Sydney – an 11 hour journey.

Upon arrival in Sydney, I roamed the streets randomly and discovered the following:

Sydney people (Sydnites? Sydneyers? Sydcentrics?) love to run. Even if they’re not decked out in the latest fashionable running gear, you don’t go far before seeing somebody running. As yet I haven’t seen anybody chasing these people, so I must infer that they’re either in one heck of a hurry, or they’re just very fitness conscious.

King’s Cross is a section of the city that is popular for backpackers who like to party. Most Aussies I’ve come across have told me to stay away from it like the plague as it’s also considered to be the ugly underbelly of the city, so I didn’t stay there. However, I did walk through the area, and found it to have equal parts luxury and sleeze. Heroin addicts twitch outside fancy gated residences beside tattoo parlors across from fancy cafes beneath cheap backpacker hostels.

Wooloomooloo is quite possibly the most enjoyable word to say, and has more “o”s than any word I’ve seen before.

Sydney downtown (known as the CBD – central business district – in Aussie-speak) traffic reminds me of Toronto. This is not a compliment. I lost years of my life in Toronto traffic.

The Royal Botanic Gardens are free to browse through, walking on the grass is encouraged, and it has some of the best views of the city.

Shoot a flying fox, and somebody may shoot you. (I am, of course, referring to shooting with cameras, not guns). While wandering through the Royal Botanic Gardens, I got a whiff of something familiar. Eventually it clicked – I was smelling bat poo. This reminded me fondly of our time in Evans Head when we camped under a few thousand of them. So while I was busy shooting these furry vampires, I had the distinct feeling of being watched. I reeled around to see a professional video camera on a tripod looking suspiciously right at me. I didn’t have the presence of mind to either take a picture of them shooting me (which would have been humourous if nothing else), nor ask what they were shooting. Don’t ask me why – maybe I was stricken with an uncharacteristic bout of shyness.

Speaking of uncharacteristic shyness, I was told by a fellow traveler in my dorm room that when she met me I was so extroverted I made her flinch. Maybe next time I’ll say “hello” with a little less gusto.

It will cost you $200 to do the Sydney Harbour Bridge climb, which allows you to precariously teeter to the very top of the arch of the bridge. Or, for $0, you can just walk across the bridge on the footpath. If that’s not enough to get your heart racing, then just walk closer to the edge. (This advice is courtesy of Rachel from England. Thanks! I think this is particularly sound advice that could be applied in other areas of life. Not getting your kicks? Walk closer to the edge.)

I’m now staying near Sydney with my friends from the Black Queen who I met in Lightning Ridge shortly after we first arrived in Australia. Future adventurous posts will include the long (and wet) Manly Scenic Walk, how to catch a bus (or rather, how not to catch one), and other adventures. Stay tuned!

Related posts:

1. The Manly Scenic Walkway, and How to Catch a Bus in Sydney
2. Winding Along Australia’s Great Ocean Road
3. My Christmas Present to Australia: Pumpkin Pie

Surviving Paradise: One Year on a Disappearing Island

At the ripe age of 21, Peter Rudiak-Gould landed on Ujae, a remote atoll in the Marshall Islands that is 70 miles (by plane no less) from the nearest telephone, car, store, or tourist, and 2,000 miles from the closest continent. He turned to face a sea of 450 unsmiling brown faces who made up his Marshallese community for a year, while he taught English to the island’s school kids.

Peter’s integration to this new life is simultaneously hilarious and painful. Not remotely being what he expected, the learning curve was huge, and life was far from the exotic tropical paradise he had envisioned.

For starters, he immediately discovered that the last volunteer who had been there was much better than him. This was something the locals reminded him of multiple times a day, plaguing him with merciless comparisons.

He mused at his state of sanity in dreaming up this scheme to live on a faraway island for a year:

“What was it about islands that I found so alluring? It was this: islands are isolation, isolation is differentness, differentness is possibility, and possibility is hope.”

Integration and Identity

Despite his multi-faceted learning curve, Peter adapted to life on Ujae. He became fluent in their language, learned to fish (not very well by Marshallese standards mind you!), and painstakingly tried to teach the island’s children some English. His skin darkened a few thousand shades and his hair lightened the same. But as much as he integrated, he also realized something pretty important: that he is still Western.

“I had always fancied that I wasn’t, that I had somehow escaped the influence of my upbringing and emerged free-thinking and unburdened by cultural baggage. How wrong I was. I was Western – deeply and terminally so. I carried my civilization with me at every moment: my nervous efficiency, my emotional openness, my sense of individual entitlement, my war against the status quo….Living in another country had finally made me realize how much I was a product of my own country”.

How true! Don’t we as travelers tend to identify more with our upbringing and culture once we are removed from it? I can only imagine how stark this realization would have been living as culturally remote as Peter was.

Living in America….But Not

Peter discussed what it is to live in a country that is technically part of the United States, but at the same time is so far from it – both geographically and culturally. This hasn’t been helped by the fact that the Marshall Islands (Bikini Island in particular) was the major site of nuclear testing during the Cold War. The United States’ ongoing mismanagement of this little piece of “paradise” so far from the homeland was apparent to Peter:

“..Critics saw garbage piles and thought ‘irreversible devastation!’ when they should have thought ‘solid-waste management problem.’ They saw makeshift shelters and thought ‘abysmal deprivation!’ when they should have thought ‘housing shortage’. They mistook the country’s nuclear legacy for the obliteration of an entire nation, rather than the forced migration of several hundred people and the irradiation of several hundred others. These premature obituaries were based on a kind of cynical paternalism: the assumption that the Marshallese had no ability to solve problems or adapt to change. I had done my share of criticism too, but it was hard to reconcile these dreary descriptions with my own memories of men fishing on pristine reefs and women preparing for a feast.”

And towards the end, Peter painted a queer yet strangely familiar picture of the integration of American society into the old Marshallese ways:

“The people of Ujae ate instant ramen, but opened the package with a machete…They served Kool-Aid, but treated it like Perrier; at Spam, but savored it like filet mignon. They sipped their morning coffee, but sweetened as often as not with coconut sap. Some of the islanders could recite the medicinal properties of native plants and the hit singles of the Backstreet Boys with equal ease….it had been surreal to live here, with a people who were in equal parts hunter-gatherers and yuppies, in a place exactly halfway between jungle camp and New York City – a place where a man might spear fish for subsistence in the morning and play half-court basketball in the evening, a place where the same person who shared with you the ancient meaning of the colored lines on the back of a crab could also recite Snoop Dogg lyrics”.

The Island Life

There were other ways in which the customs and people of Ujae were entirely foreign to Peter too. I especially enjoyed how Marshallese society dictates that you’re never in too much of a rush to chat. As much as work needs to be done, the pace of Ujae island life was generally relaxing with regular conversations along the way.

On a sparsely populated island, marriage opportunities don’t come along every day. But during his year as a volunteer, Peter received a marriage proposal from a girl on a neighbouring island, and even unwittingly offered up a marriage proposal himself!

While on the topic of men and women, I found myself wondering how different the volunteer and living experience on Ujae would have been if Peter had been female. Men and women in Marshallese society don’t commingle much, and their set daily tasks (as well as the quantity of work to be done by each gender) vary drastically, usually in favour of the men. Peter observed that the women were constantly working, with little apparent down-time. And nobody – male or female – truly understood the meaning of privacy on the island.

My Two Cents

The book wended its ways into my thoughts and actions each day, while I followed Peter in his – at times – agonizing experiences and eventual cultural immersion (of sorts) to the Marshallese way of life.

I got right into the book and voraciously read the majority of it in a short time. I found myself giggling out loud at the humour and general semantic brilliance of various passages, reading paragraphs aloud to anybody who would listen. When I neared the end (as I tend to do with books I like), I slowed my pace so as to make it last as long as I could!

Although the book was written (at least in part) because the Marshall Islands disappearing due to global warming, it isn’t the primary focus of the book, as you might suspect given the title. Instead the theme of global warming is incredibly subtly hinted at throughout and formally introduced beautifully in the Epilogue, once the reader has already unwittingly fallen in love with both the author and the people of Ujae Island. Instead of the book being an environmental soap box as I had suspected, it was a true travelogue of Peter’s bizarre and enchanting experience on Ujae, with an environmental (and cultural) reality check at the end. And I believe that in presenting the environmental issues as he did instead of as a constant theme through the book, they will have a deeper impact on the readers. For that, and for so many other reasons too, I loved it.

Feel free to pick up a copy of Surviving Paradise: One Year on a Disappearing Islandand see for yourself.

(Editor’s Note: I received a free copy of the book for review, and there are affiliate links in this post.)

Related posts:

1. Imagine: A Vagabond Story – Book Review
2. Queen of the Road: Book Review
3. X Marks the Spot: E-Book Review

I finally got a decent shot of the elusive Kookaburra that hangs around our back yard but is camera-shy! They are so distinctive, with their flat heads, stalky shape, and funky colouring.

Other than that, the last few weeks have been productive, but quieter on the publishing front. Lots of great shout-outs though! Whoo-ee! First, here are my words of wisdom for January:

Wise Bread

The 2010 Gift Wrapping Challenge

In 2009, a friend and I successfully met a challenge to wrap all gifts with alternatives to new gift paper and gift bags. Here are the results of the challenge, along with a few tips and a 2010 gift wrapping challenge for you.

Financial IQ Test: How Healthy are Your Bank Accounts?

Following is a Financial IQ Test, designed to help you determine how healthy your bank accounts – and your interaction with them – are. Tally up your score and see how you fare. Then you can reference some relevant articles on the topics you need some refreshers on.

Financial IQ Test: How Healthy is Your Debt Management?

Are you on top of your debt – both logistically and emotionally? Do you maximize value while minimizing interest rates? Do you know what the different types of loans are, and how they work for you? What’s your credit rating and how do you improve it? Take this Financial IQ Test to see how healthy your debt management plan is, then reference the plethora of resource articles to help you in your weaker areas of knowledge.

Shout Outs and Publicity

Expat Alley interviewed me about my expat/travel lifestyle. I had great fun with the interview. You can read it here: Freelance Writer. Nora Dunn. Rural Australia.

The hot new Site Untemplater included The Professional Hobo in a list of 40 Young Bloggers Who Will Get You Excited to Shatter the Template Lifestyle. Thanks!

Lastly, All You magazine used me as a source (which conjures up visions of me in a dark alley wearing a trench coat, revealing trusty secrets!) for an article on Supermarket Traps. The tips are based on an article I wrote in 10,001 Ways to Live Large on a Small Budget.

Speaking of which, 10,001 Ways to Live Large on a Small Budget has been making waves ever since its launch last May. Although we’ve received many glowing reviews, this recent one from Reuters was widely syndicated and is a nice feather for the cap.

Related posts:

1. Roundup: February
2. Roundup: January 16th-31st
3. Roundup: April 16th-30th

I get a lot of emails from readers with very pertinent – and often similar – questions. And if lots of people are asking a similar question, there are probably lots more who are thinking it!

Each post in this series will feature a reader’s question (with their permission of course!) and my answer to it. Sometimes the answers aren’t cut and dry; but then again neither is life. I hope you gain some insight and maybe even learn a few things from these Reader Questions Answered.

Do I Sell my House, or Rent it Out?

Reader Question:

My partner and I are hoping to do our own RTW trip this year. I’ve been backpacking through Europe on my own and back then it was just a matter of leaving a rented apartment.

This time around, there is a house involved. As someone with a financial background, I’m hoping you could offer us insight on whether it’s best to sell the house or rent.

Obviously, selling would allow us to have more spending money (after setting some aside for when we return) and leave us feeling a bit more freed up to take on whatever opportunities come our way. But knowing we have a piece of property to come home to is a comforting feeling.

Are there any significant financial backlashes to selling?

Thanks for any insight!

-Maria DG

Answer:

Congratulations on your upcoming departure, and thanks for contacting me!

There is no straight answer to your question – unfortunately. Here are some things to consider:

Renting the House Out

How do you feel about renting the house out while you’re gone? You’ll need to either hire a property management company or get friends/family to manage the tenants for you. (For example: if tenants leave or there are repairs, you don’t want to be getting overseas phone calls…you need somebody on the ground to take care of these things as they arise).

You also want to be comfortable about the place being rented while you’re abroad…for some people it would be too stressful having somebody else living in their house. If you can see your way to doing it though, it’s a very wise strategy, since you will have an appreciating asset to come home to; one that has also been generating a passive income for you while you travel.

Speaking of passive income, if the house is fully paid off, the rent money can be used to cover off property taxes and other home-ownership expenses, and the rest can pad your travels. If you still owe money on your mortgage, then the rent money can be used to continue to pay it off, no sweat.

Selling the House

What is the current real estate market doing in your neighbourhood and surroundings? If you can sell the house for a gain over what you bought it at, it may be worthwhile to do so and solidify your gains. (Don’t forget to factor in the tax consequences – if any – of doing so, depending on where you live). Yes, you will miss out on any future gains in value by selling, but if you know your market you’ll know whether the projected gains will be worthwhile for you.

If you sell the house, think about how much money you want available for your return. You may want to buy another house….and furnish it, etc…..if so, then beware of spending too much (if any) of the house proceeds on your travels. Stash away the amount you want to keep for your return in a separate account or investment so you won’t be temped to spend it on impulse abroad.

I personally chose to sell the lot to keep my options open on the road, and I’m happy I did it this way, since our travels are open-ended. But it all boils down to you, where you live, how long you plan to be away, and what “security” means to you.

Related posts:

1. How Young is Too Young to Travel? [Reader Questions Answered]
2. READER SURVEY: WIN A Signed Copy of 10,001 Ways to Live Large on a Small Budget!
3. Best Travel Gear: Travel Journal