5 rules of the universe I've learnt while travelling

1. Your local currency rate, which was doing marvellously just a few weeks ago, will turn to shit just when you need to exchange money.

2. The person who is most scared of bugs, will also attract the most. Or maybe just notice them more.

3. The people with the smallest budgets will end up paying taxi fares double to triple more than what everyone else paid, because they wound up with the driver with almost no vision and/or no clue as to where they're going. But this doesn't become apparent until about 5 minutes in. And they're doing circles, asking other locals for directions, with the meter on.

4. In a tour group, there will ALWAYS be someone who is not quite "all there," and drive everyone insane.

5. This will happen to you. All the time. And usually at the most iconic tourist attractions.

Love, Noeline 
xox

Have you ever wondered?

Have you ever wondered that maybe the only reason some people get to act so carefree, are because of people like me constantly cleaning up after them?

Why I travel (and you should too)

One of my mother's fondest stories of me as a child goes a little something like this:

I was sitting in the baby seat with my parents up front (back then they were still together).

I would cry hysterically one minute, then be at peace the next.
Within moments I'd be crying again, only to calm down as quickly as my tantrums came.

After putting up with a few cycles of my odd behaviour, my mother figured out the pattern.

Whenever we were caught at a red light, I'd cry. Once we got going again, I was fine.

The loophole in this, was that she would shake the car seat whenever we were stationary, fooling me into thinking the car was still in motion - in which case all was good with the world.

Not much has changed now that I'm 25. Except I've upgraded from cars to airplanes.

I'm so addicted to the feeling of a plane during take-off, that I can’t afford to drive nor own a car.

That's right. I've traded-in the convenience of driving myself around to the local shops, so I can traverse the world instead.

Even when I was throwing up on the boat from one Greek island to next, even when I'd turned into a lifeless excuse of a human being whilst winding through the Atlas Mountains - at each of these moments I wouldn't have had life any other way.

Even when I was scammed in Thailand or bag-snatched in Vietnam, I'd never once wished I was back in the "safety" of my own home. Things like that can and do happen anywhere.  I have Australian friends who've had their belongings stolen, in Australia, by fellow Australians.

You don't have to be brave to travel, you just need to be realistic.

Forget your small town gossip and your small town drama. Forget about your "haters," and your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. Instead of buying another pair of Christian Louboutin heels, buy a ticket. Go somewhere new. Preferably a place that offers more than cocktails by a closed-off pool. Preferably a place that serves more than Western style burgers and pizza.

Do it, and realise that there's so much more to this world than "home". That there are people happier than you, with so much less than you.

Sending my love from Salvador (Brazil's most violent city).

Noeline

xox

Why introverts don't talk (much)

Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply - Stephen R. Covey 

It's common consensus to wait your turn. So in group conversations we introverts will wait. And wait. And wait: for that split second of silence for our opportunity - but there's often someone who comes in louder, albeit later, and "win."

Sometimes, if we're lucky, we'll have demanded enough attention to contribute to the conversation with a story of our own. Three sentences in, someone professes they know exactly how we feel; except that the version offered by their life experience is more interesting. They don't say it of course, it's just very brutally implied. Because they never let you finish. They're just that into their own spiel.

In fact, most loudmouths are so naive they wouldn't remember, let alone admit to interrupting us in the first place. They call it "connecting," "communicating" or "being social.

Except that their story wasn't even close to the point we were getting at. But it doesn't matter, because in the time it would have taken us to roll our eyes (key phrase: "would have" - because we don't want to be rude about you being rude) - the topic has been duly changed; and backtracking would reveal that we've been sitting on it the whole time, rather than paying attention to all the stories that have since been "kindly" shared.

"Successfully" participating in a conversation is a struggle most people probably don't know exist. It's as much an art as it is a fucking battlefield. If you've never felt it, you're probably the dominating person.

If you can admit or even suspect that you are, I challenge you to hold back slightly during the next social situation you find yourself in, and observe how the dynamic changes. Observe if you suddenly learn something new about someone in your group, and wonder why you never knew it earlier. Observe how many silences there are without you filling them in all the time. Observe how many topics are covered within a certain amount of time, without you changing it at very turn.

Think: how much do I know about these people, and how much do I impose on them about me?

You don't have to be rude about it, in the same way introverts like myself are often mistaken to be. But it wouldn't hurt to throw a question out into the open every now and then. Observe if they're taken aback by it.

Think: how much of your talking is a conversation, and how much is it a speech?

If you have an introvert or two in your group, you can't just put us on the spot. Good luck with that. We don't have as much experience telling stories, so apologies if it takes us a while to find our groove. Whereas your punch lines have practically been rehearsed from all the countless times you've told it, we're only now getting used to stringing sentences out loud.

But don't get us wrong, while you were talking, we learnt how to be really good listeners. Not just of words (forgive us for not being able to repeat back the story about your sister's dog's trip to the vet that turned out to be closed), but of body language. Watching the dynamics within groups is admittedly a hobby for us. We've learned to embrace being wallflowers, the view from here is great for people watching.

We question those of you who come across a little too happy, a little too all the time. We notice the faraway look in someone's eye when a topic close to their heart is casually bedraggled by the group. But we won't say anything. Your secret is safe with us. We make bets in our head as to how long new friendships will last between people who have just met. We have a pretty good hunch spotting the table of friends and the table of frenemies. The table of a happy family, and the table of a family trying to keep it together. We can spot the girl dancing like no one's watching, and the girl who hopes everyone is.

But we're also aware of how people see us. Women will most definitely be called a bitch or a snob, while the men who don't talk might be called shy (if he's lucky) or mysterious (even luckier). You should get to know us sometime.

Introverts have different outlets - and for me it's this blog. It's one of the few places I can fully express a thought or idea of mine without being interrupted or spoken over. I don't have to wait for someone to let me write. And the people who happen to come here, are the people who care enough to listen read it.

So thank you.

Love, Noeline
xox

But where are you really from?

Only in South America would people not question me on where I'm really from.

They have an evolved form of multiculturalism from that which is found in Australia.

Their ancestors might really be from somewhere in Africa, and my ancestors might really be from somewhere in Asia - but they get it. They just get it.

And it's beautiful not having to explain or defend my identity.

It's nice not being a novelty.

Venezuela: 1 country, 2 exchange rates

Unlike its neighbour Colombia which oozes in colourful colonial charm, Venezuela's buildings are a dull, tattered kind of modern.

Fighting through my initial disenchantment, I realised I'd been looking in the wrong place. Turns out the magic wasn't the street itself, but in the cars passing through it. Old, beat-up cars - or let's face it - pure shitboxes - were traipsing through the streets. I was surrounded by a patchwork of parts, broken indicators and masking tape where glass windows once were.

Cars that should have either been glorified in museums or retired in wrecking yards (I'm not sure which) were somehow still active, en masse,  in Venezuela. There are more bombs than there are cars made in the last 10 years.

Often upon questioning the roadworthiness of a car, there'd be a 'TAXI' sticker on the windshield. Still good then, I guess.

Were I a vintage car aficionado, I would have probably been frothing at the mouth.

I sorely wish I could have taken more photos than their political situation would safely permit me. Which brings me to my next point. Without getting carried away and turning this post into an essay on the political situation in Venezuela (I'll leave you to Google it in your own time) - let's just say they're going through a lot.

Things are so dire that basic medicine and supermarket goods like toilet paper and cooking oil have become scarce (read more). People will queue for hours at a stall selling a single product no longer available in the shops. All of a sudden their grocery run has turned into a days-long ordeal lining up at numerous stalls in order to gather just some of what they need.

Go to a restaurant, and menus are a graveyard of things that used to be served - as waiters reel off the handful of dishes you really have to choose from.

I even went to McDonalds for the first time in Venezuela - and they had "run out" of chicken, hot chips and Coca-Cola.

What is available, is expensive - driven up by inflation and a double exchange rate.

1. The official currency

This is what you'll get by taking money out of an ATM, making a card transaction or going through a legitimate, authorised money exchange vendor.

$1US = 7 Bolivars

2. The black market currency

This is what you'll get by exchanging US notes at the border crossings from men (shall we call them freelancers?) competing against each other to bring you the most competitive black market rate.

$1US = 110-150 Bolivars

This is great for tourists, but wreaks havoc of the national economy. Prices are adjusted somewhere between the official and black market rates - which still work out to be expensive for locals.

This makes tourists extremely high targets for theft - and flashing one's smartphone or digital/SLR camera around doesn't exactly deter that. We've been encouraged not to wear expensive looking clothes, watches or jewellery.

"If a hotel worker sees your camera lying around, they're probably going to take it so they can sell it. But can you really blame them?" - Venezuelan tour guide

Of all the things I came to witness, the most heartbreaking would have to be at the Colombia-Venezuela border crossing. In a country where petrol is cheaper than bottled water, boys as young as 6 years-old were siphoning fuel from Venezuelan cars to sell in Colombia at significant profit (read more).

As one of the world leaders in oil production - Venezuela should, in theory, be a thriving nation - not a starving one. However, years of mismanagement has landed them in a difficult situation… it will be interesting to see how they get out.

Next stop: Brazil.

I was lucky enough to try out the Coromoto ice-cream parlour in Merida.

2 scoops: "Lagrimas de Amor" (Tears of Love) and Café (Coffee)

Currently holds the Guinness World Record for offering the most flavours (more than 850).

On 26 December 2014, they announced they would be closing for the season due to a shortage of milk (read more).

Christmas at Playa Grande, Choroní.

Salto Ángel (Angel Falls), the highest waterfall in the world at 979m.

Nearly x20 higher than Niagra Falls.

How to spend all day on a bus, multiple days a week

21 days in Colombia. Sounds like a reasonable amount of time.

That is, until you subtract the number of hours, which add up to a number of days, spent doing nothing but driving from point A to point B.

We spend the equivalent of whole working days, sometimes even longer, sitting on our asses, alternating between screens: iPhone screens, iPod screens, iPad screens, and kindle screens.

Sometimes we even kick it old school by looking out the window screen, a hard-copy novel or PC laptop.

To pass the time I've read 3 novels in 3 weeks - which I would never have had the time for as an employed person.

Other people take it as an excuse opportunity for binging on movies and TV series. So if I suddenly stop blogging, it's probably because I've succumbed to watching Game of Thrones. I've watched the first episode and still have yet to feign any interest.

Our hybrid travel bus/truck vehicle has two built-in tables on which the crew will sometimes play card games, although I am so sensitive to motion-sickness I do everyone a favour by sitting out.

Combined with winding roads, dirt roads, one-way bridges, roadwork and traffic - it's not hard for ETAs to become stretched and re-stretched.

But it was worth it.

The old towns are so picture-perfect I often felt like I was on a movie set. Its colours leak into the neighbourhoods: houses with cement walls have exterior coats of unabashed fluorescent pink, lime green and taxi cab yellow.

I'm putting this charmer of a country on my list of favourites :)

From Queenstown, NZ to San Gil, Colombia: What they don't tell you about adventure towns

They're advertised as hotspots for adrenaline junkies. Such towns are gifted with the kind of cliffs that are perfect for jumping off, skies with a view worth falling into, or the kind of river you can't not raft through.

Skydiving had always been on my list of 'to do' things since I was 16. A friend suggested waiting till I was older (i.e. richer) and do it in Queenstown, NZ - because apparently it was THE place in the world to skydive. I figured that if I was only ever going to do it once in my life, I may as well go all out.

Eight years later a travel buddy suggested our next stop be South Island, New Zealand. One of the cities we'd be passing through was Queenstown, adventure capital of NZ.

My time had come.

I had never been happier to part ways with so much money, nor more enthused to sign a death disclosure form. They drove us about half an hour out of town to a small airport, where a plane was waiting to whisk us 15, 000 metres above ground… so we could fall most of the way back down.

Just as they were about to fit us into gear, I was delivered one of the biggest blows in my life.

Despite perfect conditions that morning, the wind had suddenly picked up just enough to hit danger level.

My dream was postponed till the next day.

Except the next day, it was raining.

The day after that, our tour was moving on to another city. So my dream was pretty much cancelled on me. As a constant reminder of my pain, I spent weeks afterward trying to get my money back.

I was disheartened, to say the least. Majority of the reason for my going to NZ (apart from intentions of visiting a friend who also conveniently bailed), was to skydive. My hard earned, long awaited adventure holiday suddenly lost its purpose.

What the brochures don't tell you is that for every skydive that goes ahead - there are a handful of broken hearts that don't get to go.

I numbed the pain with other activities like glacier hiking, white water rafting, speed boating, and swimming with the dolphins.

Perhaps the greatest risk in travelling especially for adventure sport is that it may not even go ahead. I've since learned to balance anticipation and excitement with a healthy level of expectation and acceptance of unfavourable conditions.

Putting this into practice a second time around came a lot sooner than I thought.

Just this week my South America tour stopped by San Gil - adventure capital of Colombia, for 2 days. On the first day  I had booked myself in for repelling 200m down a waterfall, until the unrelenting rain said 'no.' The following day I decided to paraglide for 15 minutes through Chicamocha Canyon. Speaking too soon thinking it was finally my lucky day, the wind died down after just 5 minutes; which was 5 minutes more than the multitude of people still left in line behind me, whose plans of paragliding at all that day were shattered.

Where you can help it, I'd recommend spending at least a week in any adventure capital to allow for the rescheduling of cancelled activities due to poor weather. With that said however, during peak periods this may not be so easy if every slot for the next few days is already full to the brim with other hopefuls.

Take these things with a smile, and always look for a silver lining. It may force you to consider other activities you would have otherwise never intended doing, or if you really need to scrape for a morsel of comfort - at least you didn't die. Even dare devils have a safety limit.

Sometimes it just isn't meant to be, it just happens to be a lot more than any fancy website or glossy brochure will care to admit.

Love, Noeline

xox

The time I finally got to skydive, at North Wollongong.

Sucking it up in South America

Experiencing the beauty of South America comes with some first-world trade-offs. Here's 10.

Right thigh: 3 of 20+ mosquito bites I'm currently suffering. Numbing the pain with anti-itch cream and Lonely Planet.

1. Mosquitoes
They're everywhere. Compared to mosquitoes in Australia, their South American counterparts are a lot stealthier. You don't realise you've been bitten until after they've had their full of your glorious gringo blood and fled.
My bites tended to be itchiest on days 2-5 before calming the fuck down.
A friend on the tour was adamant that her repellent was attracting mosquitoes instead of deterring them. So she experimented and went a night without it. Mission failed.
Use repellent and suffer 10 bites instead of 20.

2. Lack of insect repellent
You think they'd be stocked in most supermarkets. They're not. Head to the pharmacy and stock up there.

3. You will be on a constant search for bottled water
Be prepared to go through about one million of these whilst on your quest to stay hydrated. You can't drink tap water here (unless you're trying to make yourself sick, by which means go right ahead). In some places the tap water will actually have an orange tinge to it. Buy 5L bottles from the supermarket to refill smaller ones to carry with you during the day.

4. Few hot showers
When it's hot, cold showers aren't so bad. When it's cold, you start reassessing the urgency of needing to take one at all.

5. No toilet paper
Most public bathrooms don't have toilet paper. Always carry a packet of pocket tissues with you. Take spare toilet paper rolls from hostels/hotels and use that.

Some bathrooms charge a small usage fee. There'll usually be a lady at the front entrance collecting fares, but on the plus side this means they're more well-kept and toilet paper is provided.

6. No toilet seats
This may not be such a problem for boys doing a number one. Girls, practice your squats because you'll be doing a lot of "the hover."

7. No running tap for which to wash your hands
Carry wipes or hand sanitizer with you. You don’t want season your next meal with toilet germs.

8. Being charged gringo (tourist) prices VS them not having enough change to give you due to the huge ass notes dispensed by ATMs
It's a catch-22. As tourists, it's in our interest to withdraw larger amounts to reduce the amount of transaction fees. Yet we end up with wads of the biggest notes possible. Then we struggle to make small purchases because no one has enough change to give us, so we either:

(i) buy lots of crap that adds up to a larger, more acceptable amount;

(ii) sadly go without street food (usually mystery questionable meat on a stick); 

(iii) be happily overcharged in the name of street food. In the grand scheme of things, this will usually only be a few dollars, if not a few cents; or

(iv) pay as a group, followed by hours of discussion trying to work out who owes who how much.

At the artisan markets in Otavalo, the starting price of pretty much everything for tourists was $22US. This meant a lot of the things I could get cheaper back home. Stand your ground and bargain. What we will eventually settle for as a fair price, will still be more than what an Ecuadorian travelling domestically would be charged. By paying a little extra, you can help support the local community without being completely taken for a ride.

9. No English
Be patient, take it as a challenge and opportunity to learn Spanish. Either that or learn to treat the ambiguity as an adventure.

10. The locals will stare at you

It was a hot day and my tour group (there was 11 of us) decided to cool down at the local pool. There were a handful of locals already in the water, but the moment we went to join them they all hopped out. I'm not sure if it was out of courtesy, or if it just conveniently happened to be lunch time. They lined the perimeter of the pool, took to their packed lunches and watched us frolic. Within minutes, word about us had spread, and parents and grandparents had also gathered round. 

They don't mean any harm, it's more of a friendly curiosity. They will try speaking with you in the hope that you know more Spanish than they do English (which is little to none at all).

Or it could just be the fact that you're wearing shorts and Havianas despite it being cold and raining.

Love, Noeline

xox

4 days in Ecuador

If you're going to join a travel tour, it's worth arriving a few days early. Here's a few reasons why.

1. If any of your flights are delayed and you miss a connection, at least the tour won't have left without you. Give yourself one less thing to worry about.
2. Depending on the time difference, this will help you recover from any jet-lag.
3. You'll have a few days adjusting to the local conditions. I'm not used to high altitudes (Quito is 2,800m above sea level). I had a slight headache and nausea for the first two days. Whilst not paralysing, I was able to go at my own pace rather than trying to keep up with others.
4. The first city usually only serves as a meet-up point, rather than a destination with planned tour activities.

I arrived in Quito, the capital of Ecuador three nights before the tour officially started. It's worth noting that most flights into Quito arrive late at night - by which time it is too late to check-in to most hostels. Not only that, but the city centre is about an hour drive away from the airport. So unless you're game enough to trust that the taxi driver will drop you off at your exact destination, rather than somewhere "close-enough" for you to navigate the rest of the way by yourself in the dark - I highly recommend staying at a hotel close to the airport. They cater specifically for late arrivals or passers-by with early flights. Most offer a pick-up service for a small additional price. 

I stayed at Hostal Colibri Aeropuerto, and highly recommend them. I paid $30US, plus $12US to have them pick me up from the airport. I garnered my first impression of Quito from my driver. He didn't speak an ounce of English and was not in the least embarrassed or apologetic about it. I came to realise that he was a microcosm of Quito's attitude towards tourists. 

You're welcome to visit, but we refuse to bend over backwards for you. Few of our restaurants will have signs or menus with English translations. Go by the pictures if you must. Don't make it hard on yourself by trying to look for a place that serves English big breakfast or skim soy lattes. So you want to check out the Presidential Palace? The tour may or may not be in English.

If you don't already speak at least an intermediate level of Spanish - Quito forces you to learn fast. Needless to say, I haven't spoken this much Spanish since, well, living in Spain. 

Quito has a charm of run-down luxury. A relic of Spanish colonial architecture, the streets make you feel as though you're in Europe than in South America. That is, until you spot Quechuan women of indigenous descent in traditional dress walking around selling scarves. Dos por cinco! Dos por cinco! In a city where Catholic churches and monuments were built on top of sacred Quechua ground, it's hard not to admire their resilience and pride in upholding their ancestry.

La Basilica 

View of Quito from La Basilica 

Colonial architecture

UNESCO has declared Quito a World Cultural Heritage Site, having the largest most-preserved and least-altered historic centre in Latin America.

El Panecillo

This metal statue of the Virgin Mary is said to have been built at the top of a hill previously used by the Incas for sun worship.

View of Quito from El Panecillo 

Tip: Catch a hop-on hop-off tourist bus ($12US) to the top of the hill. Tourists have been known to be held at knife point for their valuables while choosing to walk up. You could catch a taxi, but drivers generally don't like waiting, which makes it hard to get back down.

El Palacio de Gobierno

I was lucky enough to catch sight of President Rafael Correa waving to the Ecuadorian people.

In Otavalo, less than an hour outside of Quito, a community of Quechuans can be found. For the older generations, Spanish would have been their second language (if at all), with Quechua being their first and primary tongue. The town is known for its artisan markets and relies heavily on tourism. The colours and patterns of their wares are so beautiful I wanted to buy just about everything!

I definitely plan on coming back to Ecuador, especially to do the Galapagos Islands, which I didn't have the time or budget for this time around.

Next stop, Colombia!

Love, Noeline

xox