issue #3 on ur way travel magazine

[ on ur way ]Inspired to travel our world

go online... www.onurwaytravel.com

Wonders of

West Africa

Issue #3 2011

Visit the Website

Jump online for more travel tales,

travel tips, gap year advice, photos,

video and more.

www.onurwaytravel.com Editor: Sasha Peakall

Sub Editor: Rod Peakall

Design: Sasha Peakall

Writer & Photography: Sasha PeakallUnless otherwise specified.

Contact: [email protected]

Online: www.onurwaytravel.com

Copyright & Disclaimer

All material in On UR Way Magazine is copy-right. All photography and articles are copy-write to the writers. Reproduction in whole or part is strictly forbidden without prior written consent. All opinions expressed by contributors are not necessarily those of On UR Way Travel. All statements made although based on information believed to be accurate and reliable at the time cannot be guaranteed and no fault or liability will be accepted.

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[ Contents ]Features6] PhotolanthrophyBringing smiles to Children’s faces through photogra-phy and art.

10] Hong Kong on the EdgeExploring the urban, edgy, arty side of Hong Kong.

12] The Wonders of the WestBreaking through borders and barriers in West Africa.

18] Stepping into China’s PastExperiencing traditional Hakka life in Yong Ding Country.

26] India’s SensesA sensory journey through India.

28] Surfing with TurtlesCatching waves and saving sea turtles in Costa Rica.

Issue #3 2011

Regulars3] Editors Postcard

5] The Common Room

7] Photographer Spotlight

“Inspired to travel our world”

Hakka Tulou, Yongding, China

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[ on ur way ]Issue #3 3

What is home? I’ve often won-dered what is it that makes a home. Is it our family and friends? That’s what I always thought. And then I moved to China, already I’ve lived in three different apart-ments, both by myself, with a steady flow of new roommates and now with my best friend. I’ve been away from my family now for over a year, I’m no longer living at ‘home’. So does that make me homeless?

I recently went to Thailand and back to Australia for a month, by the end of that month I was yearn-ing for Shanghai, yearning to be back in my apartment, yearning to stroll it’s streets, yearning to eat a the same restaurants. It certainly felt like I was yearning for home,

but how could just 7 months liv-ing somewhere suddenly feel like home? I realised home isn’t one place, home can be many places, it’s the place you yearn to go back to. Home is where you have a life, home is familiarity. As travellers and expats we are lucky, we can make our home wherever we want! Our homes can be any-where in the world, we don’t need to own a house we just need to feel like there is somewhere we belong, somewhere that will al-ways welcome us back with open arms.

So to all the people that make Shanghai feel like my home, thank you. However I don’t thank you for keeping me distracted from finishing this magazine on time!

SashaSasha Peakall, Editor [email protected]

Editors Postcard

Contributors

Special thanks to this issues contributor’s for writing such inspiring and entertaining stories.

Would you like to contribute?

Do you have a story to tell? On UR Way Magazine is always on the lookout for writers/travellers with unique stories to tell and photos to share. If this sound like you I would love to hear from you, email [email protected]

On UR Way Readers

Somewhere in the World


The next issue of On UR Way Magazine out mid 2011 is the Tribal Special. This issue will focus on stories connecting with local tribes around the world from Northern Thailand, to Central Australia, to the depths of the Amazon.

Are you a story teller? Have you experi-enced tribal life somewhere around the world? If that sounds like you then we want to hear from you!

Email Us:[email protected]

In your email include a one paragraph overview of your story including loca-tion, defining experiences etc. Include a writing sample of at least 3 paragraphs but even better an entire article and a link to a flickr account or blog displaying your photography.


www.photolanthrophy.com

Bringing smiles to Childrens faces through photography and art.

The BirthIn 2010, Pam MacNaughtan of Spunky Girl Monologues was travelling through Thailand when she came into contact with Dwight Turner, the man behind a fab-ulous grass roots project called “In Search of Sanuk”. During her time in Bangkok she had several chances to work with Dwight volunteering with his Saturday Project, a project where volunteers teach English to street kids in Bangkok.

Through working on this project and connecting with these kids, Pam discov-ered something that would become the inspiration behind “Photolanthrophy”. These kids were not only curious about camera’s and photography they were actually pretty good photographers once given the chance to learn how to use a camera.

Pam was surprised by the photography taken by the kids. These young kids had taken raw, un-staged images that captured and evoked the emotions of their subjects. She was inspired by their raw talent and enthusism and thus began the “Photolanthrophy” photography project.

In October 2011, Pam will return to Bangkok to start what she hopes will become a global photographic project. Armed with about 20 point & shoot cameras she will be re-visiting the children from her trip in 2010. Each child will be shown how to use a camera and given opportunity to run around their com-munity, snapping photos, bringing smiles to their faces.

Aside from photography the children will also get the chance to particpate in art projects where they will get the chance to express their creativity.

Get InvolvedTo make this project a success Photolanthrophy needs your help! Spread the word about the project, email your friends and family, promote it on twit-ter and facebook. You can also make donations of camera’s, art supplies and money online through the website.

Together we can help bring smilse to the faces of under-priverlaged children through photography, art and social media.

www.photolanthrophy.com

facebook.com/Photolanthrophy

@photolanthrophy on twitter


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Women and young girls carry baskets of food and flowers as an offering at one of the many parades celebrating food in Oaxaca, Mexico.

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Photographer SpotlightAyngelina Brogan is a traveller, photographer and writer. She left a great boyfriend, amazing job and friends to find inspiration in Latin America. She writes about the people, places and food she discov-ers as she changes her life.

Connect...

baconismagic.cafacebook.com/baconismagictwitter.com/ayngelina



Hong Kong, the trendy city of Asia, a city where women walk around in furs in the warm tropical win-ters, a city that has made it’s name on kung fu films and cheap shop-ping. On the surface it appears to conform to the formula that makes every grand city great, good food, fashion, design, culture and history. Yet in the backstreets of Hong Kong Island, along Hollywood Road is a trendy but unique part of town. This is Hong Kong on the Edge, on the edge of art, on the edge of design, on the edge of culture. Where old meets new, where tradi-tional meets modern.

Hollywood Road is most famously known for Hong Kong’s classic Can-tonese antiques and for its famous Man Mo temple. But a stroll Hol-lywood Road and down its many side streets and ally’s will let you unlock so much more. You will dis-cover the unique, edgy Hong Kong of vintage fashions, stores stocking

HONG KONG...on the edge!!!


kitschy clothing and accessories and underground galleries home to art showing the edgiest con-cepts of Chinese thinking. Down alleyways are glimpses of subur-ban life among the high rises and a view of local art, the urban art sprayed all over the walls. For an art lover, design lover and culture vulture, Hollywood Road is a place you should be sure to accidently stumble upon.

the trailHollywood Road is located on Hong Kong Island. You can take the metro to Central Station and walk up towards the Former Central Police Station from Pottinger St until you reach Hollywood. From there stroll along Hollywood Road in the direction of Man Mo Temple. You can pick up a free Hong Kong art map with addresses for all the galleries in the area from tourist information centres. Pho

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The Wonders of the West...Breaking through borders and barriers in West Africa.


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The Wonders of the West...



Our goal was to get to the World Cup in South Africa. And to reach that goal we travelled any which way we could for the 2.5 months leading up to the world cup. We broke through borders into 13 West African countries and have seen everything imaginable over-land for 13,000km.

We battled Saharan sandstorms, ridden in empty iron ore train car-riages, travelled on car rooftops, saddled horse drawn carts, been in a couple of car accidents and we’ve even been to Timbuktu and back. Yes, the place really does exist!

There were times we hallucinated in the heat, bashed bongos on sandy beaches, sat on live croco-diles, toured Togo, mixed in with UN officials on dance floors, vis-ited the home of Voodoo in Benin, followed the slave trade in Ghana, hitchhiked at night to Ouaga-dougou and of course bounced to the African beats.

West Africa and the World Cup

No matter where you are in West Africa, right now it’s football fever. In fact it’d be hard to imagine any-where in the World that has ever loved the game as much. Whether it be in the back alleys of Burkina, the streets of Senegal or the mud flats of Mali. If there’s something that can be kicked around you’ll find someone playing football and one thing’s for sure, this fever is contagious!

We travelled Africa on the longest possible road to the World Cup, Africa will forever travel with us. We were in South Africa cheer-ing on Australia and we were in Africa as one by one African teams departed and left us, along with a continent of fans broken hearted.

With a lump in our throats we watched in disbelief as Ghana were eliminated as we thought

back to the streets of Accra where we used to imagine what it would be like to see an African team take the cup. Trying to imagine what that would have meant to a conti-nent determined to prove itself to the world. Trying to imagine what it would mean on the streets of Ghana, where football and religion are the two most important things in most peoples lives. Or on every street corner in Cameroon where children grow up with dreams to make it on the world stage and escape poverty by playing football like Samuel E’eto

From Morocco to Gabon we’ve seen the African people, people with great potential and this has been their time to shine. They’ll tell you it’s a once in a lifetime op-portunity, they’ll tell you they’ve dreamed of this moment, they’ll tell you it’s Africa’s right and they’ll tell you that you’re wel-come to return any time you’d like.

“It’s hard to be anything but amazed and excited by Africa, its people and all its positives”


In Africa football is a way of life, if there’s a piece of land whether it be dirt, grass, cement or sand, if there’s a ball there’ll be football.

Before the World Cup many voiced concerns about South Africa be-ing ready. They were ready and so was Africa, we can tell you in every African city for every match, anywhere with a television feed or radio reception was packed to the rafters. We saw what it meant to Africa as a whole to host such

an event for the first time. And amongst the excitement you could see its importance to Africans around every corner and down every street.

Our way on the highway!In an untravelled part of the world we faced a few difficulties along the way. We were thrown out of

Senegal on first arrival and with new passports trying to enter Nigeria proved costly after be-ing bailed up by border officials. We stood toe to toe with corrupt officials, out ran chasing immigra-tion officials in a speeding taxi and some how survived Nollywood.

The sheer heat of the Sahara alone destroyed most of our gear and we won’t talk about the time we were both arrested at a Cameroonian checkpoint, because each time we


Follow Amateurs in Africa:

www.amateursinafrica.com

@amateursinafrica on Twitter

flickr.com/photos/statto7/

More Info

have arrived in a new village, there have been smiles on faces, football games and children demanding hi-fives. It’s hard to be anything but amazed and excited by Africa, its people and all its positives.

In West Africa we developed a craving for street meat and we’ve eaten all sorts of animals, we’ve experienced the beauties of Benin, toured bars in Donkey drawn carts, swung in hammocks, sat sideline at grassroots football matches, climbed lava flows, viewed a waterfall crashing straight into the sea, jived where a jungle meets a beach and we’ve kicked footballs around with hundreds of children.

We worked on projects with child labour in granite mines, education at football clubs and conservation of the endangered Drill monkey. We hung out with Sudanese refugees and spent time on the world’s largest non governmental hospital ship in Togo. Wherever

we’ve been, we’ve attempted to break down barriers and prove the misconceptions about West Africa wrong.

To get to Gabon we beat 4 bribes and earned the respect of 32 African passengers in the process. Most recently we travelled in a Le Mans style effort for 24hrs through 18 checkpoints where we were dragged out at each and grilled by police. We’re still smiling!


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Stepping into China’s PastStepping into China’s PastExperiencing Traditional Hakka life in Yong Ding Country

By Sasha Peakall


The Tulou gate towered above us, beckoning us to step through and discover its secrets, uncover its mysteries. With excited anticipa-tion we stepped over the thresh-old, it was as if we had stepped into a time machine and ended up in the past of Hakka people gone by. The smell of old, musty wood wafted up our nostrils. As our eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, we could see that the dust of generations thickly lined the furniture, as though untouched for decades. The old ladies who lived here slinked into the shad-ows like ghosts, as if hiding from us, the new comers. We where the Laowai (Chinese for foreigner), the young outsiders invading their home and lives. We where the Laowai, the crazy Laowai who

wanted a real taste of the ‘Old China’, who wanted to make their home, our home, for just a short moment of our lives.

I circled the Tulou in search of the people, in search of a glimpse into their lives, but all was silent. Quiet, peaceful, almost deathly, it was like these people were lost in time, like it was all a dream. I descended the crumbling stairs to circle yet another level of the massive, rammed earth colos-seum that was the Tulou. Peep-ing through windows, peeping through doorways, peeping through cracks in the wall, I felt like a little girl peeping into the neighbours backyard. Slippers sat in front of doors as if someone had just gone inside for tea, but these

slippers were covered in dust, clearly they hadn’t been worn for a very long time. In one room, old suitcases thick with dust lay on the floor, clothes were strewn all over as if someone was just pack-ing, but then simply disappeared. When was the last time someone entered that room? When was the last time someone wore those slippers? When was the last time someone packed their suitcase to leave for a new life?

The Hakka people who inhabit these colossal round earthen buildings where once a nomadic tribe living in the central plains of northern China. When war broke out it shattered their world and forced them to head south in search of a new home. After years

Experiencing Traditional Hakka life in Yong Ding Country


of searching they found a place where they could finally settle down, a place they could be safe, a place that offered peace and se-clusion. They found the lush green valleys of South Western Fujian Province in Yong Ding country, far away from the war torn plains of the north.

Still scarred from war and suspi-cious of everyone, the Hakka peo-ple built villages with large, circu-lar, fortress style, rammed earthen buildings called Tulou’s, each with a single entrance secured by a heavy wooden gate. Each Tulou within the village was inhabited by an entire clan, generations living side by side from the youngest infant to the oldest and wisest grandfather. In their new homes, deep in the valley they finally felt safe.

Inside this fortress felt eerie, haunting and unsettling with no sign of life. Yet, stepping back through the Tulou gate into the village, suddenly life was eve-rywhere. The noise of cars and motorbikes, the sound tour guides blaring on their loud speakers, the sound of loud chatter. Sud-denly, the moment we stepped back onto the main street the people were excited to see us. We were now a commodity, a way to make money. Everyone wanted to be our new best friend. But we didn’t want to see old China on the back of a bike, we didn’t want to see old China with someone who couldn’t tell us what it was all about. Instead we did like they would have been doing for centu-ries, we walked.

We ascended up the long hill and away from the village. Away from the tour buses, away from the

touts trying to sell us tours. We wound past streams and rivers, past houses with chickens scratch-ing out the front, past old ladies carrying large baskets of produce. Every so often a motorbike would stop offering us a ride and a tour. They were puzzled! They had saved every precious Yuan to buy their first motorbike so they didn’t have to walk. “Why on earth do those crazy foreigners want to walk, especially on such as stinking hot day?” they must have thought.

Down through the hills we walked, past road construction-a sign of the future; past villages-a sign of the past. Peasants slaved in the rice paddies, knee high in mud. Buffalo’s turned the fields. It was peaceful, just the sounds of the buffalo, just the damp scent of the rice paddies, just the sweet smell of the introduced eucalyptus trees that brought back memories of my


home. That was until a rumbling in the distance. Then, before I new it, my hair was flying around my face as a tour bus sped past with a load of tourists eager for a taste of “the real old China”.

Kilometers later, sweaty from the long walk in the hot and sticky heat we had arrived in the “Chi-nese Version of History” a done up gimmicky version of their past. This was Gaobei village one of the most famous Tulou clusters, and judging by the amount of people that was certainly true. We spent hours looking in Tulou after Tulou, seeing apparently traditional life all the while surrounded by hun-dreds of people and greeted on every other corner by tables sell-ing Tulou snow globes and other tacky souvenirs. This was certainly a Tulou town set up for tourists, Chinese and the occasional for-eigner alike!

As we headed back on foot to the Tulou where we had left our gear that morning, I felt despair. My hopes of having a real Hakka Rural experience had vanished. Surely the Tulou we would be staying in that night would, like all the oth-ers, have succumbed to tourism too? Was everything just a gim-mick? Did people really live there?

How wrong I was! As we stepped over the threshold and into the Huanxing Lou Tulou again, I could not believe my eyes. The old ladies who earlier that day had appear suspicious and seemly disappeared, were slaving over the stove. Some were sitting on tiny dirty stools in one of the side rooms silent, completely silent, not a word came out of their mouths. We were surprised to see the man from the hotel across the road also bustling around as if at home. We asked him why he was here, the answer was even more surprising, this was his home. A few meters away from what I guess they call the kitchen was the closest thing this whole place


came to having a shower. A lady wearing the fuchsia silk uniform of the tourist Tulou up the road was washing her long black hair in a bucket, shampoo spilling out onto the ground. This was exactly what I had come to see! These were the real traditional Hakka people, after all! The Tulou was their home, despite its state of disrepair, despite the 200 years is had been left to rot, to crumble, and to stand still in time. This Tulou, seemingly in the dark ages, was their life. The inhabitants had lived their whole lives here; they had seen the world change around them. Seen people come and go,

yet their lives remained the same.The next morning we woke to the shrieking sound of the cocks crow, sunlight streaming through the window as that now familiar thick scent of wood burning on the stove surrounded us. The room was old and tied with an unpleas-ant musty smell. Paint peeled from the windowsill and the walls. There was no bathroom, no power. All we had was one, old, flickering incandescent light bulb dangling dangerously from the roof. In truth, it had not been a comfort-able night; the bed consisted only of wooden slats, without a mattress. I had slept uneasy, half expecting to hear the pitta patta of

a rat scampering across the floor-boards, threatening to give me the plague. Indeed, for a moment it felt like I had awoken in the past, awoken to a world without tech-nology, without flushing toilets, without modern medicines.

My mind drifted back to the previous day’s experience at the “Tourist Tulou” and I felt sad, I felt a sense of loss for all the peo-ple who had come to Yong Ding country on a day trip from Xiamen. I felt sad for all those who would leave believing that the Gaobei Tulou was real, traditional Hakka life. But who was I to so quickly judge, had the night I just spent in


a crumbling Tulou been any more authentic, was it truly Hakka life? Traditionally yes, historically yes, but for how long? These days, real traditional life is fast being de-molished, like so many of China’s traditions, to make way for tour-ism, to make way for money. The gimmicky Gaobei Village version of Hakka tradition was now the real Hakka life.

I too had to face the reality of a changing China. The Tulou I had spent the night in, the Tulou that had been the closest I had come to rural life, the Tulou that had let me feel connected, the Tulou that kept me awake, haunting and creaking


into the night, that Tulou soon too would change. In a few years the old ladies will be gone, the ghosts will have disappeared, the dust will have been wiped away, the clothes packed up, the suitcase thrown out. In its place there will be a new and modern Tulou, equipped with stainless steel kitchens, power points in every room and bathrooms with brand new porcelain squat toilets. Sure, the people will dress in ‘traditional clothing’ they will cook ‘traditional food’, but this won’t be ‘traditional old China’, this won’t be ‘real’! This will be shiny and new, the past for-gotten under a layer of modernity, prosperity and a culture eager to forget the past.

As we descended down the en-chanting hills, mist softly caressing the mountain tops, back to the noise and chaos of China’s modern cites, I couldn’t help but be filled with sadness. This was old China, this was Hakka Land, this is and was China’s past!


Where is it:

Yong Ding is located in South Western Fujian Province, China.

Transport:

There are regular buses from Xiamen to Liulian village that take about 3.5 hours.

Accommodation:

To stay in a basic room at the Huanxing Lou Tulou in Liulian village will set you back 30RMB a night.

More Info

Sight26 Issue #3[ on ur way ]

Above: Outside the Taj Mahal, one of the most beautiful architectural wonders in the world, stands eagerly awaiting ladies wrapped in saris that represent every colour imaginable.

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Sight

A sensory journey through India

India’s Senses

Below: The streets of India are always overwhelmed by various modes of transportation. It might be chaotic for the eyes, but the chaos is ordered in its own way and the traffic is continuously flowing.


In this vibrant pictorial Andi Perullo takes you on a sensory journey through India, one of the most vibrant, stimulating, and interesting countries on this planet. Because of this, travellers find it a feast for the 5 senses! From the animals to the foods to the landscapes, India is guaranteed to satiate you in every way possible if you give her the opportunity...

BY ANDI PERULLO

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Touch28 Issue #3[ on ur way ]

Above: Those who are touched by hands decorated in the ancient art of henna are brought good luck and fortune.

Left: An Indian woman gracefully fixes her intricate sari, so that lies perfectly on her head.

TouchTaste


Above: On a hot summer day, nothing is more refreshing or satisfying than fruit.

Left: There is nothing quite like dining on Indian food in India, no matter which res-taurant or café you are at, it will not fail to disappoint. The explosion of spices are like fireworks in the mouth.

Smell30 Issue #3[ on ur way ]

Bellow: The aroma of a fire burning in the distance near the Taj Mahal permeates the air. It is a cremation ceremo-ny, however it is not to honor the dead, it is to honor the reincarnation of the soul into a new life.

Left: Street food entices passerbies with its in-credible scent. Even travellers who are wary to try, because of the possibility of getting sick, find it impossible to resist once they catch a whiff.

Sound


Above: A local plays his instrument to entice his serpent friend to dance for the crowd that has gathered around in awe. Soon the cobra begins to hiss in unison with the song.

Left: An elephant announces his presence at the grand Amber Fort in Jaipur, India. The noise he emits echoes throughout the walls of the fort.


By Honor Baldry

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“Honor, sea turtles aren’t just some cute little critters , they’re actually massively endangered.”Michaela, i-to-i’s resident Latin America expert, had taken issue with my cutesy descriptions of sea turtles in some copy I’d written to describe the trip, Surf and Save Sea Turtles in Costa Rica.

“Of every 100 turtles released into the ocean, only one makes it to adulthood. Just one!” she added.

While part of me wanted to defend my writing, Michaela’s grumbling prompted a bit of a realization. Only one? What the hell were people doing to these turtles? Costa Rica (sun-dappled

beaches, clear waters, hot guys) was already pretty near the top of my wishlist, so a few weeks later, with Michaela’s words ringing in my ears, I booked onto that very same project in Costa Rica for two weeks. And very nearly didn’t see any turtles at all…

My trip was originally meant to be happening at the end of April 2010, but Ash Cloud Chaos™ meant it got cancelled. While a bit of a bummer at the time, it actually ended up being lucky, as my rescheduled trip a month later coincided perfectly with the start of the turtle season. And so, a tortuga-filled two weeks began…

You will get culture shock!

One of the main messages in our orientation on touching down in San Jose was ‘you WILL get culture shock.’ As a veteran of many a music festival (and Chinese toilets) I was pretty confident that this message was not meant for me.Oh, how wrong I was!

The camp at Buena Vista, which I was to call home for the next two weeks, was beautiful, deserted and peaceful. However, living there was hot, humid, sticky and swarming with bugs. But, some-thing on my second night there made me snap out of the sweaty


funk I was in. And that something was a rather large turtle.

Part of a volunteer’s work at Buena Vista is to patrol the beach at night to check for turtles laying their eggs. This is so eggs can be collected and taken back to the hatchery before any poachers or predators can snaffle them. On this particular patrol I wasn’t properly concentrating, but a flur-ry of excitement from our patrol leader, Roberto, made me realize that something was going on. And looking round I caught sight of a 4-foot long turtle laying her eggs in the sand.

It was incredible, like seeing a di-nosaur who hadn’t got the memo about that pesky meteorite.

She didn’t seem to mind around 10 volunteers all ogling her while she did her thang. After making sure her babies were properly bedded down she turned on her heels and sauntered back into the Pacific.

That’s when our job started. Rob-erto dug out the nest and taking it in turns, us volunteers scooped out the ping-pong ball sized eggs and put them in a plastic bag.Those babies were then whisked off to the hatchery, where a nest (a fist sized tunnel down to a bell

chamber) was promptly dug to keep them safe during their 45 day incubation period.

No Conberstaions! It was just patrols though. Every morning, except on days off, we were rounded up by Roberto (catchprase: ‘no conbersations’) and put to work. Most tasks did involve machete wielding, such as clearing paths. But there was also cleaning the camp (yes, includ-ing the loo) and leveling out the hatchery to be getting on with. It was all pretty sweaty business, but everyone is in the same, sticky boat and keeping the camp run-ning so everyone can live there


“Of every 100 turtles released into the ocean, only one makes it to adulthood.”

Get Involved

You can do your part to help the endangered

turtles in Cost Rica by volunteering with i-to-

i’s “Surf and Save Turtles” project. You can

check out their website www.i-to-i.com for

more information.

DonateTo help in the conservation effort for the sea turtles in Costa Rica and endangered animals world wide you can make a donation to the world wildlife fund online at www.wwf.org.


and help the turtles is as impor-tant as the more turtle-centric work. Then, after 11am we were about done for the day – with just hatchery duty and patrols to inter-rupt swimming, lounging, reading and surfing. Hatchery duty is just checking the turtle nests at the camp every 15 minutes. This is between everyone, so you only end up checking them a handful of times a day. It’s to see if any babies have dug their way to the surface – and if they have, sticking them on the beach and watching them wander down to the sea to freedom. This part is rather excit-ing (and more than a little bit cute) – and made me feel that I might

actually have made a little bit of a difference.

So, was it worth it?

The first thing I learnt from work-ing at a volunteer travel company was that the volunteers always get more out of the experience than the communities they’re helping. This was certainly the case with my trip. While I helped collect hundreds of eggs and helped to release hundreds of turtles (400 hatchlings = 4 turtles saved, woo!), I think I got a better deal than they did. I got to have a total detox from modern life – as there’s no electricity at the camp you end up going back to nature, with early nights and early starts – plus, with

three really healthy meals a day courtesy of the camp’s awesome cook, Veronica, I felt much health-ier on the way home than the way out.

That’s before I even start boring on about just how magical Buena Vista itself was. Despite the tor-rential rain that hammered down for four of the days I was there, nothing quite beats being lulled to sleep by the roar of the waves and the twinkling of thousands of fireflies.

Oh, and did I mention I had a re-ally hot surfing instructor?

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[ on ur way ]Inspired to travel our world

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