I travel so I won’t run out of dinner party conversations.

And I blog about it, so I won’t forget the brave adventures I’ve been on, once my friend Al (Zheimer) invades my privacy. Consider the amount of holes I already have in my cheese at thirty-something, it’s not even THAT much of a stretch.

“There is no passion to be found playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”
– Nelson Mandela

I truly believe that a good life is a collection of happy memories. And the best gifts in life are not in the material objects bought from a store, but in the memories we make with the people we love.



That one time when I found a Kinder chocolate egg in Moscow that was more expensive than the bottle of Vodka right next to it. Or that time when I visited the London Zoo and all the animals were dead (or was it was global English naptime?). Or that time I ate my weight in Pastéis de Belem and had to roll myself back down the hills of Lissabon. Another memory I’m very fond of is the one where I almost killed my best friend climbing the Park Guell hill in Barcelona. And when I was genuinely suprised that Wales wasn’t completely built on sheep menure. Time walking in the Holy lands of Israel and getting nauseous by the combined smells of sewer and pigeon shit in the charming Venice.
No, I’ll never want to forget.



“How much would you risk to save this wretched world?”