Nobal Glomad

A Long-haul Addiction

[caption id="attachment_1320" align="alignnone" width="514" caption="Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia"][/caption]

It’s great to be back. The magic of Sydney's summer is just around the corner. Although, a quick jetlag-induced 5am flip through Gourmet Traveller this morning had me scribbling the next yet-to-be itinerised takeoff. Some find their happy place in pub footy finals, others trawl eBay for super soft Japanese denim, drop their under fives at the in-laws on un-returnable loan, get that 10% return on a well-diversified super-yawn portfolio, spec a pure-analin leather option in an oversized stupidly taxed Euro all-terrainer… I can happily Kennards the whole lot. Shove me in a taxi with 13 kilos of don’t-care-if-it’s-stolen luggage airport-bound. With noise cancelling headphones and the latest Monocle in hand? Josh is in smack’d out stratospheric Valium-free happy-land.

Why the continual need to long haul? It’s an addiction. I’ve always put coffee in a lick the toilet bowl category (recently re-affirmed by a rather handsome Barista’s attempt to bring me back… it wasn’t his deft frothing skills that held my interest). I can give or take a glass of grape once a week. My grandmother handed me the virginal ciggie chug at age five and ever since I’ve coughed at the inhale. I sleep like Dumbo so have never taken knock-out drugs… ie. I’m Captain Vanilla when it comes to the up in headlights addictions. Check-in at 1am though and you’ll find me scouring skyscanner.com for the cheapest minimal stopover sky-express to Mumbai.

My name is Josh… I’m a flight-a-holic.

Continue reading "A Long-haul Addiction"...

The Machu Picchu ‘Plan B’

Welcome to the hiking superhighway. A government-capped 500 International Inca aspirationals depart Cusco city in Southern Peru everyday to begin the rather arduous 4 day Machu Picchu trek. That’s over 180,000 intrepidicious, designer-brand clad, $500USD a pop experience seekers zipping in from around the globe to reach on their final day’s ascent the Inca Sun Gate, the first vista point of the most jaw-dropping wonder of the world… Machu Picchu. Statistically the Inca built MP is the numero uno must-see old-stuff tourist ticket for South America, which means big dollars for the Peruvian government pocket.

If you’d trekked the same trail just 15 years ago you’d have camped amongst the 500+ year old ruins, played football on the semi-wild grassy terraced flats and used the high priest’s well-preserved amenities for a post Inca Cola pit stop (The Peruvian Coca-Cola alternative… big bottles of vitamin B-loaded sugar-packed urine-tinted crap). Today however there’s a strict no food on-site policy (that only the French seem to ignore), no dunnies, a sizeable $40USD entrance fee and strict opening hours. And you can’t just rock up for the trip… there’s a 3 month waiting list for a foot in the door on the classic Inca trail.

Continue reading "The Machu Picchu ‘Plan B’"...

Conquering Colca Canyon, Peru

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="514" caption="The descent begins"][/caption]

A young Aussie backpacker died recently on his ascent of the towering canyon that stood before my rather small self. He was a mere twenty something ‘unstoppable’ who chose to Conan this 3 day trek alone. It happens. You’re travelling, you’re free of any burden, you’re king of the world and nothing is too dangerous. This would've been the last thing his family and friends would have considered a reality when they bid him au revoir, backpack and Lonely Planet in hand to explore the globe.

Ok so that’s not exactly the most comforting story to be told by your guide at 5.15am before starting the final 1,200m climb of an adventure. The reality is there’s a few foreigners who perish every year taking on these once Inca worshipped God-like peaks, but 100s of others huff n’ puff the zigzagged rocky path every month -  out of breath - but minus injury.

Continue reading "Conquering Colca Canyon, Peru"...

Re-helloing Glomad

[caption id="attachment_1271" align="alignnone" width="514" caption=""Yes I'll have the tray of up-chuck thanks""][/caption]

It’s all aboard the get me outta here travel train. I’m finally back on the road cruising at 35,000ft over some ridiculously large mass of ocean suffering chicken or beef cattle class. For the Sydney to LAX sector I’ve sidelined my usual ‘fly with style thanks to Dad’ upgradable benefits, instead charging this one to the Frequent Flyers accumulated tab.

I’ve been super spoilt when it comes to the international jet set. It’s entirely my parent’s fault. They planted a seed back in the 70s when air travel was regarded as special, dressing us in our Sunday finery be our destination Brissie or the London long-haul. I know air culture has changed with price accessability and massive improvements in global coverage, but just because you’re Bali bound doesn’t give anyone the right to skip the shower, slap on a Bonds n’ stubbies and snore like a comatose elephant for 8hrs (a true ‘sitting next to me’ unfortunate experience). On that note could the girl sardine-canned next to me please refrain from using my shoulder as her snuggle blankie… was that a dribble?

Continue reading "Re-helloing Glomad"...

A Collection of Sydney Food-gasms

I’ve been Captain Slack Arse of late. Not because I’ve taken to weeknight bucket bongs and 80s teen movie re-runs (16 Candles though - a classic), rather I’ve been 60% a victim of my own contradictory mantra, letting work take precedence over ‘me stuff’. In just over two weeks though I’ll be sweating the 1,500m ascent of Machu Picchu, so the current short term slog means more time for doing what I love… experiencing ‘the new’, photography, writing, struggling to communicate, 20hr mountain hugging bus rides, sleeping in 'interesting' beds and most importantly...stuffing my face.

Right enough whinge, whine n' gloat – this week I’m stepping off my soapbox and into my comfortable eat-shoes (although with a damn cold all I really crave at the moment is dairy free and bland). Here’s a collection of Josh's fave Sydney bites worth the post-stuffed-up hike.

[caption id="attachment_1253" align="alignnone" width="514" caption="Photo. gastronomousanonymous.com"][/caption]

Continue reading "A Collection of Sydney Food-gasms"...

Birds of the Mountains

When Sydney starts promoting Bondi Beach as its premier ice skating destination it's time to head for the mountains. Last weekend I zipped up to Blackheath for a rather splendid gathering of eat and drink loving comrades. The 'Blue-ies' in this most wintery of seasons offers all the charm of single digit temperatures, misty morning vistas, open hearths and lungs most happy with an abundant supply of pure oxygen. On my morning stroll I encountered a few rather tame feathered friends... here are a few shots of the cheeky wing'd monkeys.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="514" caption="Mr Magpie"][/caption]

Continue reading "Birds of the Mountains"...

Melbourne vs. Sydney

Mr Melbournite:
“All that incessant Sydney noise and attitude… is it too busy-bee’d and stupidly over-priced? Damn right. The culture-less void begins and ends at that English Backpacker-fied Bondi Beach topping 35˚C on Christmas Day. Bogan!”

Mr Sydneyphile:
“Melbourne? Boring! It’s one big yuppified vintage-everything’d Newtown. It’s too flat. Build some hills… something remotely undulating. Why do Victorian girls feel it necessary to dye their hair electric pink? Yuck!”

And so continues the stereotypical street-speak you’ve read about, responded to or perhaps agreed with over a mid-week a.m. soy moccachino. It’s high time all this media-hyped nonsense was officially insinkerator’d. We should be mutually thankful for a ‘not the same as us’ scenario just and hour and a bit in each direction. Something different to zip to for a weekend with a fresh-faced take on what maketh a day-to-day local experience.

Continue reading "Melbourne vs. Sydney"...

Autumn in Melbourne

I seem to favour the more intermediary seasons... in particular Autumn. It's Mother Nature's sabbatical toilet break after her somewhat scantily clad Bondi summer. Autumn's her intermission before returning to the task of delivering winter's chill.

Last weekend I spent a few Sydney-escape'd days loitering the lane-ways of Melbourne in the midst of her seasonal shift. Here are a few images from my wanderings.



Continue reading "Autumn in Melbourne"...

International Jet-setting… A Sexy Career Choice?

For years a rather talented photographer comrade of mine willfully ball and chain’d his creative integrity whilst at work in London. He assisted ‘I rock’ point n’ shoot pros across Europe on fat budget’d locations, lugging stupidly expensive digital camera everything from Mediterranean beach to Swiss Chalet, driven by a sliver of hope that one day his portfolio would finally cut enough mustard to score a serious behind the lens gig. Two years ago, after a quintessential brochure worthy 2 week sojourn in blue-skied ‘what the #@$% are we doing living in London’ Sydney, he and his partner decided to hang up the gloves. The tart and glamour of UK had decisively tarnished.

Finally, after eight years of geezer-fied living he returned with husband by his window seated side to Sydders early in 2010. Now when do you suppose the London publishing industry decided his photographic eye had finally come of age… he’d sufficiently slaved the sewers, scrubbed the floors and cocooned his talent long enough to blossom as their boy de jour? Just a few months after purchasing their inner city Sydney pad.

Continue reading "International Jet-setting… A Sexy Career Choice?"...

The Road More Travelled

I’ll never forget the watermelon-sized lump in my guts on a nail crunching rapid descent from 30,000ft aboard Air India’s museum worthy Boeing 747-300 into New Delhi. You may remember the yesteryear winged super-tankers with cyclonic blue-loo flush and stethoscope headsets, shag pile carpet, projected flicks and the spiral stair’d Captain’s Club? Yes… that one. We were on final 70s tribute approach to Josh destination numero uno, and I was crapping my panties. Would this oversized dog-box survive the tarmac slam? Would I successfully negotiate the 3-page Lonely Planet warning of getting oneself from airport to hotel without being double shafted for every last virginal pocket lining rupee?

Continue reading "The Road More Travelled"...