It took three, long hours to get to the temple.   An hour of that was figuring out which bus to take, negotiating the ticket, and finding directions to the correct platform.    Five people were crammed into a seat built for three, and although there were no live animals, there was a freshly slaughtered chicken.   It was hot, it was uncomfortable, it was intense, and it was vivid.   This is travel, and this is all worth it.  I hike up the hill, and there it is, a beautiful stone temple, glowing in the sun.   I take a deep breath, pull out my camera, and then I see them.  Over a hundred tourists, wearing name tags, following a red umbrella.  Ladies and gentlemen:  begin the debate!

Travellers carry towels, never iron their clothes, and freak out when there’s a schedule.  Tourists stay in nice hotels, look forward to going home, and typically pay the set price.   Travellers discard guidebooks, tourists clutch them closely to their chests.   Travellers need a holiday when they return home, tourists leave home for a holiday.   Or vice-versa.   

The Traveller vs Tourist is a timeless, heated debate.  Many backpackers make proud, public announcements so nobody might confuse them with being a tourist.  Many tourists seem compelled to sheepishly justify their package vacation, while others would never dream of leaving the comfort bubble of a tour bus.   Never mind that both groups are united in the same purpose – to leave their homes and discover something new.   And never mind that tourists don’t seem too bothered by the whole debate in general – it’s usually travellers, sitting in a dive bar, scratching the dirt from under their fingernails, scoffing at the thought of seeing anywhere from the comfort of, dare I say it, a brightly coloured tour bus. 

Living in a country, as opposed to travelling through it,  is a form of travel I have long felt missing in my repertoire. My career, after all, has too often involved the ticking off of unique experiences, and then running off to the next destination.      After a frenetic 6-month research period in Australia to write my next book, and with my daughter only starting kindergarten at the year-end, it felt like the perfect opportunity to live in a place I've always loved, and in places I've yet to explore.   We started with six weeks in Chiang Mai. 

I first visited the city 2005, and fell in love with it.  Unlike the congested, polluted mess that is Bangkok, Chiang Mai was friendly, peaceful and calm, beaming with golden temples, cheap eats, and guesthouses.   I returned a few years later to film an episode of Word Travels, and always thought:  “If I had to live anywhere in Asia for a while, this would be the place.”    With my family and Amy, our own travelling Mary Poppins-assistant in tow, we found a semi-detached house outside of the Old Town on Air Bnb, and prepared to settle into the neighbourhood.  The Thai – at least those outside of heavy tourist zones -  are just unbelievably, remarkably, authentically warm and gentle people.  They love children.   They smile a lot.  They are 95% Buddhist.   We weren’t off the plane for five minutes and felt reassured by the welcoming nature of the culture. .  Our house was at the end of a soi, an alley, off a busy road.  Everything was so different, so anything-goes, so jarring, so unlike Australia. ​ Like most Thai houses, ours didn’t have much of a kitchen (a gas burner, a fridge, some basic cutlery and utensils). Like most Thai houses, we wouldn’t be able to flush toilet paper down the toilet.   The beds were rock hard, the furniture basic, the shower pressure almost non-existent.    A rooster crowed directly across from us all through the night (more on the rooster later).  There was blessed air conditioning in the bedrooms, and just a fan downstairs.  Mosquitoes and flies patrolled the windows and the wonky screen door.   Inside the place was clean, but a little rough around the edges, softened each Monday when the cleaner would come and leave it spotless.   When we arrived, my wife looked at me like I was a madman for bringing us here.   But at least we wouldn’t have to unpack after a few days, and at least we didn’t have anything in particular to do.  We could just be. 

It took us about 10 days to get our bearings, to navigate the wild discrepancies between tourist/rich Thai prices, and local/poor Thai prices.    After our careful budget in Australia, we leaned heavily towards to the latter.  All that beef in Australia disappeared from the menu in Northern Thailand (unless we wanted to pay $50 for a steak in a fancy mall restaurant).   Up here, they love pork, pork and smelly fish, rice, pork and rice, and lots of chicken.  Prices for food in the big Tesco supermarket were significantly more expensive than Australia.  We splurged on olive oil.  Cheap plastic toys from China were triple the price.     In fact, everything was more expensive than I anticipated.  In the decade since I last visited, Chiang Mai has become a haven for an estimated 3000- 5000 digital nomads – people who can work from anywhere  - and Chiang Mai is as good as an anywhere as you’d want to be.    A military coup that took place a few years ago in Thailand must be good for business and tourism because the sheer number of visitors and new hotels within Old Town was staggering.   Every shop was a guesthouse or tour operator, a massage parlour or restaurant.   While we might see one or two westerners wandering about our neighbourhood, once we crossed the old walls into Old Town,  gringos were everywhere, still wearing the baggy elephant-imprint pants one can only wear in Thailand without looking ridiculous. At first, we wondered if we made a mistake booking a place so removed from the thick of Old Town, but quickly came to appreciate it.     Because we did indeed get to know the community, who embraced us after a couple weeks when they realized we were not the typical transient visitors.   We slotted into a lifestyle that was more than just visiting temples, going to overpriced bars and eating pad thai.  Although we definitely visited temples and ate pad thai.  

Getting around was affordable and easy, something we really only appreciated when we arrived in Bangkok, where getting around was difficult and comparatively expensive.  Mobike, Chiang Mai’s public bicycle system, allowed us to rent bikes with handy baskets in the front, seemingly perfectly designed for the kids to sit up front.   Solar powered and blue-tooth operated through a phone app, the bikes could be left anywhere, so we basically just “borrowed” a few to use and permanently kept them outside our heavy sliding green gate.  It cost 10 baht (about 50c) for a half hour, although I got a 200 baht ($10) unlimited use for 90 days pass.   My fondest memories of Chiang Mai are riding the streets with Raquel or Gali in the basket, stopping at temples, waving to locals.   Chiang Mai is mostly flat, and the Mobikes – at least the orange ones we used and not the wonky silver ones – were super comfortable.    We never saw any other kids in the baskets, and neither had anyone else, which is why Gali and Raquel were instant rock stars on the Mobikes.    Smiles and laughs and waves came from every direction.   For further distances,  Grab Taxis is the local Uber, and they eliminated the constant haggle and rip off with tuk tuk drivers and taxi drivers.   The fare was always fair, and the drivers gave us no nonsense.   What a game changer!  We took a few tuk tuks, more for the experience, but between the Mobikes and Grab, we could get around wherever we needed to go.  On the last week, I hired a scooter, which was super fun, even if we had to wear a helmet primarily to avoid the bribes we’d have to pay at roadblocks (only foreigners get stopped if they don’t have a helmet).   Our underpowered bike didn’t make it up every hill, but we had a fun day lunching by a river, feeling the jungle breeze, and braking for elephants.   Raquel only fell asleep twice, on the scooter, in heavy traffic.  Raquel and I took a bigger bike for a 90-minute ride to the beautiful Sticky Waterfalls.  It was quite the adventure I hope she somehow remembers, racing 100 km/hr through the jungles of Northern Thailand, seated between my legs.   

“Hi-low Lay-dees!”  The local Thai ladies were besotted with the kids, especially Gali.   We never got their names and would not be able to remember or pronounce them if we did, so we just called them “the ladies.”  On our street, upstairs in an old wooden house was an old lady always sewing.  She always smiled and waved, and raced downstairs one day to give the kids handmade Thai clothes.   We printed out a picture of her and the kids to say thanks. When we said goodbye, she gave the kids teary hugs and some wooden Buddhas.    On our corner was the “chicken fried rice ladies”, working in their gritty local eatery a tourist wouldn’t go near.  We must have waved and greeted to them at least six times a day.  They made us the fine and tasty chicken fried rice that we ate a couple times a week.  Then there was the Thai Ice Tea lady, although we all had our favourite Thai tea lady.   The Plastic Lady, who provided us with plastic bins and knick knacks and spoke some English.  The Pad Thai ladies, another place tourists wouldn’t blink at but made a great 30 baht ($1.50) pad thai.    The Market Ladies, the Fruit Lady, the Temple Lady (above) who always cried when she saw the kids, the Pancake Lady, the Ice Cream Lady.   ​We did cook at home a fair amount and realized how much we miss an oven when we don’t have one.   We made do with pasta and deep friend chicken and eggs and toast in the morning, although usually had to watch out for the geckos jumping out of the toaster.   My wife took a Thai cooking class and came home to make a fantastic Tom Yum soup.   It was often more expensive to buy the ingredients than just grab a pad thai.   Without eating pork or stinky fish, it says much about Thai cooking that we ate chicken/rice/noodles in some configuration for 6 weeks without getting tired of it.   There was a local vegetable market  - more friendly ladies - around the corner, along with a Tesco Express and 7-11 (a mini supermarket),  and it all amounted to a situation that became dependably convenient – something we again only appreciated when we left Chiang Mai. 

​Also around the corner was a gritty local Muay Thai gym – Thai kickboxing.  We paid the friendly manager Ratana to give Raquel private lessons on Thursday nights.   Ratana and her pretty daughter loved Raquel, who cut the cutest curly-haired figure sparring among sweaty fighters.   She learned to keep her fists up, kick, punch and elbow, and survive the massive mosquitoes attacking the gym in the early evening.   Ratana took lots of videos, she thought Raquel was just amazing.   We hoped the lessons would help burn off some of her energy so there wouldn’t be a prize fight trying to get her to sleep that night. 

Although we tried hard not to be tourists, of course we did a few touristy things.  Art in Paradise is an interactive art museum that blew us away, putting us in the picture with dinosaurs and masterpieces.  The kids loved the Elephant Poo Poo Park, where dung is sustainably converted into paper (it's a lot more interesting than it sounds, and in case you're wondering, doesn't smell at all).  We visited a massive waterpark called Tube Trek, the Saturday Night Market, which was so much better than the overcrowded Sunday Night Market.  The Ginger Farm, where Gali fell into a muddy trench.  He had more luck at the Buak Hard Public Park, which had the only decent playground we could find. Of course there were all the amazing temples, and we had a beautiful moment with an elephant on the road without visiting an expensive and dubiously elephant park.   We made friends with wonderful locals and expats (and their kids), celebrated birthdays.  Along with the rest of the world, we anxiously watched the dramatic rescue of the schoolboys from a cave located a few hours drive away.  We joined hundred of Israelis every Friday night for a Chabad feast, and enjoyed the spectacle of the FIFA World Cup in Russia, washed down with tall bottles of cold Singha beer.  

Next door was a Burmese family who prepared rounded fish balls over burning charcoal, the smell of which reliably wafted through the windows each afternoon.   Each night, and often during the day, the loud roosters would get started.  If they didn’t keep us awake, they invaded our dreams.  We spent long nights lying in semi-sleep thinking about how much we’d love to kill those damn birds.   I suppose it was revenge for the sheer amount of chicken we ate every day.   

​The smell of the camphor/citronella mosquito spray.  The ants that would snake from the ceiling to the garbage bin in the kitchen.   The kids writing with chalk on the patio outside before the daily late afternoon tropical rain would wash their scribbles away.    Amy’s ongoing saga with the dodgy dentists of Chiang Mai.   The manual washing machine we didn’t use in the back, and the communal washing machines we did down the road.   The modern malls and dragon fruit.  The homemade ice-lollies with the plastic we bought from the Plastic Lady. To say nothing of Chiang Mai itself, with its bustling markets, and shiny golden Buddhist temples, orange robed monks, crazy traffic, and pungent fish-sauce fragrances.  The kids couldn’t enjoy our $15 hour-long massages in the dark but innocent backrooms off the strip next to the Doo Dee Bar, but they sure chomped down the surprisingly good biltong we managed to find, made by a Dutchman, and delivered to our front gate.  

We could only appreciate how comfortable we’d become in Chiang Mai when we bid our farewells and arrived in Bangkok for 2 weeks.  Our first Air Bnb was such an epic disaster we had to evacuate it after a few hours (with a small refund, thanks Air Bnb).  Our second last-minute emergency lodging was called the Paradise Sukhumvit, which was as far from Paradise as you can imagine.  Our third attempt was modern and clean and on the 29th floor of a condo in Thonglor, which is where you want to be in sticky, smoggy Bangkok, away from the insane traffic and noise and mayhem.  A big city means  less smiles, and more issues getting around to do anything.  The disparity between expensive “normal” restaurants and cheap street food, between normal Thai and rich Thai/expat, is bewildering and excessive.   The traffic can often jam you into a single intersection for 15 minutes.  Grab Taxi is double the price here because you’re hardly moving.  It’s enough to make you want to lock yourself up in a tower with a swimming pool and air conditioning and hardly venture outside.  We did take a couple crazy river boats and visited some of the bigger temples,  hooked up an amazing indoor play area in a ritzy mall where a hand bag costs more than several month’s wages.     Still, Bangkok offered up some wonderful and vivid moments: riding the loud riverboats up the narrow canals  (always preferable to the frustrating gridlock in the back of a taxi).  The incredible temples and time well spent in the wonderful condo infinity pool above the snarling traffic on Petchaburi Road; a play date with a family from Vancouver; Raquel conquering the monkey bars for the first time in Lumpini Park, seeing a movie where the audience must stand and sing tribute to the King (I'd say more about the King, but in Thailand that can get you arrested). 

We hope Chiang Mai is only the beginning of the amazing experiences to come in Bali and Vietnam (and a side trip to Singapore to see our old dear friends), as opposed to the pinnacle of our Asian adventure.    Because if I reminisce about it so fondly after being away from the city for less than a week,  memory will likely grow positively and brighter as the months and years pass.  My family spent 6 weeks in Thailand.  Not travelled in, but lived.   It was a culture shock, it was full of big challenges, unforgettable and wonderful moments, lovely people, and everything we hoped it would be.  Next up:  Bali. 

​Many years ago, before I set out on my first round-the-world adventure, I was faced with an intimidating challenge: 
How do you pack for 12 months on the road, travelling across the diverse landscapes and climates of 24 countries?
I knew I’d have to pack light, remaining nimble for the opportunities while avoiding excessive weight, unwanted attention, and painful waiting at airport arrivals.   I knew I’d have to be prepared for any situation.  I knew my clothing would have to be lightweight, high performance, and work in any number of combinations.
I knew all this, and still I got it all wrong.
 
The last-minute jeans I threw into my backpack (at the insistence of my Mom) were used more than other garment in my possession.  My colour combinations were horrific. Gray pants and gray shirts?   My hiking boots were too heavy and I had to buy cheap sneakers on the road that quickly fell apart.  I brought way too many medications and toiletries when I could have just picked up what I needed when I needed it.  And I did not heed the sound advice from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, that the only thing a traveller really needs is a good towel.    And despite reading that one should pack everything and then halve it, I packed way too much, not accounting for the stuff I’d inevitable buy along the way (Indian hippie-threads! Thai pants!  Souvenir T-Shirts!) to cram into my overstuffed backpack.      
 
In the years since, I’ve became much more adept at packing, so much so that I can usually pack an hour before leaving for the airport.   Two very solid pieces of advice have always stuck with me:

1. There’s two ways to dress:   Stay in the same place and wear different clothes every day. Or wear the same clothes and change places every day.  When you’re constantly on the move, nobody knows or cares that you’re wearing the same shirt day after day, at least until it becomes stained and stinky and due for a well-deserved wash!
2. Pack for one day in which absolutely anything can happen:  A beach day, a wedding day, a big night clubbing, meeting royalty, jungle trekking, mountain climbing, monsoon, desert, a game of tennis, snow, job interview, painting a house.   It’s all about layers and combinations, and you’ll be amazed at what you can get away with in the clever use of scarves, sweaters, a collared shirt, and loafers.

 
Some of the most impressive travellers I’ve met pack everything they need for a two week hot climate adventure in their day pack.   Personally, I’m not one for hard-core packing sacrifices.  I’d rather pack at least a week’s worth of clothing than scrub one of two pairs of underwear every night.   Still, you can stuff a lot into your carry-on, or my spanking new, lightweight 69-litre wheeled duffel.
 
For my family’s upcoming 10-month adventure to four countries, I’m heeding all these words of advice.  Victorinox (Swiss Army) have provided us with outstanding luggage options, from wheeled duffels to medium sized hard cases for the kids.  Travelling with children, of course, is a different ball game.  They can burn through clothing like a pyro with a matchbox, oblivious to the time and effort cost of laundering clothes covered in yoghurt, snot, mud, cream cheese, blood, drool, vomit, or any combination of the above.   They’re also a lot less amenable to clothes choices.  My daughter already insists on wearing her stained Elsa princess shirt for every and any occasion.
 
A dozen years of professional travel has certainly taken the panic out of the process.   The same rules apply, as they always have, even if we’re packing diapers and wipes, stuffies and bedtime books.    You lay it all out on the bed.  Pack the best combinations for that one incredible day where anything can happen. And while anything you forget can be replaced or picked up on the road, the most important packing tip comes from within:  Wherever you go, it’s essential to pack the right state of mind. 

Having broken in my hostel chops around the world, I've identified factors that, combined with creativity, would result in the Perfect Hostel. It is a given, naturally, that any hostel today has no curfew, no lockout, a reception, security and lockers. These are still touted as if they are features when in effect, who wants to stay at some dodgy dump that won't let you in after 10pm. Those days are gone, and fortunately, most hostels now conform to international standards, and in many cases, international or regional associations. Below are my essentials, in no particular order, and they would be appreciated by just about anyone traipsing around the world with a backpack and a budget. Hosteliers and hoteliers, take note!  

Staff & People
It's all about the people.    A friendly patron can quickly make you forget about the other 33 points listed below, with advice, patience and all round enthusiasm for hospitality.  Of course, you could have the Perfect Hostel with an asshole at reception.    Assholes are usually broke foreigners who act as if they are doing you a favour when they buzz you in.   Staff are the condiments, but the meat of the matter are the people you share your dorm with if they're loud, discourteous, obnoxious, snorers, smokers and stealers, even the Perfect Hostel will suck.  

Free Internet
Given the cost of the Internet, and the fact that many hostels offer it as a free service, it irks me when hostels charge for a basic traveling service, nay necessity!   More so, they tend to charge double what the Internet cafe charges on the corner.   It's taking advantage and it's unnecessary.   You will get more traffic, more recommendations and more happy clients if you have two machines available, with a 15-minute max usage if someone is waiting.   A USB port so that people can download their photos wouldn't hurt either. 

Hooks in the bathroom
Amazing how many places think that your towel, clothes and toilet bag belong on a wet floor full of someone else's pubic hair.   Put up some hooks!   And while you at it, plugs in the sink for shaving, and a mirror won't hurt either. 

Bedside Shelf
Everyone who travels has to put their alarm clock somewhere, as well as some keys, or a book, some water, or even a wallet.   One hostel had a neat little lockable wooden cabinet by each bed for your essentials.   Otherwise, it's dump everything on the floor and let people trip all over it, and if the guy on the top bunk needs water during the night, as he probably will, be prepared to be woken up with him falling all over you.

Lockers (under bed)
Lockers are so essential that if you have no place where people can secure their daybags (with cameras, iPods, moneybelts etc), stop calling yourself a hostel immediately.   Lockers come in all shapes and sizes, but they should be roomy enough for a daypack, and close to the bunks.  The best I've seen were on wheels under the bunks, and could fit entire backpacks so that the room was free of clutter and even your clothes were safely locked away.  

Good Website
Most, if not all travelers are using the Internet to find and research hostels.   Hostels.com, hostelworld.com and others have valuable rating systems and booking facilities, and keep hostels on their toes.  I usually find something interesting and then Google their website to find out more.   A good site almost always means a good hostel.   If it's ugly, slow and scary, it says something about the hostel.   There have been exceptions, but even if your site is simple, make sure the information is current and includes everything a prospective patron needs to know, ie: location, cost, directions, facilities, services. 

Directions
This one is surprisingly simple and rarely down well.   You've just come off a long flight/night bus/delayed train.  You're in a strange, new country, with a strange new currency and language.   The directions to the hostel on the website say "Go to the east side of the station, catch the 41 bus south, walk up Flecheschmefer Road and you'll find us".  Make the directions as easy and simple to follow as possible.   Use signs and landmarks.   What is the colour of the building?   Which direction do I take bus 41?   And who the hell is traveling with a compass to know where south or east is?    Sometimes it is fun to find places, but not when you're tired, confused, and walking around town with all your valuables.

Pillows
The key to a good night's sleep.  When they wear down, get new ones.   They are not too expensive, and in the price of board is it not too much to expect a pillow that's thicker than a folded towel?  

Linen
Clean linen, including sheets for the blankets or duvet.  If we have sleeping bags, which a lot of us don't, it's great to use them as little as possible.   Also, linen helps with bed bugs!

Mattress
Every once in a while, mattresses should be checked for bed bugs, dips and humps, smell and wear and tear.   You know, just in case someone wanted to actually sleep.   I've seen bed bud scars, and backs with bunkboard splinters through the mattress.    Use foam if you're cheap.

Shower Pressure
"How was Vienna?" 
"Oh, the shower was amazing!" 
That's how much an impact showers have on dirty budget travelers.    A good shower means getting clean and feeling good.   If I want to stand under a broken cold water tap, I will stand under a cold water tap.   Just don't call it a shower.    

Mirrors
In the bathroom, in the dorms.   We go out, we want to see what we look like. 

Reading Lamp
​Cheap IKEA lamps so that the person in bunk 12 can read if the person in bunk 7 is sleeping.   One hostel had lamps built into the headboards.    If you get back late and everyone's sleeping, you also need to see where your stuff is, how to open your locker, find that bottle of water.  Lamps at least allow everyone in a dorm to operate independently; this "I must sleep we all must sleep" nonsense is unnecessary.

Plugs
We're traveling with digital cameras, iPods, cellphones, laptops, video cameras.   And there is, maybe, one plug in the room.   Each room should have a charging station, or better yet, each bed should have its own plug to charge while you sleep (the other plug can be used for a reading lamp or pluglight).  It is not an option having a charged battery or being afraid to leave it downstairs next to the toaster where you just know someone is going to steal. 

Clean
This is a given.   Just because we're budget travelers doesn't mean we want to sleep, eat and clean ourselves in your shitty house, where the garbage is overflowing, ashtrays are in the sinks and the toilets have last year's skid marks.    

Pool, Foozball, Games
​A hostel is largely a social hub.   The main difference between hostel and hotel is the "s", which stands for "social."  Social games make people meet and talk and that's where the fun is.  In a hotel, the only people you meet are other losers like yourselves in the bar.    Here, you can play ping pong with a professor or find yourself playing Uno with two gay couples and a pair of monks.   And if you do have a pool or ping pong table, try keep it in shape.  We don't mind putting a deposit down to ensure that nobody wrecks the equipment.

Bar
Non-essential, but fun in a hostel.  Again, it's a social place to meet interesting people and make new friends from around the world.   Do it over liquor.  It doesn't have to be cheap, but it should be cheaper than bars in the town.   You can make a lot of money at the same time too.

2-Ply Toilet Paper
Such a small difference, but oh so preferable to wiping with recycled half-ply tissue paper.   We don't have our own bathrooms, but at least give us the luxury of pretending we do.   Also, have back-up rolls always available in the loos, and keep a tab on how low they get.   A toilet without paper is a sad toilet.

Towels
Nobody likes going anywhere with a wet towel in their backpack.   And the hostel, hopefully, are doing linen laundry anyway.   Even a tea towel is better than using my beach towel

Book Exchange
Crucial to anyone who travels is having something to read.   A few long flights, bus or train journeys can see you knock back a book every couple of days.   Book exchanges are not uncommon, they just don't have much thought.   Typically it is two books for one, or one for one plus a couple dollars.  Some guys in Bolivia had the right idea.   As readers, they could make judgment calls on the quality of books.  The first shelf were airline reads.  The second better.  The third best.   One for one to me is fair, providing the books are of equal quality, according to the hostel.   People reading good books can swap for good books, or maybe two craps for one goodie.   Be creative, build a library, save our boredom!

Nightclub shuttle / promotions
Why this doesn't happen more is beyond me.  You have a hostel with dozens of interesting, dare I say attractive travelers looking to rip it.   Any bar or club in the city would give you special deals, VIP access, maybe 2-1 drinks, for bringing in a bunch of foreigners.  It adds spice to the club, plus we travel with dollars and euros!   Who wants to go out in a city to line-up for four hours and be treated like shit.   Cut some deals with your favourite clubs and bars, and make a win-win for everyone.   Shuttles also encourage just about everyone to go out. Make it easy and people will party!

Location
A hostel with everything mentioned here is great, but not if it's located amongst the crack houses of downtown's worst area, or a bus, tram and taxi away.  The best hostels are within (safe) walking distance of the city's attractions , be it central squares, shopping, strips, bars and restaurants, the beach.   Packers are prepared to walk, but it's got to be reasonable.   As in all real estate:  Location, location, location!  

Kitchen accessories
Many hostels offer a kitchen, which is great because you can cook up with a few people and save considerable bucks.   Some of them, however, don't offer anything to cook with, or have one rusty small pot, a banged up pan and a spoon to scrape away any non-stick that might be left.    The best have everything you need (especially pasta strainers, pots, pans, washing up liquid and sponges, sharp knives, cutting boards) and the very best have basic ingredients that don't cost much in bulk, but no traveler wants to buy a big tube of salt and pepper for one meal.  

Free Storage
I always feel ripped off having to pay additional fees to leave my backpack at a hostel, especially those in major cities where day or two-day trips are common.   Usually we come back to stay another night, and in any case, it costs nothing to throw a few backpacks in a locked room.

Hammocks
The best way to spend a slow afternoon with a good book.   At the very least, some deck chairs or garden furniture or someplace when we can lounge in the sun and chill out. 

Private Rooms & Dorms
Nice to have both options available at a budget price, but not essential. Sometimes, privacy becomes an issue, especially with intense short-term intimate friendships  (aka one night stands) being quite common in this environment and lifestyle.   I came up with an idea that each hostel should have a "Love Room", a closet that can be rented out by the hour for late night trysts.   Take out the junk, put in a foam mattress with a red light bulb and start counting the extra dollars!

Laundry (Free?)
Laundry is offered free in many Eastern European hostels, while in others it costs a fortune.   If sheets and towels are washed in-house, backpackers would salivate at the opportunity to wash their smelly clothes.   Obviously, free and folded laundry is a service in my Perfect Hostel.   

Good breakfast
Perhaps the greatest scam in the entire hospitality industry is the so-called free breakfast.    Usually this means a bun, some butter, and some jam, which somehow justifies hotels and hostels tacking on a few dollars for this service.   Unless the breakfast has eggs or fruit, I decline this breakfast and see if I can get a few bucks knocked off the price, which I can then use to buy a real breakfast should I actually be awake to need one (which is hardly ever).    Packers go out late and sleep late, so the free breakfast that ends at 9am gets very few takers and is part of the scam.    Good breakfasts should end at least at 11am, which shows a good understanding of the needs of backpacking clientele.  

Library of Guidebooks
A nice little extra to have up-to-date guidebooks available for Packers to read and refer to in the common room.  They could be signed out to avoid theft.  

Fans and Heat
A dark room with 12 people and bad ventilation does not make a peaceful nights sleep.   Ceiling or standing fans are essential in summer, as are heaters in winter.   This is especially needed in places with harsh climates.  

Tips and Noticeboard
Get your staff to compile their favorite hangouts, bars, pastimes etc on a slow day.   Create your own guide, because chances are it will be far better than the Lonely Planet.   Your hostel will probably determine whether someone enjoys your city or not, so give us some help.   Tips can include:  places to eat, bad restaurants and scams to look out for, good nights at various clubs, current movies and exhibitions, transport and easy directions, must-sees, weather, even current events (a printout of the daily headlines will interest just about everyone).   Give  us a space to give our own advice to others, such as good places to stay in other countries or regions, things for sale, lifts etc etc.

Construction Sites & Traffic Noise
OK, I know this is often beyond anyone's control, but I went 2 weeks staying five hostels and everyone of them was in earth-shattering distance to a jack hammer.
Which always, as a rule, crank up at 6am.    Perhaps this is an unwritten rule for all hostels.  Lots of hostels also find themselves on busy streets where traffic is outrageous.   If so, have cheap foam ear-plugs for sale.   The same if you're above an industrial techno club.    The best hostel is on a quiet street where the only noise I hear are the birds, chirping like angels in the trees.

Drop the Youth
Hostels are no longer only for youth.   They are for budget travelers, of whatever age, and those that enjoy a social aspect to their travels.  The sooner we dispel the "youth" aspect, the sooner hostels will get busier with a whole range of fascinating people looking to meet each other, and drink lots of beer.   

Music and DVD's
A hi-fi playing some tunes, even better if travelers can jack in their iPods and play DJ. Without music, where is the vibe? I know some guys think a TV kills a social atmosphere, but a DVD Player and TV is also a great way to relax, spend a night in and save money. Ideally in a seperate room so those who want to party can do so, and those who want to watch a few movies can do so too. Have a couple of classic DVD's (they can be signed out), which doesn't cost much in any blackmarket.

Transport
I’m on a 15-hour direct flight from Sydney to Vancouver, an impossible flight twenty five years ago.   Lighter aircraft using better technology means we can fly further and cheaper than ever before.   Through the curtain a few rows up, I see business class passengers (the lucky bastards) fully reclined in their cubicles.  Comfort and on-board entertainment is leaping forward.   Perhaps one day we’ll see flying cruise ships, where it will be possible to reach anywhere in unimagined comfort.  Perhaps we’ll have floating hotels, or stopovers in the sky. New environmentally friendly fuels generate power at a fraction of the cost, as the world becomes increasingly smaller, even for us here in Economy Class.
 
Money
I remember backpacking through Europe many years ago, completely bewildered by the array and diversity of currencies.   Not one to dwell on the socio-political impact of the euro (or the sinister whisperings around the so-called amero) but there’s no doubt it has made travelling easier.   A worldwide currency?   These days I use my credit card as much as I can, or withdraw local currency from global banking networks.   Imagine a world where one card carries everything you could possibly need.   Some people might argue we’re already there, but then some people should visit the developing world before making such assumptions.
 
Cameras
The cameras get smaller, the memory gets bigger, the pictures get clearer.   Here’s a device that fits via a radio frequency onto the cornea of your eye.   All you have to do is blink, and a perfect HD video or high-resolution photo is recorded, and immediately sorted according to a voice command.   Virtual visual experiences, like the ones featured in the classic underrated sci-fi movie Strange Days, could take you on lifelike adventures to foreign shores without leaving your living room.   Until someone invents such a device, you’re stuck with travel writers like me. 
 
Entertainment
James Bond zips around the world, looking fantastic, carrying nothing so much as a cell phone charger, yet with a different pair of sunglasses in every destination.   Maybe Q invented a pair of sunglasses that double as video monitors, connected to a 10 terabyte harddrive the size of a pinhead.   It’s loaded with movies, TV, guidebooks, a global cellphone, e-books, GPS maps, music, photos, translators, wireless in-ear receivers and recipes for gin martinis.   James Bond doesn’t have time to go the movies, pick up a book, or carry an cellphone.   One pair of shades, and we’ve got everything we need.  Including an electronic locater, when we inevitably lose them at the backseat of a taxi.
 
Passports
In our increasingly digital age, it’s almost quaint to think we travel with a little book that is absolutely essential for our safe passage.  Be it immigration officials or dodgy police officers who want to see our papers, our ID’s can instead be written in our very bodies, from our fingerprints to our retinas.   Biometric scanners should be able to tag us wherever we are, although the potential for a ruthless big brother scenario is just as probable as the potential for less hassle. 
 
Security
Our safety is of such concern that we’ve been reduced to confiscating toothpaste on airplanes, or blowing up suspicious items like someone’s forgotten shopping bag.  Unhackable E-passports should help lock down the bad guys, but if there’s a will there’s a way.   That’s why X-ray vision capable of identifying weapons and contagious illnesses will hone in on everyone getting on a bus, plane or subway (privacy advocates will ensure it is not subject to abuse.).   Meanwhile, political or environment turbulence will be analyzed information and quickly distributed by a panel of professionals, trained to avoid disseminating panic and fear.   Hey, I can dream…
 
Fashion
Besides the sunglasses equipped with every gadget you can think of (the failure of Google Glasses notwithstanding), I look forward to clothes with integrated nanobots that automatically refresh, clean and kill all foreign bacteria.   Furthermore, one item of clothing will be able to change colour, shape and style depending on what you need it for.   Surely this is what our favourite superspies Bourne and Bond use.   Nanotechnology will also give us a hat that stretches into a hammock or cot, a belt that transforms into a sleeping bag, and while we’re at it, a jacket that turns into an indestructible mobile panic room, should you find yourself needing a sudden emergency exit.
 
The Final Frontier
Space tourism has already started, and much like tourism in its very early days, the final frontier is reserved for those of incredible wealth and means.   At some point in the future, major hotel chains will open on the moon, and Vegas-style space stations will follow.   After all, what goes on in Space, stays in Space.   The discovery that quantum physics and string theory can bend the space-time continuum will open up new planets for brave explorers, and a few months later, name-tagged package tours.   “Off the beaten track” will make way for the “off the chartered galaxy”, and expect a series of guidebooks, Lonely Universe, to shepherd budget-minded earthlings to the seven corners of the galaxy. 

​Turtle Snorkel
The full-face mask is the snorkel’s first improvement in decades, and allows the user to breathe and speak without anything in their mouths.  There’s a bunch of them on Amazon. I bought this one, ready to introduce my daughter to the wonders of marine life.  Raquel and I board Maui Dive Shop’s Ali’i Nui catamaran in Ma’alaea Harbour for a 3-hour snorkel expedition.   Some strong winds derail the planned sailing to Turtle Point, so we sail to up the coast to a protected reef.    Raquel went bananas on the trampoline-like canopy at the fore of the ship, jumping around like a lunatic.  She ate a piece of celery from the rib n’wings buffet.   We suited up and hopped into the water with a kickboard and life vest.  I help her with the mask,  she takes one look down, and that was the end of my plans for the mask. Not interested..  I don’t care if Humu the tropical fish is dancing the cha-cha down there, I am not putting on that mask again.   Raquel has a way of saying all this with her eyes.  To her credit, I get her into the water a couple times, but she refuses to look down, and only lasts a few minutes.  So we spent a couple hours on a catamaran, playing with a feisty Brazilian granny and her grandkids, talking about what Daddy does and how to take photographs.    I’ve snorkelled the world over, Maui can wait.  Advice for parents:  If you plan on actually seeing or doing anything while with your toddler, you’re in for a disappointment.   If you plan on just hanging out with your happy bouncing kid, it’s smooth sailing all the way.  

​Ka'anapali Beach Hotel
Further up the coast, about a half hour’s drive from Wailea is the second oldest hotel, and certainly the oldest-looking hotel,  on the popular Kaanapali beach strip, the Ka'anapali Beach Hotel.  It bills itself as Maui’s most Hawaiian hotel, which means it is independently owned, has pioneered various cultural programs, and is far removed from the spit-polished gloss of the Fairmont. While the rooms look and feel like a throwback to the 1970’s, the location is steps away from the beach, its whale-shaped pool a hit with the kids, and the well-kept gardens are full of native plumerias bursting with flowers.  Sure the shower drain was blocked and the screen door unhinged, the bathroom tiny and the pillows a little lumpy, but the KBH is far more realistic for our budget, and as Raquel bounced between the two beds, she yelled “Daddy, this is even better than the last hotel!”  The needs of a toddler are tremendously simple: if you can jump between two beds, life is grand.    Staff at the KBH were lovely and their KBH Aloha Passport kids program kept Raquel busy with Hula and ukulele lessons. 

​The on-site Legends of Ka'anapali Lu'au was fabulous, and it didn’t take long for Raquel to get up on stage and participate.  Our meal in the Tiki Terrace was memorable, we self catered in the handy covered pavilion, and our Ocean Front room was literally steps from the shallow break of Ka'anapali’s famous sandy beach.   Raquel quickly found a few friends, including a 5 –year old boy named Floras from The Hague, who she simply called “My boy!”  They played for hours in the pool while his Dad and I got sunburned.     Gali awoke at 5:30am one morning so I took him for a walk along the path, past the glitzy Whalers mall and the Marriott and Hyatt mega resorts.   There was a surprising amount of people on the trail.  Many of them were pushing strollers.  We aloha’d each other, sharing the camaraderie of exhaustion and elation to be beachside at sunrise.  

​Mom’s Treat
I wanted to treat my wife with something different.  Spas are the typical go-to, but massages tend to blend into each other, a short-term fix.   Catching your first wave on a surfboard however is something you never forget.  I looked after both kids while Ana took a surf lesson with Goofy Foot Surf School in Lahaina.  She used to be a dancer so I figured her first lesson would be way more successful than my first lesson, which consisted of non-stop wipeouts in the cold waters of Tofino, BC.   With Gali teething and especially clingy,  I think Ana would have enjoyed two hours alone in a closet.    I dealt with the kids while she paddled out to a small break where all the surf schools gather.   And there we watched her not only get up the first time, but stay up over and over again, graduating to a few bigger waves.   She was as thrilled as I’d hoped she would be, immediately regretting that she’d waited so long to surf, considering she grew up on a beach in Rio.  Nobody should ever say no to a massage, but if you want to treat your wife in Maui, give her a challenge to overcome in the healing waters of the ocean. And a break from the kids, of course.  

​Napili Kai Beach Resort
By our third hop, we’d realized, as most travellers do, just how much we packed that we simply didn’t need.   We could blame the kids, but the reality is we can only blame ourselves.   Having gone through the worst Vancouver winter in 33 years, we’d quickly forgotten what warm weather feels like, that all we’d need is bathing suits and flip-flops (and diapers, wipes, toys and teddies) .   We packed up and headed north up the coast to the Napili Kai Beach Resort, framing a perfect crescent-shaped, reef-protected beach with toddler friendly waves.   Steps away from the ocean is the resort’s large pool, a hot tub, and a 27-hole putting green course Raquel couldn’t get enough of.   If you enjoy infinity pools like I do, you’ll appreciate that Room 232 in Napili Kai’s Puna Two building has an infinity patio.   The view from the bedroom and kitchen is all ocean, so much so that it feels you’re on a cruise ship. 

​Meanwhile, the fully equipped modern kitchen quickly taught us this:  if you’re travelling with toddlers, a kitchen is gold.    Oatmeal porridge at 3pm?   A cheese sandwich at midnight?  No problem!   Raquel helped me with the groceries for several nights of simple meals – spaghetti, oven fish, rotisserie chicken, and we saved a bundle.   We even had a blender and ice-maker to craft our own pina coladas. After 12 days of sunshine, a tropical storm hit with sheets of raining falling for 36 hours.   Confined to a room, we were relieved it was this one, where we could watch Netflix movies on TV (thanks to a handy HDMI cable connected to my laptop), stare at the ocean, and let Gali nap in his own space.   Of course, there was still time to play on the beach, explore the grounds, bury Raquel in sand, make sand castles, and splash in the pool.    All three resorts were great, but the self catering flexibility of Napili Kai, and the proximity of its facilities, worked best for our kids.  

The Return
Relaxed, finally in the flow and on a schedule that works for the kids, it’s time to  dynamite it all to hell.   Air Canada’s return flight from Maui is a red-eye (they don’t call it their Air Canada Rouge service for nothing).  We arrived at the airport two hours early and barely made check-in.  Line-ups, heat, frustration, delays, wrong seat assignments – every hour that dripped by eroded the pleasant memories of Maui.  Finally on the plane, the kids are caged monkeys, eventually collapsing in exhaustion on the unspoken condition that we don’t.  Ana bends herself into a pretzel on the floor with one kid using her as a pillow and the other as a footrest.  Raquel has a full thermonuclear meltdown on arrival, and by the time we get home, she climbs on the couch, puts a blanket over her head, and we don’t hear from her for six hours.  She’s never done this before, and it’s quite impressive. 
A few days later, the colours of Maui are fading (along with Raquel’s mysterious rash) , but our experiences on the island remain bright, the photographs sealing in the memories with a varnish that will only improve and become more valuable with time.    I pick up Raquel from daycare, and ask her: “Did you tell everyone about Maui?”
“No,” she replies. “I forgot to.”  
Toddlers.
She might be over it, but I believe our two weeks on the Valley Isle hardcoded our children with a love for the ocean, island life, the aloha spirit of Hawaii, and an appreciation for warm, sincere hospitality.   It definitely hard-coded a love for travel, for the next sentence out of Raquel’s mouth is: “Where are we going next?” 

I’ve cage dived with crocodiles, hung off the side of holy mountains in China, and vacationed in Chernobyl, but here’s the truth:  the thought of travelling for the first time with my 4 year old daughter Raquel and 9-month old son Galileo terrified me. Curly-haired Raquel seems to have fallen Obelix-like into a cauldron of Red Bull, she’s a T4 bull in a china shop of tranquillity. Gali is newly teething, crawling, and hasn’t seen a hazard he hasn’t wanted to wrap his gums or baby carrot fingers around.   Still, it’s time to break them in, because with a Dad like me, travel is in their future.  So I thought I’d start somewhere easy and beautiful, spreading a couple weeks over a range of accommodation options.  Expectations are the death of travel, and yet toddlers are particularly gifted when it comes to ensuring that no high hope is trampled under the weight of their hyper-emotional little piggies.     

The Flight
No matter how great your toddler vacation is, the reality is it will be bookended by a plane ride three stories up from hell.   I fly a lot.  It’s my chance to work, read, watch a movie, daydream at altitude.   A six-hour direct flight from Vancouver to Maui should be nothing.  If the kids sleep.  To stack the odds in my favour,  I reached out to Fly-Tot, who sell an inflatable legroom pillows.  We’d be flying in late at night.    How bad could it be?   Bad.  Real bad.  Gali is chewing on the tray tables and seatbelts (and you know how often they get cleaned).  Raquel is vibrating with kicks and punches.  Rather than sleeping, the kids are using the Fly-Tot as a trampoline.   Playing Frozen on the iPad worked, but it only worked once, and then Raquel... let it go.  Like condemned prisoners at a public hanging, my wife and I gaze into the eyes of fellow toddler parents, dealing with the trauma of their own journey.  Each minute of each hour has the weight of a cannonball.   So frazzled by the experience, I commit a cardinal travel sin and forget our two bottles of duty free liquor – blessed late night Scotch/Baileys escape  - on the plane.  Air Canada’s cleaning staff relieve us of the bottles no more than five minutes after we deplane and I remember the forgotten bag.  “Sorry sir, our cleaners didn’t find anything.”   Aloha to them. ​

​Car Rental
Welcome to Maui!   Grab our bags and shuttle to the car rental, and spend 45 minutes in a late night line-up.  Now the kids want to sleep.  I push two chairs together and Raquel passes out.  I feel like Parent of the Year.   Get the van, install the car seats, strap in the kids, load in the luggage.  It’s a 45-minute late night drive in the rain to Wailea.  Could anything be worth this?   

The Fairmont Kea Lani
Yes, waking up on the 7th floor in a Deluxe Ocean View suite at the Fairmont Kea Lani is definitely worth it.  The sun sparkles off the Pacific.  Koi swim in ponds amidst manicured gardens and clear azure pools.  Coconut trees rustling in warm tropical air as sweet as nectar.  Stripped of the jeans and hoodies we won’t see for the next two weeks, the family hums with travel buzz.  We chomping at the bit of a beach vacation.   Out feet touch the reddish sand of Polo Beach, and then it starts: 
“I don’t want to go to the sea Daddy!”  Oh look, Gali has a fistful of sand in his mouth.  “It’s too hot Daddy!”  “It’s too cold Daddy!”  “I’m hungry!”  “I’m not hungry!”  “Where’s my blue spade?”  “I want a red spade!”  “I want what that other girl has!” “Pick me up!”  “Put me down!” “This rock is scary!” “I want to go to the pool!”    Toddlers are complex algorithms that dance to a convoluted rhythm only they can hear.   The first chance we have to relax is much later that night when both kids are asleep.  No late night walks on the beach for us, but we do sip cocktails on our patio, beneath a planetarium of stars, a scene scored by the soporific sound of crashing waves.     The flight is a distant memory.   Aloha Maui.  Finally, aloha.

Road Trip
The bucket list drive in Maui is the road to Hana, a hairpin-winding track alongside soaring ocean cliffs.    We made three turns and turned around, avoiding the projectile backseat vomit we knew would follow.  This pretty much ruled out a drive to the Haleakala volcano crater too, which I’ll have to get to once the kids are a little older.  We did drive to Makena Beach where Raquel flew a kite for the first time.  I brought it from home and she didn’t want to do anything except fly that kite.  She flew it for exactly 34 seconds, and never wanted to see it again.  We drove up to Twin Falls and got some great photos amidst the giant bamboo and dual cascades.     The Banyen Tree in Lahaina is unlike any tree I’ve ever seen, sporting 16 trunks and a block-wide canopy.  We ate lunch in the Flatbread Company in Paia, after which I lost my wife and daughter in the shops.   Raquel was having an allergic to reaction to her all-natural sunblock or the heat or the seawater, or something the Internet told us could probably be treated with a little Benedryl.  New parents would spend a day in a local hospital, only to be told to use a little Benedryl.   Fortunately we’re over the paranoia and worry that accompanies the firstborn.   Instead we visit Baby Beach where the full-face snorkel mask I bought for Raquel is thoroughly enjoyed by all other kids on the beach.   They tell me it works like a charm. 

Not all bags are equal.
 
Suitcases are entirely functional, a means to an end.  You want them to arrive in one piece, protect your contents, wheel with a degree of ease, and when the handle snaps or the wheels jam or the airline sends it on a one-way ticket to Togo, well shucks, you’ll just have to get a new, snazzier one. A suitcase is an acquaintance.
 
Backpacks are a different beast, especially when you use them for long journeys or epic hikes.  You get to know your backpack.  Appreciate its complexities, the inner pouches and deceptively large side pockets.   You practice and perfect the technique for lifting them up and balancing them on your shoulders. They are adorned with stains and badges and sticky goop picked up on the floor of rural Indian train stations. You pray for your backpack’s arrival on the baggage carousel, and would be devastated if it never showed up. A backpack is a friend.
 
A Daypack follows you around everywhere and holds everything that is important in your travelling world – laptop, camera, books, journal, tablet, headphones, notebooks, adaptors, back-up credit card, medication, lucky charms.    It never leaves your side, a trusted companion who always has your back.  When you eat, you sling it around your legs so nobody can race off with it.  It’s been your suitcase, your bullet proof vest, your tortoise shell.   Your Daypack hangs around even when you stop travelling.  
 
I first went travelling with an old Karrimor backpack that somehow survived about 30 countries.  It lived through trains in Zambia and rat raids in Laos.  It was hurled onto chicken buses in Guatemala and hurled on in Albania.  I only retired the poor bastard because the zipper kept breaking and even repair shops couldn’t keep it going. I shed a tear when I let the old boy go.  I’ve never used a suitcase, although I do use a small one for overnight trips that Tourism Victoria gifted me at a media event.  Their logo is covered in obnoxious stickers, like Lionel Ritchie saying Hello, a Deadpool face, and a picture of our planet with the word Fragile all over it.   Hope they don't mind. 
 
My Daypack has been through various incarnations, because I’m always looking for a better mousetrap, the Bag of all Bags, the Holy of Holies.   It must hold everything, in its easily accessible place.  A fine Daypack must be comfortable, durable, and ready to double as both pillow and shield.  When laptop pouches were first introduced, I had to have one for the sheer sake of efficiency. I’ve used an Eddie Bauer dayback for years, which has always grated me, because my name isn’t Eddie Bauer, so I don’t see why I should have his name on my Daypack.
 
My latest contender is called The Every Day Backpack 30 from a company called Peak Design.  It was created by engineers and designers to “meet the needs of creative, adventurous people.”  They got their start on Kickstarter, and now have 14 employees producing over 20 products that win all sorts of awards.  Like myself, these are people who take bags very, very seriously.   So they sent me the Every Day and I’ve been using it, well, every day.   Things to know about this bag:

1. It has something called a MagLatch system (patent pending), which works better than clips or zips and has made more than one airport security person say “cool!” 
2. It has 2 expandable, external weather-proof side pockets with dual side loading that is a little confusing at first, but then you get used to it.
3. It has Flex Fold dividers so I can choose to use it for my camera, stinky sneakers or toiletries. 
4. There are no dangling straps to catch things, the design is minimalistic, and there are all sorts of zip pouches to keep all sorts of things.
5. The laptop pouch is big and snug and weeks later I still keep finding places to put stuff, like that Boy Wonder lucky charm that travels with me always.

 
After working with Crumpler for a while, I decided their bags were simply too heavy to be of any practical use. When it comes to bags, designers should take a page out of Scandinavian design:   Function over Form. It feels good to have this very practical DayPack, but it will take a few countries to break it in.  
 
Unless I’m hiking or taking chicken buses, a wheeled duffel is now my choice of backpack.  So many things died in 2016, including my wheeled duffel that had seen off a dozen countries, and the manufacturer that made it go bankrupt.  Note: any product with a lifetime guarantee only works if the company remains alive.   My bag resembled the actor Rip Torn.  Everything came apart, except the wheels, which rolled strong and free.   So I went to MEC and bought a new Wheeled Duffel, which is squat and ugly but who cares so long as it keeps showing up at the end of the long-haul.   
 
Bags.  We need them.  They need us.   As for what we pack in them, it's easy: The most important thing to pack, whenever you travel, is the right state of mind.  

Drinking in the World

My favourite, and not-so-favourite cocktails from around the globe. 

Pisco Sour
Peru/Chile

Peru and Chile have long battled over who owns the Pisco Sour, but regardless of its origins, anyone who gets the chance to enjoy it is a winner. The cocktail is made from the clear distilled grape brandy pisco, blended with fresh lemon or lime, egg whites, syrup or sugar, and a dash of bitters.   It’s refreshing yet a little sour, much like a margarita, and served in a short whiskey glass, any time of day.  The Pisco Sour is the national drink of Peru, who claim that Chile stole the recipe from them during a war in the 1800’s.   That being said, the best Pisco Sour I had was in Santiago, from a homemade Chilean recipe.  Perhaps it’s time both countries sit down and discuss the issue over a cocktail.  

Raki
Albania/Turkey

In many parts of the world, locals forego major liquor brands for their own homemade moonshine. Such is the case with raki in Albania.   Raki is also found in Turkey, and known as arak in North Africa and the Middle East.  Every year in Albania,  there are cases of people going blind, or even losing their lives after consuming a particular nasty batch of raki, which is distilled from grapes and flavoured with aniseed.  Not that you’ll be able to taste much, as this traditional aperitif disintegrates everything it touches in your mouth and throat.   In Albania, homemade raki served in a glass decanter made my mouth burn and my nose run, but fortunately, left my eyesight in tact.

Saperavi Wine
Georgia

Georgians don’t know which came first: Wine, or the people to drink it.   Archaeologists have discovered traces of wine in jars that date back 8000 years, implying that tiny Georgia, bordered by Turkey, Russia, Armenia and Azerbaijan, is the birthplace of wine the world over. The country has 200 endemic species of grape, producing many types of wine that are found nowhere else.   Toastmasting is a proud tradition, as is the cultivation and production of wine in underground casks that date back generations.    Saperavi is its most famous red wine, along with the white Rkatsitelli.   Both are sweet, almost dessert-like wines, high in sugar and alcohol.    At a traditional dinner, I watch four men pour out their lauded toasts, draining at least a dozen bottles without tipping over.  France and Italy may make the finest wine, but little known Georgia lives and breathes it.  

Mampoer
South Africa 

Legend has it that the powerfully strong mampoer is an able substitute should you run out of battery acid.   Known as a type of peach brandy, mampoer can be made from any fruit, including apricots, plums, figs, prickly pear, pineapples and marula.   Its origins go back to the Dutch settlers of South Africa, who allowed soft, sweet fruit to rot in barrels for three weeks, before boiling it up a couple times to distil the alcohol from the mash.   Mampoer, which is still made by many farmers in South Africa, has an alcohol volume between 60 to 80%.    No word on whether they use it to power their tractors. 

Tequila
Mexico

 A drink can only be called tequila if it is produced in the region of Jalisco, in and around the town of Tequila itself.     Mexico’s national drink has its roots with the Aztecs, who produced a fermented drink called pulque from the agave plant.   When Spanish conquistadors ran dry of their imported liquor, they adopted the native drink to produce mescal, the name still given to a variety of liquor produced from the agave.   Tequila is a type of mescal produced only in one region, refined, and perfected, much like cognac is to brandy.   Jose Cuervo began production in 1795, and its La Rojena distillery is still in operation today, the oldest in Latin America.   Here you can see how tequila is made,  learn about its correct consumption (sipped, never shot), and drink from the family’s private cellar, where the smooth, rich sample has the fragrance of tequila, but goes down like liquid velvet.

Fermented Horse Milk
Mongolia

The chief of the nomadic tribe calls me into his traditional circular ger tent.   It’s pretty spacious considering it can be dismantled and packed onto horses in just a couple hours.  On the walls, made of fabric, are pictures of famous Mongolian wrestlers, embroidery, and cracked mirrors.  We sit at a table, and from a porcelain jug, he pours into a small wooden cup  some of his most treasured elixir.   I smile, maintaining eye contact, and bring the cup to my mouth.  A sour odour reaches my nose, the eye-watering stench of ammonia.   The liquid touches my lips, burns, the tartness stretching my tongue and forcing a muffled gag reflex.  I shoot it back, closing my eyes, somehow keeping it down.  I regain focus, breathe out a noxious gas, and silently congratulate myself.   The chief is so impressed, he immediately pours me another cup. 

Soju
South Korea

There’s nothing quite like seeing South Korean businessmen on a soju binge.   This vodka-like drink, produced from rice or other starches like potato or wheat, is poured into a shot glass, and after a toast, consumed in one gulp.   Etiquette dictates that you must not fill your own glass, that it must be held with one or two hands depending on status, and poured and received in a particular manner too.  With all the rules, dating back to the 1300’s, it’s odd to see basic courtesy go out the window as the soju takes hold, and men descend into a state of alcoholic madness.   I saw suits and ties passed out in the bushes on Seoul, or carried unconscious over the shoulder by colleagues, all on a weeknight!   Korea’a Alcohol and Liquor Industry reckons each Korean adult drinks more than 90 bottles of soju a year, where it is viewed as a positive energy source for the country.