As this year is my last at University I’ve been reflecting on the times I’ve had and the places I’ve been. I could have talked about the bright lights of New York or the picturesque vineyards of California from my trip across the United States. The thing about America is that so much of it is splashed across our TV screen everyday, it doesn’t leave much to be surprised about when we get there to see it for ourselves. Austin however, is truly somewhere else.

Taking a look at any map will tell you Austin sits in the heart of Texas. This isn’t true, metaphorically or geographically. Having also visited Houston and Dallas during my trip I can assure you the bus to Austin may tell you you’re still in the same state, but has somehow transported itself to the furthest possible place from Texas. Texans simply don’t live in Austin: Republicans and hardcore steak-consuming men with rifles live in Texas (I’m not stereotyping, I’ve seen them), they don’t live in Austin.

The city’s slogan ‘Keep Austin Weird’ reverberates around the fluorescent baseball caps and tie-dyed t-shirts lining every resident’s body, but weird doesn’t mean weird here. Weird is normal, weird only means ‘not Texan’. The huge music scene of 6^th Street obviously contributes to the liberal feel of the place. At bars the bouncers wear Hawaiian floral shirts, absolutely everyone plays the guitar and nobody insists on listening to Michael Jackson. If you’re travelling the States like I did, allow a few extra days for Austin, you’ll feel the slowed pace of life here and want to explore as if you’re on holiday, not hurriedly rushing around the sites as a traveller.

The Congress Avenue Bridge is what separates the tranquil area of the city’s only hostel and the slow river that lines the peaceful green land that runs for miles from the Downtown area. Between the two, and living directly underneath the bridge however, are around a million bats that provide one of the main attractions. Sunset each night sees the bats take flight and fill the sky in swarms to provide a mid-air dance show for the hundreds of people that gather on top of the bridge, in the grassy park underneath or in boats on the river, all hoping to be the one person to capture a photo of anything but lots of small dark blurs. None succeed.

Continuing up Congress Avenue by day will lead you to the even greener and even more liberal area of Barton Springs. Home to a completely natural freshwater swimming pool, Barton Springs is one of the most scenic areas I came across in the US, and the main road leading to the springs is one not to be missed for culinary delights. You won’t find any branches of McDonald’s or Subway in this area of Austin, instead you’ll come across outdoor diners where vegetarian options fill most of the menu, 1950s silver trailers serving cupcakes or vegan snacks and casual restaurants serving freshly prepared ingredients without an artificial flavour in sight (a rarity in America, please forgive my over enthusiasm).

Despite the nearing 50°c temperatures, the water in Barton Springs feels close to subzero, though this well-hidden spot is too good to miss. Grab a towel, a piece of shady grass and a snow cone, and spend the afternoon braving the cold waters and continually reverting back to the blistering sun before taking a brave leap into the most refreshing pool you’re ever likely to find. There’s a huge feeling that Austin is a place made for travellers, the whole place boasts an aura of ‘welcome’, right down to the hostel’s unofficial overspill B&B’s owner insisting you think of him as ‘your gay uncle David’ while giving you a lowdown on the area. It’s almost as if the entire city’s layout was designed with tourists in mind. The hostel sits at the far end of the city, almost an hour’s bus ride from the Greyhound station, but this means you’re given a tour of the places to visit before you start, including the largest Congress building in the United States.

Austin is definitely a place not to be missed, it’s almost guaranteed something here will make you smile everyday: the street sign reading ‘WHOA’, where others might say ‘HILL’, or the lone DJ, quietly floating down the river at night, aboard a wooden raft complete with UV lights and sound set, appearing to have no destination in mind but a mission to simply enjoy life and uniqueness instead. Austin is Texas’s best kept secret, just don’t tell Texas that.

Laura Smith

Photos by: Laura Smith

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I’d have thought there was, until I met John Mulligan. It was on a train from my University city, Hull, to London. As I settled down into my table seat on a Hull Trains service to King’s Cross, this genteel chap – on the right side of seventy, just retired – was beginning a cheese and ham sandwich. Fair enough, nothing wrong with that. Next to him, his equally genteel wife – I assume, Mrs Mulligan (I like to think of her as Joan) – began tucking into a cucumber sandwich. All well and good, even though my own breakfast was becoming a distant memory with no prospect of lunch any time soon. It was a breakfast I had reason to be proud of; three portions of my five-a-day in one sitting. I was impressed anyway. That sandwich never made it past Brough – ten minutes from Hull.

Behind me, an American with a beard and a huge beer belly (hereafter called Beardy American) was drinking Stella and loudly telling the carriage about the time he’d sold some golf clubs in Arizona. You’ve no idea how interesting that is. While he conjured up images of windswept sand and blistering desert, we passed the cesspit of a river outside Selby in the half-hearted Yorkshire sun. Meanwhile Mr M started his assault on a satsuma.

It seems that Mrs M and I shared not only a table with Mr M but also a belief that crosswords can make train journeys that little bit less tedious. She was doing the one in the G2, while Mr M finished his satsuma. As Mrs M handed him a second sandwich (plain ham this time) she asked if Homer’s Iliad was about the Trojan War. I assume this question was related to the crossword. Now, being a recently-retired couple, middle-class and respectable, I was confident the Mulligans would be able to handle a bit of Classical literature. Surely, cultured, sensitive John, with his free bus pass, would be on safe ground here? No. The sandwich he gamely finished off gave no clues. I had to help out. But we British don’t like talking to strangers on public transport. Mrs M’s eyes fell on me, imploring, questioning – did I know? I’d sat at their breakfast table, I was practically family! So I told her – yes, the Iliad is about the Trojan War. Relief! A clue solved! Mr M opened a packet of crisps in celebration.

I felt I could relax a little. My intellectual muscles had been flexed, their strength demonstrated, my Classics A Level felt worthwhile.

It was as I sat wallowing in elitist smugness that I noticed a kid watching me. Trains are funny for that; they’re designed in such a way as to make it impossible not to notice the people two seats away from you. You won’t see the folk inbetween, but anyone two seats away is always thrust into your attention. On this occasion, a young lad was gazing at me. Probably. Unless he was gazing vacantly into space, as twelve-year-olds often do. It’s possible he was watching Mr M chew meditatively on a Mars bar, but I like to think he was awed by my Iliad answer. That was almost certainly more interesting than Doncaster train station, which we were passing through (even for kids, Classics beat Doncaster: Fact). After that, he went to find a toilet, so I suspect he was just staring vacantly.

Beardy American had chosen this moment – between swigs of Stella – to tell someone (anyone?) about the unusual workings of the ticket machines at Basingstoke. In honesty, I wasn’t paying much attention, so if you really want to know about this you’ll have to ask him or go to Basingstoke.

Between Grantham and King’s Cross there was no stopping the train, nor Mr M’s appetite. It started gently. For ten minutes the Mulligans picked at a bunch of grapes, skirting each other’s choices like they were engaged in a private Cold War. But it soon became clear that for every grape Mrs M had grabbed, Mr M had gobbled two. As pickings got slimmer, Mr M got quick, harrying the vine until it was bare – and Mrs M got a raw deal. She didn’t seem to mind, and contented herself with munching an apple to pass the time (she’d finished the crossword, with no extra help from me – she was obviously an experienced hand).

Behind me Beardy American cracked open his fourth can of Stella, while in front of me Mr M peeled a banana. I didn’t see how he could still be hungry. I mean, he was a slim man – where did he put it all? It was obvious where Beardy American put it all – his beer belly – but Mr M…? Maybe the overdose of fruit (is it possible to OD on fruit?) was an attempt to balance the fattier foods. Maybe he hoped to cram all of his five-a-day into one meal. I’d thought my three in one sitting was impressive, but that was an achievement paling away into a stomach-wrenching exhibition of half-hearted enthusiasm when placed alongside Mr M’s gargantuan effort.

It was around this time that the boy proved he was watching me – I yawned: he yawned. Yawns are contagious, as everyone knows, and if he wasn’t watching me where else could he have got it from? I knew I had him now, but was crushed into inactivity by the eating display across my table. I’d yawned because Mr M had produced a pear from some bag or other. He was beginning to take the mick. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to look when – fifteen minutes later – he asked Mrs M to get his nuts out for him. As I was about to move seats – I’ve nothing against OAP love, but some things are too much – she handed him a bag of mixed seeds and nuts.

Outside passed the beautiful rolling hills of the south-east, illuminated by a generous sun that had finally pulled its finger out. My eyes roved between that view and my book, but my attention was distracted occasionally. Out of the corner of my eye it looked suspiciously like more eating was happening, and I was still not involved (as my grumbling stomach pointed out). Slowly, I looked up. Lo and behold, Mr M was tucking into a cake! Not a big one, or even an especially nice-looking one, but a box of Kipling cakes, nonetheless.

The man was far from flagging, and managed to polish off a croissant as the driver announced that King’s Cross was near. This was the moment the Mulligans popped some gum into their mouths. I had two theories on this. A: they’d technically just finished breakfast, and so were brushing their teeth. B: they have a medical condition which means that their jaws will seize up if they’re inactive for more than five minutes.

Either way, it was one of my most entertaining London train journeys – and the first thing I did on arrival was buy a sandwich to quieten my own growling stomach.

Richard T. Watson

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Probably one of the most popular destinations for students, Amsterdam seriously lives up to its wild reputation. With return flights costing around £60 and ferry tickets at about £70 it is definitely well worth a short visit. As Amsterdam is so popular with tourists there are many cheap hostels in very central areas. I ended up staying at the not so aptly named ‘Hotel France’ where my two cousins and I were greeted by a friendly middle-aged Dutch lady and a suspicious smelling cloud of smoke from one of the back rooms. The hostel happened to be right on the doorstep of the red light district. We weren’t aware that we were quite so close to the ‘action’ and it was quite a shock when we first ventured out into the city and came across shop windows displaying women ‘for sale’; however the sight of these scantily clad ladies became as frequent as the china shops and canals, so it soon washed over us.

As well as the lenient laws regarding the sex trade, it is often the ‘coffee shops’ and their legal sale of marijuana that tempts millions of tourists into the city every year. Although if you do plan to visit one of these establishments it is recommended that you go to one with a license otherwise you can end up very much worse for wear and in the company of some very shady characters.

In addition to the social aspect and the often unruly night life, the city itself is very beautiful, boasting some of Europe’s most incredible architecture. This is best viewed on the numerous tours that are given throughout the city. We were lucky enough to stumble across the New Europe tour group who run free walking tours in many cities including London, Paris, Berlin and Edinburgh, amongst others. An Irish girl called Agnes, who was studying in Amsterdam and had an encyclopedic knowledge of every tiny detail about the city, gave us an extensive tour. She literally pointed out everything, from the individual and delicately carved gable stones on some of Amsterdam’s oldest houses, to the ‘urinoirs’ which were strategically placed sheets of metal, covering lampposts and the corners of buildings so that any drunken young men out to relieve themselves would get a nasty shock as their urine deflected back onto them!

Along with the walking tour, my two cousins and I found that another great way to see the city was on a canal boat with each tour of the city’s canals only costing about ten Euros. We visited Amsterdam in April so the tourist season hadn’t really begun. Due to the fact that there were very few people around, when we took our canal tour we were the only passengers on the boat. As the tour progressed, the owner of the barge decided to liven up the tour by letting us drive! This could have gone horrifically wrong, especially with all the twists and turns in the canals, but it actually ended up being quite easy and very entertaining.

Among the many other attractions Amsterdam has to offer are its museums and galleries. For those looking to discover more about the history of the city there is the Rembrandt museum and the Anne Frank House. We visited the Anne Frank House, advertised as ‘A Museum with a Story’. It certainly reveals the sad truth regarding the Frank family and their time in hiding during the Second World War. For those looking for something a little less somber and more enlightening with regards to modern Amsterdam there is the Sex Museum and the Hash, Marihuana, and Hemp Museum.

Amsterdam is a brilliant location for a short city break; we stayed for three nights and came back with some brilliant experiences. From the Condomerie on the Warmoesstraat selling novelty contraceptives for the masses, to the canals lined with boats of all shapes and sizes, there is something to be enjoyed for everyone.

Venetia Stefanou

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Our guide told us there was a four-hour trek ahead, and our reward would be the blissful Kouangxi Waterfalls, famous in the area, as it is possible to swim in the pools that were the product of the waterfall’s mighty stream – popular with locals and tourists alike. Unfortunately, there was still the small matter of our rather lengthy trek. When we got going however, time just seemed to evaporate as the picturesque scenery of the Laos Mountains took control and I was left speechless at its amazing beauty. I couldn’t remember another time when I’d felt so relaxed and at ease with the world; it was the combination of the serene atmosphere and the breathtaking sights that made me step back and appreciate where I was and how I had got here.

Despite the scenery, there were of course moments of slight discomfort over the four hours. Whilst being a little wet, it was still rather muggy and reaching into my bag for a bottle of water became a necessity. As well as this, I decided to ask our tour guide about the amount of dangerous creatures in the area, confident that he would give me an answer reassuring me of the safety of the jungle. Instead he answered ‘Well… there are some, but they are only as dangerous as you think they are.’

‘How deep’ I thought. This had not been the type of Eastern enlightenment I was looking for.

We carried on regardless and before we knew it, we arrived right on top of the largest waterfall of all. The view was fantastic, although peering over the edge made me feel a little nauseous. After four hours of walking my feet started to feel as though they were broken, and one of the most valuable lessons I learnt was that sandals are not the best shoes for long distance walks. However, walking on the top tier of the waterfall meant gliding through the upward stream, which would increase in pace and size as it went down the rock formation. It was cold and fresh and great therapy for the soles of my aching feet.

We slowly made our way down the waterfall and the view from the bottom was just as amazing as the view from the top; so amazing that I even contemplated thinking how incredible the beauty of nature was. Then I stopped myself because I knew how depressingly cheesy that would have been. As I have mentioned before, at the base of the waterfall there were three relatively big pools that were filled with people enjoying themselves and lapping up the clean, spring water on an incredibly humid day. I myself dipped into the pool and was completely re-energised (although I could have been up to my neck in sewage water for all I cared as I was so dehydrated). It made the bug dodging all the more worth it and after an epic marathon it was brilliant to relax somewhere so calm and refreshing.

Laos, like many other countries, is becoming the victim of mass globalisation. So I felt privileged that during my journey through the mountainous jungle I was able to see the more tropical, leafier, and ancient side of South East Asia.

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Waterfalls, volcanoes, natural parks, rainforests and wildlife are all featured in this aesthetically pleasing book, alongside ideas for organised tours and guided/self guided journeys. Scanning the globe from Mali to Japan and even recommending some more budget-friendly walks in England, the authors manage to encapsulate the beauty of travel in its simplest and most enjoyable form – walking.

The book includes thirty walks in total, with a varying range of difficulties. These include leisurely strolls in the English countryside, or around the charming canals of Amsterdam, to more challenging treks such as the Tiger Leaping Gorge trek in China and a climb up Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.

With useful tips, travel advice and a detailed guide to accompany each walk, Unforgettable Walks To Take Before You Die is the perfect source of information for anyone planning an interesting travel adventure.

Helena Grant

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Crammed full with massive amounts of general tips for traveling, with information on health and safety, insurance, work visas, etc, it answers any question about preparing to travel, through to when you’re actually on the road. A more specific guide to locations can be found in the second half of the book, broken down roughly by continent, giving you the information you’ll need to make the most of your time away, all interspersed with plenty of stunning pictures and handy maps.

If you’re undecided on where you want to visit and you don’t mind a few clichés here and there, the ‘Traveler’s Tales’ segment, towards the end of the book, provides a few short accounts of other people’s travel experiences, each one accompanied by a ‘Top Tip’ which are, on the whole, quite nifty.

If I had one small criticism it would be that because of its condensed format, some topics are raised but are perhaps not given the detail they should, e.g. the ‘Being A Good Traveler’ and ‘Issues’ segments. However, these parts do provide an excellent starting platform for your own research into the cultures you’ll be visiting.

Having travelled during a gap year myself, I read my share of gap year books and even lugged around a hefty beast of one, so it makes me mildly jealous that none were as compact with vital information or as reader friendly as “The Big Trip”. This book really is one of the best backpacker guides I’ve come across and I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Eliott Fellinger

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Despite venturing across the pond to the US of A on a few occasions, I had only covered the East Coast. This year I went a little further afield, starting with Las Vegas. Las Vegas is possibly the weirdest place I have ever been. Everything is supersized: the hotels, the food, the people! And the heat is unbearable, staying at a constant 40C. I have to say, after about three or four days you can run out of things to do, but there are some good trips you can take, including the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon. There are also a variety of shows worth going to that all take place in the fantastic hotels, many of which you might have seen in the likes of Ocean’s Eleven. Las Vegas certainly has a charm about it, but you do have to look past the manufactured facade in order to discover this. Las Vegas can be a crazy place though, with pensioners hitting the slot machines to blow their life’s savings before they have even had breakfast.
After my three-day stint in Las Vegas, we drove the most unscenic route ever through the barren scrubland of Nevada and California to Los Angeles. I stayed in Santa Monica, a beach resort about 25 minutes outside the city. LA has its pros and cons. The city itself isn’t anything special, hardly pretty with no culture whatsoever, but saying this I did enjoy my walk through Hollywood, past the Kodak Theatre which is where the Oscars are held. From there I took a bus ride around the stars’ houses, through Beverley Hills and Bel Air, and yes, I did see the Fresh Prince’s pad! Not as good in real life, I must say. Shaquille O’Neil’s house, on the other hand, is ridiculous. But once you’ve done those touristy things and checked out the shops on Rodeo Drive, LA does not have much else to offer.
Leaving LA, We traveled north to my favourite part of the trip, San Francisco. San Francisco was great: a real wholesome place with so much to offer. The weather wasn’t the best; the city has a microclimate of it’s own, which is about 10 degrees colder than its surrounding area. This strange predicament is apparently something to do with the wind in the bay. San Francisco also has a real bohemian feel to it, and embraces all cultures and nationalities that visit it and is subsequently
extremely cosmopolitan. This is echoed in the food and in the temperament of the people. In addition to this, the city completely rejects the fame-grabbing, shallow attitude that its Californian counterpart oozes. I found that the people of San Francisco are a bit like New Yorkers, with less of an edge. The public transport is great, with trams covering the entire city, and another fun thing to do is to take the old cable car, where everyone hangs on the side for dear life.
San Francisco is rife with museums and Alcatraz – the famous prison where Al Capone ended up – is also recommended. The best thing I did when I was there was to bike the Golden Gate Bridge. The view of the city from the bridge is stunning, and it’s inexpensive, working out at about £10 per person, only taking around an hour and a half to do the whole thing.
As I touched on earlier, San Francisco’s geographical location means that over the years, like New York, immigrants from all over the world have inhabited the city. Therefore the city offers a fantastic range of different restaurants and food. On the first night I found myself in the centre of Chinatown,
being hoarded into what looked like a dingy apartment block. Seven stories higher, this dingy apartment block opened itself out to be a tranquil Chinese restaurant, with possibly the best spring rolls I have ever tried! Little Italy also offers some fantastic restaurants and all the areas are marked by flags on lampposts, so you know which or whose area you are in.
The only drawback with San Francisco is the abundance of impoverished people that can be seen wandering the streets, which can be fairly intimidating for some. Also a tourist has to be careful – although safe in most areas, take a wrong turn in San Francisco and you will end up in what looks like a scene from the film 8 Mile. I found this out the hard way as I was strolling around, and ended up in the centre of Tenderloin, famously a drug trafficking area, with many addicts roaming around looking for a fix. I have to say that was a hairy twenty minutes! On the whole though I was thoroughly impressed with the West Coast of America and will definitely return. I certainly recommend it to anyone who is thinking about taking a trip to the states.

Sarah Brown

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As the sun was only just sneaking over the horizon I was making my way through a very quiet main train station of Munich; the Hauptbahnhof . Immediately I found a few leaflets introducing Munich to tourists and ended up unearthing one of the strangest laws Germany has to offer: crossing a street, without the pedestrian light being green, is a criminal offence. Upon leaving the station it was a strange sight, watching all manners of people looking down a deserted street and patiently waiting for the green man to appear on the lights. For the tourists visiting Munich this is a law you will want to note.
After getting some much needed rest I ventured out into the heart of Munich, familiarising myself with locations and my miniscule knowledge of the German language thanks to a rather inconspicuous GCSE gained in my youth. Aimlessly wandering around and reading the various pamphlets I had picked up from the hostel I was staying in, it became apparent that Munich is in fact, a city of lies. A large proportion of the city was rebuilt after the Second World War; seventy one bomb raids in six years took its toll on the architecture of the city. Yet with a conservative plan to keep the pre-war street grids in tact, as well as the city’s historic vibe, the rebuilding was completed, to stunning effect. Without knowing that you could easily assume that many of the buildings had been untouched in centuries.
Removing myself from the historical aspects of Munich I decided to walk down the high street, a long, straight yet spacey. A composition of old and new, designer shops contrasting the stunning Frauenkirche, the town hall and the Marian Column. With the new juxtaposing the old throughout the city, Munich appears to be a modern city built upon the foundation of historical conservatism.
Making your own way around Munich on public transport is a somewhat tricky affair, especially if you do not have a grasp of the German language. The underground offered no alternative language on the ticket machines which provoked me into asking passers by for assistance, eventually ending up purchasing a map and deciding to get to my destinations on foot. My goal was to reach the well renowned English Gardens, which I accomplished with a map and a basic grasp of the German tongue. Upon my arrival to the English Gardens I embarked to uncover the legend of the German drinking culture. As many of you are aware, Munich is host to the world famous Oktoberfest, a month long festival of beer, which starts in September. My first purchase at the Gardens was a Hofbräu, which appeared in my hand in a litre glass. Factor in the famous beer halls and Munich, appears to have a drinking culture that could but Britain to shame, yet the atmosphere, even on nights out in the numerous bars and clubs, never once spilled over to an aggressive ambiance. At all times there was a sense of communal drinking, from the commercial public establishments all the way down to the drinking taverns found in the hostels, which provides a great social drinking scene and a chance to meet a variety of people from all corners of the globe.
Personally, my visit to Munich would not be complete without a visit to the Olympiapark, scene of the 1972 Olympics and more specifically the Olympiastadion where England recorded that historic 5-1 victory over Germany. The surround park was glorious, families and group of friends taking advantage of the beautiful landscape to indulge themselves in a scenic environment to relax, meander or play sports. However, it is worth noting that the building where the murder of members of the 1972 Israeli Olympic squad still stands and remains relatively untouched, a poignant reminder of past troubles that went hand in hand with a great sporting spectacle.

Accommodation wise, the choice for students are the numerous and fairly priced youth hostels, each having their own theme and special offers for patrons. The nightlife mirrors the drinking tone throughout the day, friendly and relatively cheap. Time your night out however in order to take advantage of the ‘happy hours’ of the numerous bars and clubs. Do not let the term hour fool you though; the norm is for the hour to last nearer one hundred and eighty minutes.
Munich is not scared to show off its scars that it as a city has gained throughout its history. Yet the norm appears to be to cover them up but not shy away from the fact that Munich was ravaged by allied bombing, or the scene of militant atrocities. But alongside the historical stories appears a friendly and vibrant city that holds something for everybody; be it culture, shopping, landscapes or the nightlife. Munich wears its heart on its sleeve with pride.

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After endless essay-writing at uni and a long summer of working I booked a last minute holiday to Sharm El Sheikh in Egypt with my uni friend, Leah. She used to live and work there as a diving photographer a few years ago when travelling, so I had my own personal guide to the world of diving. That is the great thing about uni: the amazing variety of people you meet, and I was willing to learn something new and experience
life’s adventurous opportunities. Booking just a week before and having no preferences of times or places we saved money, bagging an eight day package deal in a three-star half-board hotel for just £219. If we hadn’t been so keen we could have saved ourselves another £20 by booking just a day before. On
a student budget, booking flights and hotels separately can help to save a little more money but we were happy to pay the extra to avoid the stress of hunting around online and making our own way from the airport to the hotel.
I was pleasantly surprised to find our room spacious and charming, in a stunning hotel with a lavish outdoor

swimming pool and garden. After a few days of relaxing by the pool I booked a four-day ‘Open Water Diver Course’ for £136 with an Egyptian diving instructor who used to be friends with Leah. The first two days consisted of learning the ropes with diving equipment in a hotel pool, which seemed boring but was essential to understand and practice the art of diving, since knowledge and skill are required. Clearing your mask, equalising, achieving buoyancy and learning hand signals are just a few of the abilities you need to master before jumping in, but what I found most difficult, as bizarre as it sounds, is learning not to swim! I’ve always been a water baby and swam for my hometown in county competitions before my uni days, but when diving you need to keep your arms by your sides, only kicking your legs slightly. This is because the pressure of the water when 30 meters deep is so heavy that trying to swim against it is a waste of energy! Instead you gently glide, propelled by your flippers.
Guides to exotic sea-life couldn’t prepare me for the beautiful array of colourful majesty in this other world. It wasn’t the exhilarating, thrill-seeking experience I’d expected: instead of adrenalin-pumping it was peaceful and relaxing, leaving me in a tranquil daze. Black and white batfish, green sea turtles, crimson Egyptian starfish, feathered lionfish and indigo Arabian angelfish are just some of the amazing creatures that continued sashaying along as we drifted amongst them, besides the raspberry, fire and finger coral of deep pinks, yellows and reds. I was also delighted to follow a school of clownfish, and I’m sure somewhere amidst them swam a baby Nemo, searching for adventure, just like me! Although it was not how I had imagined, that’s exactly what I got: a voyage of underwater exploration, alongside serenity. The photos can’t
portray the calm sensation that the splendor stimulates within you, and it’s unlike any massage you’ll experience in the depth of a salon in Hull!
Conversely, the nightlife was lively with a Pacha nightclub central to the strips of open topped bars, pubs and restaurants for alfresco dining and drinking. The huge late night shopping mall is full of shops selling everything from perfume and jewellery to sports equipment, but if you do find yourself in one of these malls, remember not to be afraid to haggle, because the sellers expect barter and increase prices if they realise you’re not Egyptian.
Back on British soil, I am missing the diver’s life already, but fondly remembering it. Now, without realising,
I can’t help but use the underwater signals for ‘how are you?’ and ‘OK’ in noisy clubs when I’m out on the dance floor. Not only did I have a great time and earn a qualification through diving, I also learned something even more valuable: the importance of making the most of every opportunity.

Julie Visgandis

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