I went out this morning at first light to the small fishing village of Kuala Sepetang about 16 kms from where I’m staying in Taiping, Perak. I almost didn’t go, feeling like I had already seen enough places in Malaysia to satisfy my urge to explore. But I checked out of my room, left my big backpack at the reception of my hostel even though there was nobody working yet, left my key on the front desk, and walked to the bus station to catch a local bus. I was the only passenger as it was still only around sunrise.
The empty bus #77 from Taiping to Kuala Sepetang
I arrived in the little fishing village of Kuala Sepetang and immediately was surprised at its size. It wasn’t the tiny fishing village that I had pictured. Everyone I saw was ethnically Chinese, unlike most of Malaysia which is made up of a diverse mix of ethnicities. I began a three-hour walk around the entire village, which sprawled surprisingly far in all directions. It was beautiful, peaceful, and an authentic travel experience with not a single tourist or foreigner in sight. However, hardly anybody returned my smiles and waves, but rather glared back angrily or simply didn’t acknowledge me. I had made up my mind that this wasn’t a very friendly village, when everything changed.
The mouth of the Sungai Reba River as seen from the Port Weld Scenic Bridge
I passed by a tiny shop with two young women selling dried fish, sardines and shrimp fished from the nearby marshy areas. The women greeted me giddily in English as I approached and kept me there chatting for several minutes. They offered me to take photos of their seafood display and invited me to sample them for free. In the end, I bought a bag of dried shrimp for the road and went on my way with a renewed energy.
The friendliest lady showing me her available seafood products
Hardly a minute later, I passed by a street food vendor who also greeted me warmly in English and asked me questions about myself. I went on to buy a plate of “Mee Goreng Mama” from him, a local dish of fried noodles, potato, egg, peanuts, and veggies. It was the best meal I’ve had in Malaysia so far, without exaggeration. He readily allowed me to film him cooking and answered questions about his small business and about the village of Kuala Sepetang.
The best (and friendliest) street food vendor in Kuala Sepetang at work
Next, I visited possibly the village’s main attraction; an old fashioned charcoal factory at the edge of town. Preferring not to take a guided tour, I was permitted to enter the warehouses alone, wander around filming the enormous charcoal ovens in action and huge piles of logs, and ask questions to a couple of the workers who crossed my path. It was another special, authentic, and free experience.
In awe of the enormous charcoal ovens in a smokey warehouse
When it was time to return to Taiping, I decided to try hitchhiking as I stood on the main road waiting for a bus. Within a minute, a passing car stopped and picked me up. Due to a strong language barrier, I had no idea where this person was going to drop me, but it was clear that his destination was not Taiping. To my surprise, he drove right past what he referred to as “his house”, and continued along the road to Taiping despite my pretests. “I take bus”, I said repeatedly, but he insisted on driving further. Minutes later, he was dropping me right in the center of Taiping, giving me a handshake and a warm goodbye, and never asked me for a penny. He drove me at least 6 or 7 kms out of his way for free. It was the cherry on a spectacular cake of a morning. And all that was less than half a day. I still have half a day to go. These are the types of days and experiences that I remember for years and that keep me coming back for more.
Saying goodbye to the kind man who drove me out of his way back to Taiping
I was having my worst day in Egypt so far in dealing with vendors and local people in general. I had been ripped off multiple times in Hurghada before even attempting to buy a bus ticket to Suez. More than once, a vendor had agreed with me on a price, only to return less change than was due, all while smiling and maintaining eye contact, eager to see if their little “trick” would work. There was a time when my travel budget wouldn’t have allowed for even the slightest rip off, but on this day I bit my lip and took the loss.
Later, while attempting to buy a bus ticket away from the tourist trap of Hurghada, several people cut in front of me in the queue at the ticket window as if I wasn’t even there. I’m used to this; it happens all over the developing world, at least to us foreigners. But with an idling bus in the lot beside the ticket window about to leave for Suez, I felt my stress increasing with every second. Again, I said nothing, but only glared at each person who pushed ahead of me.
The last straw came at the ticket window. The vendor refused to sell me a bus ticket to Suez, telling me instead to buy my ticket on board the bus. This has happened to me before, so I didn’t think much of it. However, once on board the packed bus, I noticed that every single Egyptian (I was the only foreigner in sight) had an official bus ticket in hand. Even after I had taken an available seat, I was rudely motioned to move to the cramped seats at the back of the bus by a passenger who decided this seat was his, despite there being no specified seating on the tickets.
At this point, I was having a bad day. I moved to the rear corner of the bus where an older lady greeted me with a smile. I squeezed by her into the window seat, my knees immediately making contact with the hard barrier in front of me. My legs would have to remain folded tightly for the duration of the journey. At least I had a window seat. I pulled back the curtain to check out my view. No view. The rear window of the bus had been painted over in black. Perfect. Soon after departure, the conductor came by to verify tickets, overcharging me for a flimsy, unofficial piece of paper that was supposedly my ticket. So I’m paying more than everyone else for this bus journey with no legroom and no view. We’re off to a great start.
At this point, my mood began to change for the better. There’s something meditative about riding on a long-distance bus through a foreign world. It’s a memorable adventure. The older lady who sat next to me turned out to be a legend. We shared no common language, but communicated through basic sign language and laughter. At one point, she handed me a half-full bag of cookies, insisting that I accept the snack despite my initial refusal. The cookies were delicious.
Then one of the bus’ rear tires exploded. The loud bang shocked everyone awake, with several people leaping to their feet in anticipation of a serious problem. The blown tire had somehow damaged the rear passenger door of the bus, which was directly in front of me. The door had burst open immediately following the tire’s explosion, sending dust from the desert highway billowing into the bus, which I initially mistook for smoke.
The rear door of the bus burst open with the tire’s explosion, allowing desert dust to spew into the bus
The bus came to a stop on the side of the highway and several men got off to inspect the damage. Within a couple of minutes, they were again boarding the bus and we were off, continuing on our journey, but now at a slower speed. A young woman at the back of the bus told me in English that a tire had exploded. Since the bus had double rear wheels, I correctly concluded that the remaining intact tire was enough to drive on. The rear door of the bus still would not close, and I was the only passenger directly blasted by the wind and dust. I had to laugh at my situation.
Even after repeated attempts at shutting it, the rear door remained open a crack for the duration of the journey
Some twenty minutes further down the highway, and after a thorough dust shower, we stopped again, this time at a random, remote shop where two teenaged boys immediately began jacking up the bus and replacing the blown tire. Everyone disembarked, and many of the men scattered to nearby bushes to relieve themselves. The teenaged mechanics had the bus tire changed in under ten minutes, and with that we were off again.
Two teenage mechanics quickly replace the blown tire while passengers look on
At the bus’ regular dinner break at a roadside restaurant, a new passenger boarded and sat next to me. The young man spoke English and served as a translator for myself and the older lady who had assumed the mother figure in the group. She asked the regular questions; my name, age, nationality, and destination. She asked where I would be spending the night, and actually invited me to stay at her house in Suez. At first I thought she was joking, but when it became clear that she wasn’t, I seriously considered the offer. She spoke frequently on the phone with a man I assumed was her husband. Both of my new travel companions shared snacks from their bags. Several nearby passengers chimed in occasionally and laughed at our three-way conversation, the sole foreigner on the bus at the center of attention as usual.
When we arrived at the bus terminal in Suez much later than scheduled, I went on with my original plan of wild-camping nearby and continuing my journey the following morning. I never really answered the woman’s invitation to stay at her home. The man who I assumed was her husband picked her up at the bus stop, so I said goodbye and began my solo walk.
What had started off as an awful bus ride and a pretty bad day overall had turned into a memorable, funny, and wholesome experience. I had drawn up negative conclusions about this journey as a whole, but once again I was proven wrong. All it took was a few friendly strangers and a little adventure to turn my day around.
I’m writing this in the middle of the night while sitting in my tent as I wild-camp in a dried up river bed next to the Ha’Arava Junction that connects highways 90 and 25 in east-central Israel.
The dried riverbed in which I camped
This past day, I began the hitchhiking journey from Eilat, at the southern tip of Israel, to the Dead Sea, a 200+ km trek through the desert that I expected would be broken up into two days. It was early afternoon by the time I had walked to the outskirts of Eilat and posted up on the side of Highway 90 heading north.
View of Aqaba on the Jordanian side of the border only a few kilometers from Eilat
Within 15 minutes of first sticking out my thumb, a young Israeli woman returning from a yoga retreat on the Sinai Peninsula stopped to pick me up. She introduced herself as Ayala and mentioned the name of her destination town, but the Hebrew-sounding name flew right over my head. It didn’t matter; she was heading north so I eagerly hopped in the passenger seat of her compact car.
During the drive, I learned that Ayala would be making a stop on her way to her final destination. She would be paying some friends a quick visit and picking up her computer before continuing to her home further north. When we came to her friends’ village along highway 90, Ayala asked if I wanted to tag along for the visit, after which she would happily drive me further north until our routes split up. I hesitated, not wanting to impose on her visit with friends, so she made the decision for me.
I quickly realized that we were not stopping in a typical village or town of a style that I’d be familiar with. It was a Kibbutz. I had heard this name many times before, always associating it with Israel, but I admittedly could not have correctly described one before today.
The gate at the entrance of the Kibbutz
After Ayala’s friends activated the electric gate, we circled around the tiny community looking for their house. She had only been there once before and had forgotten which street was theirs. The entire community consisted of only a few streets, so within a couple of minutes we had found theirs. I followed Ayala down a walking path until she spotted her friends out on their lawn.
The path between houses that runs through the community
The young couple had just moved to this Kibbutz from northern Israel two months earlier. The husband was born here, which was the reason for their return. Two of his childhood friends were also present, sipping coffees and sitting on plastic chairs in the shade of a fig tree. Everyone greeted me in English when it became clear that I don’t speak Hebrew.
Ayala was excited to catch up with her friends. She fixed us both some coffees and the conversation continued in Hebrew for some time. I took in my surroundings and tried to soak in the moment. The cloudless day revealed the long, straight mountain range that ran along the Jordanian side of the border, in plain view from this Kibbutz.
Eventually there was a break in the conversation, so I took the opportunity to complement the beautiful neighbourhood. Everyone present spoke fluent English and seemed happy to satisfy my curiosities, so I began peppering them with questions.
A Kibbutz is, as described by these Israeli Kibbutz natives, a type of socialist commune, to put it simply. The concept came to life soon after the Second World War when Jews flocked from Europe to Israel to build a new country. As most were poor, these socialist communities were seen at the time as the best way for everyone to live comfortably while the country as a whole moved towards a better future. All original Israelis understood that their modest lives and hard work were for the greater good. Future generations would prosper.
During the years following Israel’s declaration of independence in 1948, almost all of the country’s population lived in big Kibbutz communities. The salary of every Kibbutz member went directly to the community. Members received three meals a day, a modest home to live in, and all other life essentials. Everyone had the same things and lived the same quality of life; there was no wealth gap. According to my hosts, this concept allowed for rapid development of the new country’s infrastructure and industries, but it wasn’t without its flaws. Stories of child abuse were common, as children were often cared for by unrelated community members in crowded settings while their parents worked. I was told that many Israeli boomers suffered childhood trauma as a result of the Kibbutz system.
The Kibbutz I visited was established in the 1970s and sought to avoid the same mistakes made by the earlier such communities established in the 40s and 50s. Over the following decades, the Kibbutz system was largely abolished, with only a small number remaining today. The vast majority of Israelis now live in typical western villages, towns and cities. Modern-day Israel is a thriving, advanced, western society with an exceptionally high standard of living which is evident upon arrival, the contrast especially shocking if arriving from one of the neighbouring Arab countries. The word “Kibbutz” is still often used to refer to rural Israeli villages and communities despite most sharing few characteristics with the original community concept.
I sipped the coffee and sparkling water that I was offered, taking in the stories and committing as much as I could to memory. After about an hour, Ayala and I left and continued our journey north along highway 90. It was almost dark when we came to the Ha’Arava Junction, where she and I parted ways, so I wandered down to this river bed where I’m currently spending the night. I might never have another opportunity to visit a real modern-day Kibbutz, and feel fortunate to have had the experience. Another win for hitchhiking abroad, providing truly unique travel experiences that could not otherwise be had.
In 2015 I was drugged and robbed on a bus in Tanzania. I was left for dead, unconscious and vomiting uncontrollably, after every single item of value had been taken from my backpack. I had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. I had taken a candy from a stranger. It’s a long story; one that I’ve written in part on numerous occasions but have never completed. Maybe someday I’ll get to it.
The funny thing is that I’ve accepted food from strangers while travelling abroad on many occasions since then. A particular memory of hitchhiking from Argentina into Chile in 2019 stands out. I was telling the story of my Tanzanian drugging to the two Argentinian women who had picked me up while eating a snack they had offered me. We all shared a laugh at the irony. It would seem that I haven’t learned my lesson. But it’s more complicated than that. It’s not a black and white issue.
This thought came up today, in late 2022, as I bummed my way along the Mediterranean coast of Egypt on one of the inexpensive, decrepit “ordinary” trains that seldom transport foreigners, especially not one that doesn’t speak Arabic.
I had only just chosen a seat and put down my big backpack on the one next to me when two police officers boarded my train car and immediately approached me. Apparently I had been seen filming or photographing inside the Marsa Matruh train station or on the boarding platform, as these officers immediately made known the reason for their approach using the few English words in their vocabularies. “No camera,” was my main takeaway from the confrontation. They asked to see my passport and relayed my information to someone over a walkie-talkie, a conversation which lasted at least a couple of minutes. I played dumb, repeatedly asking if this train was indeed heading for Alexandria to distract from the real reason behind the exchange. I was worried they would force me to delete photos and videos from my memory card, but evidently the person on the other end of the walkie-talkie said this wouldn’t be necessary. After a few tense minutes, they were gone.
My entire interaction with these Egyptian police officers was made easier with the help of the one fellow passenger who shared my block of seats. He, too, spoke only a few words of English, but it was enough to help me smooth things over with the standoffish officers. We used mostly our hands and basic signals to communicate, along with a handful of English and Arabic words, enough to become travel buddies over the ensuing five-hour journey.
Back to taking candy from strangers. Over the course of this train journey from Marsa Matruh to Alexandria, I was offered food by my fellow passenger-turned-buddy multiple times, very reminiscent of that East African bus journey that ended with a 24-hour blackout and hospitalization. I had turned down his first offers, the lingering memories of my 2015 drugging still causing me to be more cautious. Eventually, after watching him purchase snacks from one of the passing vendors who had boarded our train, I accepted a small packet of sweet, nutty treats from the friendly passenger. After wolfing down the snack, he asked if I enjoyed it. I responded positively; the treat was delicious. He insisted that I take another packet of the same snack from him, refusing to accept “no” for an answer. The train journey continued uneventfully. I shook his hand, thanked him for his help and generosity, and disembarked when our train arrived at Alexandria’s Moharram Bek station.
So did I take an unnecessary risk by accepting those sweets from my fellow passenger? I don’t think so. I watched him buy the packages from a passing vendor with my own eyes. Sure, in theory, he could have swapped them for something else; I wasn’t watching him closely for every second of the journey. But I deemed that scenario highly unlikely.
Could I have refused the snacks? Yes, but it would have been rude and dismissive. I don’t want to be rude, especially to someone who had already helped me out and been nothing but friendly towards me since the beginning. Plus, I was hungry, I love eating, and the snacks turned out to be delicious.
In conclusion, the rule of not taking candy from strangers isn’t black and white. I think it should be up to one’s own discretion whether or not they accept food from strangers. Watch where the food comes from. Gauge your surroundings; are there police or security officers present? And finally, go with your gut feeling. Anyone capable of drugging and robbing somebody is probably also capable of putting on a great act to win over a stranger’s trust, but I believe that these chances are so incredibly small that it’s a risk I’m occasionally willing to take.
I made a new buddy today, and I’m glad I trusted him. It enriched my day’s travel experience. I will continue to judge situations as they come and make decisions based on my own conclusions. Will I get drugged again? I don’t think so, and I’m willing to bet that if I do, it won’t be because I took a candy from a stranger.
As per February tradition, it’s time for another brief summary of the past year of my life. While the past year hasn’t gone as anyone expected, I’ve been making a point to stay positive and grateful for the incredible good fortune that I’ve had during this year of hardship for so many.
A lifetime ago, in February 2020, I was pressing on with the nomadic life to which I had transitioned in 2014. My ever-changing perception of time has now been warped, stretched, and frozen by the pandemic and the dramatic change of pace it has caused. Some of last February’s events feel as though they took place yesterday, while others are a distant memory.
Camping on one of the Algarve region’s many picturesque beaches in southern Portugal
At the turn of the month from January to February 2020, I had just arrived in the Algarve region of southern Portugal after walking, hitchhiking and wild-camping my way down from Porto through most of the country to Lagos on the southern coast. I had been without internet for four days during this epic journey and learned of my idol Kobe Bryant’s death upon my arrival in the Algarve, four days after the tragic helicopter accident.
I was in the greatest writing zone of my life during this time and had been making daily stops in local cafes along my journey to write for my blog or work on a book. In the Algarve, I decided on the goal of walking across most of the fair-weather coastal region starting at Cabo Sao Vicente, mainland Europe’s southwesternmost point, and ending in Faro. This would be another of the most fulfilling travel experiences of my life. I made sure to include an eight-day break at my favourite hostel in the world in Albufeira where I would relax, work on my writing, and make some new friends while immersed in Portuguese. News of the spreading Coronavirus was becoming more mainstream, but we were still largely unaffected in our cozy nook of the world.
The backyard at my favourite hostel in the world, Albufeira Lounge Guest House
In mid-February, my travel pace increased when I took an overnight bus from Faro directly to Granada, Andalucia, Spain. From here I documented another memorable four-day walking, hitchhiking and wild-camping journey all the way to Valencia, some 550 kms away. Another overnight bus had me in Barcelona where my quick journey through Spain would come to an end.
My camping spot just outside of Valencia, Spain
From Barcelona I flew to the Mediterranean island nation of Malta where I would spend four days as the calendar turned to March. This short visit proved to be plenty of time to explore much of Malta’s main island on foot, as I walked no less than 80 kms over four days. Something of a crossroads between different worlds, control over Malta has changed hands numerous times throughout its history. The result is a blend of Arab, Italian, and British influences.
Exploring Malta’s many spectacular cliffs
Next up; Tunisia. I caught a flight into Tunis at the beginning of March with the goal of exploring my second North African country. I never quite got into a writing zone but managed two weeks of continued adventure into the south of Tunisia before the pandemic really exploded. Within a few days, my three most memorable pandemic milestones occurred; the NBA season was postponed indefinitely, the United States halted travel from Europe, and Tunisia entered a strict lockdown, the first I would experience in my life. I immediately headed back to Tunis airport where I would spend four days and make three failed attempts at returning home. After the airport itself was shut down, I sought refuge in an otherwise empty hostel in Tunis with a new American friend. After six days in the hostel, I received news from the Canadian embassy of a repatriation flight to Montreal and, to my good fortune, was able to book a ticket. The next day, on March 27th, I flew back to Canada and one of the most stressful travel experiences of my life came to an end.
Wandering around the desert in southern Tunisia
Back province-side, life came to a standstill. It was my first April in Canada since 2014, and it was a joy to watch the days grow longer and warmer. I was long overdue for a full Canadian season change. I was extremely fortunate to quarantine in the comfort of my parents’ basement for two weeks upon arrival, and then to enjoy a comfortable, slow-paced lifestyle largely unaffected by the chaos in the rapidly changing world.
Hanging out in the backyard with my buddy, Sunny the dog
In June I began working for a nearby construction company with the help of a reference from my longtime friend Dave. The ease with which I was able to gain meaningful employment during difficult economic times was yet another reason to be grateful and something I tried not to take for granted. With eased lockdown restrictions during the summer, I had the opportunity to visit my friends in Saint-Lazare / Hudson several times.
Working for a construction company in the Ottawa area during the summer of 2020
In October, I received more great news in the form of a job offer on the island of Grand Manan in Atlantic Canada. I had all but given up hope of returning to the island to work another autumn rush of the lobster season as the provincial border had been closed to non-essential travel. However, my employer from the previous year offered to provide me with an “essential worker” document so that I could enter New Brunswick to work. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity.
Preparing my van for the drive to Grand Manan, New Brunswick
Around the time of my departure for Grand Manan, I made my first-ever vlog video of my journey to the island. I had previously been uncomfortable in front of cameras, but managed to overcome this minor phobia and discovered a new passion that would become a central focus during the coming weeks.
I took hundreds of short video clips over the next two months as my interest in video making grew.
Once on Grand Manan, I was again fortunate to quarantine in my coworker’s trailer for two weeks upon arrival. I then moved back into buddy’s house where I lived the previous year and had another amazing experience working the autumn rush of Grand Manan’s lobster season.
Putting through the harbour with the crew
A few days before Christmas I began the 1200-km drive home, taking time to shoot videos and enjoy the trip despite the frigid winter weather. It made for the perfect little adventure before returning to a region in lockdown for the cold winter months.
An ocean liner anchored in the St Lawrence River near Trois Rivieres
The pandemic has been a difficult year for almost everyone, but it forced me to take a necessary pause from my nomadic life. It provided me with the opportunity to work much more than I usually do, save up a little money and think about my financial future. The pandemic led me to discover a new passion in video making that may take my future travels in a different direction. And while I’ve always been extremely appreciative to return to our beautiful and prosperous country after travelling abroad, this year has made my good fortune even more blatantly clear.
Here’s to an eventual return to normalcy, and to a healthy and safe 2021 for everyone.
Last Hitchhiking Journey on the Iberian Peninsula of 2020
By mid-February, my time on the Iberian peninsula was quickly coming to an end for this year. I was still in southern Portugal’s Algarve region with little time to cover the enormous distance to Barcelona where I would catch my next flight at the end of the month. Having originally planned to strictly walk and hitchhike my way through Portugal and Spain, I began looking at bus prices to speed up my travels. I was fortunate to find an inexpensive overnight bus from Faro to Granada and then a promotional deal from Valencia to Barcelona. These two bus trips alone would cover over half the remaining distance of my journey. That only left the stretch between Granada and Valencia, some 500 kms of previously unchartered territory in southeastern Spain. I decided to make this my last hitchhiking journey on the Iberian peninsula of 2020, giving myself about 96 hours to do it.
Slow Start
I felt decently rested after a night at White Nest Hostel in Granada and was able to pump out a productive morning writing session before leaving the hostel. After a huge meal and plenty of water, I prepared my loaded backpack and hit the road.
The first part of the journey involved walking through cobblestone backroads of Granada’s touristic center and up to a scenic viewpoint overlooking the city. I stopped for plenty of pictures and resumed power walking in the direction of the nearest highway onramp some 10 kms away.
View of Granada from above
After a tranquil walk down residential backstreets, I decided to stick out my thumb on the road leading directly to the highway. The first passing vehicle stopped to pick me up, occupied by an Argentine woman, her Colombian husband, and their Spanish-born 8-year-old daughter who already had impressive dreadlocks of her own. They were not going far, so I resumed hitchhiking after the short ride and this time was picked up by the third passing vehicle driven by an older local man. He was eager to chat about my travels and his country, and we had a great conversation in the few minutes that we rode together. Spanish level: on point.
It is well indicated at every onramp that pedestrians are not allowed on the national highway.
Finally I was at the highway and could begin the real part of the journey. I would break up my journey into two halves, with the city of Murcia being my first target destination. The onramp where I had been dropped had very little traffic so I eventually walked onto the highway to hitchhike in a less-than-ideal location with maybe 90 minutes of daylight remaining. I had all but given up for the day when a young baker stopped to pick me up, driving me some 30 kms to the town of Guadix and leaving me with a bag of fresh muffins before parting ways.
I quickly decided I would spend the night here in town, power walking three kms to the center where I bought some bread and scouting decent camping locations on the way. I eventually found a quiet, empty field that turned out to be the perfect camping spot.
It’s always exciting to stumble upon a perfect camping spot just outside of a town like this one in Guadix.
Unfortunately, the slow leak in my sleeping mat kept me from a decent night’s sleep, so I groggily packed up in the morning after managing only a few disrupted naps. A three-kilometer walk had me at the next highway onramp, but after a few minutes I deemed the location unacceptable for hitchhiking and powered another four kms to Guadix’ last exit.
I quickly caught a ride with a friendly older guy at this much more suitable spot which took me about 15 kms down the highway to an extremely rural location. Here I began very discouraged upon discovering that virtually no traffic used the onramp so I reluctantly walk to the side of the highway to again hitchhike in an undesirable spot. My stress was high because there was no bus or train stop for many kilometers, leaving me with no other option than to hitchhike from the side of the national highway, risking a fine. Moral continued to drop as time passed and I continuously reminded myself that it takes only one vehicle to change the entire experience.
I waited at this onramp for at least half an hour and saw no more than five vehciles pass by. Discouraged, I ended up walking to the side of the highway.
Turning Point
Sure enough, my luck would change. That one ride that would change the journey came in the form of a young Tunisian – French guy who was driving a 600-km stretch of Spain with a final destination of Benidorm, about 100 kms past Murcia and only 140 kms from my final destination of Valencia. We chatted for the first half of our 300-km journey together, then were mostly silent and listened to music. I had never heard of the coastal town of Benidorm, which was covered in highrise buildings and absolutely crawling with foreign tourists even in February.
We made great time with little traffic on the highway and a speed limit of 120 km/h. Here we are traversing the Murcia area.
I was dropped right by the beach in the center of town and took a few minutes to laugh in excitement at my incredible good fortune. Here I was already 75% of the way to my final destination after only 24 hours. I was also past Murcia, Alicante, and Cartagena, and had no more major cities to traverse on my journey to Valencia. And to top things off, I was right on the beautiful Spanish coast and could follow the smaller regional highway up to Valencia, making for far more ideal hitchhiking conditions. I sat on a beachside bench to take in the atmosphere and was asked to pose for pictures with two Latina women. I learned that they were Colombian and Peruvian and so I eagerly discussed my extensive travels in each of their countries despite my fatigue.
This is the beach front in Benidorm; completely packed with foreign tourists even in February.
Completely relieved of stress and excited for a more leisure journey over the next three days, I headed for the small mountain at the northeast end of Benidorm’s beach. I destroyed the 400+ meter climb like a pro and began drying my tent on the railing by the viewpoint at the top. An Irish couple arrived shortly thereafter and we enjoyed a lengthy conersation about travel and the world in general.
It was a mostly cloudy day by the time I arrived in Benidorm, but the view of the city from this hill was spectacular nonetheless.
With about an hour of daylight remaining, I resumed walking into the small coastal mountain range with the intention of reemerging on the other side to camp in a lowlying forested area. From these mountains I could see far in both directions along the coast as daylight dwindled. The trails proved to be more difficult to follow than I had anticipated and I became mildly stressed as I walked for over two hours into the evening down little used trails and through thick brush at times. I eventually came to a dirt road and quickly located an ideal camping spot where I would get to bed before 10:00 pm.
Chill Day
With relatively little distance remaining to Valencia and ample time to cover it, I decided I would seek out a place to sit and write for a few hours. I packed up just after sunrise, power walked into L’Albir, stopped at a supermarket and then settled on a Burger King as my writing perch. There I was able to charge my devices, use the free wifi, and sit quietly for hours as I sipped on a coffee and wrote.
Later in the afternoon, I resumed walking through more suburban areas, again stopping for groceries and then continuing along a beautiful beach boardwalk. Darkness fell and I still hadn’t come to a suitable camping area. I climbed a steep hill next to the highway near L’Olla, crossed a private property and eventually located a safe, flat area where I would spend the night.
A much smaller touristic town, L’Olla has a beautiful boardwalk along its beach for severeal kilometers lined with bars, restaurants and shops.
Final Stretch
I felt no need to rush out of bed, but still got to the side of the highway within an hour of sunrise. A German expat almost immediately picked me up and drove me until our paths separated at the turnoff for Calp.
I had some very happy moments during this walkin stretch of my journey, taking in beautiful rural scenery and perfect winter weather.
From there I walked several kilometers through beautiful mountainous landscapes until I found a suitable hitchhiking spot. An English lady stopped and drove me about three kilometers to the entrance of Benissa where I found a beautiful park with a view to dry my tent and have a snack in the sun.
I usually pack up my tent wet with condensation and was fortunate to find this perfect drying location. I had a big snack and soaked up some rays on a bench with a pristine view while my tent dried on the railing.
I later walked through town, stopping at the Lidl supermarket before resuming hitchhiking on the opposite side of Benissa. A local man soon picked me up and drove me to a highway onramp near a beach some twenty minutes north. There, an Argentine grabbed me immediately on his way home from coaching rugby. This would be my last hitchhiking ride, as he would be traversing Valencia on his way to his home just north of the city. We chatted for most of our hour ride together and he dropped me in the beautiful neighbourhood surrounding the science museum and several other impressive structures.
The landscapes were impressive all the way to Valencia as I enjoyed a nice conversation with my Argentine driver.
My hitchhiking journey to Valencia was now complete after merely 72 of the 96 hours that I had alocated to the journey. I had even taken an entire day off to chill without hitchhiking. It was exciting to know that I could now relax for my remaining days in Spain. I sat in the beautiful park near the science museum for a snack in the sun and reflected on the eventful journey I had completed.
The science district of Valencia features several striking structures, decorative pools, and plenty of green space.
I would later take many pictures of the area and eventually walk to Valencia’s popular beach, hiking the length of the beachfront about four kilometers to an empty grassy area at the north end of town where I would camp for the fourth night in a row.
Valencia’s beachfront looks exactly like this for over four kilometers from the busy, industrial harbour all the way to the grassy area at the north end of town where I would eventually camp.
The purchase of a van in June of 2019 allowed me to finally live Van Life for an extended period, something I had been dreaming of for years. While it isn’t an actual camper, it more than sufficed as I made a 23,000 km loop of North America from June to December. During those six months, I stopped to work for two separate five-week periods on opposite sides of Canada, attended a wedding in Washington State, Burning Man in Nevada, and embarked on a national park tour which included 13 spectacular parks of the south-western United States. It was during that time that I discovered BLM land and its many uses.
The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) controls much of the land in the western U.S. Most of this land remains wild, untamed, and unexplored by most travellers. The best part of BLM land is that it’s public land, free to use for a variety of recreational activities, among them camping. At the recommendation of my friends, I checked out some BLM land near the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. The result was a night of pristine camping complete with a roaring campfire, view of the sunrise, and no sign of other humans. Following this great experience, I was determined to use BLM land as much as possible during the remainder of my journey in the western U.S. Here are some of my free camping sites in Arizona, Utah and Colorado.
This was my first night camping on BLM land just a few kilometers before the western entrance of Grand Canyon National Park. This proved to be a significant moment as I went on to seek out BLM land almost every night.
Just a short drive out of the eastern entrance of Grand Canyon National Park there are plenty more dirt roads branching off from the backcountry highway that lead to countless more pristine camping locations like this one.
In Utah my luck continued as I continued to stumble upon spectacular camping locations. I got in the habit of using the hot ambers to rekindle my campfire in the mornings to heat up water and food.
This site just an hour west of the entrance to Capitol Reef National Park was much more impressive in daylight.
Just outside the northern entrance of Canyonlands National Park was this gem of a camping area, where spits of rain could be seen falling from clouds in the disance while I enjoyed clear skies above.
At the opposite end of Canyonlands National Park is the “Needles” district, which encompasses very different landscapes and ancient ruins.
I always allow all flames to die out before retiring for the night, but I leave coals to smolder so that they can be used in the morning. On most terrain this isn’t a problem, but on this forest floor of partially decomposed wood and needles, it proved to be dangerous. Luckily the smoldering didn’t spread more than a few feet from the firepit, and it could be used to heat water in the morning. I used several liters of my water reserve to drown the whole area before leaving. Lesson learned.
This pristine nature area just outside the entrance of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park in southwest Colorado had unfortunately been badly littered by previous campers, but I still managed to get some trash-free pictures. My van scraped the ground several times on the rugged dirt road leading to this area, and I regretted not camping closer to the main road.
After descending just a short distance from Cottonwood Pass (3696m) I came across an ideal camping area along a river where I was again able to get a raging fire going. It proved to be necessary, because the night temperature dropped to well below freezing, as my water bottles had formed thick layers of ice.
As per new mid-February tradition, I have prepared a brief summary of the past year of my life as a way of documenting my travels. While everyone is celebrating love and relationships this week for Valentine’s Day, I am celebrating another year of a nomadic life that has continued to inspire and drive me.
Back in the Algarve region of Portugal
At this time a year ago I was in the midst of a seven-month trip in South America travelling in the nothing-less-than-spectacular country of Bolivia. The four-day ‘El Choro’ trek, a memorable 48-hour hitchhiking journey from Samaipata to Sucre, and a night of camping in the Uyuni Salt Flats were among the highlights from the month and a half that I spent in the country.
The moment that inspired my blog post about my 48-hour hitchhiking journey from Samaipata to Sucre, Bolivia
From Bolivia I crossed the border on foot into northern Argentina in early March and began a six-week hitchhiking and walking journey through northern Argentina and Chile. The hippy traveller vibes and endless vineyards captivated me in northern Argentina, while Chile’s Atacama Desert left me speechless as I continued my tour of the world’s major deserts. Through all the adventure, I took budget travelling to another level as I didn’t pay a cent for transportation during six weeks in the two countries combined and averaged under CA$5 per day for all expenses during that period.
Wild-camping on the “Salinas Grandes” salt flats in Jujuy province, Argentina
In April I had made plans to meet up with longtime travel friends Logan and Kelly in the Cusco region of Peru for a four-day trek to the less-known Choquequirao ruins as an alternative to tourist-saturated Machu Picchu. A few days in the city of Cusco followed by a trip through the Sacred Valley rounded out our time together as we parted ways and began our journeys home in May.
This view of the Choquequirao Ruins is the reward for a four-day trek
I was overwhelmed by the turnout at what turned out to be an epic party in the Old Port of Montreal during the single day I spent in my home city immediately upon returning to Canada. The next day I returned to the Ottawa area and began a lengthy visit with my family. Over the next few weeks of May and June, I got back into the routine of studying languages, working on my writing, playing and watching basketball, cycling and running with the dog, doing some landscaping work for my parents, and spending quality time with my family. I also managed a few weekend visits to the Montreal area to be with my friends. In addition to my usual home routines, I bought a van in June almost eight years after selling my previous one.
Van conversion complete!
After birthday celebrations in the Montreal area in late June, I set off in my newly purchased and converted van to begin the drive across Canada nine years after my first drive across the country and inaugural trip that launched my passion for travel. After a quick visit with my cousin Peter and his family in Peterborough, Ontario, I beelined across the country in search of a temporary job. In Canmore, I met up with highschool classmate Mike and began working for his painting company in the Banff / Canmore area. It was a spectacular place to work and live for a five-week period in July and August.
One of many rest areas that were free to spend the night, this one with a spectacular view from the shores of Lake Superior
By mid-August, I had prior engagements to attend to. A quick drive up to Red Deer, Alberta to visit my cousin Oggie and his family was followed by a much longer drive down to Spokane, Washington for Logan and Kelly’s wedding. The three-day event included a minor league baseball game, an epic float party down the Spokane River with dozens of wedding-goers, and a wedding ceremony and reception at a beautiful, rural farm that was so… them. It was a memorable weekend, to say the least.
Post-wedding, I had a few days to myself to explore Washington State, during which I visited another travel friend, Luke, in the Leavenworth area. I then had to quickly make my way down to Nevada where I again met up with Logan and Kelly and attended the Burning Man event. I was fortunate to be a part of their camp with many of their friends from previous years. Burning Man was a whirlwind of emotions; a sensory-overload and party like no other from start to finish.
The night the “man” burned
After the eight-day event, I retreated alone to nearby Lake Tahoe for three days of decompression as I contemplated my next move. I decided on buying a national park pass and embarked on a tour of 13 of the American Southwest’s major national parks. It marked my first visits to Arizona, Utah and Colorado, and was my first time really exploring parts of California. It was also my first extended period of wandering in my recently purchased van and left me with a desire to live Vanlife in the future.
Monument Valley, Utah, USA
In mid-October I began heading towards home. Quick visits with former highschool classmate Kass in Denver and childhood friend Rob and his family in Wichita, Kansas highlighted the week-long cross-continent drive. I arrived home to the Montreal area in time for an epic weekend reunited with many of my closest friends who all happened to be in town at the same time. It was during this weekend that I said goodbye to over seven years worth of hair at Chantale’s housewarming party.
Again I returned to the Ottawa and spent the last days of October and first days of November with my family. It was some much appreciated down time after a whirlwind of a loop through the continent.
On November fifth I began the two-day drive to the island of Grand Manan on the Atlantic coast of Canada where I rented a room in my friend Sean’s house for five weeks. During this time, I worked the autumn rush of the lobster season, filling my time with as much work as possible and landing a gig with one of the island’s biggest lobster companies. This work experience couldn’t have been more perfect, as I loved the community and coworkers surrounding me and enjoyed every part of my job. It was nostalgic to return to Grand Manan over a year after my first work visit, and it was special to experience the island during a different season. Such a beautiful experience made for a somewhat emotional departure.
A view of Swallowtail Light House from afar
The two-day drive back to the Montreal area included a visit with my cousin Mike in Fredericton and was followed by a memorable Christmas party at Adam’s house in Saint-Lazare. As I’d hoped, I made it back to my parents’ house near Ottawa in time for my dad’s birthday on December 14th. I proceeded to spend the holiday season with my family, something I had missed dearly the previous year. I managed two more short visits to the Montreal area during the holiday season, including New Years which I celebrated in St Lazare with beloved friends.
Once the holiday confetti had settled, I caught a flight out of Ottawa to begin 2020 with a four-month period of backpacking abroad. I first returned to the Portuguese island of Sao Miguel for a week to retrace some of my steps from 2018. This was followed by my first visit to the Portuguese island of Madeira for a week of exploration.
Next I flew to Porto to begin my journey on the European mainland with the goal of somewhat recreating my trip from 2018. I hitchhiked and walked my way down the Portuguese coast to the southern Algarve region which I had decided I would walk across in its entirety. Day after day of sun, comfortable temperatures, wild-camping, and walking through spectacular landscapes solidified the Algarve’s claim as one of my favourite regions in the world. An eight-day break during this journey at my favourite hostel in the world proved to be the perfect opportunity to relax and focus on writing.
Albufeira Lounge Guesthouse is still just as luxurious and beautiful as it was in 2018 during my first stay. It proved to the be perfect place to relax and focus on writing for a few days.
Pressed for time following my extended break, I caught an overnight bus from Faro to Granada, Andalusia, Spain. This brings us to the present, as I am currently enjoying my only day in the city of Granada. The purpose of this long bus ride was to reduce the distance I will have to walk and hitchhike up to Barcelona to catch my flight to Malta on February 26th, and the journey will continue on from there.
My first visit to the island of Grand Manan during the summer of 2018 was the perfect introductory experience. I lived with Emma and Tim in their family’s cozy cottage on a beautiful property in the North Head neighbourhood of the island for two and a half months. I was able to borrow a bicycle for the summer which allowed me to get around the island on my own. I then found a job at the local hardware store, and while it wasn’t the job I had envisioned myself working, it proved to be the perfect opportunity to meet so many of the local people and become integrated into the Grand Manan community. It was during this time that I heard so much about the lobster fishing industry which dominates the island’s economy. It seemed like most of the people I met in 2018 were in some way or another connected to the lobster industry, which appeared to be a lucrative one.
I had already made my travel plans for the following months, so working the upcoming season which would begin in November was out of the question. I kept the lobster season in mind over the course of the following year of travel, strongly considering a return to Grand Manan for the busy beginning of lobster season in 2019. It wasn’t until the summer of 2019 when I bought my first vehicle in eight years that I began planning my return to the island. When a friend I had made the previous year offered me a room for rent in his house, my plans became official. On November 5th I made my departure from my parents’ house near Ottawa after a two-week visit following a four-month loop of North America in my recently purchased van. Two days later, on November 7th, I took the ferry from Blacks Harbour, New Brunswick back to the island of Grand Manan where I would stay for five weeks and attempt to work as much as possible during the autumn rush of the 2019 lobster season.
Blacks Harbour. The tiny coastal town of Blacks Harbour, New Brunswick is where the ferry departs the mainland for Grand Manan.
The Ferry. I arrived nearly two hours early for the ferry and as a result was the first vehicle waiting in line and the first on the ferry. I had time to park, get out of my van and walk up to the top deck before vehicles were finished loading.
My Room. For my five-week stay on the island, I rented this room in my friend Sean’s house who I had met last year. I brought in my compact mattress from my van on which I had slept the previous months during my 18,000 km loop of North America.
The McNally Cottage. Although it was closed up for the winter, I had to stop by the McNally family cottage in North Head where I had lived during the summer of 2018. I felt nostalgic to remember good times spent at this peaceful place.
First Jobs. I arrived on Grand Manan a week before the lobster season actually began, so I used that time to look for whatever work I could find and try to line up a full-time gig for the following month. Among my short-lived jobs was baiting pockets for lobster traps. It’s a mind-numbing, repetitive job but I was able to get into a zone and get lost in thought.
Hole-in-the-Wall Campground. Also during my first week on the island, I made a point to revisit some of my favourite spots from 2018. This viewpoint is from a cliffside campsite at the Hole-in-the-Wall Campground in North Head where I would regularly go for bike rides after work the previous summer.
Swallowtail Lighthouse. A beautiful snow cover made the already breathtaking Swallowtail Lighthouse and its tiny peninsula an aweinspiring sight. It’s the most photographed spot on the island for good reason.
Seal Cove Wharf. Finally, this was my primary job site once the fishing season began. The structure that resembles a garage floating in the harbour is called a lobster car. From it, we receive crates of freshly-fished lobster directly from fishing boats as they pull up alongside the lobster car. On the wharf is a C.R. Lobster truck, there to move a shipment of crates from the harbour to the tank house.
Working by Night. The short daylight hours of November and December meant plenty of nighttime work at our round-the-clock job. We would work late into the evening and often at night during fair weather days when most fishing boats would go out.
On the Lobster Car. This is the sight as a fishing boat pulls up alongside the lobster car after a day of fishing to unload its catch. The ramp on the floor in the center of the picture would be put up on the side of the boat so that full crates of lobster could be slid down and weighed on the scales on either side.
The Crew. Tracy, Chevy, Kara and myself worked many hours together on our lobster car. We also had plenty of down time in between boats, during which we would chill hard. This little lobster car felt like my home away from home after a while.
Runs to White Head. In addition to receiving lobsters at three different harbours on Grand Manan, C.R. Lobster also has one lobster car on the nearby island of White Head. From there, crates are shipped in a truck on the White Head ferry back to the main island of Grand Manan where they will be briefly stored in the tank house.
Out on the Water. I was always thrilled to go on these White Head runs as I always enjoy changing up the scenery. The half-hour ferry ride is a good opportunity to appreciate the serenity of the Bay of Fundy.
The Crew Part II. During one of our runs to White Head, we had some time to relax in the truck before catching the return ferry. Bret, myself, Scott, and Randy can all be seen here, while the top of Brady’s head can barely be seen from his perch on the truck floor.
The Departure. Before I knew it, my second stint on Grand Manan was over and it was time to head home for the holidays. I got little sleep the night after my last full day of work before catching the first ferry the following morning, but it was worth leaving early for this spectacular sight during my favourite time of day.
I had wild-camped for free on many occasions before my 2018 trip to Europe and Morocco. From surreal locations in Peru’s Huascaran National Park to the highest summit in Panama on Volcan Baru, wild-camping was something I associated with hiking and epic adventure. Never, however, had I simply walked out of a town or off a main road to pitch my tent in a forest or on a field to avoid paying for accommodation.
Camping with the boys in Huascaran National Park, Peru (2016)
During my first travels in Portugal in 2018 I was already relying on hitchhiking as my main method of long-distance transportation, but still had not begun wild-camping my way through the country. That is, until I wound up in the popular tourist town of Nazaré on the country’s coast.
Having arrived in town with a hitchhiking ride shortly before sunset, I immediately attempted to gain lodging at one of the hostels I had saved on my map. Upon discovering that all were full due to a temporary surge in tourism, I began to consider my options. Noticing a campground on the outskirts of town, I decided to give it a shot, but was disgusted by the €8 charge to sleep on the ground using my own gear. A forest across the street caught my eye, so I inspected the area. There was plenty of campable ground and it was safely out of sight from nearby roads. I was hesitant and a bit nervous to attempt wild-camping on the edge of a major town, but decided it was my best option. An uneventful night’s sleep later and I had reached another turning point in my nomadic life.
From that point on, my newfound confidence to wild-camp absolutely anywhere changed the way that I travel. I began planning my travel routes with wild-camping nights along the way, spending even more time out in nature and further lowering my travel budget. Having already greatly diminished the cost of transportation while traveling, I now had a way of dramatically reducing the cost of accommodation as well. All that said and I haven’t even touched on the adventurous aspect of wild-camping.
Immediately following that first night of wild-camping in a forest just outside Nazaré in 2018, I went on to wild-camp outside of Cascais down near Lisbon, and again on my hitchhiking journey to the Algarve. By the time I had reached the aformentioned region, wild-camping had become my way of life. I believe wild-camping is partially responsible for the Algarve becoming one of my favourite parts of the world, as I spent half my nights in the region camping in some of the most spectacular locations. My oneness with nature had never been higher, and it provided me with plenty of serene moments of contemplation and relfection.
Wild-camping by the cliffs near Portimao, Algarve, Portugal (2018)
After Portugal I quickly traveled through southern Spain and down to Morocco, where I would continue my wild-camping ways. I camped throughout the Moroccan desert, Atlas mountains, Paradise Valley, and the coast, relying on my tent as my primary accommodation option and spending minimal money in the process. By the time I arrived in Hungary and later Serbia, I felt that I was a wild-camping pro, as hitchhiking and wild-camping my way from one country to the other seemed second-nature. To cap off that trip before returning to Canada in May, I camped in a suburban park in Copenhagen for a night before catching my flight the following morning. It seemed the easiest, and by far the cheapest, way of getting to the airport early.
Wild-camping on the edge of the Saraha Desert, Merzouga, Morocco (2018)
At this point, wild-camping had become a permanent part of my travels. The following year I resumed wild-camping everywhere I went during my second travel year in South America. Endless spectacular locations in Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argetina, and Chile were the sites of many free nights. I continued to reduce my travel budget with wild-camping as the leading factor, eventually achieving a daily average spend of under CAD$5 over a month and a half in Argentina and Chile combined while covering huge distances, easily a personal record.
Back in North America, I spent the latter half of 2019 making a huge loop of the continent in my newly purchased van, working for a total of 10 weeks along the way. Not once in those six months did I pay for accommodation, as my van had become my new mobile home. Wild-camping proved to be much easier and a completely different experience with a vehicle.
Camping on BLM land for free in the western USA with my van (2019)
It comes as no surprise that wild-camping is again a central theme of my travels to begin 2020. A return to my beloved Portugal has already seen several nights of wild-camping on the islands of Sao Miguel in the Azores and Madeira much further south. Now on the mainland, I am making my way back to the Algarve and have reached a travel milestone.
I am writing this from my tent as it sits in nearly the exact same spot in that forest just outside of Nazaré where I wild-camped two years ago. Now with a ton of wild-camping experience, I can confidently say that this location meets all the criteria for an ideal night of free camping. I will now continue retracing my steps from 2018 and possibly camp in some more of the same spots along the way. Two whole years of full-time travel later, it feels as though I’ve come full circle, back to the scene of my very first night of semi-urban wild-camping.
I recently returned to the exact same spot in a forest outside of Nazare where I wild-camped for the first time in 2018
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