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Showing posts with label Worst To Best. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Worst To Best. Show all posts

Thursday 22 July 2021

Worst to Best: Jarexit III

Worst to Best: Jarexit II (July 2019 - December 2019)

If Jarexit I - III were a film trilogy, it would be The Matrix because I AM THE ONE.

Moreover, these releases followed a similar pattern. From the 8th of December 2018 to the 9th of June 2019, the first Jarexit flew its course as an ambitious standalone project, tasting the waters of an unknown notion within some strict limitations (10 countries in six months or bust!). I had high aspirations already, but the sheer calibre of its success was so overpowering that my ordinary life cried sickly in comparison after the dust settled. It didn't take long before the imaginary studio in my head called me up and requested a sequel. And what's more, there would be no restrictions this time. Do what you want, baby! We trust your vision!

I can't remember my precise thought process when Jarext II launched on the 27th of July 2019. Still, much like the Matrix franchise mentioned above, the venture outgrew itself until it split like healthy cells, dividing into two very distinct creatures. The solution became apparent soon after: keep moving without the standard London break between escapes, no rest for the wiki. So, on Xmas Day 2019, I ended the second instalment in Madrid, Spain, boarding a flying machine and igniting Jarexit III immediately.

That said, Jarexit III wasn't merely an extension of the 2nd Jarexit's irresponsible randomness. It had its own style going on, a sibling of a more focused breed. Undeniably the most obvious of these specifics were the locations chosen. Jarexit I and II had achieved an outstanding job frolicking around Europe and Asia while flirting with Australia and giving Africa a tiny kiss on its bottom. But that did leave a gaping hole in my chase for global domination.... ANTARCTICA! Fuck, no, I mean, AMERICA!

Jarexit III was the American Explorer Story, doing my best to stab some dots on both the north and south of that side of the world. Furthermore, I had enhanced the documentation process for my friends at home. After multiple complaints that my photography skills were wasting my trip, I spent months preparing for a meaningful shift, studying perspective techniques online while downloading apps to pop the hell out of reality. Finally, I unleashed this accumulation of knowledge not a second before Jarexit III kicked off, creating a definite turning point in the quality of my snappage. And almost everyone loved it.

But perhaps the most unexpectantly unique factor of Jarexit III was that the entire world fell apart in the middle of my quest, causing great disruption to my plans. No one else's plans were affected, only mine. Due to COVID's selfishness, Jarexit III never reached its intended number of stops, but I am grateful for what I collected regardless, and it does make for a more emotional tale. A tale we shall begin right now. Did you get the milk?



08. Orlando, Florida, USA


(Cocoa, West Palm Beach)
Dates: 2 Feb - 9 Feb 2020
Accommodation: Stu's House [N/A]

Orlando finds itself unfairly dropped into the dregs because this entire slice of my Jarexit adventure is built upon a fatty-fat lie.

Sure, I initially entered the US of A via its Floridian butthole, landing in Orlando on 02/02/2020 (which is a good omen if there ever was one). And, sure, I grinned up at the Disney-esque airport for about 10 minutes. But then my mate Stu swooped in, sheltering me under his wing from the big scary world as he zipped me to safety into the quieter town of Cocoa. Because he lives there!

"But who is Stu?" ugh, I feel sorry for you even asking! He is a legend beyond legends who I spent many dodgy years partying with back in Cape Town. Despite our best efforts, we both grew up into adults, and then we moved so far away from one another that it took roughly a decade and a half to reunite, in fucking Florida of all places. And considering the bumpy ride that was South America (more about that shortly), this friendly pause was a godsend. I mean, I had a private room, for starters! And within these non-hostel walls, I enjoyed a week of recovery, assisted by Stu and his wife Lonny, who I now consider a good friend too. But, to be frank, their doggo Aria was way cooler than either of them. Every morning she’d forget who I was, and every evening we’d be besties, cuddling on the couch like it was our first date all over again.

We took a quick drive into Orlando one lunch break to check it out, and I liked it even though the city is basically one giant Disney advertisement. That said, the court that convicted Ted Bundy was a fun sight! But the fact remains: this piece of our story was nothing more than a break from the Jarexit madness, appreciating the simpler things in life such as bonding and drinking, and drinking, and drinking. We drank so much! Other than that, I watched Stu fishing while drinking, and then he'd throw the fish back, then I watched a ton of Netflix while drinking, and then I watched my drink being drunk by my drinking.

But hidden beneath the blanket of alcohol was a secret training session where Stu blessed me with guidance before he released me into the wild. Because if there's one thing crazy about Florida, it's everything. I spotted Florida Man a few times along the streets. Still, he's not half as intimidating as the Trump supporters who dominate the landscape, wearing MAGA caps unironically, each one holding a gun somewhere. My comrades warned me that I must never under any circumstances wear my Make Racists Afraid Again hoodie in these parts, so I didn't. It's a scary place.

Such a tragedy, really, because if you could zap the people away, Cocoa has a fuckton going for it. Despite the winter season, it was hot hot hot! And the vast bodies of water everywhere provided fun running trails for me, even if the regular warning signs about alligators did giggle me nervously. I never encountered one of those fun boys, but a snake did leap out at me during one of my jogs, rearing its aggressive head, ready to strike. I jumped so high that I heard God whisper my name, and then I took off like the roadrunner fueled by nitro-boosting farts of adrenaline. If you ever want to run fucking fast, a snake attack is highly recommended!

Anywho, I love Stu! And to send me off proper, we spent the final days skipping down to West Palm Beach, where I met Lonny's family (hey, Shells!). I waved at injured turtles being cared for at Loggerhead Marinelife Center, and I saw manatees for the first time! So it goes without saying that this Great Escape was not only great but also necessary for my mental state, a buffer period to find my footing in The Best Country in the World™ before I resumed my loner travels. The fact that it's so low on this list does not mean I had a bad time. It was merely a qualification formality, and I intend to get back there as soon as I can.

Top Five Recommended Sights
Eola Lake, Old Orange County Courthouse (Ted Bundy trial), Fay Wilderness Park (Cocoa), Square Grouper (West Palm), Loggerhead Marinelife Center (West Palm)

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 07. Pucallpa/Lima, Peru

07. Pucallpa/Lima, Peru


Dates: 26 Dec - 28 Dec 2019; 4 Jan - 11 Jan 2020
Accommodation: Andrea's Parent's House [N/A] (26 Dec - 28 Dec 2019; 4 Jan - 5 Jan 2020)
Hospedaje Marvento - 7/10 (Pucallpa, 5 Jan - 11 Jan 2020)
1900 Hostel - 9/10 (Lima, 11 Jan - 18 Jan 2020)


What a peculiar Jarexit entry this Peruvian jumble is! Disjointed by a subplot splitting it down the middle while its core components are two very different locations associated by nationality alone. Sorry for any confusion this causes, call me if you need help.

This branch of the adventure kicked off strange enough too. It was Christmas day in Madrid airport when I crawled onto a plane and soared across the map, the hazy clock-wipe effect indicating the arrival of a new Jarexit. Number 2 had reached its natural conclusion, and as the wheels touched here and there (including a fucking nine-hour stopover in Lima, ugh!) I finally appeared in the relatively unknown jungle town of Pucallpa. The familiar arms of my older brother, Gareth, and his girlfriend, Andrea, awaited me, along with Andrea's welcoming parents as well as her sister, Sandra, who features much more further down this blog's line.

To reflect on Pucallpa is an interesting mental trip. Lack of sleep became a standard chat due to (a) the mutant mosquitos who deflated us at night and (b) the booming dance club several houses down the road that bounced the muddy grounds beneath us. My brother and I booked a hostel away from the family home for one night just to get some peace. But during the day, the home-cooked meals and non-verbal communications with our local hosts were very appreciated! Especially when the dad took me to get my trusty Jarexit hiking boots 100% fixed for only £2.30! These good boys had hugged my feet from Jarexit 1! And now they were tightened up to survive the entirety of Jarexit 3 and beyond! Why buy shoes??

A couple of days into the Pucallpa chill and we were ripped sideways to explore the Sacred Valley, but that's a different story coming shortly. We returned the next year, on the 4th of January, and one day later, I moved out of the family home and into a private hostel room of my own because I still had work to do! It was here that I dropped an entire pot of pasta into the sink, lost. I took a snap of the tragedy, but my friends were far more repulsed by my cooking skills, many of whom still talk to me about it today (last photo in this series).

Regardless, I recall Pucallpa wearing a smile. So hot and humid! A billion tuk-tuks! Vultures instead of pigeons! No white people! Such iconic symbols of the Inca everywhere! Peruvian Hairless Dogs! Inca Cola! The Pablo Amaringo School is well worth the visit and research alone. What's more, the deep spiritual magic of South America was working, and my mind was already cracking open in an unusual way, which became a running theme through 2020 as a whole.

On January 11th, I packed my bags and said goodbye to my Pucallpa tribe, including my brother, who I haven't seen since. We bonded very strongly during this experience (as you'll read soon enough), but sadly, our contradictory opinions on COVID split us apart later in the year. He doesn't even follow me on Instagram anymore; that's how you know. If a secret organisation is trying to shove wedges in society, they did an impressive job with us. Nevertheless, I hang onto this piece of South America as to how I like to remember our friendship, the bittersweet hug of shared blood who experienced something deeper together. Then, I boarded yet another flight to hit up the capital city of Peru, namely Lima.

Lima and I had unfinished business. Besides the aforementioned nine-hour stopover, we also had to change planes here, back and forth from the Sacred Valley. So I landed in Lima for the fourth time, except now I could finally step outside to check what this place was about. It was about a lot, as it turns out.

These types of stories get me into trouble, but hopefully, you'll understand why I have to mention it. So I arrived in Lima, opened my dating apps, and they exploded. One thing I've learned about solo travelling is that you translate well in certain nations, others you do not. South America? Peak Jared. I threw my luggage down, took a shower, and went on a date the same night I arrived. This happy female whisked me around Lima, showed me some drinking hot spots and then invited me back to her house, where we got all intimate and stuff. I could get used to this! The only problem is when I awoke the subsequent morning, my brain still swimming in alcohol, I nearly had a panic attack. Where the hell was I? I didn't recognise this room and wasn't even sure what country I was in. I rolled over, and when this beautiful girl greeted me, my brain took at least three terrifying seconds to work out who was in my bed! Those were a weird three seconds! But as it all settled, I felt an enormous sense of wellbeing. Oh, hey, there! This is your bed! Welcome to Lima, Jared!!

In the end, I had to switch off my dating apps because I did not have time in my schedule for the attention. Not a bad problem, eh!

My following week was a memorable one. Lima's beating heat solar-powered me to explore extensively, in awe of the ocean views and artistic expressions splashed throughout the city, most notably across the Miraflores boardwalk and the Barranco neighbourhood. Inspiration kept me light on my toes until I'd literally turn one corner and swiftly find myself in Dodgeville, every head-spinning my direction, let's eat the white boy. I'd moonwalk out of there back to safety so fast that my fear lingered in the air long after I was gone. And that's where I penalise Peruvian points. I didn't feel safe for shit.

Part of this unsettlement came from my central-located hostel. I always try to book accommodation in the middle of the action, and it's an approach that has served me well. But Lima? Do not do it! I'd step outside only to catch Ubers because these streets want to kill you. Then again, when your hostel is as close to perfection as the 1900 Hostel, why ever leave? 100% geared towards the travellers, substantial lockers, comfy beds, an in-house travel agent, an overpriced cash machine, foosball, and a pool table. Plus complimentary yummy breakfast! Plus its own bar with 650ml beers for £2.77!!! The one evening, the barman played the entirety of Unplugged in NY by Nirvana, and I stayed put until the end. The general atmosphere was spot-on, relaxed and social, for only £6.25 a night. Did I mention the doggo?? They have one!

Quick obligatory shout-outs to Paloma and Melanie!! Thanks for making my Lima stay much happier with your lovely faces!!

One final fault with this country is not necessarily the country's fault but the nomads it attracts. They are the worst kind! Everybody one-upping their stories of spiritual wokeness, each of their ayawaksa trips more profound than the other, nobody listening to anyone else, merely awaiting their turn to demonstrate how they touched the divine light's G-spot better. I sat there, rolling my eyes, ignoring my hypocrisy that I was in the early stages of founding a religion. But at least I kept it to myself! I'm embarrassed by how enlightened I am, ughhhh!

Such a minor complaint. In the grander scheme, I have very little to criticise Peru for, hence my difficulty in justifying such a low position on this list. I guess I can only jot it down as a testament to how powerful Jarexit III was comparatively as a whole. Perhaps this stop was too frantic for me to get the papers in order, slipping into incoherent disarray within my memory, never combining to make a singular entity and subsequently suffering as scattered pieces, overshadowed by the mid-Sacred Valley excursion to come. But know this: there is an energy running through this country (and, indeed, continent) which I've never felt anywhere before. Lima, in particular, is known for its witchy shenanigans and a transmission of that electricity merged into my Chi, following me forever. That Peruvian voodoo jolted my spirit and germinated the Janthopoyism seed, blossoming rapidly from here until... well, it's still growing! It's consuming me in the best of ways! Oooh, so good! And I'll never overlook the role that Peru played in this. Genuinely life-changing.

Top Pucallpa Recommended Sights
The Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Pablo Amaringo (art school)

Pucallpa Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Top Five Lima Recommended Sights
Miraflores Boardwalk, Parque Kennedy and its hundreds of stray cats, Huaca Pucllana, The Bosque el Olivar, Barranco street art/ocean views

Lima Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 06. Miami, Florida, USA

06. Miami, Florida, USA


Dates: 9th Feb - 16th Feb 2020
Accommodation: Hostel Brazilian - 6/10

When you bump Will Smith as much as I do, then you’ve spent a large portion of your life telling the Universe that you’re “goin’ to Miami” because it’s where you’re going to “party in the city where the heat is on all night, on the beach till the break of dawn”. I took my sweet time to fulfil the Will, but my destiny finally lined up on a bus from West Palm to the Capital of Latin America.

My lodging snuffed the dream almost immediately; Hostel Brazilian reflecting its rundown area aptly. Within moments, the receptionist cracked a vagina joke which I found funny at the time but less so as other building blocks of hindsight clicked in. The amount of sexist, homophobic, and even racist comments I heard bounced between the staff and occupants shifted my spirit uncomfortably. Piling onto that, there was one bathroom shared between 20 people; there were no lockers to keep your valuables safe; and, worst of all, the internet was shoddy. Horror! And then, when one ex-military man proudly informed the table that he slept with a gun under his pillow at times—a pillow a few feet from mine—I retreated into a mental space of solitude for the rest of my visit.

But I suppose the above is simply the Miami (or Florida) way. Because this place is way rougher than anyone (least of all Will Smith) let on to believe. So what is a boy to do? I embraced the unpolished vibez and adventured out every day in the fiercely hot (winter!?) sun to seek any explanation for the city's reputation in the slightest. Naturally, I uncovered a ton of it.

Top three? For sure!

Wynwood Walls! An expansive fenced-off space dedicated to unquestionably the best street graff I have ever seen in my life. Fuckloads of it, too, spilling throughout the area, hundreds upon hundreds of towering pieces exploding with more colour and talent than I care to see again. There is nothing like it and would be my first go-to must-see place for any Miami tourist.

The Holocaust Memorial! When you travel the world, you see many monuments remembering these atrocities that shook history, but none compete with Miami's level. I can't even recall a sculpture that comes close to what this did to me. I refuse to attempt to describe it, but if you're not going to visit Miami any time soon, I implore you to at least look at images on google. And when you do, please imagine an eerie soundtrack complete with human voices to match the pain. It was a fucking punch in the gut, and I confess I lost a tiny man-tear.

Miami Beach! Oh, wait! Ok, so this is what Will Smith was talking about! It's 100% what the postcards promised. Toasty days of boundless sands slipping beneath the waves where models splashed in their sexiest swimwear and lifeguards watched from colourful huts. And the explosive nights where the streets flooded the sky with neon bulbs, the party atmosphere ready to suck your wallet dry or perhaps take it off you at knifepoint. The only sadness I felt in this pink-flavoured fantasy land was that I was experiencing it alone. Nowhere else in the world did I wish I could pick five of my best male mates and tear this place to shreds. It felt like the biggest stag-do in history waiting to happen. I might actually get married for this reason.

Sadly (or fortunately?), I'm not much of a lone drinker; hence I only managed to get drunk once during my Miami time, and it was all on account of Valentine's Day. Be fucked if I spend the date of love on my own, and I promptly purchased tickets to a singles event at a place called Blue Martini Brickell. In a word, disaster. Of the perhaps 15 (mostly male) people there, I was the youngest one by quite a drop, so I resigned to downing beers which cost £6.19 a bottle. Eventually, my buzz was buzzing, and the live band kept me smiling, so I made the most of it by chatting to a woman who looked over a decade my senior but attractive enough relative to the options. The conversation was going well until I slipped the critical mistake of insulting Donald Trump. My foggy brain remembers someone ripping the needle off of the vinyl. Heads turned to me with aggressive questions, and that's when I remembered where I was. You can diss Trump anywhere in the world, but not in Florida, bro. These people love the guy. And they all carry firearms.

I speedily diffused the threatening interrogation by exploiting what Americans love the most: food for their egos. I declared with a clear conscience that I was but a British child, so my opinion on their politics was irrelevant. I then combo'd the move by praising the democracy of their country, factually stating that Trump won his presidency fair and square, his critics be damned. My company accepted my submission, and a normal pace resumed. I escaped shortly afterwards.

In the end, Miami was an uneasy excursion, one I would never regret taking. There was an identical redeeming factor for every fault, and the loose Latino vibe that blasted loudly from every angle kept my joy operating at an acceptable rate. Writing this piece now, I admit I had a stack of fun. That said, I remember leaving without turning around, happy to get the fuck out of Florida for the foreseeable future. Great state! But the people are fucking cooked!

Top Five Recommended Sights
Wynwood Walls, The Holocaust Memorial, Little Havana, The Original Coppertone Sign, Miami Beach

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 05. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA

05. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA


Dates: 23 Feb - 1 March 2020
Accommodation: City House Hostel Philadelphia - 9/10

The most impressive element of Philadelphia is how much the locals adore it there. They are obsessed with their city! Everyone I met wanted to talk about how Philly is the best, they used to live somewhere else, but now they live in Philly, and they could never ever leave Philly, because Philly is where it's at all the time, don't bother looking anywhere else for the thing because Philly is the thing, you've found it, it's Philly. It was inspiring to hear such love!

The least impressive element of Philadelphia is that it's not always sunny! I had it on good authority that it was always sunny in Philadelphia, yet it rained about 50% of the time I was there, which quite literally put a dampen on my parade. Zero degrees at its worst! I was housebound in my City House Hostel for many days and nights! Woe is me! Except, not really, because this was one of my favourite Jarexit hostels of all time, where I conversed with people who still bless my newsfeed with their happiness. Loud, immediate shout-out to Lazar and Kim! You dudes were the perfect partners in crime. Hanna, you were a sunshiny face I am determined to see again. And mad love to Chelsea, my hostel BFF, who I had an overwhelming secret crush on the whole time.

Beyond my enthusiasm for the people, Philadelphia is hard to define as one singular idea. But, I guess as the birthplace of America itself, we can appreciate the solid patriotic flavour? Its extensive list includes Betsy Ross' house (where the lady sewed the first American flag or maybe didn't), Benjamin Franklin's grave, the Liberty Bell, and the Independence Hall where the Declaration of Independence was signed. And that's cool! But also not what I'm all about.

The iconic LOVE sculpture was fun. There's a ton of fascinating Edgar Allan Poe stuff lying about. The trippy Magic Gardens is a must-see. And the Wanamaker Organ (the largest functioning pipe organ in the world) can be found inside Macy's Center City. All lovely locations! Yet none of which pulled together a unified feel in me.

Perhaps my love for the entertainment culture is where I best slipped into my groove. The Paddy's Pub said to inspire the very same Always Sunny location? It's here! Where Will Smith plays basketball in the intro for Fresh Prince? It's here! And the stairs Rocky runs up during the most famous training montage in cinema history? It's here! Naturally, I bounded up those steps like every tourist is obliged to do, and let me assure you, it's freaking easy. Embarrassingly so, if anything.

The activities don't end there either. I devoured my first Philly cheesesteak, which was obviously born here. And even though it was of the vegan variation, goddamn, they knew what they were doing!! I still dream of that fucking meal; it was enough to make a weepy child out of me. I want to cry right now! It was that good. Another interesting exchange was when one hostel worker couldn't shut up about how Philly was the greatest because they invented street art. New York City may have claimed the honour, but deep down, even NYC confess that it originated here. And I was like, suuuure bud. But I googled it, and it's totally true! All street art in the world started in Philly! That's huge!

But, in the end, what truly sticks to my pallet was what I mentioned in the beginning. The rainy evenings hunkering in that hostel, drinking and playing Jenga, that's what topped up my social tanks. There was a communal family vibe to that hostel, and indeed, the entire city. I would recommend it to anyone.

One final recollection. It's was here where a previously small conversation had begun to visibly snowball after following most of my Jarexit III travels throughout. It was that some pesky virus had been spreading rapidly across the world, and it'd recently touched down in 'Murica. The murmured concerns were getting louder, but if I remember correctly, I laughed it off. Remember bird flu? Swine flu? Guys, this is no big deal!

Top Five Recommended Sights
Philadelphia's Magic Gardens, Rocky Stairs at Philadelphia Museum of Art, Irish Memorial, LOVE sculpture, Fresh Prince basketball court

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Rocky Stairs (video) | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 04. Sacred Valley (Cusco, Santa Teresa, Machu Picchu), Peru

04. Sacred Valley (Cusco, Santa Teresa, Machu Picchu), Peru


Dates: 28 Dec 2019 - 4 Jan 2020
Accommodation: El Quetzal Machupicchu - 8/10 (Machu Picchu, 31 Dec - 2 Jan)
1900 Hostel - 9/10 (Lima, 11 Jan - 18 Jan 2020)


If there ever was a Jarexit stop that doesn’t adhere to the standard criteria, this is the cheat card you seek. Shooting off the Pucallpa/Lima leg, this was not a singular destination but a multi-location adventure for which even the most expert of travellers would clip on their seat belts. Here is Peru at its deepest, bru, and I was ready for the big game! As were my three teammates (my brother, Gareth, my brother’s girlfriend, Andrea, and her sister, Sandra), a collective the world now recognises as the Los Cuatros Chullos.

It was a curious dynamic, partially because Sandra spoke minimal English. Still, everyone got along nicely thanks to Andrea’s ninja translation skills, her dual dialect saving our lives on more than one occasion. As for me, a black-belt lone traveller, it was just a relief to let go of the wheel and spread the mental weight across other minds, granting my thoughts the luxury of wonderment, thirsty for a trip that would change my life forever. And it did. First-order: a flight to Cusco!

Cusco is one crazy place! It's situated 8,000 feet above sea level. Such an elevation means that if you get overly excited and take one step too quickly, the lack of oxygen would power your brain off, and you'd go tumbling facefirst to the ground. Curiously, I appeared immune to this disorder, never once feeling the slightest bit woozy, masochistically jealous when the people around me kept fainting like goats. Regardless, this ailment only lasts a few days before your body adjusts, and then you can explore the surprisingly large city for all the cultural richness it's worth. The endless views were invigorating, the markets were buzzing with strangeness, and the dietary horrors eventually settled in my mind (deep-fried guinea pigs, anyone?).

A day passed, and then a man named Enrico let us in his car because we paid him. We drove six hours to Santa Teresa, and this road trip itself is a memory that shines brightly on its own. The infinite green landscapes that rise and fall like they're breathing, many hills reshaped by the Incas to summon their gods or entertain the aliens or whatever. We desperately chewed coca leaves to ward off altitude sickness while swerving around narrow mountain paths, tyres scraping the edges of cliffs haunted by bodies that annually plummeted to their deaths. Not us, not today, no thanks.

With sleepy butt cheeks, we finally reached our destination and promptly dived into the Santa Teresa Cocalmayo hot springs. Now, as this tale continues, you'll appreciate how many soul-melting landmarks we witnessed, but when we tallied the overall experience in hindsight, we unanimously agreed that this watery break was (perhaps) the highlight. Natural springs were gushing into manmade pools surrounded by mountains that dominated every direction, and it paused my puny mind. It was impossible to take everything in, but there is no past nor future in places like that. You are forced into the moment by mother nature's beauty, a reboot while she cleanses your ghost, a necessary process to grant access into deeper realms of the valley. They sell it as so.

After this otherworldly energy had seeped into our pores, we crashed out only to awake on the 31st of December, the concluding day of the decade, and we were amped for the final push. We cartwheeled onto a train that tore through a portion of the Amazon jungle which in itself was an incomprehensibly exhilarating bucket-list deal. Eventually, it screeched to a halt, and we stepped off into The Sacred Valley's main course: Machu fucking Picchu town. Bag drop then a causal visit to one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, some 15th-century Inca citadel or other.

That Peruvian timezone was way behind most of the globe, making for a trippy social media session. My friends were already screaming their countdowns while I held several extra hours to enjoy the decade-end, doing so by exploring old Inca architecture, smug about my superior life choices. Sadly, a murky mist crept into our vision, and droplets of rain interrupted many incredible photo opportunities, but how nice it was to remember how little control we have over nature? And what mattered was we were there. Where else would I want to be? Retrospection has been very kind to the occasion. Your present moment can never swallow something like that in one go. Even now, as I type these words, I feel like... what the fuck? Was I there? How is that possible?

Back to the mainland and we ushered in 2020 at some touristy bar where one round of drinks cost more than two nights of accommodation. I only had two alcoholic beverages, Peruvian pisco sours if memory serves me (it doesn't), but we danced to cheesy music and then dodged the loud fireworks that the local children threw at us specifically. Bedtime was early, and I awoke on the 1st of January without a hangover, the first time in perhaps 21 years. And while wearing smiles, we predicted with optimism how 2020 would be our best year yet. Aha. Ahaha. aHAHAHAHA!

A day of Machu Picchu exploration blurred past, then we took a train back to meet our car man. He was late, and we were tired, our once vibrant South American energy depleted by the inevitable unrest of waking up in different places for so many consecutive days. After some time, an unrecognisable fella approached. He knew our names and relayed some news which immediately flipped our emotions. A destructive mudslide had occurred on the pathway home, meaning there was no direct passage of escape. The solution was for this stranger to taxi us as far as possible, and then we'd cross the earthly barricade on foot. We did so, scrambling over rocks monstrous enough to crush a torso while ominous stones continued to bounce from the skies, rolling across our shoes. We met our original driver, Enrico, on the other side and got into his car as he rushed us along. Bits of the mountain ceaselessly rained around the vehicle, and the pained creases on Enrico's face indicated we were in genuine trouble. At times he would slam on brakes so Gareth could leap out and roll a sizeable earth-chunk off the road, allowing us to resume our getaway. We were fully aware that it would take only one of those adult rocks to end us. We were holding our breath, nails digging into the seats, the threat of death snickering over our necks. But, of course, I'm telling the story; therefore, we survived with yet another epic page in the diary. These are the tales worth living to tell.

Once we'd regained our chill, the ride turned into one of great joy featuring various other notable events. First, we paused in the blinding fog of Abra Malaga, 14,160ft above sea level, the highest I've ever stood in my life. Next, we stopped at potentially a witch's hut where she showed us the skulls of her grandparents before feeding us home-brewed corn beer—which was delicious! And we completed this windy path at Cochahuasi Animal Sanctuary, where we fed llamas, shook hands with sad monkeys, and ducked as the soaring wings of condors brushed our heads. Quite a start to the decade!

We crashed out in Cusco for a few days to recover, but my computer-brain's hard drive was maxed at this point, so I was no longer storing memories. I recall playing Uno? I also managed to hang with a friend named Evi, who I knew pretty well in London but hadn't seen in close to eight years. How we both ended up in Cusco simultaneously is difficult to calculate, but as I say, I ceased asking questions way back when. And then the Jarexit slipped back into the mainstream, the Pucallpa timeline resuming as if nothing ever happened (see entry #7).

No question that this was the mission of a lifetime. I'm acutely aware of how dramatic it sounds when I announce I had a spiritual awakening-ish of sorts here, but I possess the texts to prove it. Not much time later, I began authoring my Janthopoyism scripture, time and time again crediting South America as the conclusive oomph I needed to tie it together. Yet if this is so, how could such a historic undertaking only land at 4th place on my little list? Well, it wasn't easy! But I've pinned it down to two factors.

The first is that the Sacred Valley was no leisurely stroll. On the contrary, it was a perpetual forward motion, which provoked acute anxiety in certain team members. Make no mistake, the awe was superglued to my face, and my seasoned travelling coat swatted troublesome vibes away, but as the only one who'd spent the last five months galavanting around 12 countries, I can see why other people struggled. Because it was no relaxing ting for me neither!

And the second factor is that the Jarexit stops from here were just too cool to place any lower on my article. So get pumped for that shiiiiit.

Top Five Recommended Sights
Machu Picchu, Cocalmayo hot springs (Santa Teresa), Inca Lienzo Pétreo wall (Cusco), the scenic drive from Cusco to Santa Teresa, Plaza de Armas de Cusco (Cusco)

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | New Year Machu Picchu Greeting | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 03. Washington D.C., USA

03. Washington D.C., USA


Dates: 16 Feb - 23 Feb 2020
Accommodation: Duo Nomad - 8/10

Washington D.C. was a hyperspeed smudge of passing frames, shoving as much meat into my mind suitcase that could fit over a one week period of time. It was the impossible mission considering the infinite scroll of a to-do list I had to do, but by God, I was going to try. And this is the story of a tourism rollercoaster, without a doubt executed at the most expert level I've ever achieved, initiated before the plane even squeaked the tarmac. Because as you're gliding into the capital city of America and you instantly recognise that National Mall stretching across the land, your guts get restless. I've looked at this place a billion times on the TV since I was in nappies, and now here I was, no longer in nappies.

The excitement continued the moment I stepped out of the airport and ordered an Uber. An intensely chatty black lady picked me up and took me to my hostel, our conversation ending with an agreement that she would drive me to Philadelphia, and we were going to film the whole thing, creating a movie about us. Unfortunately, I never took her up on the offer, but her smiley face set the stage for the friendliest community of people I've experienced anywhere in the world.

The following seven days were nothing but a game of dot-to-dot, connecting a series of locations as quickly as my feet would move me. I licked up every corner of this city like something was chasing me, visiting on average 13 soul-shifting landmarks every day. On my final day alone, I walked 20.5km over five hours just to really slurp up as many floaty bits as I could. Consequently, it would not do this Jarexit entry any justice to simply dedicate a paragraph to the historical highlights. Because that's all this trip was! Historical highlights! I didn't make any new social media friends. I didn't go out on a drunken night. I just put my head down and devoted my energy to the cause of becoming one with Washington D.C. Here are some of the best things I've ever seen in my life:

Firstly, I ran around the National Mall on the daily. The Lincoln Memorial (complete with a tile indicating where Martin Luther King Jr.'s delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech), the Reflecting Pool, the Washington Monument, the Capitol Building... these are all iconic structures that one can only respect as symbolic pinnacles of American pride.

Scribbled around this land are an unreasonable amount of buildings to visit within a week. But I gave it a shot! I loved the National Gallery of Art, where I marvelled over famed masterpieces such as a Van Gogh self-portrait, The Sacrament of the Last Supper by Salvador Dalí, and stacks upon stacks of Picasso works. Yet, weirdly, I enjoyed The Library of Congress even more, primarily from an interior design perspective. I also saw the five (P)EGOT awards in a row on display here! That throttled my lungs deeper than I would have anticipated.

Within this same vein, I must mention The United States Botanical Garden (the oldest in the country, 1850), the World War II Memorial, and the Korean War Veterans Memorial. Whew!

Not far from this familiar madness was The White House, where Trump resided at the time, rambling away. I waved at his windows from the fence while wearing my Make Racists Afraid Again hoodie, a passive-aggressive statement I purchased around the time they inaugurated the dude. It felt like that clothing item completed its life circle that day, even if I still have it.

Moving forward, and here's the best joke in the world: The South African Embassy's Mandela statue stands across the road from the British Embassy's Winston Churchill statue. Churchill's peace/v-sign for victory is high in the air, as is Mandela's raised Black Power fist. Rock beats scissors, fucker! Hahahaa. This match-up was 100% intentional, by the way.

On my lonesome, a Scientologist tour guide showed me around L. Ron Hubbard's former house, which we now recognise as the first church of the religion. I touched the keys of the typewriter where he smashed out his first scripture! My anxiety always maxes out in Scientology situations (I've had several), but it was an appreciated education nonetheless!

The Washington National Cathedral charges entry which is against my principles, but I'm glad I made the sacrifice! The reasoning is two-fold. (1) You can get semi-close to Helen Kellar's final resting place, and (2) there is an actual fucking piece of rock from the moon stuck into one of the stained glass windows!! Have you ever seen a chunk of the moon a few meters from your cornea? I have.

Hey, do you recall that long staircase at the end of The Exorcist? That's in this city too! I skipped up and down those steps more times than my pride will admit, and I wasn't the only person doing so. This activity was a bigger deal to me than I'm making it sound. It's the best horror film ever produced, surely.

The Dupont Underground art gallery (set in an abandoned subway) was closed when I visited. But, again, Washington D.C. peeps are so kind that they let me go down anyway while they were setting up. I've run out of space on my scorecard.

Important: if you are EVER lucky enough to slide through this city on a Wednesday or the weekend, forget everything and march on down to the Culture House. This brightly coloured church serves as an art exhibition space, including two rave dancefloors set to serve the surrounding black community. I was one of the very few white people there, but they were more than welcome to have this skinny cracker hanging around, pretending to fit in. A genuinely exhilarating party that caught me completely off-balance, my heels spinning 360. I exploded a little. I get the jitters thinking about this spot as I type this.

I could go on for a much longer time, but for the sake of you, here is a quick splurge of must-sees if you're using my blog in that manner: the USNO Master Clock Display (the most accurate clock in the world), the Old Stone House, the triple-life sized statue of Einstein, the "secret" FBI house across from the Russian Embassy, Rosa Parks' former house, the 930 Club (holy ground for the DC hardcore scene), the Barbie Pond On Avenue Q (I can't explain this, check their Insta), the famous Ben's Chili Bowl, the Big Chair (19.5 feet tall), the Chinatown Zodiac intersection, and the Uline Arena (where The Beatles played their first-ever American show to 8,000 people in 1964). That juuuuuust about covers the essentials.

The only icky feeling Washington D.C. provoked within me was the inescapable wealth disparity dampening the fun. Here are these remarkable landmarks that define the entire landscape of the United States, and yet the poverty that sprawled the pavements below is some of the worst in the country (19% of residents, second only to Mississippi state, I believe). Certain blocks were unbearably sad, so you move on as fast as you can because if you don't, they will take everything you carry.

A brief sidestep to supply some much-deserved respect to my hostel. My stylish six-person bedroom was cramped af, but otherwise, it's an accommodation I'd recommend. One of the staff members was a highly attractive female who had flirtatious tendencies towards me, which always goes a long way. She fried chocolate-chip pancakes for the lodgers every morning, and even though I was trying to lean more vegan with my diet, I would never say no to anything she offered.

I left Washington D.C. with tired legs but armfuls of smiley faces, willing to do it again without changing anything. My cab driver to the bus stop was yet another cheerful fella of African descent, and I sat back in astonishment, attempting to digest what I'd just swallowed. The unsettling vibes of Florida only a week before had me questioning the USA as a whole, but the nation's capital slapped me right back in line, reminding me why this great country always boasted itself so grandiosely. Here was the wide tasty bite of America I always pictured, and I still regard the area as the ideal representative for anyone wishing to encounter America's patriotic energy charged to the brim.

Of course, within one year of my visit, this city flashed upon our news screens multiple times for various tense reasons. Just over three months later, the Black Lives Matter protests steered the world by its balls, but the booming cries for justice rightfully tore through the President's city the loudest. Frustrated hands set cars on fire while Trump built a wall of protection around his White House, scenes so historical that the council ultimately renamed a nearby street to Black Lives Matter Plaza. And then, only seven months following, Trump supporters rushed the Capitol building as an opposite breed of protest, fighting against what the soon-to-be ex-president called a "rigged" election result. It was pure insanity accurately reflecting our blemished zeitgeist. One always feels more attached to lands they've visited, and I shook my head in disbelief that I had been merrily skipping along those bright streets such a short time ago. And you know who I thought about? I thought about that Uber lady from my first day. I wondered if she was ok.

Top Five Recommended Sights
The entire National Mall, the Exorcist Stairs, the Culture House, the first Church of Scientology, the South African/British Embassy's statues

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 02. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

02. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil


Dates: 19 Jan - 1 Feb 2020
Accommodation: Rio Earth - 7/10 (19 Jan – 26 Jan)
Mojito Hostel & Suites Ipanema Rio de Janeiro - 8/10 (26 Jan - 30 Jan)
Cantinho da Familia - 9/10 (30 Jan - 1 Feb)


Some cities pull us towards themselves using an invisible string, the very name stirring a beckoning action within our tummies. For the life of me, I don't know why Rio had such a draw for my energy. And I do mean "for the life of me" quite literally, as I was fairly certain that if I went to this Brazilian hotspot, I was going to die. I'd heard the rumours from almost everyone I spoke to, nothing but horror stories around the campfire, some of my bestie friendies warning me not to go. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and my heart was like, "stop being a willy, let's gooo to Riooo!". So with my wallet shoved into my sock and my iPhone never on display, I lept from my mind-cliff and into my gut-pool.

I wish I could tell you that the moment I landed in the city, all of my unwarranted paranoia dissipated into the ether, but this was not the case. Rio is fucking dangerous, buddy! And when you witness the heartbreaking amount of poverty, the numbers add themselves. Desperate people make for desperate situations. Still, I was here now, and I wasn't going to let a little fear of murder slow me down. If anything, it sped me up! When that man charged at me on the beach screaming Portequese madness through a foamy mouth, my legs moved in ways they hadn't shown me before. High alert adreno-glands all day, every day.

The surprising thing is that I found my groove relatively effortlessly, and I understand exactly how this happened. It's because I spent my most formative years living in Cape Town, South Africa, my "home" if home is where the family is. And these two cities are sisters from another mister to such a degree that I grew nostalgic for a time long forgotten, the loudest flaring of appreciation for my former residence since I left in 2008. Yes, the urgent dirty hands on the streets are comparable, and yes, the constant threat to your survival keeps both towns on their toes, but it pulsated far deeper than that. These places feel like they're on fire. The vibrancy of the culture and the colourful explosions of vitality dance across the land, leaving trails along the endless beaches, slipping between the forestation, and shouting from the mountains, every offering powered by the eternal drum of the joyful sun. Like a feral beast, Rio is unchallenged as the most "alive" city I've ever felt, every moment forcing you so hard into the present that you're unsure when you last knew you were real. Because Brazil is real. Brazil is so real that their currency is called Real. Ah man, my words can't compete with that.

And there is rad shit to see. Tons of the rad shit, tons and tons of it. The Royal Portuguese Reading Room is in the peak tier of gorgeous libraries I've set foot in (and I've visited many). The Rio De Janeiro Cathedral is like an alien spaceship, the most exciting palace of worship I've ever attended (and I've visited many). The crammed Cemitério São João Batista cemetery is in my top three cemeteries with the most character (and I've visited many). You've seen the Escadaria Selarón Mosaic Steps in pictures before. The largest mural painted by a single artist in the world is here (Etnies by Eduardo Kobra). Museu do Amanhã. Copacabana Beach. Ipanema Beach. Açaí. OMG, açaí. If I were a god, açaí would be the food I officially sponsor.

Of course, when you visit Rio de Janeiro, there are two major sites that you have to see, otherwise, you're a loser with their zipper down, and my zipper isn't down. I had to take half a day off work for this, but I got it done, I hope you're happy. The first is the World Heritage Site of Sugarloaf Mountain, which is fun because of its sugarloaf shape! And because it boasts the best fucking panoramic views over any fucking city I've ever fucking seen. And the second is one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue. I must say, it was an epic atmosphere, more than I'd envisioned. Jesus is a pretty influential celebrity and to see him towering above the city at all times is a gift. And then to see him again up close, it's one of those moments where you're intensely aware that you're going to be telling everyone about this for the rest of your age. I'm a big Jesus fan, and this was a big Jesus.

Now would be the perfect juncture to chat about people. If you throw that much spiritual energy into a bowl and mix in a heaped cup of sunshine, you're going to bake some friendly faces. First, mad shout-out to Sara and her two offspring, Gustavo and Cassi. They were a family who adopted me during the previous paragraph, keeping me company the whole way as if one of their own. So nice! If it weren't for these genuine humans, I would not have any photos of myself at such famous landmarks, and I will treasure that forever. Good people. I felt honoured to share that memorable day with them.

I also had the absolute privilege to hang out with my ex-housemate and top-top-top-shelf mate Pepê, as well as his lady friend, Ingrid, who I knew and now know even better. This duo came with a vast collection of other people, and for an evening, I was one of the cool local kids hanging with the other cool local kids, watching the sunset from Mureta da Urca, sharing massive beers into smaller cups so they didn't get too warm. I was off my tits by the end of that night, and, by God, I was so joyous too. Quick additional sprouts of love to Shenna and Alice!

Should we talk about Brazilian girls for a minute? Can you handle it?

As Peru illustrated, South America interpreted my dating profiles well, and two specific ladies deserve ample space in this blog and so much more. The first girl was one of those immediate connections like live wires touching. We conversed about the Law of Attraction and our attraction towards one another, and where those topics overlapped. We drank giant beers that cost £2.42 and kissed each other around the city centre like we were already a couple stuck in a whirlwind. We then accidentally stumbled on an explosive street rave which punctuated the night of meant-to-be's, like a sign from above that we had finally found one another. And then I fucking ruined it. The subsequent morning I awoke with a self-deprecating hungover and felt overwhelmed. Our following conversation was cold from my side, and she picked that up immediately. Once my hangover subsided, I recognised my tenseness and tried to patch it up, but she had turned her back. Try as I might, she would not see me again before I departed. I regret that so much. We are still in contact today and communicate regularly, but this is a tragic story as well as one of the most fascinating human interactions I've ever had. I'm still bewildered by all of it. Sometimes I wonder if I will see her again and then we'll live happily ever after? Maybe.

The second encounter was less profound but more satisfying. Pure rock 'n' roll chick, she arrived at the date already wasted, spent some time evaluating me and then invited me back to her place in record time. She lived on the uppermost floor of a favela, and as I stood on her balcony, marvelling over the expansive view of Rio's nighttime skyline, she sucked me off, Christ the Redeemer blessing us from a distance. We then banged to Aerosmith. I fell asleep, woke up hungover and rushed back to my hostel to make it to work on time. This event took place on my third day here. Too much information? I am aware, but try to see this from my perspective. Do you recognise how grateful I was for such a moment? How could I not tell you about it?

Just quickly, Rio Earth was an ok hostel/guesthouse where the owners are super smiley. Yet, it was a bit shitty, especially when we had a public argument on Booking.com about their temperamental internet connection. Meanwhile, Mojito Hostel & Suites was much closer to my vibe, a proper backpackers hostel with sufficient social opportunity, and Cantinho da Familia is ideal if you need a private room to break from the madness. Oh, and if you're seeking a dentist, Rio Implants was suitable. I decided I needed a checkup and a polish, so I did that too because I'm an adult. So interesting!

The gifts from Rio (and this continent) were of value unmatched anywhere else in the world, continuing to guide me until this day. There is a spiritual vibration beneath this earth's crust which many attest to, a region that is less clouded by prioritised intellect and instead driven by a primal intuition. Janthopoyism sprouted in Peru, but in Rio, it blossomed, and I will always hold this city dear for such nurturing abilities. It is second on this list, so my love is evident, but in many trains of thought, it's criminal that it's not number 1.

Two weeks down the hatch, and I booked my ticket to the United States. I arrived at the airport and the native counter lady asked if I'd "been to Sheena?". I was like, "Sheena?" and she responded, "Yes, Sheena!". Hmmm, "No, I don't know who or what that is, so I don't think so." But she persisted. "Sheena! SHEENA!" eventually, I was raising my voice, "Listen, I obviously have no idea what you're talking about, so it's fair to assume I have not been there!!". She accepted that. Through the gates and the English announcer announced, "Please let staff know if you have recently visited China and if you're feeling any of the following symptoms..." and I was like, "Ooooh, not Sheeena, CHINA! And also, lol, everyone is really freaking out about this silly virus thing, huh?".

Top Five Recommended Sights
Catedral Metropolitana de São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro; The Royal Portuguese Reading Room; Cemitério São João Batista; Christ the Redeemer; Sugarloaf Mountain

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit III: 01. New York City, New York, USA

01. New York City, New York, USA


Dates: 1 March - 27 March 2020
Accommodation: Blue Moon Boutique Hostel & Hotel - 7/10 (Lower East Manhattan. 1 March - 8 March)
HI NYC Hostel - 9/10 (Harlem, 8 March - 15 March)
NY Moore Hostel - 6/10 (Brooklyn, 15 March - 20 March)
Genae's House - N/A (the Bronx, 20 March - 27 March)


Ever since the fateful day I crawled out from my mama, there appeared an obvious holy trinity of global cities. First and foremost, London, which I've conquered as many times as she's conquered me. Secondly, there's Tokyo, which effortlessly topped my Jarexit II list, living up to its hyperspeed sugar reputation perfectly. And finally, there was the mighty New York City.

Every step I took upon every land I visited felt like merely a course marching towards this metropolitan zenith. And so when the bus from Philly turned to face that famous skyline, I confess I lost eye-liquid. I couldn't believe it was finally happening. I was about to explore New Fucking York Fucking City, baby, fuck! And you already know how it went, because we're coming to the end of this article.

The most remarkable feature about any Monster City is that there is too much stuff to keep you busy. For comparison's sake, my previous Philadelphia mission had a respectable 64 landmarks that I wanted to check off my list. NYC had 260, an itinerary that expanded even longer once I'd set up camp. And herein lies what makes this account challenging to write without just spewing an oversized tally of daily observations. Because one thing no one told me about New York is that it's compact as fuck. Yes, it's enormous, but not really by landmass, rather by height. It's very tall. And every crevice and every corner boasted something unique, not a street uncramped without notable magic, enriching my life with an overwhelming amount of Instagrammable content. It was so insane, and even as I reflect on those memories over a year later, no power is weakened. I remain enchanted by the weirdness of NYC.

I gawked up at some of the biggest things you've ever heard of, permanent iconic structures forever carved into the human psyche irrespective of where you grew up. The Empire State Building, Madison Square Garden, Yankee Stadium, Central Park, Wall Street and its Rockefeller Center... their names alone shake the memory tubes of anyone who has ever watched TV. Times Square is overpowering enough, so when my phone abruptly died despite its 50% battery display, I was worried no one would ever find me again. I retraced my steps back between bright superstructures that shrunk my existence until I found the subway and navigated those unfamiliar underground networks to my hostel, proud of myself. And then there was the 9/11 Memorial, where the weight of those towers came crashing down into my stomach. As I stared at that haunted concrete beneath my feet, the tragedy genuinely sunk in, and I felt sick, and I felt angry.

I toured the Museum Of Modern Art and bowed my head before pieces by Picasso, by Pollock, by Kahlo, by Mondrian. I smiled at Campbell's Soup Cans by Andy Warhol, I pressed my nose to The Persistence Of Memory by Salvador Dalí, and I nearly fainted when I casually bumped into The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh. Oh, hey! I didn't even know you were here! I'm such an uncultured idiot! I could've easily missed it, wtf!

But for an entertainment junkie such as myself, it was the spots made popular by modern artistic mediums that sparked my salvation glands. I took photos of the spaces where some of the greatest album artwork ever was captured (examples include PJ Harvey's Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea; Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited and The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan; Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti; Ramones' self-titled debut; The Who's The Kids Are Alright; The Doors' Strange Days; Beastie Boys' Paul's Boutique; and Neil Young's After the Gold Rushall of which you can enjoy here). I sniffed out a Sonic Youth trail of my design. I scouted locations from Taxi Driver and Birdman and Breakfast at Tiffany's and Annie Hall. I skulked around the diner from Seinfeld, I danced along the stairs from the Joker, I dribbled down the grate that blew up Marilyn Monroe's dress, and I joined the endless stream of tourists who snapped shots of the exterior apartment from Friends. I thought about drugs outside the Hotel Chelsea. I thought about fucking Meg Ryan at the table where she faked an orgasm as Sally Albright. I said a prayer at the tree where the Hare Krishna movement first started. And I said an even more authentic prayer at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue, where the entire hip hop genre was born.

Superior to the above were two extra special areas. The first was the street far below the penthouse where cancer defeated David Bowie, and his soul left the Earth to explore space as destined. Having spent some time outside the Brixton home where his spirit entered his body, I felt about as close as I could get to the guy. And even in my sadness, I was able to recognise a career well-spent and a passing that had achieved more than any man should reasonably expect. However, such a sensation did not apply outside the Dakota apartments, the exact spot where a bullet stole John Lennon from us. There I felt a more significant loss mixed in with a wad of fury. His life was severed far too short, and with every breath, my lungs choked on an atmosphere of absence. I have since visited Lennon's childhood home in Liverpool too, so at least that cycle is also complete. The two most influential legends to my creative life. God bless both of your contributions.

What I have told you thus far are only the highlights, things you would recognise. Due to time constraints, I have left out the seemingly infinite amount of quirky details this masterpiece of a city offers. But hopefully, I have accurately illustrated that I did New York, and I did it hard. I began in a Lower East Manhattan hostel which may not have been the best accommodation but was unchallenged as the best area with its artsy personality fighting off gentrification. I moved to Harlem my second week, which was also a dream, not as scary as the reputation tells, plus HI NYC Hostel was perhaps the most fun and well-equipped housing I've ever stayed in, 100% Jared recommended stamp of approval. I then relocated to the exciting streets of Brooklyn into a hostel that looked like an art piece itself, and that's where all hell shattered our reality.

The COVID conversation was already dominating the airwaves before I landed in the Big Apple, and despite my initial disregard to the seriousness of the situation ("It's just a media distraction!"), it was evident by now that this thing, whatever it was, was chowing the planet like Pacman. The bug knocked Europe down, and as I watched Trump slam the borders to those countries (including the UK), a nervous electrical current outlined my organs. I refused to press the elevator buttons out of fear. Every time someone cleared their throat, the room was nothing but side-eyes. And then New York fell.

The concept of corona truly bulldozed me when I strolled into my local Trader Joe's and found it to be stripped bare. The shelves were just about empty, although I managed to grab a tin of beans, and then I nearly cried. At one point, a beggar man spluttered on me, and I convinced myself that he'd signed my death away. On March 17th, I stopped going out. But nothing can compare to March 20th, when the NY Moore Hostel announced that it was shutting its business, and we had to go.

The staff feigned their most earnest pity towards me in particular. The day before, I'd dropped hundreds of dollars to extend my stay by a further week. "Don't worry," they said. "You'll get a refund within five working days", and then they kicked us to the curb during a pandemic in the middle of the most infected city in the world without my money or a food coupon or a complimentary toilet roll or anything. The lack of professionalism and empathy would have left me furious if I didn't have other things on my mind, like, I don't know, being homeless!? It was a tense period because I had minimal resources and even fewer options. Every door was closing around me rapidly.

Miracles come in big packages, and my good mate Javier got in touch. A friend of his owns an Airbnb in the Bronx, and owed to the disease fog, it was available. What's more, she was happy to charge me the same price as my previous residence. For a private room! Thanks, Javzzzz! I moved in and settled down quickly, developing a strategy. I was supposed to be hitting Boston next and then Toronto, but I was aware that this was a futile projection. I had a flight booked from Chicago to London, leaving in about a month, so if I could sit tight in this comfy room and wait for the airborne germs to blow away with the wind, I could skip down that direction, easy peasy! Life's normality would resume soon enough with minimal disruption to my adventure time! Woohoo!

That never happened. Instead, I watched the bustle of New York grow quieter and quieter. I trembled as every essential supermarket visit imitated the apocalypse. And I was terrified. Existing alone in a city/country/continent where I hardly knew a face was difficult to deal with when a virus was contaminating the human race. But everytime my panicked mom called, I'd tell her I was alright. And all things considered, yeah, I was alright, I was alright.

After my Chicago ticket was cancelled, a meltdown did come. I frantically clicked a bunch of random buttons, accidentally purchasing a New York to London flight for many weeks later. Fuck! I chewed through my lip and bought yet another ticket for the upcoming March 29th weekend, then boarding that packed plane at JFK (which was a nightmare in itself), escaping the epicentre of the pandemic, NYC collapsing in my wake, now flying directly into the other epicentre of the pandemic, go figure. Of course, that's another story, and indirectly, my blog about David Icke serves as some agenda-driven sequel to the madness that followed.

So, in the end, my American Jarexit Tour was snipped prematurely, but I was not bitter. I was grateful. I had plans to visit New Jersey for a week before New York, but I opted to leap straight into the beast after Philly, and I appreciate that as some divine intervention. Imagine I hadn't! I was gifted two glorious weeks where I got to scrub the deepest cracks of NYC and was again impressed by my foresight. I knew in my heart that this was arguably the world's greatest city, and I confirmed that without a shadow. I guess I know me.

And how about that hindsight, huh? My New York encounter was way more legendary than anyone else's. I had front row tickets to armageddon, seated in the exact location the movies promised for decades. New York City evaporated into a ghost town around me. That's not something you can buy nor plan. Most likely, that's not something anyone will get to experience in our lifetime again. But I did. And that's what made it special.

My most aggravating regret is that I was saving the Statue of Liberty for last. Hence I never met the lady beyond a speck on the horizon. Oh well... I suppose... I'll just have to... GO BACK! Like, permanently next time, maybe idk.


And thus ends the third Jarexit at its most vibrantly obvious concluding point: the peak and the end. I hope you had a good time! The absence of a break between numbers II and III meant eight months of uninterrupted travel across 12 countries in five continents. What's interesting is that Jarexit III ended just before April 2020, meaning that I hadn't been out of the Americas the entire decade yet. Needless to say, despite the unsettling circumstances, I was secretly relieved to be home, gearing myself up for death with the people I loved the most. Still waiting.

Top Five Recommended Sights
Times Square, Central Park, The 911 Memorial, The Museum of Modern Art, Everything

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | Set 4 (album artwork) | Lockdown Chat | Summary Shot (NYC and Jarexit III)


Monstrocity Drawing



Friday 12 June 2020

Worst to Best: Jarexit II

Worst to Best: Jarexit II (July 2019 - December 2019)

On the 9th of June 2019, my celestial contract with Brakishu had come full circle and our deal was terminated on amicable grounds. For six months, a path had been guided by his/her warm embrace and (ignoring a handful of minor mishaps) my mission was an undeniable success! I stole inspiration apples from 10 different countries then returned to the safety of my London nest, unharmed. Thanks, Brakishu! I owe you, bro! It’s right there in the fine print!

Back then, the adventure was dubbed "Jarexit", no sequential numbering required for it was the only thing, so says ye oh Lord Kanye, amen. I hold no reservations of how thrilled I was to be back in the Queen’s England. I practised my intricate tales of risky excursions, stories ready to be passed down to future generations, neatly ordered, a beginning, middle, and end, ample character development, moral lessons learned, twists and turns and crash landings directly into the eager ears of my friends. Imagine my horror, then, as no one wanted to hear about my trip whatsoever.

I have since learned that travelling is much like a dream. For, no matter how gloriously surreal these events may seem in the brain, nobody else cares. Instead, their lives had continued with or without me. London chugged onward and my return signalled nothing profound to anyone but myself. I was merely re-slotted into the machine with polite handshakes and one-worded formalities, an acknowledgement as humbling as it was infinitely frustrating. I had just witnessed lands that no man before me had ever witnessed*! And yet here I was, in my home, without a dime of attention spent on my story?? Unacceptable! Understandable, sure. But unacceptable all the same. In a fluster, I questioned the fabric of existence as well as the termination of my previous deal. Was the plug pulled prematurely? I was having the best time of my entire life back there. Why did I stop? Why didn’t I just... carry on?

Once that thought seed had been planted there was no ceasing the flourishment of insanity. I didn’t even pack my bags for I had never unpacked them in the first place. Instead, I waved goodbye to faces that were bored of my goodbyes and, on the 27th of July 2019, Jarexit became Jarexit I and Jarexit II became the now back then. No protection spells. No rules. No time limit. No set amount of countries. No calorie counting. Total freedom with only one overall goal: I wanna go to Tokyo for my birthday! Did I make it? You know the answer. Read on anyway.

But before that, here’s my offering to you: the list below can serve your wicked ways as much as mine. Use it to test the waters before you explore the oceans. Inspect these regions through my eyes as all of the photos are my own. Read my recommendations of landmarks, heed my advice on the hostels I rested my head, and join a pub crawl or two if you feel like getting fucked up. And, hey, if you and I exchanged communication over my trails of travel then don’t be surprised if you find your name written within these holy texts, exposed for all the world to see. I didn't even ask for permission, lol, soz.

Ultimately, Jarexit II did come to an end and I slid directly into Jarexit III without a break but that’s a story for a later moment. Don’t get greedy, take what you’re given. This is what you’re given. Remember me for the good times only, enjoy.


Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 10. Bangkok, Thailand

10. Bangkok, Thailand


Dates: 2 Nov 19 - 9 Nov 19
Accommodation: Hits Hostel [7/10]

The joke here is that Bangkok effortlessly topped my Jarexit I list, yet plummeted down into the deepest pits of the second round, the worst possible slot on my presentation, how embarrassing. How could this happen? How could the former king of the ladder slip and crash through every rung, ending up as nothing but a crusty stain upon my otherwise immaculate rug? I gave it roughly two seconds of thought and can relay the answer via one word: hype.

My initial visit to the Thailand capital five months previous was an empty vase of obliviousness found balancing on that line between nervousness and excitement, ready to catch the traditions of the land with nothing but respect. And what shone down with the bright Sun was a wonderfully dangerous juxtaposition of calming Buddhism spirituality and the seediest of all adult locations that I have ever exposed my eyeballs to. I last left Bangkok equating it with the exact meeting point between God and the Devil, which is the only flavour I hope for in life. All of the flavours! Let's represent every vibration equally. Let's give the dark and the light the same fighting chance.

This contradictory environment was a blessing once upon a time but in the sequel, it had swiftly mutated into a curse and, what's more, it was my fault entirely. I waltzed into this city a second time as if I owned it. I tossed my luggage into my hostel without caring that it wasn't the greatest accommodation. Because it was the greatest location! Footsteps away from the infamous Khao San Road aka "the centre of the backpacking universe" according to The Beach. And within minutes I was already hitting those streets like the cocky Western tourist I had accidentally become. And the streets hit back.

What played out can only be recalled as a montage of brief snippets. My full intention was to recreate the magic but my strategy wasn't exactly the most refined that I've come up with. I basically just drank and drank and drank for two days until I had leaned too far the devil way. One of the more troubling of my memories flashes by with lightening. I was on the back of a taxi-scooter beneath a full-blown torrential thunderstorm, trying to save my phone but also acutely aware that this could be the end of me. The roads were flooded, my driver looked terrified and each time our tyres slid out of line I heard the voice of death spitting my name. I may have been out of it but this was not fun. It was very bad.

Not that it stopped me. At some point, I found myself at one of those world-renowned Bangkok red-light districts playing pool with ladyboys because that's what I did the last time and so we needed to do that again. Maybe there's something sick inside of me but I adore the attention as these lovely ladies attempt to coerce me into bed with their broken Englishmy predefined sexuality goes haywire! Of course, it was futile on their part, I was long past the drunk where my dick would work but I bought them a million drinks so everybody won in the end. Well, except me. I had some pretty in-depth conversations with the ATMs over this period. I am 99% sure I was robbed at one point. I have this final hazy memory of vomiting into a plastic bag in the back of a taxi this time, nearly filling it to the brim, of which you will find photo evidence among the Instagram Snaps below.

And on the third day, my phone broke. It suddenly decided it didn't like the internet and refused to connect to any wifi no matter where I was. My laptop google told me to put my phone in the freezer which did work for five minutes at a time. Unsustainable. Eventually, I had to get professional help and took my soaking hangover to a massive electronics market where they fixed my baby for £50. That's cheaper than most places, for sure, but still a kick to the bank account following a series of kicks, really damaging a dude who was already lying down in fetal position. If I'm honest, I was riding in debt from my previous two months anyway, which we'll get to in good time.

For now, we can cut a long story/week short and focus on how I shattered to pieces. No surprises that the Depression Monster kicked down the door because I had invited him over. He did this thing like he always does, punching me in my tear ducts then chaining me to the bed, a position I hardly left for around three days. I worked my job from under the covers. I watched cartoons for the rest of the time. It was a low, man. Real rough. But I'm a veteran now, so what do we do? We wait. We ride it out. And that's why my Bangkok photos are all shit.

There were some good fortunes, we must always count those. For example, I found out that the artwork for The Clash's album Combat Rock was shot around these parts and I scouted that out for a while. I also had a private room and the hostel gave us free eggs in the morning so that blessed me with the space to worry about other things. Then again, there was no hot water so my cries in the shower had to be well-planned and efficient. It's funny now, but back then it was bleak to the power of bleakness squared.

The days ticked on by and the serotonin returned just in time for Friday where I met up with two Bangkok legends named Angela and Henry. They did what they're good at and cheered me up over the pass mark again, washing the sour tastes away with yummy vegan food and an acceptable amount of beer. Thank you!

After that, I could step away and examine the experience from an objective distance. I concluded that I had probably frazzled my brain a little too hard. As we'll get in a moment, my previous two months had not been easy. I ran from Dubai to New Delhi to KL to Tokyo and then Bangkok. That's a fucking overload by anyone standards and I was overdue a breakdown if we're being honest with ourselves. Regardless, there was no justification for how smashed up I was. I left the city very aware that this country tickles out a strange version of myself and I must never ever go back.

I’m less convinced now. It’s still one of the coolest places in the world so why cut that off? My third visit will surely be better. I have been put in my place. I have learned my lesson. This would never happen again. Right?

Top Five Recommended Sights
The Grand Palace, Nana Plaza, Top of the King Power MahaNakhon, The Ratchada Night Market, Wat Arun Ratchawararam Ratchawaramahawihan.
(The above was lifted directly from Jarexit I, it's for the best.

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing (from Jarexit I)



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 9. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

9. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia


Dates: 5 Oct 2019 - 13 Oct 2019
Accommodation: SS Suites @ Swiss Garden Residences [8.8/10]

Moving on and exposing a suspicious pattern: KL was also a firm contender on my Jarext I list and yet it tumbled from grace upon my second visit. Is it possible that a place will never be as rad as it was the first time? Do repeated visits wear the magic down? Is the surprise factor lost in the sea of familiarity? There's some truth in that. But, as always, it's not that simple.

The problem with this story is that I've told it so many times and it's a sobby job and I'm tired of it. What's more, every time I run over the details online, I get in trouble for it. However, for the completists, here we go again, once more with feeling: I visited KL for the second time within five months because of a girl. Naturally, she is a very very pretty girl with a certain aura so special that I'd never swiped right on anything quite like her before. And during our absence, my brain had convinced me that she might be the one. "Spend all your money on her!" was the instruction. Copy that! And so I set about doing the very best I could do.

If you chart my movements to Tokyo, KL was a weird sidestep, not exactly on the way. The price of this detour flight was not a consideration, my eagerness had taken the wheel. Next up, I paid for some accommodation which was the true budget buster but, damn, you get what you pay for! And this was a full-on apartment, inarguably the lushest place I've stayed in over my entire Jarexit II adventure, quirky decor, central location, gym, swimming pool... perfect to play marriage in! Yesss! I would convince this girl to run away with me in no time! I excitedly broke the news to her and that's when she informed me that she had very recently found another lover sweeter than me, more precious than me.

In my memory, we had a plan, one which we'd conversed about before, I have the documentation. But in her memory, this was not the case. Regardless, what was done was done and I arrived back in Kuala Lumpur with a miniature dose of heartbreak. Melodrama snipped my flowering feelings at the stem and I spent my days staring out of the window from my extra-comfortable accommodation, mourning the fantasies of affection I never had, mourning the money I would never get back. At least it was the rainy season which provided some solidarity as the gods and I cried together. Just kidding, I obviously didn't cry.

This girl and I still hung out (we watched Joker together which was my film of the year!) and that works as further evidence as to how great she is. But I was running on the fumes of insanity and I ruined everything in that special way only the Jared Brand can manage. Hindsight has been torturous and I can see how inappropriately I behaved⁠—not in any physical manner, but emotionally and mentally. I couldn't shake this dark energy of self-importance that I'd been dealt an unfair hand and, boy, did I let her know. Even after I left, I couldn't let her go, sending her loving messages and even a gift from Japan. At the time I thought I was being sweet and romantic but now I see what she saw: I was being manipulative. My full intention was to convince her that I was better than her boy, that I was the solution to her everything. It's taken me a long time to understand that I was in the wrong.

A few months later and she rightfully told me to fuck off. She has even unfollowed me on Instagram since, which is when you know it's serious.

Another conflict of character is that she's a very private person whereas I like to tell everyone everything. I respect her wishes, on the one hand. I've never told anyone her name nor has anyone seen what she looks like (which is a goddamn crime, I assure you). On the other hand, I still betray some of her privacy with articles like this one. I tell myself it's ok because there is literally no social connection between us. No public photos exist where we are seen together. No mutual friends are asked to pick sides.

Regardless, she has expressed immense loathing when I write about her and so I know that if she's reading this, she's probably all kinds of mad with me, the negative perception reinforced even deeper. And that is fair enough. But if these are your eyes, KL female girl, I want you to know that I am deeply regretful for my behaviour. I have an embarrassing history of malfunctioning when people I was once vibing with reject me and that is something I am aware of and working on. Unfortunately, this does you and me no good. The damage is done. I take the blame. I was hurt and I acted from that place of hurt and I was a dick for doing so. That said, I will continue on this mind timeline with the hope that one day we can patch things up and be good friends again because I am a huge fan of yours. We got along really well. I think we can get there.

Now that this section has reached the end of its emo trail, it's obvious why KL didn't return the most impressive scorecard. However, it's just as obvious that this had nothing to do with KL whatsoever. Because Kuala Lumpur still stands strong as one of the (or perhaps the?) most underrated city I’ve ever been to. The fact that people don't talk about it all the time is criminal and I am now doing my part to encourage tourism to that piece of the world because it's got a flow that brings me great peace. If there ever was a capital city to be miserable in, this could be the winner. I guess it's what that ancient prophet said once upon a time. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well, you just might find you get what you need. Oh, Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey!

Top Five Recommended Sights
The Petronas Towers from KLCC Park, KL Forest Eco Park, Kuala Lumpur Butterfly Park, Sri Mahamariamman Temple, Museum Of Illusions.
(The above was lifted directly from Jarexit I, it's for the best)

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing (from Jarexit I)



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 8. New Delhi, India

8. New Delhi, India


Dates: 21 Sep 2019 - 5 Oct 2019
Accommodation: PODSTOP (21 Sep - 29 Sep 2019) [7.9/10]
Bunk Hostel Delhi (29 Sep - 5 Oct 2019) [3/10]


Having spent some time missioning around India with a bunch of mates in 2015, I figured I had a pretty decent grasp on the nation’s capital and I strolled in with confidence. No doubt about it, the next two weeks were going to be as smooth as floating upon a cloud. I pictured myself as some yogi guru who would make a pact with all of the gods, reaching a peak of spiritual calm that only the chosen Hindu people could achieve. I would balance a thousand plates upon my head! Brahman would accept me as its own! I would transcend my physical form! None of this happened.

It went more like this: Every morning I'd greet the day in excitement mode, rushing out the hostel doors to explore this world of potent smells, vibrant visuals and relentless buzzing noises. But the instant I stepped outside, a sledgehammer would pummel my face, my skull cracking down the middle, letting all sorts of stresses inside.

The utter chaos of this city remains unchallenged in my experience as a madness beyond realms of mortals, truly unlike anywhere else in the world. The car horns are like a thousand dicks deep throating your eardrums. The air pollution is so thick that you burn your eyes when you try to see through it. And the street plastic has conglomerated with the human faeces to create trash mountains that the cows love to eat right up, yum yum. It's a lot to take in. The poverty runs so deep that I was never sure if I stepped over a dead person or not. This would normally puncture my heart but you learn to build a shell of protection quick. You especially need to do this as a white person because the harassment is an evergrowing stack of bricks strapped to your back. Everyone wants to chat to you, they want to practice their English with you, they want you to buy their stuff, they want you to get into their taxi, they want to take a selfie with you whether you permit it or not. The people are friendly but are they? You’re never in danger but aren't you? The amount of times you say "no" in one day only ends once you stop saying it. I was shouting it.

And when you finally get back to your hostel, you crash facefirst into your pillow and your brain is upside down, filled with bees, and you swear you can’t survive another day in this sensory overload type of world.

It doesn't matter where I’ve been in my life. You name it, none of it is a speck of dirt in comparison to how gruelling this city is. It's like your spirit is being smothered by an energy turned up to 11 and I cursed myself for forgetting how much I had struggled with all of this last time, angry that I had come back to fight it again. But, as it turns out, I forgot something else too...

There's a curious charm that thrives in the noisy thick of New Delhi and it fuses itself to you. When you leave the kaleidoscopic rollercoaster that is India's capital, everything that comes next falls short. If it's not India, then it's too quiet, it's too easy, it's too boring. The unbearable intensity dries and crumbles out of your mind and you crave the dirt again. In its absence, bright vibrancy shines through the cracks and you recall how much fun you actually had. By Shiva, that was a powerful trip, man! The traffic alone is enough to make you a religious person because you pray for your life! Tinder works so well you become spoilt! And the affordability is absurd. Ubers cost a quid a pop. I had a 90p haircut at one point. I felt guilty about being British the whole time. In fact, I had one girl nearly walk out on a date because of my UK passport. Fair enough, historically speaking. Thankfully, I am a born South African otherwise she may not have fucked me that night.

Another strong flavour left on my tongue was the people I met during this stop. Partying at The Key was genuinely one of the best nightclub experiences of my life. Hey Sheen, wish we got to hang. Sup Jenny, you were a highlight. The Podstop hostel turned out to be a social goldmine and the crew from there still stand out as legends of the highest calibre; humans I'd gladly go out of my way to hang out with again. Shout-out to Eva, to Aneta, to Aakash, to Monty, to PJ and everyone else from that period, you peoples are inside of my mind permanently. Even more so, I extend a separate batch of love to Giacomo and Felix. You two dudes were the soundest of the sound and I properly enjoyed every single moment chilling with you brothers. I wish nothing but the best for both of your paths for the rest of all time.

I made a minor misjudgement when I moved to Bunk Hostel Delhi for my second week. I wanted a private room for some space to myself and it was fucked. An impenetrable language barrier, the noisiest street in India, my private toilet leaked liquid all over the floor. I tore them a new hole on Booking.com, a review so vicious that they somehow managed to get it deleted from the website, a feat I did not even know was possible. Respect.

Speaking of impossibles, did you know that I am the only tourist from the whole Western world to spend two weeks in his city and not get Delhi Belly? It's true, look it up. Anyway, I wanna go back, I'm serious, let's go back.

Top Five Recommended Sights
The Lotus Temple, Agrasen ki Baoli, Raj Ghat Memorial, Jantar Mantar, The Siddh Hanuman Mandir

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 7. Glasgow, Scotland, UK

7. Glasgow, Scotland, UK


Dates: 27 July 2019 - 4 August 2019
Accommodation: Giulia's Home [N/A]

When the Jarexit II door was first opened, I didn't explode into the stratosphere like some may have done and, instead, I took the most cautious step out of London I could. This was to be an easy transition, one where I remained in the same country (the UK, even though it was England to Scotland), where everyone spoke the same language (English, even though the thick local accent meant most spoken words were indecipherable), and where the same legal tender was accepted (the Queen’s pound, even though the notes look completely different).

Hold up and let's rewind a decade or so before. This story starts with an online Italian friend of mine. We will call her Giulia because that is her name. We connected over a mutual adoration for Lily Allen and gradually interacted with one another across all social media platforms until we became real friends. This binary code manifested into reality around 2018, when we finally met in person at All Points East festival in London. We reached a mutual agreement that we were both probably ok and she said I could come and visit her in Glasgow one day. Big mistake, Giulia! As I went there and I killed her and then I stole all of her coffee.

The coffee part is true! As are many other lovely factors which I could collect into a long-verse poem and call it Giulia. She let me into her home, gave me a place to sleep, gave me her wifi password, fed me Marmite peanut butter, and then took time out of her busy life to show me around her city. And her city was cool! I mean, very wet and rainy, sure, but that did not deter my mission in the slightest. I was dedicated to the cause! And I spent every lunchtime and whatever other available hours I had to explore these naturally beautiful planes, running around graveyards, hunting down Oor Wullie statues, photographing renowned murals, attending improv shows, admiring famous artwork, eating deep-fried Mars Bars, drinking probably a bit much, and doing all sorts of other stuff, you wouldn't believe it.

But nothing compares to the mini-Trainspotting solo tour I mapped out all by myself. At least two days worth of adventure time was focused on visiting various spots from that classic film, which meant a lot to me. That movie, man. It shifted a fundamental part of my psyche when I watched it, probably because I was faaaar under the recommended age restriction when I did. It was an honour to breathe oxygen in those areas while contemplating giving up everything for heroin. I felt like a teenager all over again!

Looking at this overall list, Glasgow may not have scored high but I think the reasons are fair. One week wasn’t enough. The weather and I had some beef. The UK is as the UK does. But I did get to hang out with my long-running friend Kate and my newer long-running friend Dan and my newest friend of them all, Emma, a baby human that these two legends created. Woohoo! That was very nice. And, of course, there was Giulia. Sweet Giulia. Love of my life, Giulia. Future wife whether she likes it or not, Giulia.

Top Five Recommended Sights
Duke of Wellington Statue, Glasgow Necropolis, The University of Glasgow, Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, Ashton Lane

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 (Trainspotting Tour) | Set 2 | Summary Shot


Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 6. Barcelona/Madrid, Spain

6. Barcelona/Madrid, Spain


Dates: 24 Nov 2019 - 25 Dec 2019
Accommodation: Primavera Hostel (Barcelona, 24 Nov 2019 - 8 Dec 2019) [8/10]
Sweet BCN Youth Hostel (Barcelona, 8 Dec 2019 – 14 Dec 2019) [7/10]
Hotel Delicias (Zaragoza, 14 Dec 2019 - 15 Dec 2019) [6/10]
I Love Madrid Hostel (Madrid, 15 Dec 2019 - Wed 25 Dec 2019) [7/10]


My month-long stretch in Spain is a difficult one to summarise, stuffed to the breaking point with shimmering highlights and strenuous pitfalls, tales of love and loss, of pains and lessons, of blahs and blahs. In a fairer Jarexit world, the Barcelona-meets-Madrid city clash should have been split out into two separate chapters because the glue that joins them is nothing but a common country. Too late now, here we are.

Rushing right in and observing Barcelona, allow me to loudly state my undying love for this city. I love you, Barcelona! I adore this city so much that I've regularly referred to it as my “second home” without any regard to what my first home might be. It doesn't matter! What matters is that this was my 4th visit to this happy place and, in many ways, my favourite yet.

This elevation was owed, in part, to #ME. Over the last year of Jarexits, I had become an expert explorer, up there with the best, hence why I zipped along this familiar environment as if it was my first time, utilising sharper eyes to uncover an incredible amount of stuff I'd never discovered before. And these joyous findings united with the regular beaches and the religious establishments and the street buzz and the skyline views and the sunshine and the people (sup Alex, sup Carlos, sup Kate) until my problems evaporated and my previous adorations were reaffirmed. Oh, and Antoni Gaudi? The greatest architect that ever lived, surely. A firm fixture of the gawks. The Basílica de la Sagrada Família, my stomach. Oh, and the Montjuïc Cemetery? I’ve scuttled around graveyards all over the world but this was inarguably the craziest one.

There were even higher highs than these above examples. Crying as I watched Kate Tempest live for the first time was certainly one. The On The Rocks Pub Crawl was a goodie. Shout-out to the 8th of December 2019 where I celebrated my one year running with this nomadic lifestyle. I also have a note praising the 5th of December when Primavera Hostel fed us a free vegan meal and I spent an hour chatting to a beautiful Russian girl. Following that, my job (Pencilmation) was announced as the 3rd biggest content creator in 2019 according to YouTube Rewind and then a dorm mate I had never spoken to before handed me a Russian coin out of nowhere and said, "For memories". I feel so warm!

But as appreciated as these Mario Mushrooms were, the complete Barcelona game did not always go according to plan. In fact, when I make a list of the worst things that have happened to me during all of my Jarexit travels, the following story ranks in the top three.

To summarise for time-reasons: after a particularly inspiring day of blissful tourism, I happened upon a magical vegan grocery store at the end of the rainbow. I shredded wads of cash there then skipped home with a bag of goodies. I opted to cook happy burgers right away and separated the patties with a big sharp kitchen knife, promptly sliding the blade so deep into my left palm that is almost poked out the other side. My ring finger lost its entire sense of feeling immediately, I had obviously severed a nerve. The tiny wound flapped open like a vagina and, naturally, it began to bleed. I slapped the burgers onto the frying pan as I sucked on the hole and was then sickened to discover how much of my internal hand-meat had prolapsed out from the cut. My head spun and I knew I was about to faint so I rushed to my room and collapsed into my bed with one thought swirling around my befuddlement: those burgers are still cooking, brother. There's a fire hazard waiting to happen.

Thankfully, that didn't happen. Instead, I spent several hours wobbling around this Spanish terrain, visiting hospitals, conversing about their impossible waiting times and extortionate prices. My frugality and boredom ultimately conquered and I decided to risk it, doing nothing. For a week, the wound remained open and I couldn’t shake the trauma. My head played the VHS over and over. The city’s once flowery aura had turned dark and spoiled. One day in particular I couldn't get out bed I was so down. Thankfully, the injury did eventually heal up and, even though I am still lacking most of that finger’s sensation to this very day, I reflect upon this outcome with gratitude. Thank you, outcome. The number of ways this could have been worse is infinite.

Besides that gigantic hiccup and the fact that the Tories annihilated the 2019 United Kingdom general election (blah!), I think I was just mostly exhausted. Three Barcelona weeks came and went where I had slept in six-to-eight people rooms and I’d heard too many octaves of snores to be comfortable anymore. Don’t get me wrong, the two hostels I stayed at were each excellent in their own rights and I am still the undefeated adventure master. But travel fatigue is a real phenomenon and it was setting in fast. This wasn’t good because my Spain journey was only halfway done...

The next major stop was aimed towards the Spanish capital of Madrid but I decided to embark on a sneaky side manoeuver, tiptoeing through Borja and Zaragoza for one day and one sleeps. There was a singular reason for this and a singular reason only: I wanted to look at the Ecce Homo painting (i.e: Ecce Mono; Potato Jesus). This was the botched Christ art piece which had since become an internet sensation. The mere awareness of its existence had brought so much joy to my life already. I needed to scan its contents in HD!

Getting to this little fella was a different story (5 am Barcelona start, two-hour train to Zaragoza, 1-hour bus to Borja, 6km walk up a steep hill to the Sanctuary of Mercy church) but the smiling sun made for a pleasant trip and the cherry was oh-so-worth-it. The painting is just too funny. I was in hysterics for the rest of the day, I truly love myself for doing this for myself, it was a moment of immense pride. Perhaps even more amusing than the painting is how much tourism money this fuck-up is pumping into Borja’s economy, it's like nothing they've ever seen, truly a miracle from Jesus. Meanwhile, Borja itself was interesting enough in that derelict type of way. Although, with only a 5,000 population, it was eerily quiet and I felt like everyone knew I was there. Let's get out of here! I popped down to Zaragoza to crash out in a private room (finally!), spending only a few hours exploring this (much bigger) city. It was whirring with social activity and I was legit heartbroken to leave so soon. I half-swore I'd cover this place properly at a later date, so let me know if you're keen for that.

Such an exhilaratingly swift adventure done and Madrid finally landed my way. First time ever! And I hit it hard! Multiple spots every day, soaking my eyeballs in some truly magnificent landmarks and works of art. I had spent a fair share of my travel life in Spain but I realised I had been missing a trick. This fresh piece of the puzzle was exploding my skull out! These streets wanna party. I have it in writing that, at the time, I claimed that Madrid was better than Barcelona. Blasphemy! And not a fair statement at all! But the sentiment was made and it means more than I could express here. The cut in my hand healed up. I had a few drinks with my a-grade London pal Javier. My mana bubbled to the rim, fully replenished. I remembered who I was. I was the king.

This ego trip didn’t last. The time came to snip the fun and games to an early demise and hunch over my laptop to honour my self-imposed deadlines. You see, the end of December is always a challenging time of year for me because I have annual projects which require wrapping up. This means days upon days upon days of sitting in my cramped hostel, smashing my fists into my keyboard while everyone around me has the holiday of their life. But did they knock out an entire book titled The Top 250 Albums of the Decade? Or did they write an article which intricately picked apart every detail of the year named Dear 2019? No, they didn’t. Travelling is cool and all but work is my first love, so I look back on it without regrets. We do what we do. I clicked to publish the juices of my labour and then, on the loneliest Christmas day in history, I packed my bags and said goodbye to Spain, with my itinerary list only half satisfied. Something to do next time, I guess.

Jarexit II ended here as I flew to the Americas where the overall game levelled up big time. But that’s a different blog post...

Top Five Recommended Barcelona Sights
Basílica de la Sagrada Família, Montjuïc Cemetery, Park Güell, Cathedral of Barcelona, Bunkers of Carmel

Instagram Barcelona Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 (Montjuïc Cemetery) | Set 3 | Set 4 | Stabbing (Warning: Random Political Content) | Kate Tempest Review | One Year Jarexit Anniversary | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing (Barcelona)

Instagram Borja/Zaragoza Snaps
Ecce Homo Announcement | Set 1

Top Five Recommended Madrid Sights
Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, The Iglesia de San Antonio de los Alemanes, Plaza de Salvador Dalí, Jardines de Cecilio Rodríguez (Retiro Park), Madrid Walk of Fame

Instagram Madrid Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing (Madrid)



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 5. Gold Coast, Australia

5. Gold Coast, Australia


Dates: 10 Nov 2019 - 23 Nov 2019
Accommodation: Ash's House [N/A]

After feeling like a pinball ricocheting around the craziest locations on the planet (Dubai to New Delhi to KL to Tokyo to Bangkok = deadly!), I had no choice but to desperately dive towards normality, a last-minute save that happened far too late if anything.

Gold Coast has never been claimed as the most action-orientated city in the great country of Australia and you might think this would work in its detriment. The fact that I had been here several months previous normally wouldn't work in its favour either. But this relaxing familiar vibe was everything I needed at that low point, offering various little prizes that most people tend to take for granted. Like friends. And not a hostel. And drinkable tap water. And English.

Wait! Our story truly starts during Jarext I where I ended that entire 6-month tour right here, the Gold Coast never considered a full-fledged chapter but rather a bonus stage after Melbourne. The purpose then was to spend a week with my long lost pal (and fellow Funpowder Plotter) Ash in his natural habitat. What I hadn't accounted for, was that I'd fall in love with the Gold Coast. Because I did. Because the Gold Coast is a fucking paradise set on chill mode. Because no other modes are available. I left with a frowny heart but, as I did so, Ash requested my return for his 40th birthday a few months later. And I said, don’t you worry, my friend. I will be there for that.

We are nothing if not the promises we keep and I fulfilled my brotherly duties right here, on the Jarexit II tour, landing during a substantially warmer season then promptly collapsing with a sickness worse than any I'd tasted during 2019. It makes sense too. No doubt my immune system had taken a beating due to the stress-induced panic that is known generally as Asia. So when my body recognised a safe place, it finally let go, surrendering to the filth and the foreign bacteria I’d exposed myself to over the last months. Not ideal but, also, ideal. If this had to happen, then so be it, this was the perfect place for it to happen in. The feeling of death watering your lungs is never going to be great but when you're on a beach, it's bearable. Glued to the couch from sweat is a pathetic feeling but when Ash hands me some homemade veggie food and a beer, I could hardly justify any self-pity, right? And, gradually, I became human again.

One of the most appreciated of feeding tubes was the one where I ate my friends. A delicious array of old school London peeps made an appearance, most notably Alan, Jock, and the legend Little Ash himself (no relation to larger Ash). Then there was this glorious line-up of newer Australian faces to the likes of Kez, Emily, Beks, Ken, and tons of others, everyone coming together for one reason only... to celebrate the big guy’s birthday. This was done properly, a Mad Max themed party which got reasonably out of control, without a doubt the hardest I've partied over this Jarexit (the competition wasn't high but whatevs). Sadly, the toxins in my system flared my diseases back to the forefront and I fell down sick again with a screaming headache but zero regrets. These are some amazing people, I felt honoured.

The rest of the trip was what truly made it. You'll probably remember the country was on fire around this time and the topic of unrest hung in the air just like the smoke in question. But it's difficult to stress when you're feeding a kangaroo, you know? There was loads of beer, loads of cake, and so much chilling on some of the most beautiful natural terrains I’d seen this year. We all need exercise and I run a lot no matter where I am. But the Palm Beach through Burleigh Head National Park to Burleigh Head Beach? That's my favourite trail in the world thus far. It heals me.

One particular moment I’ll never forget was sitting next to the Palm Beach lagoon beneath the scorching sun, craft tinnie in my hand, marvelling over the fundamentals of existence. I looked over to Little Ash and he looked back at me and we both shook our heads in disbelief. It was that inconceivably nice. Then Luci and I went and jumped off the bridge together into the water. Luci later deleted me off Facebook, which sucks, but what can you do? Anyways, Gold Coast! It melted away the mental gunk that relentless travelling seems to inevitably accumulate over time. I left rejuvenated with my batteries charged to the max, ready to move forward at an alarming speed which is not something I can say about anywhere else on this list, really.

This newfound stamina was more imperative than you'd think. I got on a plane and took a 28h50 flight to Spain which was made easier with a new idea I had just birthed. It went like this: when I'm old and I'm ready to die, the Gold Coast is where I'll live out my last days. It is that serene. It is the full-stop.

We did drink a fuckload though. I must make that abundantly clear.

Top Five Recommended Sights
Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary, Palm Beach, Burleigh Head National Park, Burleigh Head Beach, Springbrook National Park (Jarexit I)

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing (Jarexit I)



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 4. Bucharest, Romania

4. Bucharest, Romania


Dates: 25 Aug 2019 - 7 Sep 2019
Accommodation: Motor House Unirii [7.5/10]

My decision to slide into Romania's DMs was born from strange and very sudden declarations of love from some of my most respectable travelling pals. Out of nowhere, this country was lauded as the place-to-be, do not miss it, and before I knew what I was doing, I'd purchased my flights to and accommodation inside of the nation's capital. My excitable announcement was met with a baseball bat of resistance. “No, don’t go to Bucharest! That’s not where the cool kids are! Never go to the capital city of anywhere!” Woah, what do you mean? I only go to capital cities! It’s where the best wifi is! And, anyway, it was too late, I'd already paid for everything. I made peace with my choice and pretended I was fine.

As is the nature of Worst to Best lists, the later in the game they appear, the better the time was. Here we find ourselves in the greater half so you already knew that Bucharest rocked my world. The reasons why are tougher to articulate but, my gosh, I will do my best over the next several paragraphs.

One hefty pull was the general prices. I've always welcomed travel stops that don't break the piggy. Beer was half the cost of London and I could afford a private room in a guesthouse. Both of these components are important. The room granted me the mental space to get a fuckton of work done and the workaholic gods were appeased by the sacrificed time. Meanwhile, those cheap beers served me well especially during Bucharest2Night, my favourite pub crawl from this Jarexit II timeline. And with cheeks filled with drunk, I vibrated along these streets, consumed by the wild nightlife that this city offers, a raucous buzz of social activity featuring (no exaggeration) some of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, hand's down.

This little intoxicated excursion got me in a speck of bother too. That same night when I was stumbling home with Google Maps as my only ally, some wanker on bicycle attempted to snatch my phone away. He failed like a loser and then I called out to a pair locals passing by. They came to the rescue, instructing me to “run” as they restrained him, super legends. And run, I did! I was lost though so I was forced to continuously hide behind cars every time I heard his slow tires scraping down the street, dashing in the opposite direction once they'd panned away.

By some divine guidance (probably still Google Maps, I can't remember) I eventually found my hostel but I overshot it, my gate key somehow working in the neighbour's lock. When my housekey didn't fit the front door, I had just about bubbled into my limit and I was in a dramatic state. I tearfully phoned the landlord at 3 am but to no avail until I resigned to my fate and lay on the ground, hoping to get some sleep outside. At some point, I realised that I recognised nothing around me so I jumped the fence and fell, collapsing on the sidewalk, lying on the concrete for a few minutes, wallowing in this comedic moment of self-pity. I got up, dusted myself off, strolled two metres to the real gate, entered without a hitch and went to bed. I have never woken up so relieved that I somehow had all my stuff!

The rest of my sober days were spent exploring and, boy, does Bucharest have endless places to explore! I did something every lunchtime and often at the night too, yet I was unable to tick everything off of my list. I could ramble many highlights but one all-encompassing characteristic of Bucarest's appeal was the urban decay. It's unmatched as the best I have ever seen, my heart turned operatic. The sleek modern buildings standing so proud next to these smashed up dens that are crumbling before your eyes is a juxtaposition to the most glorious of orders. It's my favourite thing!

Another favourite thing was the Dimitrie Gusti National Village Museum which is a massive village of houses that nobody lives in, like a ghost town you can walk around and peer in windows without getting arrested. When I was there not another human was in sight which coated the atmosphere with an eerie blanket of solitude until I bumped into some sheep and I screamed. Maybe it was just my experience but even while I was in those moments, I was acutely aware that this was one of the best travel sites I had ever visited. I still consider it a peak point within every Jarexit ever.

Did I mention the weather was always above 30? So. Good. I ran a lot as a result.

Side note: as time has gone on I have started to associate Bucharest as the place where Ina lives. She is the human representative of the city, she owns it as far as I'm concerned. She is a girl I met very briefly and we became social media friends right there. Since then, we have seriously bonded over many topics and she is super nice to me, far more than I deserve. So, anyway, hi, Ina! You’re so great I would go back to Bucharest just to hang out with her (even though I was planning to go back anyway).

Oh, also, hello Anuita! You are super cool too! :D

The overall summary is that Bucharest solidified into that sweet central spot where everything just seemed to go well. My health was sturdy, my creativity was gushing, my social sack was mended, and the city itself kept on giving me what I wanted, day after day after night after day. It was the third stop on Jarexit II and before this, I was feeling very unsure of myself. My travel life seemed upside down, unsustainable, stupid. Had I made the right decision to resume rolling down the nomadic hill like this? Wasn't I too old to have ripped up all of life's responsibilities? Shouldn't I be establishing some roots rather than disappearing into the ether of global nothingness? Then Bucharest came along and was like, bro, wtf, it’s all good, keep on keeping on, this shit is fucking golden.

I also particularly enjoyed telling everyone from the first paragraph how mistaken they were. Bucharest is underrated and anyone who disses it did it wrong. In fact, I even went to the much-praised Brasov for a day to see what all the fuss was about and I wasn’t mad for it. And you know why? Because capital cities, man. That's where the glory is at.

Top Five Recommended Sights
The Dimitrie Gusti National Village Museum, Romanian Kitsch Museum, the Romanian Palace of Parliament, The Cișmigiu Garden, Palatul Adevărul

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 (incl Brasov) | Set 3 | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 3. Florence/Pisa, Italy

3. Florence/Pisa, Italy


Dates: 4 Aug 2019 – 25 Aug 2019
Accommodation: Nirvana House Pisa (Pisa, 4 Aug – 17 Aug) [8.3/10]
My Friends (Florence, 17 Aug – 25 Aug) [7.1/10]

There is no way in any reasonable Universe that this Jarexit chapter should be placed this high up on my list. There were simply far too many glaring faults that nibbled at my legs during this leg and they all wore the same face. My face. It was me, I made mistakes.

The first and biggest mistake was Pisa itself. I prepared a sizeable list of things to do and then I happily skipped out into the wild, accidentally doing everything in a couple of hours. Oops! Nobody told me that Pisa was hardly a city! This was just a bunch of people gathered around a building! A building that is so shit it nearly fell over! Wtf! I seriously can't express this enough and anyone who has been here will tell you the same story: there is nothing to do in Pisa. And, what's more, I had already paid for two weeks of accommodation to do nothing in. D-to-the-fucking-'oh.

However, it must be said that this absence of activities almost maybe worked in the location’s favour. You see, I’m the type of guy who welcomes open hours to dedicate to his craft and, suddenly, I had ample of these hours do so with. I smashed my foot on the gas and made insane headway on my creative projects, zooming far ahead of schedule. Another helpful factor is that I had a super nice private room allowing me to lock the world away and keep my sneaky schemes to myself, hehehe.

Did I mention the Sun? Ah man, the Almighty Sun! Solid pal to me during this section of life, germinating energy within my cells and elbowing me to think outside of the box. Dig, motherfucker, dig! So I dug and unearthed some trippy areas to explore that most casual fans prancing through Pisa's streets may miss. I found a church which claimed ownership of a legit thorn from Jesus’ torture crown. I invented my own pub crawl which included a stop at a shot bar that boasts over 250 strange combinations. I braved the confusing transport to mission down to the charming city of Lucca for a day as well as Bagni Vittorio Emanuele beach another, drinking beers in a hammock watching the sunset. I also went on a walking tour which showed me everything I had already seen, except for one thing: a girl named Ella. She was a super cool person! She still is a super cool person, I imagine! After the tour, we went for vegan ice cream and chatted about how embarrassed we were about being Britsh, hahaha, omg, so embarrassed! The fact that she was 16 years my junior only made me feel a little bit old :(

In the end, total props to Pisa. The Leaning Tower is an undeniably exciting object to see with your own eyes (even if the daily flocking of tourism is insanely impenetrable!). The surrounding buildings may be overshadowed by their reject sibling but they're sick too, the inside of the Pisa Cathedral has its place inside of me. But once you've seen the tower almost every day for 14 days straight you do start to feel like you've been short-changed, you know? Hence why I completely skewed the wheel and decided not to jump the Italian ship just yet. I needed to get a better kick than this! And so, by following literally everyone’s advice, I jumped on a train and chugged my way to the nearby city of Florence.

Florence is the opposite bag with a seemingly infinite amount of historically important spots to check out. Except I had half the time to do it in. One week and one week only, baby! Not a second to waste! I quickly checked into a very cramped but otherwise lovely hostel and got to work immediately, my eyes on the mission, covering as much ground as humanely possible. And, as I do, I did well.

It would be impossible to name everything I achieved here but it'd be blasphemous if I didn't name-drop the Florence Cathedral Square as a location that sucked my breath away. The depth of detail in those architectural masterpieces stuck, carving their name into my heart. No matter where I was going that day, I always gravitated towards that special area first. My mind was also drowned by the bottomless amount of groundbreaking artworks I paid respects to (Michelangelo's David comes to mind, as does Botticelli's The Birth Of Venus) not to mention but to mention the gravesites that rested some of the greatest minds in history (Michelangelo and Galileo are all actually, but still).

On a personal note, my headspace wasn’t its usual cheery self here and I did struggle to connect with anyone on my level despite my best efforts (although, respect Leah, she was the friendliest face Florence had to offer!). Furthermore, I was gutted at how much everything cost! Quite a hefty sum of money for whatever you wanted to do and no two worthwhile things were in the same place. But! But the magic of Florence cuts through all of that and, on a city basis alone, it floored me with its culture and general superior vibrations. This place is truly in a league elsewhere. My artistic inspiration grew so large that it looped on itself and I suddenly knew I was a rubbish artist again. That's an impressive amount of emotion in one motion.

If you count the two weeks in Rome from Jarexit I, a total of five weeks was spent in Italy over 2019. These days were of such a strong quality that they conspired together until I found myself accidentally labelling this as my favourite country to visit in the world thus far. This is still the case. There is something here that whacks everything out of the picture but I’m unsure what it is? The greatest art/artists/architecture in the world? The strong history? The best cuisine the world has ever tasted? Yes yes yes. All of these factors make Jared a swell boy and that's why I'll forever have a plan to go back to this land “very soon”.

Top Five Recommended Pisa Sights
The Leaning Tower of Pisa, Cattedrale di Pisa, The Santa Chiara Church (feat. Jesus Thorn), Keith Haring Mural, Chupiteria Shot Bar

Instagram Pisa Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Summary Shot

Top Five Recommended Florence Sights
Florence Cathedral Square, Uffizi Gallery, Michaelangelo's David, The Basilica di Santa Croce, Giardino delle rose

Instagram Florence Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 2. Dubai, United Arab Emirates

2. Dubai, United Arab Emirates


Dates: 7 Sep 2019 – 21 Sep 2019
Accommodation: Top Dubai Apartment (7 Sep – 18 Sep) [8.3/10]
Leva Hotel and Suites, Mazaya Centre (18 Sep – 21 Sep) [7.9/10]

The more you read my blogs, the deeper you’ll understand how much of a big fat fucking loser I am. Just kidding! I’m not fat :( Do me a favour and stop reading my blogs.

Classic story: my trip to Dubai was because of... a girl! She lives there told me I should come on over. I knew her from High School, 16 odd something years ago and back way when I was crushing on her something fierce! Our communication had been minimal since that point but then, suddenly, there she was, on my Whatsapp screen, saying cool stuff that was by no means explicit enough to guarantee a good time, but just the right amount of liquid to spring my male brain into action. Right! Let’s go to Dubai then!

Of course, the moment I landed, she ghosted me, and I haven’t heard from her since.

This was annoying to no end because I never had any interest in this city whatsoever. Stuff weirded me out about it. Certain laws were set in a past world. The type of people who came here were usually business-orientated, seeking sneaky tax breaks. It’s also worth noting that this one guy I know was very vocal about how immoral it is to visit Dubai after I had already visited. This is due to certain structures reportedly built with slave hands and that really messed with my moral mind too. But if you can take a deep breath and ignore these unpleasantries and ignore how intensely they searched me upon arrival and ignore how on edge I felt for the first several days... Dubai ultimately popped my brain, increasing my knowledge on just how uniquely trippy a city can be.

Even as a concept, Dubai is weird. It may look like a city with all the city parts but the weather won't let you forget that you are in a desert. Especially if you go during the months I went, or so I hear. The borderline 40-degree heat was the name of the game every single day which I loved because I am a creature of the Sun, gimme gimme. Still, this environment is unignorably inhabitable by human beings, hence why an ocean of money had to be pumped into the place just to get it functioning. And it shows. The level of artificialness is a loud factor that puts a lot of people off but, damn, when you look at that skyline at night? Every sci-fi film you’ve ever loved brightens up before your eyes, stretching all the way up to the heavens. Because those buildings are tall, buddy.

In fact, that’s the craziest characteristic of Dubai. The buildings have to be the tallest (and one of them is the tallest tallest). Everything you see forever appears to be suffixed with “in the world”. No matter what it is, it’s the biggest, longest, heaviest, fastest, loudest whatever the fuck in the world. Its entire purpose is to be this record-breaking monster which just screams excess excess excess, the stink of wealth gleaming from every one of its pores. It is so utterly insane that I spent most days in hysterics as I tried to work out what was going on. And best of all, the sheer extravagance of it all meant that I couldn’t afford to do anything. No drink, no cabs, no restaurants, nothing. And so, somehow, I saved a bunch of money just by being here. Go figure.

I also lucked out socially. Tinder girls loved me even though most of them turned out to be hookers. Saily was one of the non-hookers and we got along straight away, she's hilarious and we continue to Like each other's Instagram posts to this very day. I also stayed in a highly impressive hostel (Top Dubai Apartment), emphasis on highly as it's the fourth tallest residential structure in the world, blessing us with a dizzying view of Palm Jumeirah, the largest artificial island in the world. Here, a rotation of interesting cats kept shaking my mind with their lives and I was deep into it. A whole ton of love to SuPing from China, she's a genuine human that has made my life that much better, we've kept in touch. I also met this gorgeous American girl but we forgot to exchange details and that has haunted me ever since. There was a big lesson there. Finally, high-fives all around to Denise, to Ashu, and to Mahlet. Together, we were the crew who went 4X4 dune bashing over endless desert landscapes then rode impoverished camels before eating food in front of a belly dancer. That was a crazy night!

Here’s what it comes down to: when you travel a lot of Europe, the differences can be similar and sometimes it takes a moment for your memory to retrieve which file came from where. With Dubai, every moment was so unmistakably itself, an Arabian sci-fi hallucination, where there was never any question where I was. I was in the freaking future! And, as it stands, no city has managed to 180 my opinion as expertly as this one. I was wrong and I am sorry. Dubai is sick.

It’s a good thing too because at least I’m not mad at that girl who invited me to come over. How could I be? I am grateful! It’s as if her entire existence in my life was to lure me into this experience and, even if she wasn’t part of it, I thank her for the idea. Thank you for the idea!

Top Five Recommended Sights
Burj Khalifa, Jumeirah Beach, View of the Palm Jumeirah, the Dubai Mall, Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood.

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing



Worst to Best: Jarexit II: 1. Tokyo, Japan

1. Tokyo, Japan


Dates: 13 Oct - 2 Nov 2019
Accomodation: obi Hostel (13 Oct - 19 Oct 2019) [7/10]
Khaosan Tokyo Origami (19 Oct - 26 Oct 2019) [8.3/10]
HopStepInn (26 Oct - 2 Nov 2019) [6/10]

Plot reveal: the string that ran down the centre of Jarexit II was a guide rope of baby steps, each notch pulling me across the planet until I ultimately arrived at the key destination of Tokyo for my birthday. I made it! Now, I know what you’re wondering... why Tokyo?? Just kidding, no one was wondering that. It’s, like, everyone’s dream to go to Tokyo, as it was mine, hence the plan. I’m a city boi after all and as far as cities go, you’re not going to find a level like this anywhere else on this floating rock of ours. Hence why, when the plane touched down, the excitement made a whistling noise through my teeth and my pupils expanded in response.

What I didn’t tell anyone is that I absolutely hated it. As a self-centred privileged Westernised white prick, I expected some level of English to assist me through my touristic ways. But within minutes of attempting to navigate this land, it became swiftly obvious that I was not going to be cared for. I had become so used to harnessing this exotic flavour of mine in Asia that I was hurt that no one in Japan gave a shit about me. The citizens were polite, sure. Excessively so. But there was this thin aura of superiority where they looked down on me, the caucasian visitor, responsible for all that was wrong in the world. They wouldn't be wrong either.

It got worse. My wires completely crisscrossed because I thought I knew how big cities function. I’m trained in the arts! But this one was set up wrong. Every single minute detail was just slightly different to anywhere I'd ever seen before. It was the first world to the cutting edge but none of it worked in the same fashion that I was used to. Everything was too expensive. Vegetarianism wasn’t communicatable. Tinder was on the hardest setting. The streets were packed with people but they were deadly quiet. And slowly, my mind shrunk inwards and I felt isolated within my own skull. Omg, this was not how this was supposed to be! And I had three weeks left of this! Buddha, help me, please!

Annoying how Worst to Best lists work because, spoiler no spoiler, it got better. Like, immeasurably better. I started to grasp the system. I simply had to click myself a little to the left then let go, allowing the ride to begin. All those confusing quirks turned out to be advancements. Every toilet, every train, every wifi connection operated on a greater plane. I became a cartoon character in a cartoon world and it was hysterical, high def technicolour of robotic surrealism, the package I’d imagined except real without being too real, an illusion of hyper-cuteness. Maybe the locals didn't appear to like me too much, but I liked them. Their fashion sense was cavity-inducing. Their language was like a thousand tiny daggers slicing up my ears in fast forward. And the general standard of female appearance was a tumbling line of heartbreak, a domino of yearning pain per every step. That part never got easier.

My birthday came and went and even though I was all alone, this solo celebration was one for the books (side shout-out to the girls who sent me birthday photos, y'all lit my smile all the way up). I set out with a magnifying glass to explore every corner that this peculiar city had hidden away, injecting the folds of my brain with quick setting jello, causing permanent damage. Or maybe that was the alcohol during the impressive Tokyo Pub Crawl party? Or maybe that was the alcohol my colleague/friend Greg fed me? Or maybe that was the alcohol my former colleague/still friend Bertan fed me too? Whatever, thanks, dudes! My little sister also joined the madness during the last week and it was here that I learned a valuable lesson: the racing-paced travel program I have developed since Jarexit I is not suited for everyone. Our energies didn’t match on the same playing field and we were forced to salvage our separate holidays by following our own paths. It's a shame but one can't blame Tokyo for sibling oppositions. Because Tokyo was all that, each and every day rammed with a frantic rush to fill my backpack with unusual crumbs until I could piece together some sort of a distorted picture of what was actually going on here, so much so that it’s tricky to identify a single event that stands above another. Well, except for one one...

I must confess to you, my readers, that I have been a little less than honest in pretending I was touring Tokyo for my birthday. Yes, this was the dream location, and yes, I was stoked to turn 35 here. But this was just a happy organisational opportunity. What really set this trip in motion was a girl I met randomly at a party two years back and, believe it or not, this wasn't even a romantic story. Truthfully, I never got her name. I wouldn’t recognise her if I passed her on the street. But some people's roles in our lives revolve around different properties and this was one of those. During a conversation that my memory has since deleted, she looked me in the eyes and said, “You have to go to Tokyo for Halloween, it’s like nothing on Earth”. I decided right then that I had to do that. And so here I was. Doing it. And she wasn't wrong. I'm not even going to try to explain this to you. Google "Shibuya Station Halloween". It’s not a normal experience. It’s the craziest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.

One other quick trippy coincidence was that the 2019 Rugby World Cup took place in Tokyo while I was here. What's more, the finals were played between my birth home of South Africa and my home home of England. Cool! I couldn't lose! South Africa won and I was happy about that, for sure. 

Anyways, sadly, all good things must come to an end, and Tokyo came to an end. But I was a changed man, man! I was bowing at everyone, at dogs, at fridges. My mind was fueled to the max on rice and it repeated what I had to do, over and over again. I had to marry a Tokyo girl. That way I could stay here forever. I can’t emphasise this enough: the decision had been made. There was something in this city and whatever it was made a wordless pact with me. There was not an atom in my being which wanted to live anywhere else and I started to make plans. Plan one: learn Japanese! 

I’ve chilled a bit now but vibes that vibe that strong don’t simply fizzle out. Tokyo was a life highlight, the Jarexit II focal point, and, as we stand, still the ultimate goal. Mark my words, I will go back there again as soon as I can, except this time with a greater understanding, a more focused itinerary, and a much longer time period to allow myself to sink into the culture like warm noodle soup, melting away to become the very best Jared I can be. Tokyo Jared.

 
Top Five Recommended Sights
Akihabara, Takeshita Street in Harajuku, The Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, TeamLab Borderless, Shibuya Station (during Halloween!)

Instagram Snaps
Set 1 | Set 2 | Set 3 | Set 4 | Set 5 | Set 6 (TeamLab Exclusive) | Set 7 (Halloween Exclusive) | Set 8 (Halloween Solo Shot) | Summary Shot

Monstrocity Drawing