THE NOMADERS

Saying Hi on Tumblr with cute wheels from Berlin

As global travel has become more accessible and affordable by the masses, it has no longer been a hobby of the affluent for decades but rather an activity that is shared by old people on walkers, penniless teenagers who hitchhike from country to country, and retired middle-aged people in visors following a guide holding a flag and trying to fit in 200 destinations in two days -- or what is stereotypically known as, "tourists". The stereotypical tourist is loud, usually ignorant to the history/culture of the place and, most often than not, only care about snapping a quick photo in front of a landmark and climbing back on the air-conditioned bus. Nobody likes being called a tourist: essays and articles have been written about their jarring distinction with the authors -- usually -- confirming and reconfirming that they are definitely the cooler off-beat "traveller" or "adventurer" who go overseas to "explore", "find reflections" and "immerse into different cultures". But aren't we all equal? Yes, the tourist may not be savvy to the roads-less-travelled; yes, they will not know what are the underground music bands or authentic local restaurants; yes, they may think that all there is to Paris is shopping and the Eiffel. But don't we -- traveller/explorer/tourist/culture appreciator -- all hop on a plane to get out of our comfort zone, to see something that is out of the ordinary, that is extraordinary? Isn't every trip -- alone or a girls' trip or a grad trip -- a chance to escape life? Such discrimination is funny to me: interested in seeing what you guys think.

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There's no official explanation as to why shoe tossing happens, but it must be something the Spanish love to do. Soldiers leaving the military are said to paint their pair of combat boots orange or yellow and toss them over a power line or telephone line closest to the barracks or unit to which they were assigned. In a more criminal tone, these shoes may indicate where drugs were sold or gang turf; while in some cultures, the act is done to signify the end of a school year, forthcoming marriage or other rites of passage (such as the above-mentioned leaving the army or leaving the neighbhourhood to accomplish bigger, better goals) In a more practical sense, shoes were also flung as practical jokes on drunks or if they no longer fit or were uncomfortable. On a spiritual level, however, shoes hanging from power lines or tree branches indicate that their owners have passed away. They're hung there so that when the spirits return, they can be closest to heaven. On the other hand, hanging shoes are also said to fight away ghosts and evil spirits.

Happy Friday, guys!

To say Port Vell is beautiful is an understatement: the expensive yachts eddy on the Spanish harbour like synchronised dancers, each with a skeletal hat that dictates where its flag would drape: our imagination must do the rest. Lone kayakers shred through the reflections left by the yachts, turning what had been direct replicas of the vessels into a pool of spilled colours. The beauty of Port Vell is as if to remind people of the difficult journey of how it came to be. In the Middle Ages, artificial ports like these were extremely difficult to build in the area because it was in the eye of disastrous storms that left countless shipwrecks: the first successful project only came by in 1477; and after numerous constitutional changes, expansions and relocations, Port Vell was built with a view to reviving a historic site and remembering traditions made obsolete by large-scale extension work. Whether you appreciate its historical significance or not, Port Vell is a nice place for picnics and general afternoon chillaxing, and everyone is into that.

Standing at roughly 60 meters, the Columbus Monument is where two of the most important roads of Barcelona -- Ramblas and Passeig de Colon -- intersect. It is tucked into the yachting port of Port Vell and shopping centre Maremagnum and remains indispensable on the Barcelonian skyline despite that its height is far from impressive compared to other prominent buildings. But where is it pointing, exactly? Some say the Americas or Columbus's hometown of Genoa -- but that's not possible as both locations are in the opposite direction. A more viable explanation would be pointing out at sea to illustrate his achievements.

"Why are we going so fast, mama?" "Your brother needs to pee! Hurry!"

Sorry we've been on a bit of a break: Barcelonian sun and gelato got the better of us. We just learned today, however, that Barcelonian beaches -- as perfect for lounging and on which to waste life as they are-- are all artificial and didn't "appear" on the shorelines until 1992, when the local government decided to wipe out the local industries that were on the coast to gentrify the city for the Olympic Games. But thanks to this, Barcelona now has seven beaches with a 4.5km coastline where one of the worlds' most picturesque bars, restaurants and hotels now sit!

The biggest problem of being in transit always is you occasionally need to remind yourself where you are: is this Barcelona, Washington, Toronto or Tokyo. But with a view like this, I don't need to figure it out. Happy Friday, everyone. Where are you guys this weekend?

The Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria, or simply, La Boqueria, is a rainbow of fresh Spanish staples: plump fruits pile on top of one another, dripping with condensation, its seeds jabbing out of the plastic Saran wrap; above luscious leaves of kale, cabbage and lettuce hang colourful yet incomprehensible posters boasting last-minute sales -- all again incomprehensibly dictated by the sweaty shop owners; massive jamon legs are suspended under the ceiling, browned by florescent light. The most chaotic markets are the most fun: shop owners are screaming while trying to put on their Sunday face to butter up the housewives, who are trying to get the best bargain without losing their child; butchers are pacing around with blood-stained aprons; while tourists (like us) are sneaking in photos here and there without getting caught. If you don't have some sort of weird stain on your trousers or your shirt by the end of it, you've clearly missed the market fun.

Same Love/ Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

Land of Gaudi: guess where we are?

I am by myself today: of course, as a backpacker, it just means I get to select the day-return destination by picking whatever sounds funny: Delft. Founded in the 11th century as a landlord court city and was eventually taken over by the Orange-Nassau Royal family, the tiny town is now known for its University of Technology (famous for its water management and hydraulic engineering programmes), pottery ceramics and shallow canals draped with beautiful lily pads. The city was dead quiet on the day I visited, which was a much-needed tranquil break from Amsterdam. Map-free and relying just on the canals, my trail was stopped by occasional imperial buildings that were relics of its royal history, adorable boutiques and tea shops. Oh, I also tried herring: truly didn't mind it.

An hour away from The Netherlands' most industrial hub, Rotterdam, is an unexpected haven, Kinderdijk -- a city that got its name when a flood washed up a baby and a cat up a dyke. Now, its paradoxically unromantic name belongs to a windmill paradise perfect for an afternoon stroll or bike trip. Perhaps second only to the Roman's admirable irrigation system, the Dutch's hydraulic works were necessary for any chance of agriculture or settlement given that Kinderdijk is below sea level, which explains the advanced inventions of dykes, reservoirs, pumping stations and windmills as early on as the Middle Ages. Though the area is free for all visitors, the 19 windmills are only in full operation on the Saturdays in July and August, a sight that is becoming rarer and rare lately: so even if you're not a fan of hydraulics or history, the scenery of  endless lily pads, trickling streams and greenery only interrupted by these national treasures should be enough reason for you to pay a visit.

Void of canals and arguably The Netherlands' most industrious city, Rotterdam's old and new quarters are separated by the infamous Erasmus Bridge, which offers a spectacular time-warp-like view if you stand in the middle: avant-garde, Bauhaus-inspired buildings to your left, and the atypically Dutch colourful Dancing Houses to your right. Rotterdam's architecture isn't anything you can prepare for because the city literally looks like it's built from children's drawings: exaggerated lamp posts resemble parts from a Transformers robot; apartment buildings look like Lego blocks; and even the taller buildings seem like they are built for young princesses in pink tutus; and then of course, there's the buttplug Santa Claus (which oddly looks like a gnome holding a dildo) in a park -- all awkwardly fitting into one weird city. Though definitely colder and less culturally vibrant as other Dutch cities, Rotterdam is unmissable -- not to mention it's only an hour away by train from Amsterdam.