 I'm not usually one to dump on a place... but Thessaloniki... really ? It’s HUGE, sprawling, dirty… and the second hottest place I have ever visited on earth. No matter that it’s the cradle of Ancient Macedonia or that it’s the very place Alexander the Great set forth with his mighty army, wiping out entire countries in his quest to conquer the world. My group were similarly unimpressed. So unimpressed… in fact… that one lay down and died… (or so I thought). An elderly gentleman in my group (an extremely spry one, which made it all the more worrying) wandered off from the group to take some photos of the fort while I whiled away the time in a roadside café drinking more Greek coffee. My caffeine-induced heart-palpitations became real ones when I saw him, back toward me, lying absolutely still on the pavement, hat in the gutter and legs in the street. I belted down the road toward him and flung myself across his prostate form… screaming his name and within a whisper of performing a full paramedic emergency drill… … to find him fiddling with his camera and gazing intently at a fixed spot on the horizon… radiantly unaware that he had stopped traffic and almost killed the tour leader and a small, blonde woman who had sprung from her car to assist... He got a good picture of the fort from street level… and I retired to the bus to collect myself! 
 Ohrid Old Town: Tzar Samuel's Fort St Jovan Bigorski Monestary Amphitheatre View of the lake from the fort
 Recovering in Lake Ohrid… I felt that at the very least I should’ve had a blanket over my knees and a large, kindly orderly wheeling me around while I wrote in my notebook, occasionally sipping on herbal tea laced with a large rakija (lethal local brandy)… but it was not to be. My group were anxious to get out and about and together with local guide Misho, we were heading off into the thick of things within minutes of arrival. It’s festival time in Lake Ohrid in mid-summer and tourists from neighbouring Greece and Bulgaria descend en masse. Together with the Macedonian locals, August is a busy time of year to visit but certainly not without colour. But after an hour or two mixing with the local wildlife we decided to remove ourselves from the madness. Visiting the cultural sites is always a good idea as no self-respecting teenager would be seen dead with their parents trawling Ohrid’s ‘historical’ depths. St Clement's church was fascinating… beautiful lake views and the chance to witness an important archaeological dig happening right under our noses. We stood on top of the world on the highest ramparts of Tsar Samuel’s fortress and then took a boat ride to St John Kaneo church. We found peace and quiet at this little church perched on the rocks, watching the local boys far below taking death-defying leaps into the lake…
Absolutely the last place I thought I’d end up… in hospital! Having not been sick in around five years I had ignored my symptoms and put feeling shoddy down to strange water, even stranger food and intense summer heat. It’s incredible how vulnerable you feel in a foreign bed, with a needle in your arm, staring up at a ceiling and listening to a strange language coming from a group of nurses wandering in and out, tapping their clipboards.
I had contracted some odd virus, out of the blue. I felt that I had been hit full-on by a freight train and then reversed over by a tour bus. In a strange way I was comforted by just how clinical it all was… clean as a pin, everyone in gloves and masks… and a woman doctor – glasses perched at the end of a long nose – standing at the end of my bed, head to one side like a small owl. She moved with that purposeful briskness that doctors the world over seem to acquire the moment they leave medical school. A drip, two painful injections and a bagful of antibiotics later and I was back on my tour albeit a little grey and shaky…
 This beautiful little monastery is set up high in the verdant, green woods of the Osogovo Mountains. Its history goes back to the 12th century and the complex has been rebuilt many times over the centuries. There is only one monk left… but it has always been an important centre of culture, religion and education. Today, artists, architects and artisans from all over the world come to create in perfect peace. We erupted off a LARGE tour bus that had only just creaked its way up the twisty roads to the monastery. A worried looking man, wringing his hands appeared out of nowhere and showed us down to the restaurant... the only place for noisy tourists. I had organised for us all to stay at the monastery for the night and we were shown to our rooms. I walked onto my tiny balcony and looked out over the awesome stretch of mountains, breathing in deeply. I turned around and looked back into my room at the crisp, white sheets and the modest wooden furniture. I remember thinking it was odd that I had a TV... and didn't turn it on... it seemed irreverent in a way. I felt clean... and my mind was totally clear. No wonder people come here to create… I was a step closer to understanding why monks became monks! Dinner was a delicious, simple affair – shopska salad (similar to a Greek salad but with a grated, light sheep’s cheese only the Macedonians can make) and a local bean dish with a grilled chicken fillet. Coffee, strong enough to put hairs on my chest was brought out… and sweet pastries that unbelievably tasted exactly like good old South African koeksisters… I was thrilled! And what an incredible night's sleep...
 Sofia is an odd city. Coming in from the airport it looks like a large building site. If a building is not under construction then chances are, it's been left to rot. A friend of mine living in Sofia (and in property development) told me that the people don't care about the land around the houses or apartments they own. Their 'private' property begins at their own front door. This was true of his building which looked like a crack den from the outside (with a particularly scary stairwell) - and yet upon stepping into his apartment, I was astounded by the cool interior decor: crisp tiles, high ceilings and fresh paintwork. Most of the streets and pavements are crumbling and you have to watch that you don't disappear down a manhole with no cover. The parks are overgrown and the trees and hedges need trimming. But that's until you see the government buildings (mammoth, Lenin-style palaces) and the churches (gold-leafed, opulent). It still reeks of a Communist past (see the goose-stepping Presidential guards above)... and yet at the same time, it's begging to catch up with the rest of Western Europe. Malls are popping up all over the show, MacDonalds and KFC have a presence (ugh !)... and the younger generation are hugely into BRANDS... Let's wait and see, shall we... ?
There’s a boat trip you can do from Montezuma on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica out to a beautiful island called Tortuga or “Turtle” island.
For a day of complete and utter relaxation book the tour at one of the operators in town. They leave around 9am and the trip takes about an hour. On the way, pods of dolphins swim alongside the boat and on one occasion we had an incredible view of a manta-ray leaping out of the sea and a humpback whale surfacing to breathe.
Snorkelling in the safe waters off the island is like swimming through a fishy kaleidoscope of colour. There are also diving courses to do. The beach and sea are brochure perfect… and the day slopes by under a tropical sun, palms waving overhead.
Lunch consists of a delicious spread of fresh fish on the BBQ and a cold fruit cocktail or local beer is just an arm-stretch to the cooler-box.
In one word: PARADISE.
 Tulum, on the 'Riviera Maya' coastline of Mexico is one of my favourite places in the world for a beach holiday. It’s total and utter bliss.
It's also one of the hottest places I have ever been to in my life.
I remember waking in the middle of the night one humid September and having to walk down to the sea from my beach hut with my sheet, dip it in the water and take it back to bed with me. The fans don't work after a certain time of night as the electricity is turned off during turtle mating season so it’s absolutely sweltering without a sea breeze.
Around 5am, I could take it no longer and I wandered down to the sea edge for some respite. The dawn was breaking. The sand and the sea had gone silvery pink and there were no waves. I slid into the water and lay on my back, watching the colours changing on the horizon.
Suddenly, what sounded like a few cannonballs crashing into the sea around me had me on my feet in a trice. Eight large pelicans had dive-bombed a shoal of fish right next to me. If you’ve ever seen a pelican hurtle out of the sky at a speed that would make a fish eagle choke on its seabream and then land in such a totally moronic fashion (ie: sideways, upside-down, head-first, wing-over-beak)… you’ll know how hard I laughed… and how delighted I was to be sharing my morning swim with them. We bobbed around for an hour together, enjoying the rising sun… and I guess they had a quiet squawk at me too…
I wasn't sure when I woke up in the morning under a table, wrapped around my bottle of rum, whether the carnage inside the bar was due to the hurricane or the 'Hurricane Party'...
As I looked out of the window, I saw bits of the bar and the adjoining hotel floating past. The night had been extremely hectic. We had watched CNN and tracked the hurricane until the satellite had blown off into the sea. We had apparently only experienced the tail end of it. But it was one hell of a lashing !
The good news was that I had made new friends and one of them had been in touch with the airport and we were flying out...
... cut to a few days later...
I'm standing on the ferry carrying me out to Ometepe Island and the Concepción Volcano. What a beautiful view over Lake Nicaragua… the volcano was smoking as normal. Suddenly there was a shudder and a small roar that ended in a gigantic belch of cloud. As we docked, I noticed what looked to be bad dandruff on the shoulders of the other passengers… it was ash. We were asked to stay on the dock until they’d decided whether the eruption was cause for concern.
Is it just me or should I be beginning to take these natural disasters personally ?
There's nothing quite like looking out of the window of your flimsy beach hut on a tiny island, watching an ominous bank of clouds approaching, CNN blaring in the background... 'Hurricane Beta heads for Nicaraguan Corn Islands'... to make you want to pack your bags and row for Oxford...
If you'd only paid any attention to the warnings at the airport 24 hours ago, or to the expats you’d seen nailing their windows shut... but you didn't. Instead you adopted the chilled 'Islanders Approach' - and topped up your glass with another Flor de Caña rum (12 years). It'll pass you told yourself confidently as you squeezed more lime over glistening ice... I'm not moving from my deckchair… I’m well travelled… I’ve seen this before.
Now here it was... the inevitable calm before the storm. Not a single ripple on the vast, grey sea. Nary a wobble from a palm frond. Fishing boats anchored in the bay. And not a single person on the streets.
Looking frantically for somewhere to hide, I made for the bar. It was on stilts in the sea. Was this a good idea? Seems so as I happened upon what looked like the rest of the island shacked up inside. The rum was flowing, everyone was dancing and Mark ‘Chokey’ Taylor ironically sang ‘Sunshine Reggae’…
A hurricane party… only in the Caribbean.
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PERSONAL PROFILE
 Name: Robyn Hodson aka ‘Jetgirl’ Age: left it in a bar in San Francisco… Mode of Transport: yak, mule, camel, elephant, buffalo Likes: sandwich bags, Don Julio, the occasional cigar… Dislikes: elevators, fireworks, moustaches Fears: white vests Delights in: scuba Life Ambition: to write a book about kim'chi
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