23rd Feb - Culture Vulture

The older I've grown, the more potent my desire to travel has become. Perhaps the number #1 overarching reason for such insatiable desire is to witness as much of the planet we live on, before my time on Earth comes to an end. Similarly to how, when attending an art gallery, you peruse every inch of every corridor, life is not meant to be lived by paying your admission fee and then staring at one individual painting before heading swiftly back out the fire exit. 

There's one thing which travel can offer us in a way that nothing else can... Culture. To see how our fellow species live, dependent on their background, both socially and economically, but also so much more. The climate of the country, the historical background, the political concourse. Nothing infuriates me more than the frequently scattered neon-yellow arches of the McDonalds 'M' popping up all over iconic landmarks across varying continents. Sure, in a place like New York, where everything is a bright and brash Willy Wonka's playground of capitalist culture and fast-food advertising, you're fully expecting the sight of over-injected Big Macs thrust under your retinas at every turn. But a few metres away from the Pyramids of Giza? No thanks. 

Egypt, in particular, is a case-in-point, as many who have travelled tell me that despite the image we have in mind of access to the Pyramids resulting in some kind of treacherous voyage through miles of wind-swept desert, the truth is that the Sphinx itself is just a few metres away from the 'City Centre', where a visible Pizza Hut logo sits in eyesight, alongside whizzing nappies and other littered trash caught in sandstorms. Despite this, I want garlic, I want the snails, I want the baguettes en route to the Eiffel Tower, or the Arc de Triomphe. I want the stonebaked pizza topped with fresh anchovies outside the Colosseum. A glass of Rioja and the scent of fresh prawn paella in Las Ramblas feels right, as does the Bratwurst and Sauerkraut in the Bavarian market. 

I want to hear the squawk of the parrots in the Amazon Rainforest, or feel the bumpy ruins under my feet in Athens. To play Football on the white sands of the Copacabana as the shadow of Christ The Redeemer looms large. To smell the fragrant spices and scents outside the Taj Mahal, or marvel at the Sydney Harbour Bridge with the warm rays of golden East-Coast sunshine on my back. This, is culture...

 

... This, is football 'eritage.