A Season in Saudi Arabia

At the beginning of the year, I sent my CV to three language institutions in Norwich to see if there was any teaching work around. Only one replied, and they could offer only summer holiday work — which didn’t really suit me, as I already had full-time work throughout the kids’ six-week summer holiday at the surf school in Cromer. For a while, I honestly wondered whether I would ever teach again. Then, months later and seemingly out of nowhere, a new director at one of the institutes got in touch in June with a last-minute offer of two weeks’ work in early July. I haven’t completely lost hope of returning to a life overseas, despite the clouds that melanoma has cast over some of those plans, and this opportunity felt like I was stepping back onto a road that might eventually lead me to the Gulf — or somewhere else — to resume my passion for teaching English and, perhaps, collecting a few more riyals along the way. There were, however, a few hurdles to clear before the offer could beco...

Much like Cyprus, the run-up to my Omani adventure was full of tension and uncertainty linked to Trump and Israel’s war on Iran, and the angry Iranian reaction all over the Gulf. While Oman’s capital, Muscat, was never attacked during the Iranian onslaught, a couple of its ports were bombed. Therefore, the trip only became certain when the plane took off from Istanbul and lurched towards the edge of the Strait of Hormuz. My companion for these travels was an old friend, Jonathan from Norfolk, who visited me on Siargao Island and Ayoke in 2014 and with whom I’d kept in touch across the years. He’d felt particularly low through the dark English winter and had surprisingly accepted my invitation to join me as a practical way of lifting his spirits for a few days at least. Actually, the trip began with a 12-hour stopover in Turkey’s capital, where I got to show Jonathan around a city I’ve visited a few times over the past couple of decades. The day started with a train/ferry combinat...

After my family and I picked up the pace of our travels in 2025, it didn't seem time to slow down in 2026, so we lined up a trip to Larnaca in Cyprus for early spring, following Algeria. Annoyingly, a stray drone, reportedly linked to Hezbollah or Iran, or possibly something else entirely, slammed into the British base there a few weeks before we left, ramping up the tension as to whether this trip would even happen. EasyJet cancelled loads of flights in the wake of the attack, but ours went ahead without an issue, landing safely and bringing my country total to 61. As a hangout of a typical Brit, this is hardly an island I would usually visit, and the presence of small crowds of British drinkers in Larnaca's bars didn't change my mind straight away. But there is so much more to Cyprus than strips of beach, hotels and bars. That was the side of the island I was determined to see. I knew before arriving that I'd need private accommodation rather than a resort, so w...

It's probably worth mentioning that our departure to Algiers was immediately preceded by a clear skin check at Norwich N&N Plastics Department. I had expected it to be clear. Honestly, I know how to spot a melanoma and any other skin lesion. I know my skin. I know when something doesn't look right. As usual, the dermatologist was not from the UK, was a trainee, and didn't really check everywhere. I mean, how the heck can he tell if I've got a melanoma on my scalp if he doesn't look there? Or on my butt? Or on my feet? But I signed up for these ongoing checks and, if this is what I get for free, they're definitely better than nothing. And at least if something does crop up in the future, they'll cut it out relatively quickly.  A week later, my wife Miras, my son Raf and I were heading to Gatwick for a night at our favourite airport hotel: the Travelodge. We totally had the airport wired after last year's trips and had found a non-standard path to the ...