Brian Thacker's Blog

My three-part podcast series for Greater Palm Springs was on the Armchair Explorer podcast last year, but I'm only just getting around...

I'm excited to launch six new episodes of the Travel South Dakota Stories podcast series. It was so much fun travelling around South Dakota making these and I had some truly amazing experiences, from digging for T-rex teeth to joining the Union Army to riding across the Badlands

You can find them on all the usual podcast platforms: Spotify, Apple, AudibleHere's one of the trailers for the series that I shot and edited:

And here are the six new episodes:

The Land of the GiantsIn Africa, people go on safari in search of the Big Five: the Lion, Leopard, Rhino, Elephant and Buffalo. But in South Dakota, you can go in search of the huge five: Tyrannosaurus Rex, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Raptor and Mammoth.South Dakota is a major hub for paleontology and in the past three decades alone some of the most famous dinosaurs in history have been unearthed here.

 

Join us as we head out with Paleo Adventures in the northern Black Hills on a dig for 67-million-year-old T-Rex teeth and Stegosaurus bones. We then head down the road from Custer State Park, which was home to something wilder and woolier than bison: mammoths. In 1974 a mass graveyard of mammoths was found here and today it’s now a museum built over an active dig site. We join the dig, work on mammoth bones in the fossil preparation lab and find a whole lot of mammoth dung in the archives.LISTEN HERE

The Greatest Show in the West

Rodeo in the United States is a pure reflection of the spirit of the American West, and it’s a tradition rooted in the folklore and culture of the country. And in South Dakota, it’s not only the official sport - it’s a way of life.

 

Join us as we go on a wild ride at the Black Hills Stock Show and Rodeo where over 300,000 people from all over the world descend on Rapid City to watch over 120 different events. We join a father and son team at the ranch rodeo, cheer on Gill the border collie at the sheep dog trials, take part in a bachelor cattle auction and watch seven-year-old Kreed hang on to a sheep for dear life in mutton bustin’.

LISTEN HERE

Little Town on the Prairie

In the winter of 1879, a man by the name of Charles Ingalls brought his family to South Dakota, fell in love with the area and filed for a formal homestead in the small community of De Smet. Charles Ingalls was the father of Laura Ingalls, the author of The Little House on the Prairie series.

 

Join us as we roll across the prairie in a horse-drawn cart to Laura’s homestead, take part in a spelling bee in the 1889 Little Prairie School, drop into rehearsals for the Laura Ingalls Wilder Pageant and uncover treasures in the archive room at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society Museum.LISTEN HEREHere is the second trailer:

Marching Back in Time

As soon as we walked into the barracks at Fort Sisseton, we were handed muskets - heavy Springfield 63s from the Civil war era.

 

That’s because we enlisted in the army. The Union Army that is.

 

Join us as we march back in time to 1864 at the annual Sisseton historical festival, where calvary, artillery and infantry reenactors come together and bring the camp to life for a weekend, with period accurate food and music, military demonstrations, dances and much more.

 

But we aren’t just there to watch the festival. We are in it. Listen as we take part in marching drills and then perform them in front of a big crowd, join some old-timers from the cavalry regiment for some tales around a blazing fire, sleep in the haunted military hospital and step on toes at the Military Ball.

LISTEN HERE

Where Bad is Good

The Lakota people called it Mako Sica. It means bad lands. It’s probably not a name that a tourism office would come up with. It sounds more like a desolate and forbidding landscape.So, is it a fitting name?

 

Join us as we hike through a colorful geological tapestry of sharply eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires in Badlands National Park in search of ancient fossils, become an unwelcome visitor in a prairie town, and go horseback riding through an endless sea of grass under the shadows of rocky buttes straight out of a western movie.

LISTEN HERE

South Dakota on a PlateThe South Dakota culinary scene is heavily influenced by Native Americans, Scandinavians, Germans, Russians, farmers, hunters… and even church basement ladies. From all those sources the state has a smorgasbord of local specialties with names as exotic as some of the dishes themselves.

 

Join us as we go on a four-course road trip around South Dakota. Our appetizer is the state’s ‘official nosh’ chislic, followed by a James Beard winning restaurant in a town of 1,800 people, and finish up with some world-famous donuts from Wall Drug for dessert. Then of course we need a digestif. Although the one we try is… just dangerous.LISTEN HERE

 

Find out more at www.travelsouthdakota.com where you'll find lots of inspiration, ideas and everything else you need to know to plan your great South Dakota adventure.

 

Produced by Armchair Productions, the audio experts for the travel industry:www.armchair-productions.com

 

It was 20 years ago this week that my dad and I headed off for our adventure that became the book I'm not eating any of that Foreign Muck. A few weeks into the trip dad turned 73 - and he's just about to turn 93. He's had a few health scares recently, but he's healthy and as sharp as ever - and he's still telling the same jokes.

It all began because I wanted to know more about my dad's life. I decided I would take him on a physical and emotional journey back through his early life. When I explained my idea to him he wasn’t exactly wildly enthusiastic: ‘I suppose I could come . . . but I’m not eating any of that foreign muck!’

I took Dad to the pub for lunch to get an abridged version of his life so I could plan our itinerary and I learnt more in that afternoon than I had in the preceding forty years. I learnt that his Mum died when he was seven and, because his Dad was stationed in India with the army, he was sent to a children’s home. I learnt that he joined the navy at fifteen and was stationed in different barracks at far-flung places all over Britain. And, although I had already known he had been stationed in Malta, I didn’t know he had also spent long periods in Gibraltar, Sri Lanka and Singapore. The little jaunt back home to Mother England I was planning suddenly turned into an around-the-world adventure.Here are just a few of my (many) favourite moments from our trip:

Nuwara Eliya, Sri LankaWe stayed at the Hill Club Hotel in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka. The hotel had dress code for dinner and every gentleman within the confines of the hotel was required to don a jacket and tie. At seven on the dot, a butler came into the bar to escort us to the ‘jacket’ room. Inside the large room was a single walnut wardrobe full of dusty jackets, some of which dated back at least sixty years. Dad grabbed a fetching grey velvet number with a purple silk tie that made him look like Hugh Hefner. I went for the checked jacket and orange paisley tie. I looked like a pimp. The butler wasn't happy, though. He looked me up and down and politely said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, jeans are not allowed." I went back to our room and exchanged my scruffy and faded jeans for a fetching pair of Dad’s drip-dry slacks.At exactly eight o’clock, the Maître d' announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served’. In the baronial dining room, liveried waiters glided past the stags’ heads, yellowed engravings and starched linen tablecloths escorting guests to their tables.

‘I’ve got cutlery coming out of my ears!’ Dad said when we sat down. The table was set for five courses. Although everything did look quite grand, there was a hint of faded splendour. The waiters’ clean white gloves had small holes in them and the crisp linen tablecloth had a few stains. The food was nice, if not a bit boarding school. We started with a seafood pancake, then asparagus soup and rump steak for main—‘I’ll have mine well, well, well done,’ Dad told the waiter. It wasn't surprising then when dad said that the steak was, 'like eating the sole of a shoe.'

Curry Mile, ManchesterThe Curry Mile in Manchester is one single road in the suburb of Rusholme that contains over fifty Indian restaurants. As we cruised down the road I rechristened it Vindaloo Vegas. There was a neon war going on and each restaurant was trying to outdo the others with dazzling displays of bilious colours and flashing lights.

As soon as we sat down at one of the restaurants (and dad's first ever Indian restaurant), an Indian waiter approached and said in a thick Mancunian accent, ‘Ay-oop, would you lark a beer t’start?’

‘Would you like a Kingfisher beer?’ I said to Dad. ‘It’s from India.’

‘As long as it’s not made with water from the Ganges.’

Even the Indian music playing in the background was too much for Dad.

‘You’d think they’d put some bloody decent music on,’ he grumbled. As plates of food, including chicken tikka masala, rogan josh, rice and naan bread, were being set on the table Dad screwed up his face and said, ‘It looks like the dog’s eaten something that’s upset it.’

There was only a few mouthfuls of food left on Dad’s plate as he wiped his mouth clean and announced, ‘That was the best Indian meal I’ve ever had.’ It wasn’t quite an Indian meal, though. He’d ordered omelette and chips.

Historic Dockyard, Chatham, EnglandDad worked on a submarine in the Royal Navy in the 1940s and 50s. We went in a submarine at the Historic Dockyard Chatham. Dad was swinging between the decks like a 16-year old sailor. The funniest thing was the menu in the galley. Pinned to the wall was a week’s menu dating back to the 1960s (the Ocelot was completed in 1962—the last warship built at Chatham). I stared at it with disbelief. It was basically Dad’s meal plan for the past seventy years. There was roast beef and yorkshire pudding, cod and chips, sausages and mash, baked beans on toast, steak and kidney pie, corned beef and, for dessert, bread and butter pudding and trifle. It didn’t phase Dad at all that he had based his entire culinary life on a Royal Navy weekly menu plan.

Butlins Holiday Camp, Minehead, EnglandWhen we were kids growing up in England, we would go to a Butlins Holiday Camp for our annual summer holiday. There are now only three Butlins left—at its peak in the sixties there were around a hundred registered holiday camps in the UK, including ten Butlins. The three remaining Butlins camps are Minehead, Bognor Regis and Skegness. We went to the Butlins in Minehead in Devon, and I got to see my dad a little drunk for the first time ever.It was our last night (of three) at Butlins and went to the mock-Tudor pub to watch England play France in the Euros. Dad immediately befriended a couple of lads (as he does) and we were soon in a shout with Bob from Bristol and Pete from Leeds. The only problem was that they drank like fish. By the time the match started, Dad and I had three full pints of beer sitting in front of us. England scored the first goal and the room erupted with a deafening roar. Bob celebrated by buying us another two pints of lager each. With only two minutes to go, and the Barmy Army singing winning chants, France scored two goals. When the whistle blew there was dead silence.

It was amazing. If England had won, the pub would have turned into an instant party. Within five minutes of the match finishing, it was virtually empty. Dad, who was quite merry at this point, said, ‘Bloody England, I’m going to bed.’ After a couple of hours or so—I was in that beer-induced time warp—an old fellow dressed in an England top and wrapped in streamers waltzed in with two tall blonde girls wearing incredibly short skirts draped around him. It was Dad. He’d attempted to go back to our unit, but couldn’t get anywhere near it because an all-in brawl was taking place right outside the door. (By the way, what is it about the English that when they lose a game of football they have to beat the hell out of each other?) While he was waiting for the fight to finish he met two young couples from Manchester and they invited him back to their apartment for a few drinks. One of the girl’s boyfriends had swapped shirts with Dad, so he was now wearing Dad’s fetching stripey number from Target.

Dad was grinning like the Cheshire cat and it wasn’t just because he had two leggy girls all over him. He was a bit drunk. I’d never in my life seen my father drunk.

‘We came here in nineteen-forty-shix,’ Dad told the girls as we staggered out of the nightclub. Dad was like a little kid. And I mean really like a little kid. He squeezed into a Postman Pat kiddie ride and put some money in. The rest of us jumped on the roof of Pat’s van and we all sang along: ‘Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat and his black and white cat!’ When Dad jumped on the life-sized horsie ride and started belting out the theme from Rawhide, I suggested it might be time for bed.

Gozo, MaltaOn the island of Gozo in Malta I'd organsied a surprise for dad. Two Piaggio mopeds were sitting on the back of a trailer waiting for us out the front of our hotel when we arrived. I’d organised the bikes to be delivered to the hotel at eleven o’clock that morning from a place in the seaside resort of Marsalforn. There was only one small hurdle still to be overcome if my well- organised side-trip was going to be a success—I still had to persuade Dad to actually get onto a moped.

When I’d told him back in Australia that I was planning to hire mopeds in Malta, he’d told Mum, ‘There’s no bloody way he’s getting me on one of those.’ That’s why I decided to use the last resort of a desperate (and unscrupulous) son: a guilt trip.

‘You have to come for a ride with me,’ I pleaded as we pulled up in front of the lodge. ‘I’ve already paid for the bikes and they weren’t cheap!’

‘If you’re trying to kill me, I’ve got bad news’, Dad said. ‘There’s no money left for you.’

‘I haven’t ridden a motorbike in over fifty years!’ Dad said nervously as he got on his moped. He wobbled tentatively around the square for ten minutes then said, ‘I’ll only come for a bit and only if we go really slow.’ Five minutes later we were out on the open road and I sped up a little, hoping I wasn’t going too fast for Dad. A minute after that, Dad shot past me at high speed with both his legs in the air whooping loudly with delight.

By the end of the trip, not only did we have an amazing time, but I felt incredibly lucky and privileged to have been able to do it with my father. On top of that, we now shared a special bond. I have heard many people whose fathers have passed away say that they wished they’d got to know their Dad better. I think I not only got to know my Dad better, I got to know myself better, too.Maybe it's time for I'm Not eating of that Foreign Muck Two.

It was 40 years ago this winter that I first clicked into a pair of skis, and from that very first incredibly scary green run at Falls Creek in Victoria, Australia I fell head over heels in love with skiing – although there was more head over heels than love in that first week. Since then, my love affair became an addiction and I have skied at over 60 different resorts in 10 countries.

I love the mountains, the fresh crisp air, the cobalt skies, the open fires, the ice bars, the après-ski, the hot chocolates and, mostly, I simply love the adrenaline rush of hurtling myself down a ridiculously steep hill or the sheer joy of making turns in fresh powder.

Two weeks ago, on my final day of skiing for this northern winter season, I got to ski a bucket-list run in Aspen Colorado that I’ve been wanting to do for years (the Highlands Bowl in Aspen Highlands), and I was just as excited clicking on my skis on that morning as I was 40 years ago.

There have been countless highlights over the years, but if I had to pick my Top Ten highlights these would be them:

The First Time Falls Creek, Australia

Looking very Elvis as I pretend to go down the 'black' runs in my first week of skiing at Falls CreekWe all remember our first time. I was nervous, then excited and then I almost wet my pants. That was because my instructor (friend Stu) was bored after a couple of runs on the baby slope and took me down a ‘blue’ run. And although it was an ‘easy’ run I hadn’t learnt to turn yet, so I went straight down. Fast. When I got to the bottom, I just fell into a heap to stop. And I loved every pee-my-pants moment of it and got straight on to the lift and did it all again.

 

First ski in Europe Davos, Switzerland

Skiing the 17km Parsenn to Kublis run in Davos, Switzerland .

When I planned my first Big Trip OS the first thing on my itinerary was three weeks of skiing – where I blew about three months of backpacking budget. I’d never heard of Davos before, but my travel agent had found a cheap chalet there for me. Not only was I blown away by the skiing (long, long runs and dry snow), but I loved the village with its cutesy Swiss chalets, the mountain restaurants and, more importantly, shops full of chocolate.

 

First Christmas in the snow Les Diablerets, Switzerland

Skiing on Christmas Day on the Les Diablerets glacier

I was dreaming of a white Christmas, so on my first Christmas away from home I organised a chalet in the perfect chocolate-box cutesy village of Les Diablerets for 19 Aussies and Kiwis - who we all just happened to share the same flat in London. It wasn’t a great start to the season, but luckily Les Diablerets has a very big glacier to ski on. Only a few of us actually skied on Christmas Day, but we wrapped ourselves in tinsel and sang Christmas songs on the lift all day. Our Christmas lunch was bratwurst and fries sitting on the floor of a crowded mountain restaurant. It was perfect. I even saw George Micheal skiing in his one-piece pink ski suit.

 

Skiing Powder for the first time St Anton, Austria

I just skied some powder! At St Anton, Austria

I spent most of my time face-planting in the deep powder snow of St. Anton, but when I did get a couple of turns in, I was instantly hooked. Since then, I’ve done at least a thousand face plants learning how to master powder and I will now happily hike for a couple of hours or pay a ridiculous amount of money to heliski, so I can get me some fresh pow!

 

Dream job Ski Guide, Jungfrau Region (Murren, Wengen and Grindelwald), Switzerland

Fancy Dress day with my ski guiding group in Wengen

A day off from guiding meant hiking for powder (Grindelwald in the background)It really was a dream job. When I skied in Europe for the first time, the chalet I was staying in had its own ski guide. I couldn’t believe that this guy got paid to get up every morning and go skiing. To me it seemed like the best job in the world, but only a very lucky few got to do it. Five years later I became one of the lucky few and I got paid to get up every morning to go skiing. Each season I would ski over 100 days, eat around 20 cheese fondues, drink dozens of crates of Rugenbrau beer and I loved every minute of it.

 

Heliskiing Arrowsmith Ranges, New Zealand

Arrowsmith Ranges, New Zealand

I’ve heli-skied lots of times now, and although they have all been simply amazing, you can’t beat your first time. A helicopter took us from the valley floor near Methven, New Zealand then climbed and climbed into the heart of the Arrowsmith Ranges - then dumped us on the top of a mountain peak. When the chopper flew off, it was total silence and there was untracked deep powder snow as far as we could see. There were only four of us (three punters and a guide) on my virgin outing in virgin snow and I have never hollered so loudly or joyously as when I dropped down into knee-deep powder. And, best of all, when we got to the bottom the helicopter picked us up and we did it another six times from different mountain peaks.

 

Tour guide Mt Buller and Mt Hotham

Tour guides on top of Mt Buller

I spent 14 years working as a tour guide for day and weekend trips from Melbourne to Mt Buller (10 years) and Mt Hotham (4 years). For a day trip to Buller I would get up at 3.30am for a 4.15am departure then walk through a moving and rocking bus in the dark to collect money for ski hire, then ski hard for seven hours and then bus them all back to Melbourne again. Then fall into an utterly exhausted, but blissfully happy sleep.

 

Skiing with my daughter Mt Hotham and beyond

With Jasmine in Wengen, Switzerland

And a much bigger Jasmine at Mt Hotham

I started my daughter Jasmine skiing just after her 3rd birthday at Mt Hotham in Victoria, Australia. Since then, she has skied in New Zealand, Switzerland, the U.S. and Japan. And when she was 10, we started going on an annual Dad and Daughter Ski Trip - and I love it that Jasmine would get just as excited as I do when she puts on those skis.

 

Skiing the U.S.A. U.S.A

Hiking for some pow in Telluride, Colorado

Cat skiing at Soldier Mountain, Idaho

Skiing with Tommy Moe in Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Up until three years ago I’d only skied in one U.S. resort (Park City), but since then I have been so lucky to ski in 23 ski resorts in 7 states. There are have been so many highlights – a day skiing with Olympic gold medalist Tommy Moe in Jackson Hole (Wyoming), skiing steep tree runs after a metre of snow in Taos (New Mexico), hiking to untouched steep bowls in Telluride (Colorado), snowcat skiing in Soldier Mountain (Idaho) and just skiing with great people, having lots of laughs (and cocktails) and skiing more powder than you can poke a ski pole at.

 

The next time I ski ?

My last day of skiing for winter 23/24 - Aspen Highlands, March 2024

The season here in North America is just winding down and I was only skiing two weeks ago, but I already can’t wait until next season. Next winter I hope to add California to my list and hit Canada again (I skied there for the first time this year and LOVED it!).On my last day of skiing this year at Aspen Highlands I was in the lift line 20 minutes before the lifts opened and I was on the first chairlift – and I was just as excited doing my first run down the perfectly groomed run as I was on my first ever ski run. But, there are still SO many places that I still want to ski. I don’t think this addiction is going to stop anytime soon. And even if I only ski half of them I’ll still be skiing when I’m 97.

 

 

 

 

My 21-year-old daughter Jasmine and I have watched the move Elf every Christmas Eve since she was 10, and we’ve always talked about doing Christmas in New York to indulge in all things Buddy the Elf: with a bit of Kevin McCallister thrown in for good measure. Finally – after travelling through the seven levels of the candy cane forest and the sea of swirly-twirly gum drops – we made it happen.Here are out top ten highlights from out trip.Empire State BuildingWhen Buddy arrived in New York from the North Pole, he went straight to the Empire State Building to meet his dad Walter for the first time. We’d coincidentally timed our trip for the 20th anniversary of the launch of the movie and the lobby’s window displays adorned with Elf collectibles for sale including, Elf syrup and Son of a Nutcracker makeup kit. On the 86th floor Observation Deck we meet Buddy himself - or a life-size cardboard cut-out of him at least.

The Department StoresOn our first evening we linger over the fantastical festive store windows of Bloomingdales, Tiffany & Co, Saks 5th Avenue and Bergdorf Goodman. Although I do embarrass Jasmine by making her film me doing the splits à la Buddy on the escalator at Macys.

Ice skating at the Rockefeller CenterWe did the VIP ice skating package, which gets you 90 minutes of skating right underneath that Christmas tree. And it is a big one. The 80-year-old, 10-ton Norway Spruce is 25 metres tall and features a 400-kilogram 3D Swarovski star and eight kilometres of wire with 50,000 coloured lights.

VIP Top of the Rock (Rockefeller Center)The VIP pass gets you a private guided tour of Top of the Rock Observation Deck with expedited entry, priority elevator access, entry to a private rooftop garden with views over the tree and rink and even a picture with Santa. It's worth it just for the exclusive, unobscured viewing of the famous tree.

The Plaza Hotel (Homer Alone 2 Sundae)Home Alone 2 is another favourite Christmas movie of mine and Jasmine’s, so we couldn’t go to New York without going to the Plaza Hotel to rack up a hefty bill on room service and greet the concierge with, “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.” We didn't stay at the Plaza (I didn’t have my dad’s credit card), but we did get to experience Kevin McCallister’s whipped cream-laden ice-cream sundae as part of the Home Alone 2: Fun In New York overnight package (from $US2295 a night), which includes a four-hour limo tour to visit the filming locations from the movie (while eating a cheese pizza, of course) and an ice-cream sundae delivered right to your bed. It’s a whopping 16 scoops of vanilla and chocolate ice-cream – with whipped cream, maraschino cherries, M&M’s, brownie bits, chocolate, caramel, and raspberry sauce (which you can order for room service for $US300.

Oscar Wilde's Restaurant There's plenty of Christmas cheer (with hearty English-inspired fare) at the Victorian-themed Oscar Wilde restaurant complete with a mirthful mayhem of Christmas decorations (although there was no food on the menu from the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup).

Central Park

Central Park is home to several scenes from Elf and Home Alone 2, including Walter’s apartment building; the snow fight bridge from Elf, and the ice-skating rink and pigeon lady bridge from Home Alone 2. And both movies feature Bethesda Terrace and fountain.

Dyker HeightsIn the Brooklyn suburb of Dyker Heights it looks as if Christmas has exploded in people’s front yards. It's by far the most impressive display of home decorations I’ve ever seen, with enough lights to be seen from space, a sleigh of giant inflatable Santa’s, singing Grinches and even a giant partridge in a pear tree.

Brooklyn Botanic Garden LightscapeFor a break from Christmas lights, you can see some ethereal light art at Brooklyn Botanic Garden Lightscape, which has dramatic installations made up of over a million lights.

The CityThere are Christmas surprises around every corner in Manhattan as the whole city is glimmering and glittering under a magical mantle of elaborate decorations and lights. And it’s not just stores that get into the Christmas spirit in New York, many corporate buildings have monolithic Christmas decorations too, including baubles the size of cars, and even a cyclopean Candy Cane Forest.

Check out my video of the trip here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6Z33AkCax4

This week was the launch of my new three-part podcast series for Travel South Dakota - with Armchair Productions. It was so much fun writing and hosting the series - and even more fun travelling through beautiful South Dakota for the series.

You can find the podcast on Spotify (and where all good podcasts are found!). The podcasts will also be on inflight entertainment (Singapore, Cathay, Fiji, etc) and through the new American Public Television Podcast Studios. Here is the trailer for the podcast:

It's perfect timing too, because Episode 1 is about the annual Custer State Park Buffalo Roundup, which takes place next week (September 29th). A crowd of 20,000 people will set up chairs and blankets to watch sixty cowboys and cowgirls saddle up and bring in a thundering herd of over a thousand buffalo.Last year I wasn't just watching it - I was in it. I was getting thrown around on a back of a truck chasing buffalo. To get a real taste of the madness (and the dust) you can listen to Episode 1 here. You'll hear one of the riders Molly as she cracks her whip and corrals the galloping beasts. You'll also meet Lakota rider and manager of Bear Butte State Park, Jim Jandreau, who tells us what the buffalo means to the Lakota people. At the end of the long and tiring ride you hear Molly’s 87-year-old dad, who had just taken part in his 53rd roundup.

Here's a few snaps I took from last year's event:

It was an early morning start - for me and the riders.

Getting the horses ready.

Heading out from the stables.

The dust flies and the ground rumbles as the chase begins.

Move 'em on, head 'em up, Head 'em up, move 'em on. Rawhide.

Over 1,300 buffalo being rounded up.

Part of the crowd as we near the corals.

87-year-old Bob Landis (and his horse) at the end of the ride.

This week was the launch of my new three-part podcast series for ,Travel South Dakota - with ,Armchair Productions. It was so much fun writing and hosting the series - and even more fun travelling through beautiful South Dakota for the series.

You can find the podcast on ,Spotify (and where all good podcasts are found!). The podcasts will also be on inflight entertainment (Singapore, Cathay, Fiji, etc) and through the new ,American Public Television Podcast Studios. Here is the trailer for the podcast:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Crl9B324l8

It's perfect timing too, because Episode 1 is about the annual Custer State Park Buffalo Roundup, which takes place next week (September 29th). A crowd of 20,000 people will set up chairs and blankets to watch sixty cowboys and cowgirls saddle up and bring in a thundering herd of over a thousand buffalo.Last year I wasn't just watching it - I was in it. I was getting thrown around on a back of a truck chasing buffalo. To get a real taste of the madness (and the dust) you can listen to Episode 1 ,,here. You'll hear one of the riders Molly as she cracks her whip and corrals the galloping beasts. You'll also meet Lakota rider and manager of Bear Butte State Park, Jim Jandreau, who tells us what the buffalo means to the Lakota people. At the end of the long and tiring ride you hear Molly’s 87-year-old dad, who had just taken part in his 53rd roundup.

Here's a few snaps I took from last year's event:

It was an early morning start - for me and the riders.

Getting the horses ready.

Heading out from the stables.

The dust flies and the ground rumbles as the chase begins.

Move 'em on, head 'em up, Head 'em up, move 'em on. Rawhide.

Over 1,300 buffalo being rounded up.

Part of the crowd as we near the corals.

87-year-old Bob Landis (and his horse) at the end of the ride.

It's been a while since I've added a country to my Karaoke World Tour (I'm currently on 29 countries that I've karaoked in). I have recently added some U.S. tour dates, though (Orlando, Las Vegas and San Antonio), and the other night I added a Minneapolis live band karaoke to the list. I've done live band karaoke before (in Bali, Jakarta and Fiji), and it is a little bit harder. There are no prompts for timing and at the karaoke I went to the other night there weren't either lyrics on a screen. People went up on stage and were reading the lyrics from their phones. I sang two songs (ones that I knew the lyrics to). I started with 'Play that Funky Music' and later in the evening did 'Twist and Shout'. The venue was a brewery (Inbound Brew Co), so a few beers had been consumed by the then. But at least I didn't fall off the stage. That's what I did at my first ever karaoke singing 'Twist and Shout'.

I first discovered karaoke back in 1989 at a bar in Waikiki. Actually it was the large sign out the front of the bar advertising $1 Mai Tai’s (a cocktail of rum, triple sec, lime juice, and orange juice) that first drew me in. I’d never even heard of karaoke, but I was very excited to see that you could just ‘pick’ a song then belt it out on stage to a ‘backing track’. Not being one that’s shy when it comes to belting out a tune I put my name down straight away. My first karaoke song was ‘Daydream Believer’ by the Monkees. After doing a (without bragging too much) pretty good impression of Davy Jones I was hooked and I put my name down straight away for another tune. It all got a bit hazy after my second song (and third very large and strong Mai Tai). My last song for the evening was ‘Twist and Shout’. It was my last song because I fell off the stage. I thought I’d do a bit of ‘twisting’ during the lead break and my balance wasn’t at it’s best (and either is my twisting to be honest) and I toppled off the edge off the stage and onto a table, and ended up in some large man’s lap. The karaoke MC wouldn’t let me sing after that. But that was fair enough – I was even having trouble stringing sentences together at that point.

But that wasn't my funniest or strangest karaoke experience. I was in Manila ‘couch surfing’ for my book 'Sleeping Around' when my host suggested that we do what all good Filipinos do. Go to karaoke. We went to a small karaoke bar and when I told Jude that I was going to sing ‘My Way’ he said, ‘You can’t sing that. You’ll get killed!’ Only the week before a man had been shot dead in a karaoke bar for singing My Way. He was halfway through the song when the bar’s security guard yelled at him for singing out of tune. He ignored him and kept singing, so the guard pulled out a thirty-eight-calibre pistol and shot him dead. His defence was that it was his favourite song and he didn’t like the way he was singing it.

It makes ‘and now the end is near’ rather prophetic, doesn’t it?

Apparently violence is common in Filipino karaoke bars and My Way is the most frequent cause of fights and deaths. A few months earlier another man had been killed and his friend seriously wounded when they sarcastically applauded a student who was singing My Way off-key. The student felt insulted, so when they left the karaoke parlour, he ambushed and shot them.

‘There have been maybe fifty or more shootings because of My Way in the past ten years,’ Jude told me. ‘And after the recent murder many karaoke bars in Manila have taken My Way off the song list.’

‘So what song did you pick?’ Jude asked as I handed my song request to the waitress.

‘My Way.’

I thought I’d give it a go. I actually won a karaoke competition once singing the song—okay, most of the other contestants were drunk, but that’s not the point. Besides, the large group of drunk Korean guys looked friendly enough. There was only one tiny thing that worried me. The security guard at the door was brandishing a rather large shotgun and was wearing a fully loaded ammo belt.

‘That was very good,’ Jude said with a somewhat relieved smile when I’d finished singing. ‘You won’t get shot for that version.’ ‘Let’s do a karaoke bar crawl,’ I said excitedly. ‘Then I can do My Way in every one to see if I can get shot.’

There was no one in the second karaoke bar to shoot me. Unless Jude suddenly decided he didn’t like my singing. We were the only patrons. The hosts of ‘Let’s Have Fun’ karaoke bar were definitely full of gayness. Two transvestites—who had lovely long, shapely legs I have to say—were hosting it. Their place was one of many large outdoor karaoke bars on the waterfront promenade. Because of the holiday they were all busy, but we stopped at the largest, which would have had more than a hundred people in the crowd.

I put my name down and had only taken a sip of my beer when ‘Miss Diva’ called me up onto the stage.

‘Where are you from?’ Miss Diva purred.

When I told her the two leggy transvestites hopped around the stage impersonating kangaroos.

‘So, what song would you like to do?’ Miss Diva asked when she’d finished her hopping.

‘My Way,’ I said brightly.

There was a loud ‘Ohh’ from the crowd.

‘You’ll get shot!’ Miss Diva said gravely.

I looked out at the crowd. ‘Hands up if you have a gun?’

‘See, it’s safe,’ I said when no hands were raised.

Miss Diva smirked. ‘Yes, but there’s a sniper up in that building.’

Our last karaoke bar was a midget bar. The bar itself wasn’t small, but all the staff were midgets—or dwarves, or little people, or vertically challenged folk or whatever is PC and accepted in polite company nowadays. Although the bar was called Hobbit House, Jude didn’t tell me about the bar’s unique staffing prerequisites and I got quite a shock when someone down at my knees asked if I wanted a drink.

We grabbed a table and when our waiter returned with our drinks, little hands came up and plopped them on the table. The bar may have been run by small people, but they had big prices. Our beer cost three times as much as in the last karaoke bar. I also noticed that they didn’t have Randy Newman’s ‘Short People’ on the song list.

‘How do you say cheers in Dwarfish?’ Jude asked, after I’d got through my fourth and final version of My Way for the night without a single shot being fired in anger.

It's been a while since I've added a country to my Karaoke World Tour (I'm currently on 29 countries that I've karaoked in). I have recently added some U.S. tour dates, though (Orlando, Las Vegas and San Antonio), and the other night I added a Minneapolis live band karaoke to the list. I've done live band karaoke before (in Bali, Jakarta and Fiji), and it is a little bit harder. There are no prompts for timing and at the karaoke I went to the other night there weren't either lyrics on a screen. People went up on stage and were reading the lyrics from their phones. I sang two songs (ones that I knew the lyrics to). I started with 'Play that Funky Music' and later in the evening did 'Twist and Shout'. The venue was a brewery ,(Inbound Brew Co), so a few beers had been consumed by the then. But at least I didn't fall off the stage. That's what I did at my first ever karaoke singing 'Twist and Shout'.

I first discovered karaoke back in 1989 at a bar in Waikiki. Actually it was the large sign out the front of the bar advertising $1 Mai Tai’s (a cocktail of rum, triple sec, lime juice, and orange juice) that first drew me in. I’d never even heard of karaoke, but I was very excited to see that you could just ‘pick’ a song then belt it out on stage to a ‘backing track’. Not being one that’s shy when it comes to belting out a tune I put my name down straight away. My first karaoke song was ‘Daydream Believer’ by the Monkees. After doing a (without bragging too much) pretty good impression of Davy Jones I was hooked and I put my name down straight away for another tune. It all got a bit hazy after my second song (and third very large and strong Mai Tai). My last song for the evening was ‘Twist and Shout’. It was my last song because I fell off the stage. I thought I’d do a bit of ‘twisting’ during the lead break and my balance wasn’t at it’s best (and either is my twisting to be honest) and I toppled off the edge off the stage and onto a table, and ended up in some large man’s lap. The karaoke MC wouldn’t let me sing after that. But that was fair enough – I was even having trouble stringing sentences together at that point.

But that wasn't my funniest or strangest karaoke experience. I was in Manila ‘couch surfing’ for my book 'Sleeping Around' when my host suggested that we do what all good Filipinos do. Go to karaoke. We went to a small karaoke bar and when I told Jude that I was going to sing ‘My Way’ he said, ‘You can’t sing that. You’ll get killed!’ Only the week before a man had been shot dead in a karaoke bar for singing My Way. He was halfway through the song when the bar’s security guard yelled at him for singing out of tune. He ignored him and kept singing, so the guard pulled out a thirty-eight-calibre pistol and shot him dead. His defence was that it was his favourite song and he didn’t like the way he was singing it.

It makes ‘and now the end is near’ rather prophetic, doesn’t it?

Apparently violence is common in Filipino karaoke bars and My Way is the most frequent cause of fights and deaths. A few months earlier another man had been killed and his friend seriously wounded when they sarcastically applauded a student who was singing My Way off-key. The student felt insulted, so when they left the karaoke parlour, he ambushed and shot them.

‘There have been maybe fifty or more shootings because of My Way in the past ten years,’ Jude told me. ‘And after the recent murder many karaoke bars in Manila have taken My Way off the song list.’

‘So what song did you pick?’ Jude asked as I handed my song request to the waitress.

‘My Way.’

I thought I’d give it a go. I actually won a karaoke competition once singing the song—okay, most of the other contestants were drunk, but that’s not the point. Besides, the large group of drunk Korean guys looked friendly enough. There was only one tiny thing that worried me. The security guard at the door was brandishing a rather large shotgun and was wearing a fully loaded ammo belt.

‘That was very good,’ Jude said with a somewhat relieved smile when I’d finished singing. ‘You won’t get shot for that version.’ ‘Let’s do a karaoke bar crawl,’ I said excitedly. ‘Then I can do My Way in every one to see if I can get shot.’

There was no one in the second karaoke bar to shoot me. Unless Jude suddenly decided he didn’t like my singing. We were the only patrons. The hosts of ‘Let’s Have Fun’ karaoke bar were definitely full of gayness. Two transvestites—who had lovely long, shapely legs I have to say—were hosting it. Their place was one of many large outdoor karaoke bars on the waterfront promenade. Because of the holiday they were all busy, but we stopped at the largest, which would have had more than a hundred people in the crowd.

I put my name down and had only taken a sip of my beer when ‘Miss Diva’ called me up onto the stage.

‘Where are you from?’ Miss Diva purred.

When I told her the two leggy transvestites hopped around the stage impersonating kangaroos.

‘So, what song would you like to do?’ Miss Diva asked when she’d finished her hopping.

‘My Way,’ I said brightly.

There was a loud ‘Ohh’ from the crowd.

‘You’ll get shot!’ Miss Diva said gravely.

I looked out at the crowd. ‘Hands up if you have a gun?’

‘See, it’s safe,’ I said when no hands were raised.

Miss Diva smirked. ‘Yes, but there’s a sniper up in that building.’

Our last karaoke bar was a midget bar. The bar itself wasn’t small, but all the staff were midgets—or dwarves, or little people, or vertically challenged folk or whatever is PC and accepted in polite company nowadays. Although the bar was called Hobbit House, Jude didn’t tell me about the bar’s unique staffing prerequisites and I got quite a shock when someone down at my knees asked if I wanted a drink.

We grabbed a table and when our waiter returned with our drinks, little hands came up and plopped them on the table. The bar may have been run by small people, but they had big prices. Our beer cost three times as much as in the last karaoke bar. I also noticed that they didn’t have Randy Newman’s ‘Short People’ on the song list.

‘How do you say cheers in Dwarfish?’ Jude asked, after I’d got through my fourth and final version of My Way for the night without a single shot being fired in anger.

When I got back from my most recent trip to Texas I realised that I hadn't paid for a single thing with cash. I used my card (and often just my phone or watch) to pay for everything - even a $1.99 packet of mints. Yes, there are some countries that you couldn't just use a card, but if you travel through the States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and most of Europe you can get away without having to hand over a single note or coin.But, I do love cash. I love all the different foreign notes and coins, and I have an incredibly large collection of them. But for a long time I didn’t go out of my way to collect them – I just always seemed to be stuck with a pile of money when I left a country. I’d try to buy stuff at airports or before I crossed borders, but there is a limit to how many packs of chewing gum you need to buy. I’d been throwing stashes of foreign cash into my shoeboxes for years before I decided to skip the chewing gum buying frenzy and not only start collecting foreign notes and coins, but even have a dedicated shoebox for them. I reckon if you added them all up I’d probably have the equivalent of quite a few hundred dollars (or 742 packs of chewing gum). Here are some of my favourites banknotes from my collection:

Zimbabwe (Dollar)

I'm a billionaire! Not quite. When hyperinflation reached the ridiculous level of 231,000,000% back in 2006, a loaf of bread was selling for 300 billion Zimbabwean dollars. My 1 billion wouldn't have even got me half a slice of bread. By 2009, the largest bank note in Zimbabwe was 100 Trillion dollars. That, by the way, was worth a whopping $5, and you can now get one on Ebay for around $2.

,Burma/Myanmar (Kyat)

These notes weren’t in circulation when I visited Burma, but I had to buy some. Who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to have a 15, 35 and 75 Kyat banknotes.Mind you, at least they were in a better condition than the ‘new’ notes I used in Burma…

,Mongolia (Tögrög)

They do love their horses in Mongolia. Every single note had a lovely etching of frolicking mares on it. It was also one of the most difficult currencies to pronounce in my travels: Toogroog? Tugrug? TowgRowg?

,Belarus (Ruble)

Not only did the Belarus folk like cute little critters on their notes, the notes themselves were cute little tiny things – they were not much bigger than a large stamp

,East Germany (Ostmark)

This was funny money because it was worth sod all. Actually, it was worth something, but there was nothing to buy in East Germany. Back in the 80s you could cross into East Berlin for the day, but you had to exchange a 25 Marks at a 1:1 exchange rate with the West German Mark – although you could easily get the Ostmark on the black market at 5:1. The only problem was that unless you wanted to buy badly-made plastic buckets or terrible food there was nothing to spend your money on. The country was so exciting that they put industrial chimney stacks belching out smoke on their 50 Mark note.Haiti (Gourde)

The gourde is the official currency in Haiti, but prices can be in gourdes, Haitian dollars (which are still gourdes, but five gourdes equals one Haitian dollar— which doesn’t exist as a note) or US dollars. I was confused most of the time. The girl who robbed me on a local bus wasn't confused though - she took my US dollars and Haitian gourdes. Funnily enough, she didn't take my Aussie dollars!

Kyrgyzstan (Som)

"OH COM" is Kyrgyz for TEN SOM. It was fun exchanging money and asking for some som.

China (Yuan)

The official currency of China is the Renminbi (RMB). Its symbol is “¥“and its code is CNY. The Yuan is the basic unit of the Renminbi. Ten Jiao make one Yuan, and ten Fen make one Jiao. Make sense? The 2 Jiao note (above) was worth a whopping 18 U.S. cents!

,Russia (Ruble)

I visited Russia twice – back in 1992 and in 2001. Back in ‘92 the restaurant food was inedible and GUM department store sold badly-made plastic buckets. In 2001 the restaurant food was unaffordable and GUM department store sold Armani suits. The money had changed also – but I think I preferred the old 10 ruble note. It looked more, well… Russian.

,France, Greece, Netherlands, etc (Franc, Drachma, Guilder, etc)

When the Euro was introduced on January 1st 1999, we lost a whole bunch of cool looking currencies. I loved the design of the French Franc that looked as if they were centuries old, and the fact that the large notes didn't even fit in your wallet. I loved the cheerfully bright Dutch Guilder notes and the ancient looking design of the Drachma (and i just loved the name Drachma!). I kept as many as I could (Deutschmarks, Lira, Pesetas, etc), but wish I had collected the whole set - although with my travel budget I didn't even see a 2,000 Deutschmark note (about $AU2,000 in 1999).Do you have a foreign currency collection?