Author: Sam Unsworth

By Sam Unsworth

Recently, I have been pondering my next big travel adventure. Not the classic European raunch, or beachside holiday, something new, different, and exciting. But what is there and where is there to go? I lamented to my parents over the Christmas break, ( a time when you are inevitably squeezed together with many visitors and are well-advised to escape the house as much as possible to avoid the looming cabin fever), that there is simply nothing nowhere new anymore. The misquoted line of Hans Gruber in the hotly debated Christmas film ‘’Die Hard’ reads “And Alexander wept for there were no more worlds left to conquer,”. To me this rings true completely, not to conquer necessarily, but to find and keep a secret. The great travel influences in my life have plied their trade by finding hidden places and revealing them to us through words and screens, encouraging us to find them for ourselves. I find that once I find those secret places, I would be hard pushed to reveal them out of selfish desire to leave them untouched. But I digress, sat around the dinner table as I droned on that everything had been done, gulping down the last of the mulling wine that was meant for the next day, I was challenged and therefore could not simply recite this romantic line without truly thinking about what it was I was saying. 

Now, there are places I want to go, places that can be gone to, and places that other people have been to and documented, which totally undermines my previous annoyance that I was “born in the wrong generation”, as most mopey teenagers are, for exploration. My favourite books are filled with pages of adventures that could not take place today, but I wonder if that is such a bad thing. One of the books I have recommended on the profile page of the magazine (Have a look there, some other great things on there) is Eric Newby’s A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush, which details the author’s journey through Afghanistan to the Hindu Kush mountains to scale the unclimbed peak of Mir Samir. A journey that could not be undertaken today, mainly because the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office advises against all travel to Afghanistan due to the security situation and the danger for travellers in the region. Afghanistan geographically, is one of the most beautiful and culturally rich countries on earth, the graveyard of empire where one king remarked that one could be in a place where it has never and will never snow and within a day’s ride be in a place where it has never stopped. Simply put, with its long history, stunning architecture of the Silk Road (although how much of it is left is another matter), Afghanistan would be at the topbe top of most adventurers’ travel lists. 

However, it is not impossible to get there. Like other avid travellers, my social media is plagued by videos of people having a better time than me in far-off places around the globe, including Afghanistan. People merrily being taxied around the streets of Kabul and riding pedalos on the Band-e Amir Lake seem to portray the country as the place to be for the real adventurers. While wanderlust pulls at me, I am reminded of a conversation I had with a man in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan. In the way that you run into the most random people, he happened to live but 10 minutes away from where I grew up and had set out to hitchhike across the globe, from Yorkshire to wherever his end point felt right. As we were both interested in the new places to travel, Afghanistan entered the conversation. What he argued was very convincing. He argued that he refused to travel there as it posed such a moral dilemma that in fulfilling your own desire to see and experience the country, you would be aiding the growth of immoral ideology through participating in the Taliban economy. To say this took the wind out of my sails would perhaps misrepresent my thoughts on the matter. I agreed wholeheartedly and as such have changed my views on the influencers who go to these places to boost interactions on their own platforms.

These influencers, some of whom have also travelled North Korea, seem to act selfishly in a different way than I saw at the beginning. They are seemingly selling an idealised view of a country whilst not appreciating the deep-rooted inequality, repression, and control that characterise these places. 

And so, equipped with this new mindset, I may change my long-held belief that everything has been done. They are “worlds left to conquer” but I believe there is a time and a place for when it is right to push the boundaries and explore beyond perceived limits. I hope that one day I will be able to make it to Afghanistan and find something new, some hidden places, which I would then, if I mature a little bit, want to share with the rest of the world. 

Featured Image: Toby Dossett

By Sam Unsworth

Whilst wandering the streets of Jerez de Frontera last week, I chanced upon the bullfighting ring. While the gate was not open, nor was it the season for the spectacle, I was still intrigued to look around.  A small door broke the yellow walls and inside, an old man sat tampering with a photo frame. I knocked and went inside. At this point it is probably useful to mention that I speak little to no Spanish, and by little in this case I also mean none. Which strangely made this encounter all the more interesting. As I muddled through on Google Translate, I managed to ask for a look around, and what followed was an incredible story of bullfighting. Of bravery and pain, bravado and celebration, but also of cruelty. 

I have never truly had an opinion on the sport of bullfighting. The pictures of matadors dressed immaculately, flourishing a crimson cape, always looked appealing. However, it is difficult to look past what is often not shown in the photos. Stabbing at bulls with hooked barbs in a display of human dominion over beast, does not spark positive notions in the minds of most, myself included. Yet this experience of speaking to this man may have swayed me toward an opinion of tolerance or perhaps, an understanding as to why this sport is such a staple of Spanish culture. 

The ring itself was impressive, a modern-day Colosseum. The yellow sand masked the sprays of blood and the stands packed high, row on row, bearing down on the competitors. I was taken into the ring and the man, who now revealed himself as a former matador, began drifting and swirling in patterns around the arena drawing deep curves in the sand as he deftly manoeuvred his cape and sword. This seemed more like a dance or a ritual than a deadly game. The passion that he held for the games, and the esteem with which he spoke of other bullfighters, impressed the importance of the sport to not only him and his family, but to the community as a whole. 

There is a side however that is rarely seen: the inner workings of the ring. He took me through the swinging doors where bulls would charge through in the May festivals and through a small wooden fence winding our way through a network of hiding places and ratruns before entering a white room. The tiles of the room reflected the hanging bulb in the centre, illuminating the operating theatre. Every time there are bullfights there are injuries, some minor, some major, and some fatal. The host explained all this whilst tracing a scar that ran from his ankle to the top of his calf, the mark of his final bullfight. Moreover, he whipped out his phone and after scrolling YouTube furiously, spun it round to show a video. A matador leaps towards the horns of this bull with muscle and sinew bulging from its flanks. The man lands a stab at the base of the bulls neck, then falls. He scrambles on the floor as the horns of the bull rip his eye out. I stood in shock; the host however simply slowed the video and showed it to me again. It was utterly strange in my mind that this was something this man had devoted his life to. Then he pointed towards a poster on the wall. A matador with his face in his hands, almost modelling a sad clown, with an eyepatch obscuring his right side. This matador was still fighting. 

Despite all this, the host continues to support the establishment of bullfighting, even training his own son and nephews in the art. This is what I found inspiring about the man, that he would see this amount of violence and bloodshed, and yet continue to embrace this culture in order to uphold tradition and not allow this bastion of old Spanish society to be eradicated.

I appreciate that I have not necessarily given a balanced view on bullfighting here, and my account may purely come across as one of admiration. However, I think that you will have a far easier time finding articles that offer a wholly negative view towards these things than what I found in this encounter. This understanding was not something that I think I would have found by looking at a screen, but was found in the weather-beaten face of an old man who still had that thrill of the fight instilled in his eyes, that sense of adventure that never truly leaves you, and I must say it made me think twice about my views on bullfighting.

Featured Image: Sam Unsworth

By Sam Unsworth

Images that have been dominating my small screen in the past few weeks ( for I am publishing this quite a while after these events ) are scenes unfolding in Barcelona, where locals are protesting against the waves of tourists that descend on Europe throughout the summer. From water pistols and red tape to the more intimidating smoke bombs, flares, and verbal abuse, it is clear that locals are thoroughly outraged. While we may laugh at the sight of some unsuspecting holidaymaker, adorned in a bumbag and golf visor, being soaked by an angry resident, we must understand the deeper issues affecting these hotspots — and why they should matter to us.

I am a frequent user of Airbnb and have logged a fair few points on Booking.com, but until now I had not fully appreciated the effect these chains are having on local communities. Protestors were seen holding signs reading “El teu Airbnb era la meva casa” — or “Your Airbnb used to be my home” — which illustrates the root issue. People are being priced out of their own homes, and as they are squeezed from city centres, so too is their culture. How often do we see Irish pubs or an English breakfast headlining streets and menus across Europe to cater to bland palates or one-dimensional interests? In my view, all too often. If locals are pushed away, then truly, what is the point of travel?

To use the Sagrada Família — which is, or will be when it is finally finished, a true wonder of the world — I believe that a traveller must look beyond the building itself to the people who built, designed, and laboured since 1882 to create such beauty. Surely this is the real wonder, and this wonder is under threat, as these are the same people now lining the streets in protest.

Tourism is integral to many areas, and it is a major part of the Spanish economy, making up 15.6% GDP in 2024. This makes it seem strange to expel such a money-making machine from one’s country, yet I think the behaviour of tourists differs so greatly. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to squirt water at the summer crowds in Oxford or London as they trudge along awkwardly, lining up for a picture with something I see as part of my normality. I could argue that I put up with it, so surely those in Spain can do the same. Yet here, locals are not being excluded from city housing in the same way as those in Barcelona; people do not waltz around in swimsuits, drunkenly singing and causing havoc, nor do they push back against our culture. As such, the culture and fabric of Barcelona and Marbella are being deconstructed in a way dissimilar to that of British tourist cities or towns.

So, the real question is: what can be done? People will still holiday in these places, whether locals are unhappy or not, but can we do something as a collective to make us Brits abroad more bearable? Perhaps by utilising hotels or hostels to a greater extent, travelling to areas beyond the classic cities, and allowing culture to flourish both in city centres and rurally. Let travel open our minds to new things rather than seeking familiarity in foreign lands. More practically — as I was reminded by signs in Croatia recently — dressing appropriately, drinking respectfully, and generally not reinforcing the British holiday stereotype. Tourism can be a wonderful thing if it reinforces cultural appreciation rather than suffocating local traditions. To appreciate the views of locals and respect their space in their own cities may well be the best way to soothe the protests, as we, the tourists, look to understand the fears and worries of local populations.

Featured Image: Honor Adams