Working at Lonely Planet, you’d think I would have picked up a few hints by now on being a better, more independent and well-adjusted traveller. Ha! That’s a good one. I am the ultimate travel dummy, and while some of my colleagues don’t think twice about going hard or going home, I’m lucky to make it on to a plane without incident.

And so, following my experiences on a recent European trip, I’d like to share my tried-and-tested survival tips for the, ahem, less practically inclined traveller. Because I simply refuse to believe I’m the only one…

1) If you’re transiting at Singapore’s Changi International Airport, be careful what duty-free purchases you make at your airport of departure.
I’m talking alcohol, specifically. When I saw Grey Goose vodka selling for $10 less than its usual hefty retail price at Melbourne Airport, I did what anyone in their right mind would do: I bought a bottle and popped it in my hand luggage. Ooh baby, I thought, that’ll go down nice and smooth once we get to Madrid.
Imagine my horror when I was hauled aside by a customs officer at Changi as I queued to board my connecting flight, and asked to open my bag. ‘But it’s duty free!’ I squawked once I realised he was about to confiscate my precious bottle. ‘You should have bought it here and got it specially sealed,’ he told me brusquely, before dumping it in a rubbish bin. Further protests on my part got me nowhere, and eventually his scowl shut me up altogether.

2) Upon landing in your destination after a sleepless long-haul flight, it’s not wise to hit the town immediately for an all-night bender.
Take it from me - my friend and I made this fatal mistake when we got to Madrid, setting out on a bar-crawl through Malasana the evening of our arrival. Many beers, wines, and inordinately strong vodka-and-sodas later, we staggered back to our hotel at about 5.30am (we only know this because we’ve got the photos to prove it), to spend the entire next day holed up in our room with life-threatening hangovers, seriously considering calling an ambulance. What a criminal waste of precious holiday time! So much for shopping, sight-seeing and soaking up the Spanish sunshine.

3) Always pack at least one change of clothes and necessary toiletries in your hand luggage in case the airline loses your suitcase.
Guess what? I didn’t, and paid the price when Iberia managed to lose my case on the half-hour flight from Madrid to San Sebastian. It soon became evident that a bunch of vinyl records, some presents, loads of unsent postcards and a bottle of vodka (yes, the contents of my hand luggage) were simply not enough to see me through this kind of experience. Luckily, the friend I was travelling with wears the same size clothing as me, and had brought a bathroom’s worth of toiletries with her, or I would’ve been up the proverbial creek without a paddle.
Two hotels, countless phone calls, zero apologies and 36 hours down the track, I was finally reunited with my stuff. Travel dummies - don’t let this happen to you!

4) When travelling by train between countries, don’t dawdle when you disembark.
Goes without saying, right? Sure - unless you’re a travel dummy. We travelled from Paris to Rotterdam by train, but when it came time to battle our way down the crowded aisle, retrieve our bags and get off, we just didn’t make the two-minute cut-off point. Our hearts sank as the train started pulling out of the station; no matter how hard and desperately we pushed the button, the door refused to open. “Oh god, oh f**k!” my friend wailed repeatedly - before yanking on the emergency stop lever. Still nothing happened. So she yanked it again. Bingo! Not only did the train grind to a shuddering halt, but a posse of train attendants burst into the carriage to see what was going on. And once they figured it out, they made their displeasure very clear. One threatened to fine us 300 euros, while the others couldn’t get us off the train quickly enough. Yeah great, welcome to Rotterdam…

Anyone else out there who’s game to share their own dumb holiday hints? Please, spill the beans - we travel dummies need all the help we can get!

- Suzy Watusi

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I have never been more in love with food than the night I tasted my first slice of pizza from Ray’s in Prince St, New York City. It was 3am and the simple, greasy creation - folded in half in true New York style - was poetry. The crust was thin, crunchy and charred to perfection; the mounds of cheese oozed oil. It didn’t take long for my passion to become an obsession and soon I was eating it cold for breakfast.

Since pizza is so personal, there will always be debate around which cities or countries produce the best. The battle continues to rage between Chicago and New York, while LA and Berlin are also staking their claim. But for many the home of pizza cannot be beat. So what makes great pizza great?

- Gab Nancarrow

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When you’ve been on the long trek, scamming couches and slumming it in hostels, the very idea of drifting off to sleep with cashmere blankets and a wave of aromatherapy wafting your eyelids shut can seem like the ultimate pipe dream.

You may not be able to afford the full night’s rest at the Plaza, but for US$12-14, you can get in a luxurious power nap at Yelo, falling asleep as you count the 500-thread count on the sheets.

In transit and want to blow your last bit of foreign currency on some soft and pillowy shut-eye? Grab one of Yotel’s pod-like rooms for a few hours or treat yourself to a Nemorelax pod, where you can recline in a sound-insulated cocoon and snore wildly, freely, like you’ve never seen a bunk bed in your life.

- Dee Dee Luxe

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I’ve been feeling sorry for Yang Peiyi, the crooked-toothed seven-year-old singer who wasn’t allowed to be seen (though her voice was still used) at the Olympic opening ceremony because she wasn’t suitably ‘flawless in image’.
But if you think that description’s hard to live up to, try these:

•A neck like a conch shell
•Eyelashes like a cow
•Thighs like a deer
•Chest like a lion
•Voice soft and clear as a duck’s

They’re just a few of the ‘32 perfections’ a prepubescent Nepali girl needs to possess in order to be recognised as a Kumari, a living goddess who’s worshipped until she menstruates - after which she becomes mortal again.

But even goddesses have to go to school, apparently. Nepal’s Supreme Court has ruled that the current Kumari, Preeti Shakya, has a right to an education instead of being cooped up in a palace. She’s going to retire at the end of the year, and Nepal’s new secular, Maoist rulers may well decide to scrap the whole system.

I bet the intrigues of her strange temple life are nothing compared to the social dramas and hierarchies she’s sure to encounter among ten-year-old schoolgirls.

- Kate James

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There’s something about being on the road that casts a certain spell. Rules change with location - before you know it you’re on the side of the road with one thumb extended.

Next you’re stark naked and being beaten with a birch branch by a perfect stranger in a banya in Kazakhstan.

Soon, squatting next to a babouska in a communal toilet in Uzbekistan doesn’t seem so confronting after all. Or the butt of a soldier’s M16 against your knee as you travel by bus through Jerusalem becomes par for the course.

Isn’t it funny how we roll with the punches on the road? And then we come home.

- Jenni Kauppi

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Whenever I’m putting together a packing list (and what an art that is - just ask Thorn Tree stalwart Packing List Geoff), just about the first thing on my list is nail scissors, a legacy of my first backpacking trip. I’d just never thought to pack them, I was too cheap to buy them, and my toenails were getting to Chinese Mandarin levels. I’ll never forget the ecstasy when, having been lent some clippers by a sympathetic traveller at an open-air restaurant in Venice, I scuttled to the bathrooms and set about turning my feet from eagle back to human.

So: rose cream, silk travel sheet, down booties - nail clippers. They’re the stars in my firmament.

-Cherry Washington

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I don’t take music with me when I travel. You see a lot of white ear buds in dorms and buses these days, but it’s not a look I go for. I’m trying to think why… Yes, it’s shutting you off from the world, but so is having your head in a book. Everyone’s entitled to escape from the world sometimes. No, I think what irks me about it is that it’s so not austere: why don’t you bring your Wii console and hairdryer while you’re at it? (Oh, you have…)

That said, every great journey needs a soundtrack: it’s just, having never brought my own, mine have been supplied by chance or inspiration.

On a starry night in a yacht in a harbour of Flores, with the tackle rhythmically clanging against the mast, my British companions and I improvised ‘Karma Police’, right down to the piano part. On such a still night, our voices would have travelled for miles. I wonder what the Indonesian crew made of it. Probably just an annoyance.

In Vietnam, the tinny canto-pop blaring hour after hour from the bus speakers was about to do my head in. Then a voice-over announced, menacingly, ‘Smell li’ Teen Spirit!’ Waves of relief, followed by puzzlement. Then I had to laugh, because the ‘daa-da-dum…chicka-chicka…dum-dum’ that I was listening to couldn’t have been less like Cobain’s lick if it had been played on a plastic ukulele. It kind of summed up Vietnam’s take on the West, I thought: either pirated, made safe for public consumption, or both.

If you rely on your hosts to supply the soundtrack, it may well be the last thing you’d ever bring with you. (Case in point: Michael Learns to Rock, Danish soft rock band, China 1997.) But isn’t it the more memorable for that?

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There are plenty of nasty culinary experiences to be had. Stories abound with variations on the themes of Moctezuma’s revenge and bizarre local specialties. Then there are the times a taste will take you into a whole new territory, far removed from your normal points of reference. It happened to me when I first tried huitlacoche - a mushroom-like delicacy known in English as Mexican truffle, corn fungus, or the even more intriguing corn smut.

A couple of Mexican friends were devouring innocent-looking quesadillas with gusto. I was urged to take a bite, then noticed a black substance oozing from the sides. With my limited Spanish I could only catch the phrases ‘found in corn’, ‘a kind of pest’. Images of corn-dwelling critters stuck around for a while, even after reassurances I was eating a vegetable, but the taste just blew me away.

These infected corn kernels turn to silky, inky-black bubbles when sautéed. On the tongue, they release the complex, earthy flavour that enraptures the initiated.

I’ll keep waiting for my next taste sensation.

- Dolores Welt

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I’m one of those travellers who always has a camera in hand. I document every journey with a thousand pictures and, while some people argue the travel experience is richer without a camera in tow, I wholeheartedly disagree.

I’m not alone.

I wouldn’t consider myself a great photographer, but I’m pretty proud of some of the shots I’ve taken during my travels. Opportunities for photographic genius abound around the world; the secret is to find a place where it is especially difficult to take a bad photo.

This is one of my favourite pics, three old friends resting against a backdrop of colourful colonial buildings in Trinidad, Cuba.

Check out some of our Thorn Tree photo competitions for more inspiration.

- Gab Nancarrow

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You hobble off a long-haul flight, you’ve got a few hours to kill before the next cramped-leg of the journey and you’re hostage in an airport, feeling sluggish and stale, itching for fresh air, fresh food and an energising stretch. So kudos to Paris airports Roissy Charles de Gaulle and Orly for instituting complimentary dance lessons at the international terminals to stretch your legs and lighten you up. In fact, the French seem to be banishing all the unsavoury aspects of travel by also providing free light therapy, which mimics sunlight and helps ward off jet lag.

Talk about tripping the light fantastic. Thank you!

- Dee Dee Luxe

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