This old memory remains a favourite, showing how life’s miserable travel experiences can become our best stories and fun memories.

Light mist on the hills

I was 26 in 1975, traveling alone and in Europe for the first time. I was as unsophisticated as they come: green as grass! It is hard today to realize just how different travel was then. Travel guides were few; blogs, websites and today’s flood of information didn’t exist.  No credit cards. Even simple travel was an adventure.  My  quest was to spend a month in a country where I knew not a soul, didn’t know the language or currency and had no real way of connecting with anyone back home.  I was proving myself to myself.

So here I was, two weeks into my trip in the little resort town of Sesimbra, and it was time to head to the Algarve by train.  Remember, hardly anybody spoke English and I spoke no Portuguese.  Somehow my desk clerk made me realize I had to be up at 4 a.m. to take a bus to get me to the train.

Our bus rambled down narrow roads in the dark, twisting and turning and finally heading into thick dark fog. After about 2 hours we got to town.  The bus driver pointed me down a small street where I’d find a station several blocks away.  Sure enough I discovered a tiny ticket booth.

Foggy hills fade into the distance

I showed the teller my itinerary with my Algarve destination.  “No, no, no” she insisted with an emphatic wag of her finger.  She pointed out into the fog and sent me on my way.  About 10 minutes later, in fog so thick that I could barely make out the other side of the street, I knew I was lost.  Being an enterprising sort, I noticed a cop directing traffic and asked him where the train station was.  He pointed me back in the direction I’d come from.  So I trudged dutifully back, got in line and received a puzzled frown from the agent.  “No, no, no” she wagged again and sent me back off.  I got a little further in the dark and fog but still couldn’t find a station.  At this point I began to feel panic.  It was dark, I was cold and tired and feeling dreadfully alone. The streets were filling up with people on their way to work and I unsuccessfully asked a few well-dressed men for help.

I began to think I wasn’t up for this adventure travel business, that I should wait for the fog to clear, hop the bus back to Lisbon and stay in the city for the rest of my trip, safe but knowing that travel wasn’t for me.  Suddenly I became indignant; my spine stiffened.  I decided I wasn’t about to be defeated by darkness, fog nor lack of language.

As I stood on that street corner, I noticed some schoolboys.  In Lisbon I’d often heard young men dressed like this practicing their English. So I approached them to discover they spoke  “A few words”, which actually was quite a lot!  They assured me that the little train booth was my best option.

Trees and farmhouse disappear into the mist

So, armed with this help, I headed back –again!  This time the exasperated agent sighed deeply and sold me a 5¢ ticket. Before long a single, tiny railcar arrived.  The agent told me to get on and then followed.  In 5 minutes we arrived at a large station where she signaled me to get off.  After getting myself oriented I stepped up to a booth, laughing when I discovered the same clerk was there to serve me!  At least I didn’t have to tell her where I was headed.  I got my ticket then wandered out on the platform.

By this time the fog had lifted, the sun was shining but I was completely uncertain that I was on the right platform: Portuguese signs, of course.  I spied a couple of very blond folks with backpacks, hoping they were British.  Turned out they were Aussies heading for Faro who assured me I was in the right spot, so I relaxed and we chatted until the train arrived.

Those few moments of connecting with people I could talk readily with completely restored my equilibrium.  And that one-hour experience of being ‘lost in the fog’ showed me that by remaining calm and using the small lessons I’d learned I’d get my needs met.

So here’s to fog and other travails of travel.  They really teach us so very much! And they call up the true traveler in us.

Gwen McCauley is a Canadian Life Transition Coach, author, artist and facilitator of secular retreats and culinary experiences in the Algarve, Portugal. You can learn more about off-the-beaten-track Algarve from her two blogs: http://algarveexperiences.com and http://myalgarve.wordpress.com. Follow Gwen on Twitter

Lost in the fog: a Canadian finds her spirit of adventure in Portugal is a post from: 501 Places

Which brings me to the world of blogging. I love writing my blog. It gives me a great deal of pleasure and over time I hope it is enabling me to sharpen my own writing skills. But can it ever make enough money for me to call myself a blogger? Or is the content of the hundreds of millions of blogs just part of that free flowing stream of words and sounds that people have come to expect is theirs to access if they want?

Like countless others, I started off with a dream that a successful travel blog would make me some money and might even allow me to travel more. Monetisation was the magic word. Over time reality struck, and despite a modest cheque from Google (thank you Google people, we’ll raise a glass to you as we eat our meal) I have not yet managed to retire on the back of 501 Places.

So I tried to apply some of the few theoretical lessons I remember from business school to the world of blogging. A few points stand out, and I hope that others will disagree with some of this and add their own thoughts:

1. The market is saturated with suppliers (bloggers), and devoid of buyers (people who will pay for content). There are a few exceptions, but not enough for the vast majority of bloggers to get a sniff.

2. Buyers can pretty much dictate what they want and someone will do it. Many suppliers even offer their services for nothing: an extremely lop-sided situation.

3. A large part of the customer base (readership) comes from within the market itself (other bloggers); an unusual situation in any industry. In any case almost none of the customers are buying (paying) for the content on offer, nor will they ever do so.

4. The main way to monetise a blog is via advertising, whether through Google Ads or via private arrangements with companies. With so many tens of thousands of travel blogs jostling to be heard, where does an advertiser place his limited budget? Again, with more suppliers out there, the market share of any one blog is tiny so the value of placing an add on one particular site is diminished, and in addition the advertiser can drive a hard bargain. ‘If you don’t like my offer, there’s hundreds of others who will take it’.

There are some great bloggers out there. I’ve been lucky enough to meet some of them and I count them as friends. Some tell me that they are making a living from their websites. The number of ads on their sites suggests they have reasonable revenue coming in. I believe them and given the hard work that they do they deserve every success. They are in a minority however, and for every one making some money there are thousands who are trying to emulate the real high-profile bloggers who travel the world for ‘free’.

I make my modest living writing for publications that are about as far removed from the world of travel as it’s possible to be. But I have eventually found where my blog does sit within my business. On one hand it is my shop window. More than that though, it keeps me disciplined to write on a constant basis and allows me to try and articulate new ideas. Most of all it allows me to communicate with so many people around the world from whom I can learn so much.

Blogging does have a great place to play in connecting people, in sharing thoughts and exchanging knowledge. But as a get rich quick scheme? You’ll be lucky.

Blogging for cash: the business case that doesn’t add up is a post from: 501 Places

Memorial by St James Park, London

Walking through London yesterday, I was struck by the very high concentration of war memorials scattered across the city. We are all familiar with the imposing monolithic stones across the city that serve as a focal point on Remembrance Day. Less well known are the hundreds of statues, plaques and sculptures that mark the achievements of a particular soldier or serve as a monument to one of the many nations that fought alongside the British in a campaign. They can be found in every public park, on street corners and even on traffic islands.

So why this emphasis on commemorating our war dead, and how does it reflect on our society? What are the motives for spending money and using a valuable city space to erect a statue that relates, on the face of it, to another era?

Korean War Memorial, Washington DC

At a superficial level, a monument becomes a piece of public art and a tourist attraction. Wandering along the Mall in Washington DC it is impossible not be fascinated by the many sculptures, statues and buildings that mark America’s conflicts throughout the 20th century. Stopping to comtemplate the tragedies that affected those on all sides of those wars is where these visually striking objects become so much more than mere art.

Young troops pause at the Menin Gate, Ypres

Memorials of all types also serve as a public focus for ceremonies that remember the sacrifices that troops have made in fighting their nation’s battles. None is more poignant than the Menin Gate in Ypres, where every night come rain or shine the Last Post is played and wreaths are laid at the monument for the hundreds of thousands of men who died in the first world war. We visited on a bitterly cold autumn night and there were hundreds in attendance. It was hugely moving to see the old veterans of other wars make their way to this Belgian town to show respect to those who had not survived their war.

New Zealand Memorial, Hyde Park, London

And the small monuments, often reflecting a particular nationality’s contribution or an individual soldier, must carry great meaning to those who identify with them, whether by shared citizenship or by family links. In many of Britain’s wars the British troops fought alongside many from other parts of the commonwealth and those conscripted from its colonies. It is fitting that these are prominently remembered in many of the memorials in the UK.

I have no doubt that for many councils the question of public relations with their constituents plays a major part in commissioning a memorial. Wacky modern scultpures will elicit complaints of ‘wasting our money’ but there is rarely an outcry over a war memorial. Indeed the failure to commemorate a particular link to a group of fallen citizens can provoke a lot of anger. This was witnessed recently in Bethnal Green, where an ongoing campaign to have a memorial for those who died in the wartime tragedy on the stairs of the tube station continues.

The new Memorial Gates, London

While our cities rush headlong into mass regeneration and modernisation, it is more important than ever to remember our past. It’s reassuring that the monuments to those who fought and lost their lives for our nations are still considered sacrosanct.

The vast majority of those of us alive today have not fought in a war. We have been blessed with decades of relative peace in western Europe, and north America. Most of our young people will hope to leave their legacy through the many bold and striking symbols of the 21st century that surround us; it is more important than ever that we remember those of past generations who lived in altogether harder times and who left their legacy with the ultimate sacrifice.

War memorials: why they matter now more than ever is a post from: 501 Places

It's always exciting to explore a new city

‘How do you eat yours?’ So asks the successful ad campaign for Cadbury’s (or should that be Kraft’s?) Creme Eggs. The point being that faced with eating the same egg shaped piece of chocolate, people will adopt a disturbing diversity of approaches to the task.

And surely the same observation applies to visiting a new city. You arrive at your accommodation and drop your bags. The day is still young and it’s time to explore. What is your strategy? Here are just a few of the most obvious approaches. Maybe you fit into one of these. Or maybe there’s a big group I’ve missed out entirely?

1. The military general. The map is pulled out in the hotel and double checked. A series of points have been carefully marked out, and a line drawn to join the dots. You know exactly where you’ll go and what you want to see, and you will follow this route come hell or high water. You have even chosen a place where you will eat, and know the time at which you will reach this spot. Reservations booked of course.

2. The bar hopper. You have the names of the favourite hang-outs as listed in your guidebook, and you immediately head for these watering holes. You’ll step out for some fresh air and visit the nearby sights if you have time, but if the craic is good then what’s the point? It’s the people who make a place memorable and you’re surrounded by a great crowd already, so why leave?

3. The tourist in denial. You have read the many stories warning you not to look like a tourist. So you have your map, but you never look at it in public, only letting it see the light of day when safely locked in a toilet cubicle. You won’t ask for directions in case people pick up that you’re not from round these parts and cart you away to be slayed as a human sacrifice. So you go from memory, having studied the map in detail before you left, and rely on frequent trips to the bathroom to recheck your coordinates.

4. The fearless wanderer. Not for you the predictability of a map or a guidebook. You’re straight into the heart of the action, and the smells and sights will guide you on your way. You don’t care if you won’t see the must-see sights. Within an hour you’ll be deeply engrossed in a conversation with local people, sharing photos of your family and being invited to eat the insides of a goat that will be slaughtered in your honour at a mountain cabin.

5. The useless planner. You want to be organised, and you’ve spent ages reading the guide books and studying the maps. You set off with a strong idea of what you want to see and how you are going to get there. And then it all goes wrong. You get distracted by a food stall that serves something you can’t resist, and then you get lost and end up somewhere you shouldn’t be. When you get out your map you realise you’re miles from where you thought you were, and you end up looking at glum suburbs and getting back to your lodgings exhausted and having seen little of what you’d planned.

I suspect we can identify a little of ourselves in many of these styles. For myself I would have to confess to fitting mostly into the last category. I don’t know why I bother planning. Last year we arrived in Damascus and as we were staying less than a mile from the Old City I decided to leave the guide book in the hotel and just make our way there and explore the narrow lanes and the souk. We spent over an hour wandering a series of narrow lanes, thinking that it really wasn’t that nice and wondering why there were no tourists. It eventually clicked that we were in the wrong part of the city altogether! Thankfully we had three more days to find the real Old City…

5 approaches to exploring a new city is a post from: 501 Places

View from Tadapani guest house

The latest guest post on 501 Places is written by Kathryn Bullock, a travel industry entrepreneur who has just returned from a solo trip to Nepal. Kathryn shares with us a glimpse of her 6 day Himalayan trek and gives some valuable insights into her experiences of visiting Nepal as a solo female traveller.

Following his successful jaunt around Laos on trail bikes last year, my partner Dave proudly announced he was back off to Thailand this February. He would travel with his biking buddy for a jaunt around the hill tribe villages on a trail bike. I prefer more active holidays so I decided it was time to book a ticket to the country I’d wanted to go to for years: the stunning Himalayan kingdom of Nepal.

Nepali family at lakeside village

As it was too late to persuade a friend to join me I thought, why not just book it anyway? It’s been all of 24 years since my last solo adventure around Indonesia so I was well out of practice. I loved every minute of it! I had read that as a woman if you want to meet people you just need to sit at a bar and not sit at a table. So I tried this at a little bar in Kathmandu and I met some really friendly locals.

Bandipur child

The city is overwhelming and I was a bit concerned about getting lost the first night. It’s such a labyrinth of small lanes which all look the same and are jammed with signposts of every shape and colour. I did some reading ahead of time and booked the first two nights in Kathmandu at the charming Hotel Courtyard which was blissfully quiet. I left the rest to chance. The freedom this gave me was liberating. I stepped into a small travel agency and had my ticket to Pokhara booked and paid for within minutes for the next morning. I enjoyed the first glimpse of the Himalayas in their full glory peaking above the smoggy clouds over the Kathmandu valley as I gazed out from our tiny Guna air plane.

Dal and I at Poon Hill

On reaching Pokhara I explored the trail on the ridge between Serangkot Hill and Nau Danda, watching the paragliders in full flight. February is the best month for thermals in this dreamy place. I hired a bike to explore the lakeside villages and was invited into a friendly farmer’s home for tea and a chat, whilst we enjoyed the last of the sun’s rays on his terrace, watching the world go by.

The 6 day trek around the Ghorepani and Chomrung circuit was a real highlight. My expert guide Dal is a seasoned trekker and recounted enchanting stories of seeing snow leopard in the Mustang Valley and other amazing trekking adventures through snow drifts. The views from the guest houses in the early morning sun were breathtaking and everyone must have heard a series of excited exclamations as I stood on the balcony each morning taking in the views. You have to earn this treat as you climb the very steep staircases for what seem hours on end – but they really are worth it! A tip is to make sure you take at least one walking pole or ideally two, as they do help especially up to Poon Hill (3200m) on the ice for the very special Annapurna panorama at sunrise.

View from Poon Hill at sunrise

On returning to Kathmandu I decided on the slower route back and stopped off at the charming medieval village of Bandipur which is nestled in the hills. I loved the peace and quiet of the place. I imagined that I was living there in medieval times as it was so dark and quiet at night with the power cut and traffic banned in the village centre. I also stopped off at the original Nepali capital of Gorka and climbed another 1500 stairs to appreciate the views from the Hindu temple above the town, and saw the women preparing the goat sacrifice for the gods.

Main Street Bandipur

On coming back to Kathmandu I stopped in at the very friendly Everest Irish pub in Thamel to see a great Nepali blues band I had seen on arrival. I encouraged some new Dutch trekking friends to come with me and we had an amazing night of blues magic. The band had been thrown in prison and beaten up for playing just 10 minutes after a noise curfew at 10pm last year and  have the scars to prove the brutality of the local police.

I learnt a lot from my new Nepali friends about life in this country and I’ve already bought my maps to plan my next trek. I would book another trip in a heartbeat. The only challenge now is to knuckle down to some work to pay for it and stop day dreaming about my trip.

For all the pictures on the places described above and more in Nepal, please visit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kb_adventures

Kathryn Bullock is a frequent traveller and an ecommerce expert and entrepreneur who has worked in the travel industry for the past 25 years. She is now working on a new business venture in social media for travel and is a regular blogger for business owners at:  www.enterprisebritain.com and her blogs can be found at http://anothereb.blogspot.com/

On the roof of the world: solo adventures in Nepal is a post from: 501 Places

There are great stories in each of us

There have been many interesting discussions in recent months that are related, in some way at least, to this question. Whether it’s the journalist vs blogger debate, or the controversy over press trips and the value of the content that results, the subject sparks strong opinions on all sides.

I did read one sentiment that stuck in my mind although I can’t recall who wrote it (speak up and take credit and I’ll add your link), and it’s hard to disagree with this as a principle. It is this: if you’re going to add something to the mass of content that’s already filling the online world, make it something that is of value to your readers. Good advice I reckon. So let’s probe this a little deeper. What gives a blog post (or any online content for that matter) that necessary value? Here are a few of my suggestions.

1. Tell a story. Yes, it’s my favourite subject, but a simple point to remember that makes any post come to life. We are all storytellers, and we all love to read a good story. Think about the great speakers from history or your favourite lecturers, and they’ll almost certainly be connected by one trait: their effective use of stories to paint a vivid picture of what they want you to take away.  The blog should be the perfect medium for a good story. A typical post only takes a couple of minutes to read and you can even add a few photos to illustrate the message. A good post will put the reader in that place and time, and for that short time make them relive your experiences as if they were there.

2. Be original. It can be very hard to come up with an original topic, but it’s not so hard to add your own angle to a well worn subject. Thousands of people write about a day out in Paris, and describing a trip to the Eiffel Tower is not original. Your experiences of talking to an old lady on the Metro who invited you into her home and showed off her photo collections from her younger years as a showgirl at the Moulin Rouge will make one hell of a story. It’s certainly harder to create original material without straying off the beaten track.

3. Challenge commonly held beliefs. I am often far more drawn to a headline that makes me uncomfortable than one with which I instantly agree. Seeing a title of a post about ‘Why I hate the British’ will immediately draw me in, and I’ll want to know what bad experiences this person has had in my home country. A headline of ‘Thai meal for $1′ on the other hand, will not grab my attention.

4. Make it relevant. ‘A walking trip around Lima’ will be relevant to those who live in Lima, have just been there or are planning a Peruvian trip. To others, this story might have limited appeal. The post could however describe what made that walk around Lima so special, the sounds, the smells, the reactions of others and why it’s so different from a walk around London. That way it will start to draw in those people who might never intend to visit the city, but who are captivated by the quality of the story.

5. Provoke a discussion. Sometimes the strength of a blog post is not in the author’s words, but in the discussion that follows. If the sign of a good blog post is that it touches its audience in some way, what better evidence of this than in a string of comments that agree or disagree with the author. If I see a post has 10+ comments, I’ll be more inclined to find out what it was that motivated others to add their opinions.

6. Give useful information. Many blog posts focus on giving tips rather than telling stories. This can be very useful if the reader is planning a trip to that place. But even in a factual post, the message sticks in the mind so much easier when there is a story attached to it. Karen Bryan’s post about a stay in a York hotel is an example of this. I still remember the name of the hotel instantly, and it’s purely down to the way Karen shared her adventures  using words and video.

I remember attending a presentation some years ago on ‘How to deliver a great presentation’. I left the room thinking the speaker had been ok, but not great. But I did take one message out of that session. He said that as a speaker you should have one aim when preparing your presentation to any audience: that they leave the room having changed their thoughts in some way. Maybe they’ll be more accepting of a situation of which they had been intolerant; maybe they’ll feel inspired to change their habits or behaviours or challenge their fears; maybe they’ll enroll in a public speaking course. As long as there’s a way in which you’ve made one change, however small, then you have served a valuable role. Surely that same rule applies to blogging?

What makes a good blog post? is a post from: 501 Places

Souvenirs for sale, Luang Prabang

Our house is full of stuff from our trips. As I type this post I have a set of Malawian drums on the shelf above me alongside a strange unnamed string instument from Uganda. On the wall hangs a cartoon map of Argentina and a watercolour from Bristol (of all places). There’s a pottery piece from Peru and a Sri Lankan elephant on the window sill. It’s nice to have these mementos, although they’re a nuisance when we decide to move house.

As the years have passed we’ve become more sensible about bringing these bits of junk back from our trips. We normally settle for a painting or a batik, mainly for the ease of rolling it up and stuffing it in the pack without adding to the weight of what we carry. But it wasn’t always like this.

Perhaps our most impractical gift was not even for us, but for my brother. We had just visited the Terracotta Army in Xi’an in 1995, and we passed on the chance to buy the $30 clay figurines that were being sold in the shop on the site. Outside the kids were selling what appeared to be identical figures, although our guide warned us against buying these as they had not been properly fired in the kiln and would break when exposed to frost. A strange objection, and one we chose to ignore as we were offered 5 figures for $3.

These must have weighed almost 10kg between them and doubled the weight of the pack instantly! What seemed like a bargain at that instant soon proved to be a millstone around my neck (literally) as I had to carry these clay pieces for a further two weeks around China. Fortunately, my brother and his wife were thrilled with the little men and they still adorn their living room 15 years later.

We see many ridiculously bulky items for sale to tourists as we travel. We came across thousands of large wooden dolphins in northern Cambodia (there were probably more wooden dolphins than there are tourists passing by in a whole year), we saw tourists buying large pots in Laos and opting not to ship them but carry them on their trip, and even strange animal statues that serve as garden furniture in Africa, again often seen at the airport being packed into the hold and thrown to the mercy of the baggage handlers.

There are countless opportunities to buy useless rubbish when we travel. The item that looks fantastic on a street stall in Bali can often turn into a embarrassing and tacky eyesore when it’s back home in Birmingham. But people must buy them, or they wouldn’t be there in the first place. Anyone care to own up?

Ridiculous things we buy on our travels is a post from: 501 Places

Outside the laundry shop, Phnom Penh

I don’t know what it is about travelling, but we seem to be particularly aware of the extreme levels of service when we are away from home. We all have stories of the appallingly bad; whether it is imcompetence, incomprehension or service given with added undiluted hostility. Occasionally though we also experience the very highest standards of service, and often it’s found in the places where we least expect it.

One such case for us was in the suburb of Phnom Penh where we staying over Christmas. We were overdue for a laundry day, and needless to say the hotel we were staying in was not an option (it would have come to around $50; exactly what we paid for a night’s stay). Walking through the neighbourhood we didn’t find any of the $1/1kg laundry signs that were so prevalent in the tourist hot-spots of Laos. But we did find a place that looked as though they might wash our clothes (a general store with a clothes line hanging limply from a streetside pole along the side of the shop). I tried to ask the family seated around a table in the shop whether they do laundry but none of them understood a word and after many smiles and blank faces we walked away.

Undeterred, I returned later with a rucksack full of dirty clothes. It must have been around 5kg worth, and the main man greeted us and tipped out our laundry, carefully separating it into neat piles and all the while tapping numbers into his calculator. I feared the worst while he added the items and he seemed to add on many extra fugures before showing me the final figure: $4.81. I nodded with a poker face and he signalled I should come back at 8 o’clock the next morning.

And here’s where he excelled. When we walked past the shop that evening, we saw our washing hanging in the street. We went up and found that it was completely dry, so asked him if we could take it there and then. He was not happy for us to take it as he signalled that it wasn’t finished. After much persuasion he allowed Sam to take a couple of items she needed and he hung on to the rest. When I collected the remaining clothes in the morning, every item was neatly pressed and carefully folded. He was full of gratitude and the family later waved and smiled warmly at us when we passed the shop again during our stay.

Why have I shared this very ordinary story? For me he personified what it means to excel in delivering customer service. He could teach many businesses much bigger than his own about the essence of customer service. The pride he took in doing the job to the highest standards was striking. He could have easily let us take our clothes away and spare himself the extra task of ironing. We would have been happy customers at that point. But it wasn’t enough for him to leave it at that. He insisted on finishing the job properly, whether we appreciated it or not. How many of us will go the extra mile when our own pride in the quality of our work is the only reward?

A lesson in customer service: The Cambodian laundry is a post from: 501 Places

Presumably this brave new world comes with its own set of new rules. In search of these new commandments I have pondered my time spent reading others’ interactions and have gleaned a few observations (I’m sure I’ve missed many more):

1. Be nice. Thank people when they promote your work, give credit to those whose work you share with your connections.

2. Laugh and the world laughs with you. Having a positive (while realistic) outlook on everyday issues will attract others to listen to you.

3. If you’ve nothing good to say, say nothing at all. It’s easy to sling mud, especially when hiding behind a veil of anonymity. Nobody likes to lose face, and stepping back before launching a critical tirade can often preserve the dignity of all sides.

4. Like it or not, we are judged not only by what we say but also by the words we choose to convey that message. Filling our communications with profanities inevitably puts the messenger in the spotlight at the expense of their content.

5. It is very easy to add labels to ourselves. Guru, expert, no.1 whatever. I look at the self-written descriptions of the widely recognised leaders in a field. None of these words ever show up. Why? Because they don’t need to tell anyone how good they are; their achievements speak for themselves. If I see a person describe themself as a guru, an expert, or ‘The Leading’ whatever, my immediate impression is not a positive one.

6. Friends come and go; they will follow others for as long as it suits them and drop them when they no longer serve a purpose; people have their own agendas and when yours coincides with that of another more inflential person you can make great progress very quickly; it’s best not to take these things personally.

7. Nobody likes being sold to, but we all appreciate others who can listen and provide an answer that meets our needs.

8. It’s easy for anyone to shout. Loud enough and people will hear. The challenge is getting them to listen.

If you hadn’t noticed, I never used the term ’social media’ once in these rules, nor mentioned any technological platform. Isn’t that the point here? That the rules of how to use social media are in fact not at all new: they are the same rules that have applied to human communication long before the advent of electricity, the telephone and even the printing press.
Social media is not rocket science. While there are particular nuances to adapting our social skills to any new outlet, one basic principle holds true: whatever the next great new advance will be, the ability to communicate intelligently with others will always be the cornerstone to using it successfully.

8 rules of social media that your grandfather could have taught you is a post from: 501 Places

Those who have spent any significant time in Laos recently may have found their way to Joma Bakery. It’s 100% geared to the falang market, and the prices will exclude not only the average Lao person but also many a hardcore backpacker. They do however offer a fresh cool interior, and their AC cafe is a welcome relief from the heat of the day in Luang Prabang or Vientiane. Their cheescakes and shakes are fabulous, and I have no doubt that if they produced the same stuff in London or New York they’d be constantly packed with regular customers.

Joma have a focus on their community involvement in Laos and Vietnam, and the posters in the cafe display their involvement with local villages (like Starbucks but it appears a bit more real). There is a Tips jar next to the till, and each time we visited the cafe in Luang Prabang it was fairly full of cash. We heard that this was not always the case, and had changed dramatically as a result of a suggestion by the local manager.

Tips had typically totalled around $15 a month; not much between 6-7 staff, even in Laos where average salaries are little more than $30 a month. The manager suggested to the staff that they start a policy where 50% of tips are donated to the local community projects. You might think that this would be resisted, given the difference that even a couple of dollars can make in a month. But the staff embraced the idea, and the policy was implemented. A sign was placed on the Tips jar, and the effect was immediate.

People came in, enjoyed the service (it was excellent) and wanted to tip. Knowing that their money would not only help the local baristas but also the local communities in the area, the tips rolled in and in the first month they collected $300: a great contribution to the community and a ten-fold increase in their tips.

No pressure, no suggestions, just a ‘tip what you like, if you like’ jar on the counter. As a result people tipped willingly, and not through fear of a likely confrontation. A small step, and such a big difference to the staff and others who benefitted from their initiative.

Tipping: one place that gets it right is a post from: 501 Places