Author Archives: cosmosbungalows

About cosmosbungalows

Quaint bungalows located in paradise, built by backpackers with a love of adventure and blogging

Project Re-Home


Background Info

So, if you have followed our progress at all during the creation of Cosmos Bungalows then you will know we love animals. So much so, we can’t see one suffer and turn a blind eye.

As a result of this softness our hotel – our pride and joy and only source of income – is over run with furry little creatures rescued from the town of Bira.

Again, those who know us, may well remember an appeal we made before Christmas spurred on by an incredibly unfortunate incident involving our dog Django, and four week old kitten Arsenal. To be brief Django killed Arsenal when he thought his food was going to be compromised by the tiny cat. Watching the poor thing suffer for fifteen hours, having no idea if it would pull through, was traumatising to say the least and we blamed our selves for negligently allowing a big dog to eat in the vicinity of other animals.

After Christmas I, like many greedy bastards, felt massively overweight and decided to rent a tiny room in the village and create a DIY gym. The day after the keys were handed over I opened the door to find a small sack of fur and bones lying on the doormat. And this was the start of Dumbbells story.

This gorgeous young cat was in a bad way. we knew he was totally malnourished, but two days after feeding him up a little we spotted something white and oozy by his back legs. We thought it was puss initially, but it turned out to be maggots. And lots of them.


Poor Dumbbell was rotting. Or he had been and the maggots were eating his dead flesh. It was so foul that in order to remove the wriggling shits we had to insert earbuds into wounds on both legs and scoop out the maggots. I’d guess over twenty in all. Which must have been about a fifth of the poor bugger’s bodyweight.

Anyway. I had a massive connection to this kid. He slept with me and I nursed and fed him as best I knew. In hindsight I may also have killed Dumbbell.

In such haste to get him fit and healthy there is a strong chance I gave him too much anti-biotic and his liver/system couldn’t take it. I may be blaming myself over something that was destined to happen, but after Dumbbells death I had a small breakdown – becoming pissed off with the whole situation I booked us on a holiday to Bali we couldn’t afford and subsequently spent a fortune on food and beer while a friend looked after our place.

So, here comes the catalyst for this recent cry for help. Around ten days ago we experienced a huge windstorm which felled ten powerlines, plunging our town into darkness for 48 hours (an exaggeration…but it was dark come sunset for two days nonetheless). As I was purchasing petrol for our battered old generator I saw a friend’s three year old girl playing with a kitten. How sweet that looks when in words. But in reality not quite so.

The youngster, who knew no better, was picking up the kitten over her head and dropping it on the jungle floor. To make matters worse, the poor animal couldn’t see a bloody thing as his eyes were matted together solid with a thick yellow goo….. hence his future name – Custard.

Leaving the petrol I whipped Custard away from his innocent tormentor and took him by scooter back to Cosmos. Once here, we managed to clean one eye that night, and by morning he had cleaned the other himself and looked good as new.

Little Custard proved to be an absolute star. He loved and doted on us like we were his real parents. His favourite places to sleep were wrapped up in my partner’s hair or snout first in my bushy armpit. He was amazing. And we really grew to love him quickly, as did the dogs Django and Rocky who were especially sweet with him.

Then yesterday happened.

Just after breakfast, as a large family of Indonesian guests cooked and played in the surf, Custards curiosity for what was going down on the beach below got the better of him. Having never shown an interest in the edge of our terrace before we thought he would be ok playing with the other cats whilst we hid from the noisy antics in our room nearby.

Despite kind guests trying to shoo him away from the edge numerous times, Custard got too close and lost his balance, plunging fifteen metres to his death below. Or not quite death. He died in our arms on our bed as we willed him to miraculously survive.

Again we blame ourselves for being so fucking lazy and not going to see how he was doing, even after we questioned whether he would be ok.

Moving Forward

Admittedly I had a day of self-destruct yesterday. Burying something so frail and helpless can do that to you sometimes. Red eyed and pissed off with the world, I left the complex to find solace in beer. Three hours later I returned drunk as hell, with four new pairs of £1 football shorts and a Tinkerbell temporary tattoo on my arm administered by one of our worker’s twin girls at their beachside drinks stall.

Despite one day’s blowout, and an immense heaviness in our hearts that could quite easily result in a fortnight of alcoholism, we decided to change things up. We need to get our now nine felines and two canines away from the high ledge at our property and into a safe location.

If we had a bottomless pit of cash, or even a few quid going spare, we would make these amendments post-haste. As we are completely broke and dependent on guests in order to continue operations during this low season our arms are tied until we become a little busier.

That’s where the generosity of crowdfunding, and hopefully you guys reading this, will be able to help us out…

The Plan

Our aim is pretty simple. We need to get these babies the hell out of here and into a safer place. We also intend to create enough space in a new location to house whichever animals we come across, or are brought to us, in order to make them fit, healthy and happy.

Despite our heartbreaking set backs, of which there have been plenty during our 10 months in South Sulawesi (three kittens from Toraja we brought with us who died from neglect, the above mentioned babies, and Tika our ginger Tom has not been seen in two months) we have had a lot of success and do a very good job at making these unfortunate souls content. And we can do much more when we get the space.

My wish is to buy a plot of land first well away from the idiots who take it upon themselves to shoot “unwanted’ strays with air rifles. Then buy an old Sulawesi wooden house and reconstruct it on the new plot.

Similar style, but much cheaper and less grand

Similar style, but much cheaper and less grand

These houses are stilted. Therefore Ideally the bottom area will be an enclosed living and playing quarters for the rescued animals. The upper floor will be residential for staff and visiting vets who we will encourage to stay in return for neutering, not just of our animals, but in the whole village to avoid over population.

Please, if you can and think this a worthy cause, contribute to our plans of helping these needy imps.

As I write this our eldest dog Django has just returned after almost two days AWOL with what could be a broken leg, but I suspect a highly swollen limb.

Its certainly not all fun and games here at Cosmos for us soft hearted weaklings.

Yet we are committed.

Please click the link below and give generously if you can.

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Beautiful Cosmos Bungalows


Come and stay in paradise!!

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The good life.


Here at Cosmos Bungalows Bira, a fantastic budget hotel for “flashpackers”, we take our weekends very seriously.
If there are no good tunes being played on the terrace, the beers aint ice cold and the peanuts arent saltier than a squids armpit then there is hell to pay.
Thankfully this rarely happens.
So get yourselves to Sulawesi and check us out!!

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Support Team Podstel and let their wisdom support YOU


Cosmos Bungalows cannot stress enough how important it is for you – as a traveller and free spirit – to follow this unique group of people on their journey to success.

Adopting unconventional means of travel, embracing as many new cultures and ideas as possible, whilst spreading kindness and positivity along the way is how we all should aspire to explore this wonderful world of ours.

Taken from their inspiring travel website:

Podstel believes that the real purpose of life is to EXPERIENCE. Podstel wants to empower more people to embrace fear and live a life that’s congruent to their passions and true desires. To Podstel this means teaching more people how to explore their passions and create a lifestyle, while simultaneously travelling. 

Podstel’s Philosophy:

  • Podstel believes that travelling contributes to the maturity, education, and creativity of the open-minded traveler.
  • Podstel advocates non-conformity, freedom, and the creation of a self-sufficient life for all those who desire it.
  • Podstel believes that people should love what they do and do what they love.
  • Podstel believes that people are shaped by their experiences, not their material possessions.
  • Podstel believes that meaningful connections are best created in person.
  • Podstel believes that teamwork and collaboration produces the best results.

The group are currently on a fascinating tour through Europe, with the ultimate aim of creating the worlds first CrowdSourced Hostel for Creative Nomads.


Check these guys out, and watch on as they make their dreams a reality. The information and encouragement for you to do the same is on

If you are able to invest in the Podstel project then please support them as much as you can.

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Chapter Seven

The Magic Bus

To keep the trip flexible we’d decided to avoid booking all of our transport in advance and just see what happened along the way. This approach, in all honesty, had been quite painful for me as I could be incredibly anal about planning. For months before a trip’s departure I would research places of interest; writing down locations next to dates before scribbling them out again until finally coming up with what I believed to be an exciting, feasible and affordable trip.

One of the reasons I’d begun this painstaking ritual was because I got bored at work very easily. I didn’t exactly have a challenging job, so rather than eating myself into a fat mess I’d use the time when I wasn’t busy to create in-depth itineraries.

The other reason I was so meticulous in planning was because being well organised is an excellent way of saving money. The earlier most flights are booked nowadays the cheaper they are, providing you stick to your pre booked dates that is. And we were soon to learn that this rule applied to South African buses also.

Originally I’d planned for us to travel by bus up the west coast of Southern Africa into Namibia. Namibia sounded a fascinating and extremely beautiful country. The giant sand dunes of Sossuslvei were high on my list of things to see. Their burnt orange slopes contrasting against the post-apocalyptic looking dead trees at their base would have been incredible to visit. Sadly though, it wasn’t meant to be.

When I first checked ticket prices back in England the Intercape Mainliner bus service between Cape Town and the Namibian capital of Windhoek seemed very affordable. When we checked a week or so before our intended departure, however, the price had risen to almost four times the original cost.

This dramatic increase, coupled with the fact that Namibia wasn’t a particularly cheap country to visit, made us realise that we needed to revise our plans somewhat.

I was a bit annoyed we hadn’t booked the tickets when first suggested. I was upset that we weren’t going to have a chance to visit Namibia and looked for someone to blame. I hadn’t pressed the issue of pre-booking at the time though, and had agreed with the others that it might be better to wait, so it was as much my fault as anybody’s.

The rise in cost wasn’t so extreme that it couldn’t have been paid for there and then. Yet the knock on effect of such an unbudgeted outlay could have been disastrous. None of us wanted to go home early due to insufficient funds. One important factor you learn with budget travel is that you simply can’t see and do everything. You must live to your means and prioritise what is most important. Although high, Namibia wasn’t at the top of our list. Making it to Zambia and beyond was.

Flights to the Zambian city of Livingstone were looking like our best option out of South Africa, even though we would have much preferred travelling overland the entire way. For both cost and time reasons we just couldn’t afford to do it by land. Or should I say, that was the case until Danny played an absolute blinder.

For years tourism in Africa has been incredibly popular. Unlike Asia and other parts of the third world, Africa can be both expensive and difficult to travel. Lack of infrastructure and political instability hinder the free exploration of these vast lands. Yet where there’s demand, there is always somebody willing to supply. And for many a young adventurer wanting to explore the colourful and sometimes volatile countries of Africa, the safest and easiest way to do so is by travelling within an overland tourist truck.

These huge vehicles, run by many different tour operators, usually operate between Nairobi and Cape Town, stopping at a myriad of interesting locations along the way. For the lone traveller keen on seeing this huge and uncompromising continent these trucks are an ideal solution. The down side, however, is that they cost an absolute fortune.

While Dean and I had either been inebriated somewhere or unconscious in bed, Danny had been talking to a Kenyan gentleman named Bob who worked for one of these particular tour operators. Bob and his colleague Vito had just finished a long, ninety day Nairobi to Cape Town trip the evening before and were chilling for a day before driving the truck back to Nairobi.

Having listened to our plight, Bob proceeded to inform Danny that if we slipped him a few Rand – the equivalent of about £80 – he would take us all the way to Livingstone, four days drive away.

The control freak in me was incredibly dubious when Danny told us of Bob’s suggestion. I couldn’t help my scepticism, doubting as to whether the guy would actually come through with his offer. If Bob changed his mind or was full of shit then it would mean the flights we’d seen would most likely increase in price, or we’d waste more money and time hanging around in Cape Town waiting for a better offer.

As it happens, my concerns were unnecessary. On the day of our planned departure a big yellow truck was parked up outside the hostel raring to go. When Bob had finished snogging the face off a Kiwi girl he had pulled from the previous trip, we loaded our bags and made ourselves comfortable in the truck’s spacious seating area.

The truck itself was fantastic. Between the three of us we had thirty two seats to spread out on, complete with fridge, ipod docking station and most importantly for me, a bookshelf full of half decent reads. It couldn’t have been any more ideal.

After Dean feigned disappointment and asked Bob where the plasma screen TV was – receiving a ‘get fucked’ for his efforts – we set off in a north easterly direction into the heart of South Africa.

Except for Danny’s wee jaunt to Chintsa, and when I nearly pooped myself in Mossel Bay, the three of us had been in one another’s company on a constant since leaving the UK. I’m quite a solitary person on the whole, both at home and whilst travelling. I find a lot of peace and contentment in my own thoughts, and am not one of these people who need the presence of others around them all the time or they feel lonely. I’m quite the opposite in fact. It’s strange, but I almost feel lonely in many peoples company as I’m not a very outspoken person. So, having enough space on the truck to keep to myself felt like a luxury. And that’s exactly what I did for the majority of the four day journey to Livingstone.

Danny and Dean occupied the front eight seats of the bus where the ipod station and radio lived. I holed up on the eight seats at the back beside the bookshelf. Granted, I also had the slightly stinking bin to contend with, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The time left to be alone with my thoughts was well worth the sour pong.

In comparison to a normal bus journey this was absolute heaven. It felt like we had our own tour bus. To be able to lounge around, feet on whichever chair you so wished was fantastic. It certainly wasn’t what I was used to with regards overland travel.

The back of the truck was quite a bit bumpier than the front seats. A few times I was thrown about a foot in the air after hitting a particularly nasty pot hole. You certainly couldn’t sleep for any prolonged period without being woken up with a hefty jolt, yet on the whole it was a pleasant ride.

After a long first day of driving we spent the night parked up in a large truck stop. Filling up on dirty burgers, we all then made ourselves as cosy as possible on camping mats wedged between the seats.

An internet trawling Vito had joined us in the back of the truck for the night. Driver’s privileges allowed Bob the liberty to create his own little wank nest in the front cab – a place in which he claimed many a bout of fornication had taken place with horny western backpackers. Considering he looked like Predator’s dumpier younger brother I doubted this highly. Although the New Zealand lassie he had been exchanging saliva with earlier had certainly shown willing, so maybe he was the top shagger he professed to be after all.

The back of the truck was not a great place to sleep at night. Each and every movement a person made banged and creaked like a fat lass walking blindfolded through a haunted house. For fear of mosquitoes and murdering thieves we’d rolled down the plastic game viewing windows, transforming the truck into a mobile greenhouse. Add the hot, farting bodies of four men and the airless compartment soon made for an unpleasant environment to say the least.

Day two on the road wasn’t quite as enjoyable as the first. Bob had awoken at around 4:00am and decided to get an early start, bumping us all awake in the process. He was a man on a mission that day, barely stopping until we hit our destination of Johannesburg twelve hours later.

I was happy enough reading an Ernest Hemmingway book I’d found in the back. It was basically two hundred pages of him trying to blast the life out of Africa’s most beautiful animals with a high calibre rifle. Although not exactly my cup of tea, it was a good read all the same.

Despite Ernest and his mates slaughtering local fauna, the day did tend to drag a touch. A few five minute breaks at service stations to wee and fill up our fattening bodies with more burgers from Steers – a South African fast food chain – broke the tedium slightly. And we were all relieved people when the truck eventually pulled into the nice suburb of Johannesburg where Bob planned for us to spend the evening.

Our driver had hoped that us three lads would be able to sleep in the hostel we were parked outside. Sadly it was already full, and we were subjected to a second night sleeping in the back of the sweaty truck with Vito.

Bob talked the hostel staff into allowing us use of the shower facilities. So after a welcome wash in which Dean and I nicked Danny’s towel and clothing, we decided to make sleeping in the truck more tolerable by getting plastered first.

We’d agreed on a bit of a booze ban of late, thinking it would be easy to steer clear of alcohol due to the lack of birds on the bus. This grand idea had gone right out of the window no sooner had we seen a few tidy young women wandering in and out of the hostel grounds. Ignoring the pleas from our bodies to give them a break, Dean and I bought a crate of beer from a nearby off license. Danny, on the other hand, managed to stick to the plan, spending his money on a nice meal instead.

A strange light lit the early evening sky of Johannesburg as we returned from our alcohol run. Divided by a straight vertical line, one side of the sky was light blue and the other half a much darker grey. It baffled us how the skies appeared to be dissected so cleanly into two different shades. Although we didn’t have time to mull over the phenomena for long. Thick, brooding clouds rapidly replaced the fragmented skyline, before evolving into a powerful thunder storm.

Making it back just as the rain began to fall, Dean and I sat with Bob in the back of the truck. Ploughing through our chilling stash of beer, we mused over how soaked Danny would be when he finally returned from the Italian restaurant he’d decided to eat in. ‘Dripping’ was unanimous verdict judging by the horrendous downpour outside.

Conversation between the three of us soon drifted onto one of our more favoured subjects.

“So what are you boys into,” asked Bob, “Big girls with booty or little mosquitoes?”


“Yeah, mosquitoes. You know, skinny chicks with no ass.”

“Ah. What do we like better, fat girls or skinny girls? I would have to say skinny. Deano?”

“Skinny, definitely.” confirmed Dean.

“What?” replied Bob incredulously, “Skinny girls aint got nothing to grab hold of.”

“Some do. But I’m not all that bothered either way really. As long as they are pretty and a decent person, I’m happy.”

“But what about a big ass?” quizzed bob again, “Big girls, with big thighs and a big ass is what you want.”

“A big arse can be jolly nice, yes. Providing the rest of her isn’t just as big. I’m just not all that attracted to fat girls. They look like they would smell a bit.”

“You guys are deluded. Crazy white boys, you don’t know what’s good for you.”

Danny returned soon after our fat girl debate looking like a drowned rat. He wasn’t best pleased about his clothes being soaked as he’d just had them washed and was in no mood to accompany us three into the hostel bar.

Danny had made the right choice by going to bed early. The hostel’s on-sight watering hole was absolutely dire. There was not one semi tidy woman to be seen in there. God knows where all the beauties from earlier were lingering, but it most certainly wasn’t where we wanted them to be. After two dismal drinks I left Bob and Dean chatting to a trio of rough German birds before heading to the truck to read my book by torchlight.

Dean, having told the annoying barmaid she had a dodgy eyebrow and a gimpy hand, soon followed me to the truck feeling terrible. It transpired that the barmaid’s ailments were due to a stroke she’d had as a teenager and she was quick to let him know such following his quip.

Unwittingly offending a semi cripple in a bar full of oddballs was not an ideal way to spend his final night in South Africa. Danny was also fed up about his now musty clothes, and I was frustrated at the lack of fun had on the lady front. Needless to say, we all went to our sweaty beds feeling a touch jaded that night.
The following day’s travel wasn’t quite the early start the previous one had been. Having enjoyed a gigantic breakfast at a nearby café, we then spent a good hour wandering around a huge shopping mall while Vito dashed from shop to shop in search of an elusive pair of trainers he’d agreed to buy for a friend.

It was Danny’s birthday today and as a loving gesture Dean and I purchased him a tube of Back to Black hair dye to cover his salt and pepper speckled locks. He was hardly greying, a few stray hairs near the temple perhaps, we just wanted to give him a gift that would wind him up a little. We also bought Danny some nice wine and a card to go with his dubious looking afro dye, so we weren’t complete arseholes to the birthday boy.

From Johannesburg we drove north westwards, arriving at the border crossing with Botswana late in the afternoon. A bitch of a customs official reluctantly stamped my passport as we filed through the frontier having accused me of driving an unregistered vehicle. When she realised she’d made a mistake I got even more attitude, so I called her an offensive term for the female reproductive organ under my breath before jumping back onto the truck.

We didn’t press too much further into Botswana that evening. It had begun to get dark shortly after crossing the border so Bob opted to spend the night in a truck stop close by.

The sun had completely set by the time we found a parking spot at the primitive roadside services. Changing our remaining South African Rand into Pula – the currency of Botswana – we then went and spent the majority of it on food.

Feeling completely drained of enthusiasm at this juncture I soon slipped into a trademark sulky mood. It seemed as if Danny was feeling similarly and the two of us brooded over our tender chicken in silence. With Dean stuck in the middle, Danny and I directed our angst at one another again. Nothing directly was said between us, there was just an uncomfortable sense of animosity brewing that wasn’t pleasant for anybody.

My half roast chicken was thrown down my neck with animalistic zeal; fists and fingers oozing with meat, skin and bones. Sitting back with my giant can of coke I waited sullenly whilst the other boys delicately picked at their chicken with cutlery. I’m not sure at what point in my life I became a graceless pig. I certainly wasn’t brought up in such a way. It now seemed as if I could only enjoy my food if consumed within eighteen seconds and it frustrated me that Danny and Dean were messing around with theirs.

The boys finally finished their poultry and we left Vito in the restaurant charming the knickers off a young lady handing out hot sauce. The shrill of cicadas filled the air as the three of us silently made our way back to the locked truck.

The services we had parked up at for the night was a hovel of a place. It teemed with mosquitoes – real ones, not skinny women – and mournful looking prostitutes. Large groups of local men were getting drunk in a windowless room near the truck where the only illumination came from the glowing ends of their cigarettes. You could literally feel the depravity in the air.

There was no way I was going to use the public toilets in this place. The pressing dump brought on by Vito’s friend’s hot sauce would have to wait until morning. A quick piss out of the truck’s open doorway was all I dared do before marinating myself in DEET and settling down into my creaky makeshift bed for the night.

At three in the morning I heard a stir at the front of the bus. Not knowing where I was or what was happening I sat upright and listened in mild panic.

“Pssst. Deano, are you up?” I heard Danny whisper before receiving a grunt from the man in question. “Come and have a look at this.”

“Fucking hell!” uttered Dean after a minute or so of fumbling his way to the front window.

Clamouring over Vito, I tip toed my way down the aisle to see what the boys were gawping at through the truck’s front window.

“What is it lads? Jesus Christ!”

A few metres in front of Bob’s cabin, in a place where we’d all stood a few hours before, a colossal hippopotamus – one of Africa’s most dangerous creatures – stood drinking out of a dirty puddle. These things can bite a crocodile in half apparently, and there it was, mincing around a garage forecourt where prostitutes and pissheads mingled happily night after night.

I had loved travelling Africa, although I hadn’t felt completely at ease in my surroundings all that often. This anxiety had mainly been due to dodgy looking people I admit, but on occasion it had been caused by the myriad of terrifying creatures knocking around. And a situation like this proved how right I was to be intimidated.

After having its fill of the fudge coloured water, the hippopotamus decided to rip out a steel girder with its teeth and contort it like it was tin foil. That girder could so easily have been any one of us. Scared to leave the relative safety of the truck, I let Danny and Dean chase after the fat, destructive bastard with their cameras on their own. I went back to bed instead, thanking my lucky stars we weren’t camping.

Skirting the eastern flank of the Kalahari Desert the truck pressed northwards early the next morning. By this stage in the journey we were all well and truly bored and just wanted it to end. Listening to the same songs time and time again was really beginning to grate. Those four days managed to put me off Chris Daughtry for life.

I was still hiding away at the back of the truck, sulking to myself at how cold and windy it was when Danny and Dean had the windows rolled up at the front. Not daring to have any kind of confrontation about the matter, I kept quiet and stewed in my own juices. For something so trivial it wasn’t worth any crossed words, especially when we were all exhausted from the past few nights of dreadful sleep.

The only respite from the windy chill came as we slowed upon entering the city of Francistown. All I could see of Botswana’s second largest town from my elevated viewpoint were fried chicken outlets. I’m sure there was far more to the place than that, but we didn’t have time to probe any further.

Sadly we’d only been in the country for around twenty four hours by the time we arrived in Kasane, the border town on the Botswanan side of the Chobe River. This wasn’t enough time to learn anything about Botswana, especially when the entire time was spent cooped up in the back of a speeding truck.

Had I not seen the giant hippo the day before I would’ve been very disappointed at not experiencing more whilst there. Like Namibia though, Botswana wasn’t going anywhere soon and would simply have to be visited more thoroughly on another trip.

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Marine researchers take note… Coral Eye @ Bangka Island is the place to be….

Cosmos Bungalows is very proud to connect with a wonderful Marine research facility located in the north of Sulawesi.


The team at Coral Eye are passionate about their project and have produced a fantastic facility for study groups, experts and all round ocean lovers to come together and enhance their shared understanding of nearby reefs.

Perfect for universities and conservationists.

Check them out at

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Attention all you romantics planning on tying the knot…..


Are you planning a wedding in the Lakes? Need all the help you can get looking all gorgeous for the big day? Look no further than the talented Anna Sorbie.

For all your beautification needs, check out Anna’s website.

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Adventure on the high seas! Pirates Bay Cruising


Explore Indonesia’s stunning islands and diving spots by sea with the wonderful Pirates Bay. This excellently run company can arrange trips for divers and non-divers, visiting some of the most beautiful locations the archipelago has to offer.

Visit their website

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Chaos in Hanoi!

Check out Craig’s adventures and beautiful photos of Hanoi…
We hope it inspires more people to get out there and explore the world

"La belle vie"

Yep we survived the mad city that is Hanoi!

No matter what people tell you, or what you research about this crazy city, i don’t think anything will ever prepare you for the madness you will step into! 

After another eventful few hours in another airport (Hanoi), we managed to leave $90 down and all queued out. But we were free and excited to get going! A 40 minute taxi drive later and a panic stricken conversation between phoebe and I on wether the taxi meter was reading Dollar or Dong we arrived at our hostel luckily paying the Dong not the Dollar!


So we dropped our bags off at the kangaroo hostel and headed out into the streets to find some food. After about an hour of wandering around clueless to where we were going, a generous tuk tuk man offered us a ride to the a decent restaurant. After haggling him…

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An appeal for those looking for a worthy cause to donate to this Christmas

Sticking it out there again hoping that someone may want to help our pack of hungry animals…

Cosmos Bungalows Bira


So, the time has come to admit we are a little out of our depth. Not with the business… that’s a piece of piss (please don’t let that cockiness come back to haunt me). But with our growing number of animals.
Yesterday was probably our shittest day in Indonesia. Unfortunately one of the newest recruits to Cosmos’ zoo of waifs and strays – a tiny tabby kitten named Arsenal – got too close to our dog Django whilst he was eating. For some reason, most likely a survival instinct from days in the jungle fending for himself, Django went for Arsenal in an unprecedented attack and shook the poor little bugger in his jaws.
Brave Arsenal battled on, in a state of complete shock, for almost ten hours until his little body could no longer deal with the trauma. He died in our bed at two am Saturday and…

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