The Bag Chooses You

I’m delighted to announce, that The Travelling Film Makers have their very own backpack and rucksack expert standing amongst their ranks! She’s been in every outdoor shop the UK has to offer, and after weeks of research, she can tell you all there is to know about the humble backpack! Please step forward, our dedicated follower of fashion, Miss Gabriella!

Gaby has been searching for a bag to take on our travels and it’s been no easy task. Obtaining a bag that is tailored to her needs takes time, and Gaby is dedicated in her research before the buy. Occasionally accompanied by myself, Gaby’s been to all the common high street brands such as Millets, Blacks, Cotswolds and North Face.  Burrowing deeper she’s also visited more specialist branches such as Kathmandu, and other independent local stores.

She’s done it all! Well… Everything except actually buying one…

It’s hugely important that her bag is comfortable. Crossing three different countries will require her trusty bag to feel like part of her own body, especially in the stifling heat and humidity of South East Asia.

...Trying a bag in Blacks

It needs to be the right size; balance is the key. Too big and it’ll weigh her down. Too small, and she’ll have to jettison some of her precious clothes (that wont do!). 65 litres with the possible extension of 15l more is about right.

It needs to be waterproof, and rugged; strong enough to withstand whatever nature throws at us.

It needs to be reasonable priced.

But perhaps most importantly of all (for Gaby), it needs to be stylish. This bag represents someone with taste, so it can’t be as hideous as a baboons backside (no offence if you like that…?).

...and in Cotswolds.

After all this bag could be a bag for life, a companion on many daring adventures, a loyal protector of her possessions, a bag that will be used and used (“how about a Tesco bag for life Gaby?”). This bag will be the soul, heart and pride of its owner… As Gaby said to me whilst in one of the numerous activity stores…

“It’s like in Harry Potter with the wands… You don’t chose the bag, the bag chooses you…”

Gaby’s bag is yet to choose her. Using my own bag as a benchmark, she started her epic search. It’s actually been tough work. Despite the seemingly huge range of bags, very few of them match the whole criterion. As a result, the benchmark on which my bag sits has risen higher and higher. It even got to the point where, lacking in hope at ever finding a bag for herself, Gaby offered to buy me a new bag to replace my wonderful old blue Vango. I just HAD to decline. Sorry Gabs. I’m a committed, one-bag-a-life lover!

A happy Gaby testing my Vango!

As it stands, Gaby seems pretty happy with one of the bags that Kathmandu has to offer; it’s even on sale! Set to go in store to make her purchase in the next few days, Gabs rang me…

“Ewan you’ll never guess what!??!? I saw a girl wearing a Kath Kidston style rucksack today and I yelled out! She couldn’t hear me though as she was on the other platform, but they exist!!!! I never found any on the Internet but they obviously exist!!!!”

The hunt is back on so it seems, and man’s most poignant question lives on.

What bag will Gaby choose?

Ewan.

Flights. Camera. Action

So I'm sitting in the garden on a beautiful summers day in the UK with my sisters laptop, a couple of national geographic magazines and some sunlotion, pondering about everything which lays ahead. Primarily I'm hoping that we'll experience some gorgeous weather like we are today.
Whilst sitting in the sun, it has occured to me however that some of you bright sparks out there may have noticed that even though our blog is titled 'The Travelling Filmmakers', we haven't once mentioned any filming... I think it's time for me to explain.

My intention is capture as much of this trip in motion as possible so that we can take everyone following this blog on our adventure as well. For the last 4 holidays I've been on with my friends, I've taken my camera along with me and produced a short video at the end of it. They absolutely hated me filming them, but conceded upon seeing the final result that it was a great idea and why didn't I tell them it would be good?!?! It makes a great souvenir, and I was thrilled with their reaction to the films. It's better than any photo. So with this in mind, I thought I'd put to use my film making skills to use, and create what I hope to be an exciting, gripping experience in film.

My weapon of choice, is the Canon 7D. This digital SLR camera has been kicking around the market for a couple of years now but is still a great camera! Its compact size, linked up with it's HD movie mode and a jawdropping range of canon lenses makes it the perfect candidate for the job! So with the help of fellow filmmakers Gabs and George, and with added moments of genius/hilarity from Dom and Tom, we should have some decent films on our hands.

If all goes to plan there should be video up before we leave, and you'll have loads once we get back. During our trip, the blogs will continue with the aid of some beautiful photography (fingers crossed). In the meantime, you can get a taste of the action by viewing "No Bull". The link for which is at the bottom of the blog. This is the film I produced while in South Africa and is a taster of things to come!

Ewan.
　
　

Your Papers Please!

I'd never applied for a visa before, and any process that could deny us access to these beautiful countries filled me with a huge amount of caution and trepidation. The visas in question were for Vietnam and India. These are the only two countries out of the six we intend to visit which require tourist visas BEFORE you go (the rest can all be obtained at the border, or at least so we hope!). So with a massive sigh of relief and clench-fisted thrust of triumph, I can inform you that both my applications were successful. I can now open my passport and wave it at anyone who should care to acknowledge, two beautiful visas. The Indian one even has my face on it!!!!

They're not cheap to obtain. The Indian and Vietnamese visas cost a hefty £42 and £49 respectively. In addition to this, I can't say that they're all that easy to get hold of either, although fortunately, the Vietnamese visa was relatively simple. It involved turning up at the Vietnamese Embassy on a leafy street in Knightsbridge, grabbing a form from the pile, filling out the necessary details and then attaching a passport photo to it with the provided Pritt Stick. I then handed this over to the Vietnamese lady behind the counter, who seemed to smile at everyone else apart from me, along with my passport and pre-paid Royal Mail Special Delivery envelope, (with my name and home address already scribbled in blue biro).

After wrapping the precious documents and passport into a neat little bundle and binding them with an elastic band for Vietnamese-style security, the lady then handed me a ticket which looks suspiciously like one you'd get at a raffle. Then I was shuffled along to the 'paying' counter where, in exchange for my £49 and raffle ticket, I'd receive a little scrap of paper which I presumed was the receipt. Feeling a little bit insecure at no longer having my passport in my own pocket, I stepped out of the embassy and through the high metal gate back onto the street.

I must say that the Vietnamese Embassy is a mightily impressive building. Above the entrance doorway, waves a massive red flag with yellow star, and the writing on the wall reads, "The Socialist Republic of Vietnam". I couldn't help but feel excited when I previously entered. The interior to this impressive building was oddly at sorts to the street outside which it shared with numerous Ferraris and Porsches. It had a distinctly communist feel to it. The inside was dark, which had surprised me, as it was a sunny day outside, and it possessed a similar atmosphere to that of a library. Strangely though I had felt at home, due to the dozen or so other blatant backpackers-to-be that resided within, each infused with the same dose of excitement as me. I enjoyed the experience.

The same could not be said however, about the Indian Embassy. The building was not an impressive monolith, representing its glorious nation. It was not filled with quietly excited backpackers. It was not situated in leafy London suburbia. It was none of these things.

Even before visiting the embassy, George and I hit problems.

The application process for Indian visas involved pre-booking an appointment, and filling out your application online on an almost unusable website. After several failed and repeated attempts at this, George and I eventually ended up at the doorway to the Indian Embassy. To be fair, it looked more like the side entrance to a launderette. A burly English man sat behind a desk in the scant hallway. He gave us a ticket like the ones you get while waiting for cheese and meats in Tesco. It read 061. The room beyond was much larger and lighter than the Vietnamese one and resembled an airport departure lounge with many rows of chairs all facing the same way. We then consulted the next Indian official behind a desk, this time a woman.

It turned out I’d still epically failed the application. There were issues with my employment, size of passport photo, and “itinerary”. Some of these were issues for George too and he actually started to show his frustration at the woman (which is unlike him). After much debating, we finally managed to sort it all out. I had to re-apply online AGAIN!

Nightmare times.

About 2 hours later, both George and I had paid for our visas and were gladly on our way; fingers crossed that after all the hassle, our applications would be successful…


They were. One more thing ticked off the list,

Ewan.