£3.5 million raised for charity by amateur adventure teams

From driving to Mongolia in tiny cars to crossing India in tuk-tuks, amateur teams on extreme unsupported adventures organised by The Adventurists have used the unusual format of the trips to raise huge sums for charity despite the gloomy financial environment.

After 8 years and 8 different adventures 6639 people from more than 25 countries have now raised £3 534 790 for charity between 2004 and the end of 2011.

More than £850 000 of the total was raised in 2011 alone, apparently demonstrating that even in financially turbulent times the teams are able to prise open the charitable pockets of their friends, family and sponsors and help with The Adventurists mission: 'Fighting to make the world less boring and save a bit of it at the same time.'

The adventures include the Mongol Rally – a 10 000 mile drive from UK to Mongolia in 1-litre cars; the Rickshaw run - driving 3000km across India in a tiny tuk tuk and others, with no back up, no support and no set route. Each team has to raise a minimum of £1000 for charity which is donated directly, while a separate entry fee is paid to The Adventurists covers the event costs.

The official charity for the Rickshaw Run India is Frank Water. Founder Katie Alcott said:  “The extraordinary support from Rickshaw Run teams over the past few years has raised almost £500 000 in support of our clean water projects in India, which provide guaranteed clean water to rural communities who suffer from both biological and chemically contaminated water.

“Over 100 000 people now have access to clean, fluoride free drinking water, making a profound and lasting effect on lives. Without doubt, this calls for an enormous THANK YOU to all Rickshaw Run teams past and present - incredible!”

The Mongol Rally – the original and largest adventure - has raised just under £2 million overall for charity. Fiona Geoghegan of Chrstina Noble Children's Foundation (CNCF), the official rally charity until 2011 said:
“Since 2006 the Mongol Rally teams have raised a stunning £695 000 which has contributed substantially to the running cost of the Blue Skies Ger Village in Mongolia, and will in fact allow us to continue to provide the high standard of care we pride ourselves on for the next couple of years, making The Adventurists one of our most valued donors.”

The Adventurists have launched a total of eight adventures, all designed to be intentionally difficult in response to the world becoming increasingly dominated by a hermetically sealed health & safety culture. Using a ladder is considered unacceptably dangerous and “adventure travel” means aguided tour up a mountain or staying in a hotel with less than four stars.

In 2004 six amateur teams set off to try and drive to Mongolia in tiny and unsuitable 1-litre cars with no back up, no support, no professional drivers, no set route and not a clue what would happen.

Four succeeded and the concept exploded in popularity with almost 1000 people in 400 teams expected to take part in 2012.

The Adventurists, based in the UK, was founded by Tom Morgan and continues to look for new adventures to help with the fight to make the world less boring.

In 2011 the first ASEAN Rickshaw Run took place in South East Asia and was recognised by the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) as an official event to highlight tourism and connectivity across the region. It was launched by the ASEAN Secretary General from the Secretariat building in Jakarta and finished in Krabi, Thailand.

In February 2012 the Pioneer edition of the Ice Run sees 10 teams driving Ural motorbikes with sidecars along frozen rivers in Siberia.

For more information about The Adventurists and to sign up for an adventure visit:
http://www.theadventurists.com

Border Cocaine Confusion

The lovely people at the Adventurists put this video together of the boys telling a story from the road.

This was at the Official Finish Line in Ulaan Baatar where Matt and Simon hung out for an extra week while Meghan and I were already home safe and sound. They look a bit tired and well...hungover...because they are. This was post the Finale Party.

Enjoy....

Saying goodbye...

About seven years ago now I bought a Ford Ka. Since then I've bought no other. When I get home I return to a Vauxhall Astra 1.9 Turbo Diesel Estate I've just bought. In every way it's an upgrade. It's got leather seats and CD player (Feeder fans I'm looking at you here). It's got automatic windows and central locking. It's got masses of space. Something called leg room. It's easy to drive and comfortable. It looks professional. It's 0-60 is phenomenal.

The Ka has never been any of those things. Ever ever ever. It's never been professional in turning up to shoots. It never fails to raise an eyebrow and bring on a joke. It's 0-60 isn't exactly quick.

It's been called many things. Filthy being the word used more frequently. A girls car. A hairdressers car...

But what the Astra isn't is exactly what the Ka has always been.

It's aggressive. It's small. It's quick in the low speeds. In reaching twenty it just comes off the blocks. It's nimble. Especially in the city. It's got an amazing first gear, an even better second. It whips around corners and engine breaks like a harrier landing on a ship. It's loyal. It's so responsive to everything you do that it just feels connected to you. It's fun to drive. There's no ABS. There's no frills or safety bits that come over automatically. It doesn't drive itself or get away from you. It does exactly what you tell it to. It's yours.

It's mine.

No one at work believes that my Ka can do this. Jamie, my partner in crime at Left Eye Blind worries when I drive it to Manchester. I have to text him when I safely arrive in London. My garage, the establishment that has serviced and maintained my car for the last five years has bet me an MOT it would not survive the trip. They pulled me to one side and thought it best if I reconsidered this entire adventure. Honestly. This mechanic, a gruff bear of man always lined in oil and grease has never said a word to me other than car parts and in paying Bills. Never once has he exchanged a word beyond vehicle related vocabulary. And he meant it very seriously. A hand on the shoulder. Direct eye contact. He even referred to me as Mr. Maude (I shudder still when this occurs).

Not one person I know has told me not to worry. That we will be fine. Our mothers have implored we take a satiellite phone. Our fathers have tried not to look worried. But each have asked to see our travel insurance. As far as I'm aware each of our parentals read this blog with a zeal that could be considered incredibly interested if not, appreciativily protective. There have been conversations that have taken place in which our parents have rung each other and gradually persuaded themselves to contact first the Adventurists... And then next our respective Foreign Offices.

No one has said to me, sounds fun. You'll be fine. That we'll make it there, not only in one piece, but here without problems. Here without hitch. Here without breaking down. Without breaking apart.

For me, I think this process, driving this Ka, has been particularly strange. As I've driven this car nearly everywhere since I was 18 - to the shops and office, to the Alps and back, to Mums and Dads, on roadtrips to Scotland, Ireland, down to London six or seven times a year, to yours and mine a thousand times, the discovery that the car is now in Mongolia, safe and sound, is somewhat surreal. Somewhat surprising. Because on this trip I have woken, every day, and just driven it like I would do at home. And I don't mean into ravines, or over mountains, into and out of rivers towed by tractors and Land Drovers, across landscapes that four by fours have shuddered and succumbed to (there is nothing, nothing more satisfying than overtaking a Land Cruiser on a Mongolian 'road'), I mean just driving. Half way across the world. Each day we've just woken up driven it East. Two, three, four, five, six, seven hundred kilometers further than it was the night before. It's been almost normal. It's been the everyday that has been the last of my seven years. It's been what I've always done. Getting me to the place I have needed it to be. And safely. Easily. Wihout break down or problems. Here without hitch.

I know too that the state of my car would probably earn me a couple of hundred quid back home. Even then it would be for parts and little else. Possibly the metal. But it's worth to others is nothing in comparison to it's worth to me. To us. The entire trip rests within it's seats. As do all the other journeys that I have taken within my adolescence

In doing this trip, and all the others of the last seven years, it's value is unbelievable. This sentiment has been only further cemented by this trip. Dramatically. Because now, when people ask what happened to my old car - 'Did it break down en route to TopShop?' 'Did it fall apart when you hit it with a hair dryer?' - I'll be able to tell them that I donated it to Charity. That I had to drive it to Mongolia to do so. And that it didn't break down. It didn't shudder once or ever fail to start. That it fucking destroyed everything it passed over. That people's eyes grew wide when they heard it had driven from London. That it carried four fairly stupid but enthusiastic people all the way to Mongolia and probably would have done back again if it were asked of it. That it did so without problems. Without breakdowns. Without hitch. That I said goodbye to it in the best way I could think. That someone here will give it as much fun as I hope I gave it.

And when I've looked beside me, to the passenger seat or back row I see the people I've known for years. With the trip ending I'm not saying just goodbye to the car that has taken me everywhere. I'm saying goodbye to this team. This family. This experience. And something else too

Simon has been my older brother my entire life. Now going on twenty six years. He also doubles well as one of my best friends. He surfs this balance easily, strafing between a protectiveness of an older brother and the freedom that comes with friendships. He's able, like no one else in my life to help and guide me while still letting me make mistakes when I need to. And I don't mean in the whimsical sense. In a higher calling that somehow comes with being the oldest sibling. I mean that he lets me do what I want to do even when he feels like I shouldn't do it. And he catches me when it does go wrong. It's what friends do. He's one of the largest sources of support in my life. He know how I feel even when I'm not sure myself. He just listens and suggests. And he provides so often the question that needs asking rather than creating an answer

Si is a brilliant human being. If you haven't met him yet make time to do it. This trip has confirmed all the previous suspicions I've had for years. He's a very special human being. In massive quanities Si possesses great qualities of love, understanding, compassion, humor, leadership, fearlessness, light heartedness, and patience. You can put Si into any room with any stranger, no matter what the time or the country, (even or especially when there's a lack of language) and he'll have friends in giggles by the end of the hour. In so many ways he's led this team. He's just always been ready to do anything. No matter the hour, or how wet he is, or how tired he might be. He's not cranky. He's the team's optimist. Always keeping us lifted. Always catching. He's driven this with me. In more ways than being just behind the wheel.

In Kass I truly have a sister. She's more than an in law. She knows me so well (that she knows at any time... my exact age). She's such a friend. I only met her five years ago but in every way she is just a sibling. In India we bridged any insecurity that may have existed. Being in the vicinity of so much mutual gas will bring any two people together. As you've just said 'WE HAVE NO SHAME ANYMORE'.

Here I think we've cemented our sibling-ness within this trip. We've taken on another challenge and nailed it.

Kass has challenged so many things on this trip. For a girl self declared as three showers a day and caffeine dependent she's a full on transformed woman. There's plans to go camping. Regularly from what I hear. The words 'I will never drink coffee again' were uttered on this trip

I've learnt more about Kass on this trip than I did in India or in driving across Ireland. I've seen such strengths in her. Such determination. I hope I'm not pissing her off by saying this but I think more than any of us, there have been certain circumstances in which Kass's perimeters (or better put - her comfort zones) were really stretched. Situations that had the potential to be dangerous or slightly creepy she's handled amazingly. She's told people to fuck off when it's needed to be said. She's led us away from places we didn't need to be. Our guardian

Of all us too, Kass has been the central planner. The researcher. The route. She's made choices based on solid time behind the computer or within guide books. We haven't stayed in shit places when we've planned ahead. Not one. Mainly because Kass is just so freaking on it. She's so organised

And Meghan... For a girl I'd never met before the trip began we stepped into the brink of friendship really really quickly. Within three and half minutes of meeting we'd already created trip jokes of 'instant jizz' and 'five months of passion'. We laughed a lot. In huge quantities. Considering I still know so little I feel like I know so much. On a trip like this, the extremes of your personality are seen. They are tested. You see the core of someone's being. Across these landscapes, these conditions, sitting for hours and hours, 7500 miles within the same cramped seats, surrounded by our belongings in rain or shine, desert or streams, I'd imagine you'd see the best and worse of someone's personalty. Within these conditions anyone would snap or be argumentative. But I can see and have never seen no weaknesses in Meghan's personality. No deficiency of character (ones that I have in spades in myself). She is such a strong, intelligent, funny and emotional connected human being. She's aware constantly of what is happening. Apt and able to lend a supporting hand or listening ear. When in times of real shit, real lows, especially on the three days we called pretty dark times when we over did it miles and time, it was always Meghan who would say 'One day we'll laugh about this'. And so often we did. Either later than night or the next morning. She's Waffles. Our group's sunshine.

She's also got two nicknames:-

'PassOutPrincess' - as she had the incredibly ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time and at any road quality.

'Camping Girl' - as Meghan is just the shit when it comes to anything camping. She could put up a tent and pack it up in a speed that could only be described as military.

We're saying goodbye to all this. This beautiful experience. Of always seeing something new. Always travelling. In places and within ourselves. We're saying goodbye to being on the road and all the amazing qualities that experience brings. It's places and peoples and coincidences.

There is however, another goodbye to this experience

I say goodbye to a large extent, these challenges. Over the last four years we've done some pretty crazy things together, Si, Kass and I. We took on India, traversed Ireland, walked a hundred kilometers in 24 hours. We've spent years living in the same country never far from one another's care and reach.

But in less than a year Si and Kass move to America. Twelve hours away on the plane, an entire eight time zones. More than just the two hours on the train it's been for the last few years. And although it's been softly spoken, transitioning slowly, I can see in Si and Kass a pretty big move. One into adulthood.

This is a big thing to say. But we can all see it. Anyone close to these two amazing individuals. The choices they are making now, of mutual futures, shared bank accounts, children. It's all very adult. It's all a mass of responsibility, a relationship that is just so... Mutual? Trusting? Loving? Brilliant? Words fail me. It's one you just have to see to understand it. This Simon and Kassie

I don't want to say it but it was mentioned before the trip began, when we considering traveling back on the Trans Siberian Express, that this trip, this experience will be the last time that we dedicate ourselves to such adventure. To such time away together without responsibility. We're saying goodbye to doing things like this

Now, here we are. 12,000 kilometers away at the finish line. And it's time to hand the keys over to a new family. To give my car to charity. We say goodbye to this incredible experience we have shared together

I do so trying to be cheerful. Trying to find it all easy. Trying not to be sad. I am so ready to return home. To put into practice things I have learnt on the road. To remind myself constantly to just stop and just see. To look at things. To see my family and friends more regularly.

I am so ready to see my Lauren.

And I know back home there will be other adventures. More stories to create with these incredible people. Our adventures into growing up. Into becoming a little more adult. And attaining all the new experiences that come with it

I hope it understands, this little tin can of joy and brilliance. I hope it knows how loyal I feel to it. To the car that has carried me, and everything I hold dear, safely. Easily. Without hitch. With so many incredible memories. To Mongolia.

written by Matt

Where we're going we don't need roads....

I wake early and like most mornings, I struggle to remember where I am. It's our first night sleeping in Mongolia. We're in Olgii. I'm in someone else's bed in a house I don't recognise. The mattress is lumpy, entirely missing in sections. I can softly hear the rise and sighs of eight people sleeping around me. As I tip toe out of the bedroom I enter the kitchen to find another nine people sleeping around the kitchen table. The smell of yak pasta is still thick in the air. There's quite a bit of vodka on the table. Most of it lies on the floor though.

Outside, the morning belongs to the dogs. Like gangs in a lawless city they move in packs, barking and bearing teeth. There's the howls everywhere. A chorus of canine sound across the entire city. But as I walk there's little that can disturb the quiet contentment residing inside of me. We are here. In Mongolia. The final of our thirteen countries.

The night before I had left the kitchen full of good company, rancid food and burning alcohol to look into the sky. Above me the moon illuminated everything. The sky was a battle ground of stars. I rang Lauren to wish her a happy birthday. Of all the days away I missed you the most then. Hearing your voice, wishing you were here, seeing what I was seeing. This unreal beauty that seemed to stretch over everything.

We move in convoy out of the city, our cars thick in radio chatter that belongs more to Iraq than peaceful Mongolia. We're big kids on the radios playing soldier. Oscar Mike, staying frosty, square wheels. But the military chatter isn't without need. Two kilometers out of the city the road disappears and the battle that will last the next five days begins

The roads are hard to explain here. After every horizon they change completely. The desert is filled with machine gun ruts that shake the car so violently we call them wash boards. Everything in the car shakes and rattles as if you're in washing machine. If anything is lose we know about it soon. Fillings included.

In the grasslands pot holes the size of houses appear. And quickly. Across the hills it's a case of three wheels more often than four. You're up and down all the time. Your foot bridges the accelerator and the brake ready to press on rather quickly. You make split decisions to either brake or evade. When it rains, as it does entirely for one day, the roads become mud pits and traction becomes the only currency worth anything. Momentum becomes everything.

We forget entirety what asphalt looks like, or whether it ever existed. It's insane to drive in. You can't look away from the wheel. The few times you do, to either look into the rear view mirror or to company you're instantly an inch too far from where you should be. You become so conscious of where your wheels are that they begin to feel like limbs. You're always looking to see what's coming up in front of you twenty metres up the road. Anticipation is everything. Reaction time is halved if not quartered. It's the difference between breaking down or breaking apart. The line is just so thin...

All this sounds very omnious but... it's too much fun to describe. When you get it right it just feels so so so good. Being in the groove, in the right mood, 'getting it'... There's no limit to how wide the smile is you're feeling inside. You suddenly become all the boy hood adventures you've always wanted to fulfil. You're casting up massive dust clouds. Your driving in a fucking rally. Tearing apart roads, surviving off what you're carrying with your best friends. It's amazing

We see now why this is called the Mongol Rally. This is what it is all about.

I don't want to cast off the previous two weeks, or the twelve incredibly diverse, surreal and strangely beautiful countries we have been within. There are places that we have seen that we all wish to revisit. We've spread the seeds that we wish to return to. Bled is a constant in our memory. The Altay mountains too. But Mongolia just takes everything we've seen, and redefines the beauty we all had considered completely defined. The horizons here are boundless, endless. So much to the extent that you could barely dream that any world could possible exist beyond their confines. And yet they do. A half day later we rise over it's tip to look out again on the Lion King. A horizon stretching beyond anything Montana could offer and doubling it. Mufasa's words echo. One day, this will all be yours. And by the end of it. It is. We own it too. We've conquered it. Pitching tent we all sit, our eyes wide, begging our consciousnesses to remember this. To take all that we are seeing and re-create this bliss.

We're almost euphoric. In the distance we see kids run a kilometer to meet us. Hands ask for sweets. They know when we're coming through because the dust of the Rally always kicks up the dust in the middle of August. We take pictures of Eagles. Goats flee. Cows stare, surly, defiant. Like in India they don't move for anything.

And the convoy is brilliant. In our group we have ourselves (Alpha 1), a 206 Peugot (Lionel Richie) and a 130 Defender Land Drover Ambulance (Papa Bear). In the Landie sit 40 something's Mike Ashton and Laura Tam. Married for what appears like twenty years they are in fact almost strangers. Three weeks before they had met only twice before. They laugh almost constantly stopping only bicker in the inbetweens. They take care of us almost completely. Towing us at rivers, feeding us lunch, and when our forty buck tent decides it can't deal with either wind or rain, much less so when combined together, we sleep in the spare room of their twelve man tent

It would take an entire blog to acturarely describe Laura and Mike. In them we've found our road souls. A comptiablily in convoy that will last, we hope, well beyond the road. We fit into one another's lives so easily that it's not long before we're swapping seats. Si and I both take turns and the wheels. Driving a Land Drover in Mongolia completely re-defines how amazing Ka-put is. She's just fantastic. She's a little mountain goat. Laura finds an almost home in the back seats of Ka Put. Mike and I talk long into the night and try not to crash when we can't see anything in the dim headlights.

They're beyond generous. Insaitable. Brilliant. They help out with a variety of problems that occur over the next four days. Laura is an amazing cook and we eat well. There's stir fry, cous cous, Thai curry. Mike has packed absolutely everything you would need to take on a journey into the Apocalypse. After our rubbish tent finally succumbs to the elements we're inside theirs. Stuck on the other side of the river there's always a tow. When the roof rack looks like it's taking to much weight the Gerry cans come off and go into the back of Betsy (the name of the Landie). And they do all this with no hesitation. No problems.

We become a quasi family. And each night we fall asleep creasing, our stomachs hurting from laughing too hard, too much. There's never enough alcohol to suffice the end of the night and we're always running out of firewood. It's almost like we're force to sleep. It's a testimony that it's always beyond midnlight by the time we sleep even after sixteen hours of intensive driving.

In the other car, the 206, we last only a couple of days in convoy. Within it's walls, cousins Keith and Josie McVity are teamed with Russiky Sianne. It's amazing to jounrey with such people over such a short time. Keith is brilliantly funny, always lending a joke to any situation. Josie keeps a constant eye on the map and our co-ordinates. Sianne translates everything providing the only opportunity on the entire trip to find out what the border guards are really saying beyond their slightly sinister smiles. It's not good...

We depart with heavy hearts when Lionel Richie, three wheels ripped apart, an exhaust pipe completley torn off and a break cable in shreds, needs a hearty dose of medicine in the third checkpoint's mechanics. Our three car convoy becomes two.

But with their departure the convoy lifts off. We find a new speed. It's much easier to travel as a two and a six rather than a three and a nine. The speed of the Landie and the Ka is almost entirely compitable. In fact, in stretches and in particular, ones you wouldn't expect (especially coming out of mud puts and into hills) the Ka exceeds the Landie. It's just so quick up everything. So sneaky. We realise just how amazing Ka-Put is. She doesn't shy away from anything. She tackles things you would think impossible of her reach. Mike, a Landie driver both here and at home cannot believe her capacities or capabilities. We all smile intenerally as we try to appear humble. We're all unbelievably proud.

One night, probably the largest highlight of the trip for me, we pitch tent outside of a Mongolian families Ger. With no language exchanged we're forced to relay on our hands to describe. We're brought food and see a glimpse of what happens out here, miles and miles and miles from everything. We see three girls milk two hundred goats. We play with the kids. I take a dog for a walk in the morning. We do like the bears do. At night the moon shows everything. I watch a Russel Crowe movie with the entire family.

In other incredible moments we wash in rivers. We swim in lakes. Kass converts to camping completely. We all look incredibly messy. I'm loving it.

The four days across Mongolia isn't all sweet sailing though. One day it doesn't stop raining... Packing up a tent the size of Luxemburg isn't easy at the best of times. Whatever the road was called before it looks even worse in the wet. Two days before I brake so hard before hitting a pothole the size of your living room that the roof rack, already loose from constant washboarding, bumps and leaves us, sliding off the roof and onto the floor. 15 minutes it's back up on top but there's a fairly big rip in the door. The wing mirror is loose. In the sand a day later Si goes all the way to the left, then all the way to the right and suddenly there's no grip. Or brakes... As Laura puts it

'Meghan, this is what it must feel like to die, except at the end of it, you die'.

Everyone is ok. Everything is fine. But we're all counting our lucky stars. Ka-put is surviving everything that is being chucked at her.

And the roads don't let up. It wants blood. You can see why so many cars just die out here. If you make a mistake the car gets punished. Half the teams that set out on this trip don't make it to the end. Even less make it there without breaking down at least once. There's so much that can go wrong.

If you pick the wrong track sometimes the road just disappears into a crack so wide it feels as if an earthquake has been specfic to just four meters. The only other vehicles we meet on the roads are 4x4s, buses or trucks, each with a wheelbase much larger than ours. It means that the tracks are totally unsuited to our size and shape. Instead of straddling the road we have to take a line that puts one tyre in the ditch and the other on the bank. It means we're constantly off to one side. 45 degrees in the air. It feels like wake boarding or snow boarding. Crossing the wake, or getting off the is path requires a mass of patience, good timing and a little bit of luck. You have to know where the Ka is going at all times. How the suspension is going to ride. Whether you're going to hit something going down into the suspension or whether you're hitting it's peek. I'm concentrating as much as I did in my Maths GCSE.

When we stop for food I fall asleep pretty much instantly. In a cafe that had a menu the size of most good London eateries but in reality only served one dish (the only thing we ever seem to eat - mutton dumplings) I find a corner and pass out. I've never driven so hard. It's testing us all. We're all bumping around like a constant trampoline. The bumps hurt everything.

But as hit checkpoints, five towns on way to the capital we all seem to lift a little. We all seem more at ease as we get further East. We're so close now we can almost taste it. And there's relief coming out of us like nothing else.

With three days left on the road we make a decision. Push on the first day, rest for the second in a scenic spirtual valley called Dream Land and then hit the road to Ulaanbartaar for our last day of travelling. The last four hundred kilometers

The first day is rough. It's long and hard. We cover 400 kilometers of shitty roads.It's late by the time we finish. It's near impossible to drive at this time and we inch along at low speeds. Si takes the Landie and I follow closely behind. We switch as it goes near pitch black and it's 11 by the time we arrive into the city. It's been five days since we last showered. We're all sweaty, tired and hungry. But the restaurants are all closed and there's no hot water. It's another night of smelling like dust and looking worse. This is the dirtiest I've ever been.

But the next day is worth the pain we go through the day before. The whole day is just beautiful. We get up late. Everyone showers. We look like new people. Kass looks like a hair model. Meghan a new woman. I shampoo my beard. We fix loose screws and minor injuries to Ka-Put and get on the road for a fairly easy 200kms of grassland. The landscape is exactly how I pictured Mongolia to be. We're all on a high. It's why we're here. We've heard the roads to Ulaanbartaar are tarmac, no holes, easy. Tomorrow will be our last day travelling and from the reports it sounds like it'll be a piece of piss. 400 kms of asphalt bliss.

In the grasslands we chase goats down the roads. Watch clouds fight for the sky with eagles that dive down to the earth like lighting personified. We drive into Dream Land - a luxury Ger camp - to party. It's Meghan's birthday tomorrow and we're all ready to let our hair down. We come to make party and to give Meghan the best 30th birthday possible....

written by Matt