always travel with us

When you've grown up in Western society, you tend to have a fairly rigid idea of how the world should work. Whether that's a product of most countries' nanny-state approach to personal safety, or just the ingrained knowledge that you don't put ice in beer, we think we know how things should be.

So it can come as a fair surprise when you go overseas and realise that other people, and other cultures, do things much differently. And even though that discovery is what makes travel so great, there's still a small part of you that looks at people breaking all the known rules of the universe and thinks, "you can't do that".

Sometimes, with an open mind and a little research, you can come to realise you're wrong, that we Westerners mightn't have the best way of doing things after all. Other times, even with an open mind and a little research, the conclusion is the same: You can't do that.

But as my friend Rox always says: it's not wrong, it's different.

Here are some of the "you can't do that" moments I've had overseas ...

To me, it's the antithesis of everything a backpacking trip can and should be.

For starters, there's no interaction with anyone from another race, culture or creed. In fact, if the mood takes you, there's no interaction with anyone at all.

There's no spontaneity, no surprises, and precious little chance of stumbling upon something, or someone, you never thought you'd see.

And all this in the cloistered company of a few thousand people who seem quite happy with those circumstances.

Not my idea of a good time.

Don't worry, I was shocked too. The M25 is like a warm security blanket, holding all of us Australians in its cosy embrace, safe from having to worry about what the rest of Great Britain even looks like (I hear it's full of Poms anyway).

It's pretty easy to get caught in the London bubble. It's got everything you could need - great pubs, bars, art galleries, sporting events, parks, theatre shows, access to mainland Europe... Everything, in fact, except a bit of peace.

So that's why a lot of travellers don't even make it outside of that huge ring road around the capital, regardless of how long they end up staying (there's probably a fair few locals who haven't, either).

I've been guilty of it. But lately, I've started to find that the best of Great Britain might not end at the M25, but might be just beginning.

You can't really blame them. As a Western tourist, you've got money. Far more, in a lot of places, than everyone else does.

So you have to expect that there are going to be people around trying to lighten you of your fiduciary load.

It can be sinister - the scammers, the tricksters, the used carpet salesmen and the like. Or it can be completely innocent, like the thousands of cab drivers, hotel touts, wannabe tour guides and marble emporium workers you meet the world over.

In some countries they're limited to just hanging around the train and bus stations, or major tourist attractions (I challenge you to spend more than 10 minutes in Tiananmen Square without someone offering to show you their student art gallery). In other cities, they're just plain everywhere.

They're just trying to make a buck. But that doesn't mean it won't get annoying after a while. Sometimes, you want a few minutes to wander around a city unmolested, which, in some places, is just not going to happen.

It will in some cities. But not these.

I used to know a tour bus driver who loved telling people he was "world famous".

"I know people all over the world," he'd tell his latest bunch of wide-eyed tour passengers, "so I reckon that makes me world famous."

The guy was no Bono, but he had a point. He did know people from all over the world, fellow travellers he could call his friends - as could most people who've spent a bit of time overseas.

We've all got the odd mate in England, friends in Germany, people we could call on in the US, a couple of Dutchies we'd like to hang out with again, some South Africans who said we should come stay some time ...

And you know what? It sucks.

There's this girl, right. She's definitely, 100 per cent, not my girlfriend. We'll call her "Gracie". (Hi Gracie!)

So Gracie and I are travelling through Russia together, and there's one quintessentially Russian experience that I want to try, and she's agreed to come along for the ride: a visit to a bathhouse.

In St Petersburg, down a dreary little street and behind a virtually unmarked door, we've been told we can find a genuine local bathhouse, one that will be full of everyday Russians going about their everyday steaming, scrubbing, rubbing and bathing.

At the door, we have to split: girls on one level, guys on another. Neither of us has a clue what is going to happen, how these things work. We just plan to watch what everyone else in there is doing, and copy.

Gracie walks up to the women's floor, nervously pays her money, and sits in the change room, checking to see whether her fellow Russian ladies were wearing bathing suits when they wander into the bathing area, or are nuding up. They're nuding up.

So she strips off her clothes, and pushes through the doors into the bathing area. There, she freezes with horror.

South-East Asia? As if. It's, like, totally ruined. If you ask me, Tony Wheeler stuffed it the minute he printed his first book. I just don't know why you'd go there. There's like, tourists everywhere now. They wouldn't know a real traveller if they got pushed out of their AirAsia jet by one.

I guess Myanmar's alright - although I still call it Burma. People will still be totally impressed if you go there, especially if there's just been, like, a riot or some kind of natural disaster before you get there (don't worry, there usually is, you should see the state of the place). Make sure you pump that bit up when you write your blog entry on it, too.