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It is my heavily anglicised pronunciation of 'cerveza' that gives the game away. But while I had not expected to be able to conceal the obvious truth – that I am not from around these parts – for long, the barman's response throws me nonetheless. >>

Greg picks a leaf from the ti tree. But it’s not the oil so beloved by beauticians that he’s interested in. “You see how dense the branches are?” he asks. “The Wadjuk people used them for fishing – up to 70 people would co-ordinate, create a wall of branches and march forward until the mullet were herded into the shore.” >>

I’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building, crossed the glass floor in Toronto’s CN Tower and bungeed from the 134m Nevis in New Zealand. So why am I baulking so badly, and breathing so deeply, in the tiny capsule carrying me up the spire of St. Michael’s Church? >>

The Arctic air whips against my cheeks, so I pull the two halves of my balaclava even closer together, leaving just the smallest opening in front of my eyes. After all, to cover up my vision would mean missing out on one of the most peaceful experiences I’ve ever had while travelling at 40 miles per hour. >>

Zipping across Lough Derg on a tiny dory boat, I thank my stars that I’m not a woman. Local historian, folklorist and boatman Gerard Madden (pictured) is manning the tiller, and he’s just told me a story about one of the chapels on Inis Cealtra, the holy island to which we’re headed. >>

Mention huldufólk (hidden people) in Iceland and you’re likely to get a variety of reactions. Few will openly admit to believing in the existence of other people, very similar to humans, who live in little houses in the rocks and are only seen by a privileged few. >>

I’ve woken early to gloriously bright skies during one of the best ski seasons in decades. Bleary-eyed, I devour a hearty breakfast before mustering my gear and shuffling towards the rush-hour cable car scrum. But the place is deserted. >>

In the sweaty, sapping heat of the Northern Territory, a refreshing dip in a pool would usually seem like a fabulous idea. But not this pool. This is Wendell’s pool, and I’m not quite sure how kindly he’ll take to sharing it. >>

Even at sea, they stopped to remember. At 2.46pm on Sunday – exactly one year since the earthquake which overwhelmed Japan in March 2011 – the PA system aboard the Ogasawara Maru ferry crackled to life to alert its passengers to the marking of the moment. Few seemed to need telling. On deck, all heads bowed. >>

The course supervisor throws out a gloved hand in front of us. “Wait!” she barks. Like children at a busy roadside, we stop, look left and right and listen. Nothing. It seems clear. We start to shuffle forwards across the icy track towards the row of two-seater dune buggies on the other side. But again the glove stops us. >>