2013-05-21T18:39:19-04:00 Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=dom-joly Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Dom Joly Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2933788 2013-03-22T19:00:00-04:00 2013-03-22T13:38:47-04:00

Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dom-joly/
Whatever the rights and wrongs of the Syrian conflict, children are innocent and must be taken care of. This is why Save the Children set up Child Friendly Spaces in the Zaatari refugee camp that I visited. These allow the children to have somewhere safe to go within the relative chaos of a refugee camp. In these spaces they can play and learn and generally talk to other kids in similar situations to themselves.

I met a 15-year old boy called Ahmed who had fled across the border with his whole family just a month ago. You could see in his eyes that he was finding the whole situation very traumatic. His only release was playing football on a makeshift football pitch. It was only recently that he had stopped flinching every time he heard a plane fly overhead, thinking that it was about to drop bombs on him.

I assumed that most refugees would be in camps but far from it. In fact two thirds of the refugees currently in Jordan live in 'Host Communities'. This means that families are dotted around cities in Jordan, living in very basic accommodation and feeling very isolated. I visited a family of nine from the city of Dara who were all living in one room in Amman. They had just discovered that their house had been burned down when the regime learned that they had fled over the border. They didn't want to be filmed or photographed as they were terrified of reprisals against family members still in Syria. I spoke to the two teenage boys about their life.

They hadn't been to school since the troubles started two years ago. They were very grateful for the 'Child Friendly Space' that Save the Children had set up near them in the city. This allowed them to have somewhere to go and meet other Syrian kids and to talk through some of their experiences back home. Save the Children also provided families like these with a credit card with 100 Jordanian Dinars a month to allow them to buy food and basic necessities.

Nobody in the family could find work and without this financial help they would be in dire straits. But the problem keeps growing bigger and bigger and the people I spoke to on the ground emphasised that they were constantly "playing catch-up." More help is needed urgently as well as pressure put on Syria to allow access to displaced persons within Syria itself that could possibly prevent people from having to leave the country in the first place. Nobody is a winner in conflicts like these and children are always the most vulnerable and suffer the most. The international community should do everything it can to help bring an end to the violence, however remote a prospect that is. In the meantime, we must make sure that the innocent child victims of this conflict, like those I met in Jordan, are given all the help they need.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1157988 2011-12-19T11:39:35-05:00 2012-02-18T05:12:02-05:00

Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dom-joly/ The Dark Tourist- two years ago- I was being asked to comment.

Unlike Vaclav Havel, I certainly didn't meet Kim Jong Il during my 10 extraordinary days in North Korea. I certainly saw his face enough though - the cult of leadership in this most secretive of countries is on a different level from any other dictatorship I've visited. From the moment you stepped off the plane in Pyonyang you saw a huge portrait of him and of his father, Kim Il Sung. Every person you met wore a little lapel badge with the Dear Leader's face on it.

Everywhere you went was defined through the leader - the golf course where he supposedly got nine holes in one. The bowling ball he used (presumably a set of perfect strikes) lovingly preserved in a Perspex case at the entrance to Pyongyang's ten pin bowling gaff... I listened to poetry written by the Dear Leader, strolled around massive libraries full of works he supposedly penned and sat trapped in Pyongyang Opera watching a three hour version of one of the three revolutionary operas he composed.

If I'm honest I was sick of the sight of him by the time I left North Korea and entered "free" China. The cult of Kim however was strong. Nobody sidled up to you when no one was looking and had a grumble. If anything there was a massive mistrust of foreigners- hardly surprising when you look at their experiences with, first the Japanese and then the "United Nations."

The weirdest moment was when we approached the huge statue of Kim Il-Sung that towers over Pyongyang. We were lined up and one of us had to lay a bouquet of flowers. We were then informed that we could only take a photo of the whole statue- we were expressly forbidden to take a photo that might cut part of the "dear body" off.

The statues around him had been heavily hit by bird poo but Kim was clean. There were rumours that either there was an electric charge running through the edifice or that the birds knew the harsh penalties for disrespecting the Dear Leader.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1157354 2011-12-19T06:27:02-05:00 2012-02-18T05:12:02-05:00

Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dom-joly/
This was still a halcyon time- intellectuals and poets were in power and even McDonalds had not yet stamped their footprint on the place.

One night I met an American guy in a bar who was on his way to a concert. I tagged along and we ended up at Bunkr, an underground venue that had formerly been one of the Communist government's nuclear bunkers.

The place was heaving and beer was eight pence a pint. The band playing that night was the less famous half of the Velvet Underground- Sterling Morrison and Moe Tucker, the diminutive female drummer.

It was a wonderful gig and I couldn't believe my good fortune in stumbling upon it. I stood right at the front being pushed this way and that in the tiny mosh pit.

Just before the last song (Heroin) Moe Tucker thanked the crowd for their reception and congratulated them on the Velvet Revolution. They cheered and raised their glasses. "I'd particularly like to thank our friend Vaclav Havel for what he has done in leading your country to freedom." Everyone cheered again. "And I would like to thank him for coming along tonight..."

A nondescript, slightly stooped man in a shabby brown leather jacket who had been standing about three feet from me throughout the gig turned to face the crowd and gave them a wave. The band launched into Heroin and Vaclav Havel, the President of Czechoslovakia turned back towards the stage to watch the finale.

It was extraordinary - what other country would have a president at a tiny rock concert with no security whatsoever and the minimum fuss being made around him?

As the concert finished and we started trooping out I was right beside him going up the stairs. I didn't really know what to say so I just shook his hand and then watched as he pottered off on his own into the Prague night. These sorts of politicians don't come around that often...]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1107145 2011-12-12T19:00:00-05:00 2012-02-11T05:12:01-05:00

Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dom-joly/ Scary Monsters and Super Creeps (thanks, David Bowie) in which I attempt to find the "big six" of Cryptozoology. No sooner do I start upon my quest and monsters start popping up everywhere.

First it was the yetis in Siberia and now, a week after my visit there, somebody gets some (admittedly not very conclusive) footage of Ogopogo, Canada's answer to Nessie.

So far I've searched for Ogopogo and Bigfoot. I found no monsters but loads of super creeps. I was pursued through Redwood forests by three "lady" rednecks with crowbars and had to hike 13 miles out of Indian territory after getting my car stuck in snow miles from nowhere with no mobile contact and only a T-shirt and some beef jerky for company.

In the film of my adventures I would have lost consciousness and woken up in Bigfoot's cave with her breast-feeding me. Fortunately for me, but not the book, this did not happen and I was rescued by an armed and paranoid weed farmer. He had definitely seen Bigfoot but then...he also believed that Obama was a lizard.

I'd expected the whole monster thing to be a bit of an industry but actually, if anything, most locals are reticent and scared of being ridiculed about any sightings. If I had a pound for every time I've heard someone say, "Sure, I know loads of folks that have seen one but they don't like to talk about it" then I'd have...quite a few pounds. I assumed all monster-sighters would be crazed publicity hounds. Sadly, they are far from it.

I come to the subject with an open mind and the knowledge that, apart from anything else, the monsters I've chosen are all in fascinating places to travel to. I'm off to the Congo next to search for the Mokele Mbembe, supposedly a dinosaur that still lives in the jungle there. Then it's a Tintin fantasy - off to Kathmandu to try and track down the yeti (much nicer to visit than Siberia).

I'm not really sure what qualifications you need to become a monster hunter? In my case, I have none whatsoever. I have, however had a business card printed that simply reads "Dom Joly - Monster Hunter". It tends to create the desired impression in most places, although some hotels then ask you for a cash down payment before you get a room but hey - that's the life I've chosen.

Being a monster hunter is certainly great kudos with the kids. My seven-year-old boy proudly proclaimed that - "my daddy is away looking for the Appalling Snowman..." I brought him back a plaster moulding of a Bigfoot print found in 1963 near Bluff Creek in Humboldt County. It is the single best souvenir I have ever brought back from my travels and worth every minute of the three hours I spent at Heathrow trying to explain it to a tetchy customs officer.

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Dom Joly http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dom-joly/
A troll is somebody who sends abusive tweets, often to celebrities- some are simply negative comments on a career, others are far more abusive and personal. Accepted practice is "do not feed the trolls". The general feeling is that these low-lives need the attention and that by replying or interacting with them you are giving them what they want. I beg to differ.

I often take on the trolls as, in my view they are keyboard warriors, cyber-bullies who need to be confronted. I have even established a "troll of the day" ritual on my Twitter page. I choose the most hateful specimen and re-tweet his/her abuse for all to see. The first line of defence is invariably grammar. In three years on Twitter I have yet to find a troll who can use your/you're correctly. I therefore get loads of "your fat"/"your not funny"/"your a c**t and I hope you dy off cancer." I always take the time to correct the troll and ask him politely to Tweet back when he/she has learned to speak English. This tends to really annoy them, which is curious as you would imagine that education would not be high on their agendas?

The second line of riposte is simply to have a look through their previous Tweets. Often this will quickly disclose a gold mine of information. I once found a tweet that a troll had sent to his mother checking what time he should come round for Sunday lunch? I sent a copy of his abuse to the mother and his account was deleted about four hours later- most satisfying.

My favourite troll slay was quite recent. A "gentleman" tweeted to inform me that I was an "unfuny fat c*nt who will hopefuly die in a paynful car accident". (sic) This was pretty standard trolling but what caught my attention was that firstly his location was on- so I could see on a map that he was from Cirencester, a town just seven miles away from me. Not only that but he gave the name of his company and his position in said organisation on his Twitter bio. This was an open goal.

I re-tweeted his kind thoughts and inquired as to if any of my followers knew of the company? It turned out that loads of them did and I soon built up quite a detailed knowledge of my new troll. I was tempted to actually drive over and pay him a visit. I decided not to in the end and simply Tweeted my view that if I'd received an abusive letter from somebody at that company, with the company letterhead on it, I could quite reasonably go to the police with it. Twenty minutes later I got a tweet from the managing director who apologised and announced that "disciplinary action has been taken".

When my kids ask me- "Daddy, what did you do in the Troll Wars?" I shall not be found wanting...

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