The lesson’s available in two formats. If you’ve got an iPhone or an iPod touch, you can download the app, which has a 13-minute lesson with over 50 audio phrases. If not, then you can still download their MP3 audio file and listen to that, accompanied by the PDF file containing the script.

The script’s entertaining enough without being silly (although “Don’t shoot, these drugs aren’t mine” seems a bit extreme!), and it’s easy to pick up a few words even on the first listen. OK, Arabic is a tough language to learn and a 13-minute lesson isn’t going to turn you into a second Lawrence of Arabia, but after a couple of listens you should find you’ve got a few basic phrases under your belt.

There are 24 other languages to choose from too. Including Aussie Slang!

Do you need travel insurance? Check out World Nomads!

For starters, they have pretty generous baggage allowances anyway – for example, 30 kg is the basic Economy Class allowance (except on some of their routes to the Americas, where baggage is calculated by the piece). So you may find that your allowance is enough to cover everything you want to take with you anyway.

But you can also pre-pay for excess baggage online. On routes where baggage is calculated by weight (which is most of them) you can buy extra baggage allowance by units of 5 kg, up to a maximum of 25 kg. On routes where it’s calculated by the piece, you can pay for one to three additional bags of 32 kg each.

Any catches? Well, you can only buy online between 24 hours and 90 minutes before your departure – and once you’ve paid for it, you can’t get your money back or transfer your extra allowance to anyone else. And there are a few airports not covered by the scheme.

Even so, it’s well worth checking out if you’re planning a major move and your departure and destination airports are on Emirates’ route network.

Travellers on the lookout for a bargain this year should consider eastern Europe, according to Tesco Travel Money.

The company carried out a survey which looked at the cost of accommodation, car hire, eating out and family entertainment.

Sofia in Bulgaria was found to be the cheapest destination with an overall cost of £1,221 for a one-week break, followed by Warsaw (Poland) and Budapest (Hungary) at £1,315 and £1,455 respectively. The Cypriot resort of Limassol and Slovenia’s capital Ljubljana also featured in the top five in affordability terms.

If you’re short of cash, steer clear of Iceland and Italy! Reykjavik and Rome were found to be the most expensive cities.

John Howells, head of travel money at Tesco Bank, advised holidaymakers to research the costs of different destinations before booking.

“It is essential holidaymakers are not just looking into the cost of travel but also the expenses they are likely to incur once they are there,” he said.

“Holiday costs have clearly been impacted by the euro exchange rate and rising costs in the recession, therefore families wanting a holiday on a shoestring really need to do their research to make their money go further.”

Opodo cheap flights, hotels and car hire – let the journey begin!

Author: Kay McMahon

Kay has been an expat for over 20 years. She set up the British Expat website more than 10 years ago, whilst living in London and missing the expat life. These days she spends much of her time lugging computers and cameras around the world. (Dave gets to deal with all the really heavy stuff.)

There are all sorts of travel tips included in these PDF guides – what to bring, where to eat, best hotels, the top attractions, and much more!

Top destinations include:

• Las Vegas
• Prague
• Amsterdam
• Marrakech
• Berlin
• Fuerteventura, Canary Islands
• Lisbon
• Florence
• Bangkok
• Miami

The guides for all these destinations are available without registering if you’d rather see what they offer first before committing yourself. Over 9,000 other destinations are also covered, but you’ll need to register first!

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These days most of us rely on the internet for finding hotels, optimistically disregarding the obvious perils. When I do a search I discard anywhere with three stars or more, which generally leaves me a handful of options. The location is critical. I narrow down the choice by ignoring hotels not within walking distance of the town centre. The streets around railway stations are often convenient but they tend to attract the more insalubrious type of institution. After that I hunt for clues in the text or elsewhere. A guide-book recommendation is a major plus but the best-known places often fill up well in advance. Website descriptions and photos may be of some use but at the lower end of the market finding a good value room is mainly a question of luck.

Among the five hotels on the list you can guarantee that one will be a haven for cockroaches and illicit activity of all kinds; another will be in the midst of an ambitious renovation programme and next door to the loudest nightclub in town. The challenge is to spot the odd one out: the respectable, family-run place with working showers, comfortable beds and passable breakfasts.

In my Euroland experience, €50 a night is about the minimum for a reliable room in a city centre hotel. Pay any less and you take a gamble. A two-star rating is encouraging but I have found the star system to be, er, shall we say “flexible” on occasion.

Until recently my worst hotel experience was in a nameless French town. It was very cheap, too cheap. I should have known better. The red neon sign outside was nature’s way of warning me off. Unfortunately it was too late at night to wander round town looking for an alternative. The receptionist was cheery enough, or at least so it seemed through the clouds of smoke. Obviously he didn’t have my reservation but it didn’t matter as I was the only one of the six billion people on earth foolish enough to be staying there that night. He showed me up the creaking wooden stairs. The room was a dingy, dirty and dilapidated disaster. A battered table was all that prevented a tottering wardrobe from crashing to the floor or, more likely, through to the floor below. The unwashed bed covers had apparently endured a twin attack from moths and cigarettes. It was with a heavy heart that I peered into the bathroom. Sure enough, the shower produced no more than a few drips of brown liquid. The toilet was repulsive. I contemplated spending the night in my car but finally plucked up the courage to stay. In the light of day (I scarcely dared use the electric light that night) I saw that nothing had been touched in the hotel for perhaps 30 years.

As I sat down for breakfast in the deserted dining room I contemplated my fate. Relieved that I would soon be on my way, and hungry ahead of a long journey, I was determined to eat whatever was put before me. The bread roll (estimated age 2 weeks) was probably the newest addition to the hotel. I chomped away manfully and managed several mouthfuls. I packed my bags, paid the pitiful sum and ran out of the place as fast as I could.

For some time I hoped and believed that this would remain my worst hotel experience, at least in the sheltered life that we lead in Europe. Recently, however, there was a challenger. Planning a short trip to Italy I did some extensive internet research (OK, 10 minutes, isn’t that what everyone does?) and settled on a hotel that hovered around the magic €50 threshold. Upon my arrival I was concerned to see the whole frontage covered in scaffolding. The pneumatic drills were so loud that I struggled to communicate with the receptionist. On the way to Number 23 I passed another room which had a huge hole in the wall where the window was being replaced. I was relieved to see that my room was structurally intact and fairly well appointed.

I slept well as the drilling stopped before nightfall. In the morning I looked forward to a hot shower. I ran the water in the bathroom but it was cold. With that familiar feeling of helplessness, I stood beside the shower letting the water run, more in hope than expectation. No luck. As I was waiting I heard a voice. It sounded as if the builders were starting up again now that it was 8 am. The voice was so loud that it could almost have been coming from my room. Once I had established that the water temperature was permanently fixed at 3 degrees I wrapped myself in a towel and peeked out of the door. A workman was sitting on a stepladder in my room painting the window.

He didn’t seem surprised to see me but then my open suitcase and wallet lying on the table had probably given him all the clues he needed. He greeted me in a friendly manner and indicated in sign language that he would only be another 10 minutes. There was a chill breeze blowing in through the open window. On balance I decided I was better to wait in the bathroom than to argue with him. 45 minutes and no hot water later he finally finished off and climbed back out of the window. By this time the room was freezing and there was a strong smell of paint. I got dressed and went downstairs for an inedible breakfast. Afterwards I tried to complain at reception that a painter had climbed through the window at 8am and occupied my room for an hour. Unfortunately the noise from the pneumatic drill made it difficult to converse and the receptionist proved conveniently hard of hearing.

With these experiences behind me, I appreciate it all the more when the gamble pays off. Each time I choose a hotel that turns out to be better than expected I convince myself that I have learned to interpret the little clues and that I will never make a bad mistake again. As a quick test, see if you can spot the catch in these two sample internet descriptions:

“Friendly hotel welcoming gests for 10 years. All rooms with en suite. 15 minutes from historic center. Euro 45.”

Yes, that’s right. It takes 15 minutes by helicopter, or perhaps in a limousine with a police escort. The occasional spelling mistake doesn’t put me off. I regard it as a badge of authenticity.

“In the heart of the city, hotel X is perfect for turists seeking rooms with character at affordable price. Rooms from 40 Euro.”

Alarm bells should be ringing. “Character” is what hotels develop after 20 years of neglect. It’s also a word beloved of estate agents, which is warning enough in itself. I would also check the location in this case. “Heart of the city” could turn out to mean “notorious red light district”.

It was on the basis of such flimsy evidence that I chose a place to stay in Sydney. Judging from the brief blurb, it was some kind of student residence, which sounded ideal as I was looking for self-catering accommodation. After one desultory exchange of e-mails I agreed to pay in advance by money transfer, which was a fearful gamble.

Some days later I emerged from the airport in Sydney after the interminable journey. As I got into a taxi I reflected that I had no real proof that the place I had booked even existed. I could easily arrive at the alleged location and find a hole in the ground or a private house. I was therefore relieved when we arrived at the given address and I saw an austere but plausible student accommodation block. Jet-lagged and bleary-eyed, I was delighted to be greeted at the entrance, although I did register that the warden seemed a little surprised to see me. I was shown to a basic but perfectly adequate room.

Early the next morning, still in another time zone, I walked along the corridor to the communal bathroom. An invigorating shower helped to wake me up. I emerged from the cubicle wrapped in my towel and was surprised to see a row of female students in dressing gowns cleaning their teeth. One of them let out a small shriek and I bolted for the door. I scampered back to my room as quickly as I could. In my half-asleep state I had wandered into the women’s bathroom. Mortified, I imagined being kicked out onto the street, homeless in Sydney. Once properly dressed I had a quick look for the men’s bathroom. It must have been hidden away and I couldn’t find it.

I went downstairs for breakfast. There were about a dozen young women in the kitchen area. They all looked round as I entered, although none said anything. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and sat in the lounge to eat. I noticed a row of bibles on a bookshelf. I could hear a couple of the girls sniggering in the kitchen. Finally I twigged. From the other side of the world I had unwittingly booked myself into a student hostel for Christian young ladies.