Monday, 7 June 2010


Travel. It is a word that carries with it so many connotations. Forget dictionary definitions, words each inspire in us an emotional response and, to me, travel inspires images of dusty trains in India crammed full of people and luggage trundling across the Rajasthan plains using a hole in the floor as a toilet and sleeping with my rucksack chained to my feet; it inspires the memory of a 16hr bus journey between Luang Prabang in Laos along the dread-inducing, narrow, undulating, twisting roads cutting a path through northern hills of that country and towards the border with Thailand at Huay Xai in a bus riddled with bullet-holes and in temperatures requiring discarded newspaper insulation; it inspires a desire to fire up my Macbook and stare for hours at the photos we took when we sped round New Zealand in the cheapest, smallest plucky little campervan we could find and recalling with wry smiles the terror we felt as a storm hit and our diminutive van rocked from side to side until finally morning came. Travel is not commuting, travel is not sitting on a beach reading pulp fiction, travel is a journey and the journey is usually more fun than the destination.

Unusually, my travels are as much in the past as they are in my future, so this part of the blog will be as much historical as it is a chronicle of events as they happen. Forgive me for this, dear reader, I hope you still enjoy it.


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