TRAVEL WRITING – from Galapagos to Bermuda - how to fall in love with the world over and over.
On the wind-scorched plateau the shepherds of Lesotho stand around like alien Star Wars characters, absolutely still as if they’ve been waiting here, swathed in their brown blankets, wearing their green or white gumboots and woolly balaclavas, for ever. One of them raises his arm in a dignified salute, then another.
My first two experiences of cycling in Vietnam could not have been more different.
On a sultry evening in Hanoi, I hopped on a trishaw — a tricycle with a chair for a passenger at the front, dating from the French colonial period — for a tour of the old quarter. We headed off towards a crossroads, and straight into a manic stream of motor scooters, paying no heed to the traffic lights. The traffic must have parted, since I was alive when I reopened my eyes, but nerves were frayed.
Your pony is very placid today,” said Natasha, the riding instructor, swivelling around at her waist like a Transformers figurine. Together we rode down trails through lush vegetation — soft fennel leaves, yucca plants, wild papaya, Mexican peppers. I leant out for an allspice leaf and crushed it between my fingers. Soon we were on the beach, with its glittering pink sand.
Whatever Rob was doing to me, I wanted it to last for ever. As he adjusted my limbs and circled his fingers in the centre of my palms, he seemed to have at least four hands, all of which were doing something sublime to some part of my reclining body. I could hear the Pacific waves crashing below, feel the sun on my limbs. A faint and delicious breeze played across my skin.
I’m in a supermarket in paradise. A woman is picking up a pint of milk, but she’s doing so while wearing a magnificent crown of fresh flowers. A man wanders in to buy some beers, his brown legs and arms circled with dramatic geometric tattoos.