Travelling alone – why do it?

Travelling alone – why do it?

I like the freedom to drift and float. The freedom from  an itinerary. The freedom from someone else’s travel experience expectations. Sometimes what you want out of travel is merely the chance to go about your life some place else for a little while, to break away from the places and people that you associate with every day to allow yourself to reflect on where you are and where you want to be. Continue reading

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paragliding in pokhara nepal

pokhara paragliding view

My mother has always told me “if you are going to jump off a cliff, don’t tell me until you’ve done it”. So far she has been rather lucky in that department, I am yet to take up basejumping or go skydiving. The one thing which I have done, however, which essentially involves exactly that is to go paragliding.

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Ios living

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Ios is a magical island where the days are spent jumping off cliffs into the sparkly clear Aegean sea and exploring the island with it’s ragged cliffs and olive groves by quad bike.

During the day the town is peaceful, quite and quaint, you stroll around feeling as if you are in a postcard. However when the sun goes down and the moon comes out, the commotion begins! Continue reading

Blessed are the girls of the west

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It is amazing how snippets of people’s lives that you witnessed while travelling can stick like glue in your mind, and how you often find yourself thinking about encounters you had months or even years later. Sometimes time is a lens through which we can reflect on our encounters, and the more time passes, the deeper the reflection.

Whilst backpacking in Nepal, I accidentally stumbled across a traditional wedding ceremony, and I have even though I do not even know her name or her story, I have often thought about the girl who was around my age, and what may have become of her.

It was that magical hour before sunset when the shadows grow long. The orphans, from my volunteer placement and I were going about our twilight task of collecting tomorrows water in old faded sprite bottles.

As we awaited our turn, amongst some monks and several shoeless gap-toothed children, the peaceful serenity of the late afternoon was disturbed by the screech of a scooter. This was unusual as the water pump was on the outskirts of Nepal’s second city, Pokhara. It was located next to a crumbling but still majestic temple and a rice field on a little-used side road and was generally exempt from the numerous scooters that zigzagged around filling the fresh mountain air with petrol on the main roads.

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