Asia is vast. It spans the world from the edge of the Bosphorus in Turkey to the islands of Japan and beyond: a distance of 11,000 kilometres, or 8,000 miles, or 36 million feet. Someone who lives in Istanbul is as much an Asian as someone from Jakarta or Aurangabad, Kobe or Quanzhou. Nearly four and a half billion people walk on the continent of Asia. And now, my two feet are about to join them again. Continue reading Two Feet in Asia
For my part, as well as associating Bath with the music of Peter Gabriel — his Real World Studios, where bands such as Tears For Fears, Marillion, Elbow, Muse and The Waterboys have recorded — the nautical novels of Patrick O’Brian often reference the city, particularly Laura Place and The Pumphouse. Continue reading A Room With a View
I dream of high cloudsFlush with the light of daybreak.I’m gonna dive inTo waters so cold it makes your bones … Continue reading Solva: Life in Slow Motion
The cathedral itself stands venerable and solemn. Its old stones, worn and weathered by time, seem poised to tell stories of ages past, like a monk awaiting a calm moment to impart wisdom. Standing here, at what seems like the very brink of the British Isles, I can feel the boundaries between history and legend blur. The cathedral, magnificent, grave, regal and austere, anchors the town in its medieval past. It is not merely a structure but a sentinel watching over the coming and going of generations. Continue reading The Cathedral at the Edge of the World
And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something … Continue reading Into the Sublime
The rock step towers above us. It is very steep, almost vertical, but doesn’t look impossible. We clamber up to the base of a narrow crack between two buttresses. The rock is sound and there are good hand- and footholds in the crack. I volunteer to lead the pitch. Placing my feet against each side of the crack, I reach up past an overhang and feel for a handhold. There is a notch that I can fit my hand into. I make a fist and squeeze tightly, creating a friction hold in the notch. This is the point of no return. Once I commit to this move there will be no going back. I tense my legs against the rock wall and pull myself up and over the outcrop. Continue reading The Heights of Crib Goch
There is poetry in the old bridges of Wales, England, and Scotland. While castle walls and stately homes draw the … Continue reading The Doors of Crickhowell
It is late afternoon when we arrive in Llangattock. The sun is streaming down the valley of the River Usk, … Continue reading A Beer at the Horse Shoe Inn
Hear the cool lapse of hours pass,Until the centuries blend and blur… – Rupert Brooke, The Old Vicarage, Grantchester. Morning … Continue reading In a Country Churchyard
In his book Riding the Iron Rooster, the American travel writer Paul Theroux described train travel as “a luxurious form of convalescence.” His travel stories The Great Railway Bazaar, The Happy Isles of Oceania, and Riding the Iron Rooster were inspirational in my becoming a travel writer. And sitting here in the enveloping warmth of the train’s cafe car, surrounded by luxurious food and drink I, too, feel as though I’m convalescing, with nothing but my reflection in the big window for company. Continue reading Riding the Silver Lines
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