Travel Writing Library

The October sky was leaden with an imminent deluge. That morning, we had been emptied out of our comfy coach to explore Paris at our leisure.

The warm onshore breeze carried the tops of Adriatic waves up the brilliant white cliff to the crumbling castle perched atop.

I couldnt breathe. I was bent over at the waist, clutching my belly as if squeezing it harder would make it hurt less.

Namib Desert, its 6 o clock, right before sunrise. Im on my soulful, solo journey to Dead Vlei.

Dark blue eyes encircled by white and green rings in the midst of a bright turquoise water looked alluringly up at us as we gazed down from our tiny jet.

We scramble and slip down steep boulders covered with moss and rainforest mildew. The mixture of sweat and sunscreen stings my eyes.

We raise our children not to talk to strangers, wear seatbelts and take their mobile phones wherever they go.

It is a photograph I never took. A man of my age gazing warily down one of the many dusty seen better days streets in the half light before dawn.

There was a gaping void in the door of the unreserved train carriage we had managed to force our way into and no space was available aside from the floor.

And when you travel, you open new doors into the magnanimity of the world. You get to see things from a different vantage point.