Travel Writing Library

“Imshi! Imshi!” Our driver shouts, pounding impatiently on the car’s horn. His wrath "Go! Go! Hurry." directed at the car creeping slowly along the road ahead of us, its hazard lights flashing.

I’m at the side of the track, which more resembles a muddy swamp, watching in disbelief as one jeep after another makes a desperate bid for freedom only to become stuck at this impasse.

It was a Saturday, When we were in Bhubaneswar (Odisha, India). A road trip by car was finalised to explore ‘Lalitagiri Caves’, around 90 Kms from Bhubaneswar city.

Had I known the harrowing anguish about to befall us, I would have booked another night at Zimbabwe’s Victoria Falls Hotel and saved many grey hairs and considerable expense.

My long, horrifying voyage took place in 2008. I’m fairly accustomed to travel at this point in my life but at the time I was still terrified of flying. So naturally I was due a series of nightmarish flights, one right after another.

Bali grew small in the water behind us. We were jetting to Gili Meno, a tiny island with more donkeys than humans, and more beautiful, sun-dappled beaches than either.

I had started my day in Carlisle. I was on a rail rover ticket which meant I could travel anywhere in the UK for a week. This was day 6 of my travels and I started early with the intention of visiting Cambridge and finishing in York.

"Turn to wind!" shouted Jamie, as a squall knocked the yacht sideways.

I had spent my last few months eating rice and lentil soup with my hand, going to the toilet next to buffaloes and showering once a fortnight. I'd failed miserably at washing my clothes in a bucket and squeezed udders...

Shimla bus station was hardly a hive of activity in the pre-dawn chill of a December morning as my travelling companion and I tried to locate the bus to Dehra Dun.