Travel Writing Library

We were herded on the bus by shouts and angry stairs, shoe off, shoe off. Then a blue plastic bag was shoved in my hand for my shoes to be put in to.

Im snuggled in my tent in the mayors backyard, in a dusty village lost in the Malagasy brousse.

I stopped on a corner of the narrow incline to take breath. A woman trudged down the slope towards me and clutched a wooden post.

A full moon was shining down turning the entire landscape monochromatic. Bushes on either side took on ghostly animal shapes, and sounds seemed eerily loud.

A camping expedition in Tanzania was our bid to seek the ultimate antithesis of the humdrum London lifestyle.

We had nowhere to stay until the following night. The air was warm and the park was quiet, so we put our rucksacks down with a joyous release of pressure.

Thunderous rumble reverberated across the otherwise quiet ash plain. What was that I wondered apprehensively.

The air was cold and the hour early as we sped toward the market. Buoyed on by our love for seafood, we’d gotten up only a few hours after we’d gone to bed.

We woke early in a small, family-run hostel. Alex and I had met one week earlier in Quito on an intensive Spanish language course

Illuminated stalls, draped in layers of textured cloths, woven into an array of eye-catching colours. Echoes of vendors calling after the flock of an international mix of tourists passing through the narrow, cobbled alleyways.