Travel Writing Competition 2013 Entries Page3

I slip out of the hearse and my feet land softly on damp tarmac. It’s about 2am, and pitch black apart from the lights of the car, which illuminate three faces. We blink dimly at the driver, trying to keep our eyes open...

The heat penetrated every crevice, draining each drop of energy. Straining to my feet under the shade of a tree I rolled up my mat, secured my panniers and readied myself for the road once again.

I never knew the name of The Place. But it was about a twenty- minute drive from Gatwick Airport. The neighborhood seemed quite lovely, with its rows of brick houses with large protruding windows and neat rose gardens...

“So, no windscreen wipers, then?” He beamed as I almost burst into tears. “Yes lady! No windwipers, no!” our taxi driver exclaimed, the inexplicable look of joy on his face grating on my already-worn nerves.

“Call home.” The jungle's oppressive torridity instantly chilled. In this remote Peruvian province, far from roads and transient-backpacker haunts, lost in a paradise that fully stoked my wanderlust flame...

The floor beneath my feet shudders, groaning, and I grip the plastic arm rests a little tighter. I don’t know why I think flimsy arm rests will save me but we’re only three hours into the 11 hour flight from LAX to London Heathrow...

I was excited as I was going to Mulu National Park. Proper rainforest. Proper Borneo. Up to this point, the Borneo I had experienced had been a disappointing excess of shopping centres and not enough trees.

Before our Kiev-bound sleeper train left Moscow, my boyfriend and I shared an impromptu picnic: heavy bread, pale cheese and half-litre bottles of dark ale, procured from a gold-toothed hawker at Kiyevsky Station.

There was a crunch, then the impact jolted me into the back of the seat in front. Paul, with faster reactions, braced himself as the coach slid forward on the greasy tarmac, stopping with its front wheel...

“When you go to jail tomorrow, do not be angry. Anger might work where you are from. In Serbia, you must laugh.” The cigarette salesman in the driver’s seat lets out a rumbling chuckle, giving a thumbs-up as he jumps a gear...