This is part of a series I have been working on. The Introduction is here. I can't remember how it was I found out that the bus had broken down. What I definitely remember is that it was extremely cold. The bus breaking down did come several hours into a long bus trip from London. From there, … Continue reading travel and the art of mental maintenance: VIII. Broken Down Somewhere in Belgium
This is part of a series I have been working on. The Introduction is here. the arrival I was supposed to take the train from Paris to Madrid. It was one of those things that I had planned out well in advance like the responsible adult I had thought I was. I bought my Eurail … Continue reading travel and the art of mental maintenance: II. Madrid, the arrival
This is part of a series I have been working on. The Introduction is here. the five types of travellers My first week in Paris was a crash course in backpacking. The first day, wandering from my hostel along Rue Moufftard down to Place St. Michel, took me onto the Ile de la Cite, towards … Continue reading travel and the art of mental maintenance: I. Paris, the five types of travellers
This is the introduction of what I hope will become a series / retrospective project / diary-after-the-fact / examination of memory-and-place-and-all-that-jazz. All the links to other posts about specific adventures and places are/will be below. Whenever you get back from a long bout of travelling, the world always feels different (at least for a little while, … Continue reading travel and the art of mental maintenance: introduction
Another difference between backpacking now and backpacking five years ago: the millenials have become the dominant backpacker demographic. Five years ago, I was one of the only people with a laptop—and this was pre-smartphone, pre-iPad. I only had my laptop because I held illusions of sitting in French cafes typing out a masterpiece. But most … Continue reading all hail the new backpacking generation
It seems quite ironic (or perhaps not ironic at all) that after discovering at long last the unencumbered joy of QI and the limitless glee of Stephen Fry's memoirs that we should spot him strolling along Piccadilly as we sip our organic coffee. I do not believe in signs or fate or anything of the … Continue reading stephen fry – a fortuitous symbol?