London is one of those cities that everyone loves. For hopeful travellers it’s a must-see destination, and many people I’ve met around the world get significantly excited when I say it’s my hometown. “So you’re from London?” “Yep, I was born there.” “Oh! So you’re actually from London!” “Yeah. Born and bred…” But after living in South America for the last year, my intricate knowledge of my home city have taken a back seat. So much so that, when I…
“I hate this,” I said, slightly pathetically, to the empty air around me. There was nobody near enough to hear the words: the only people capable of listening were already halfway down into the canyon. I was way behind the group, taking my time as usual. I also happened to be muttering darkly to myself as my feet made their careful way down the slippery, rock strewn mountain path that made me watch every step I took. Despite my initial…
There’s always a quiet spot in an airport, if you look hard enough. Most people who wander the gleaming white corridors and settle briefly in arm-rested chair rows aren’t in need of somewhere calm: they’re about to board a plane for somewhere new, foreign and exciting, and peace and quiet is the last thing on their mind. But then for other people, there are the journeys that aren’t about vacations. The ones that require a bit of space to think.…
Buses in Bolivia have become something of a joke for me. Through fourteen weeks of travel in this country, I’ve caught more buses than I care to count, and feared for my life more times than I want to remember. No, seriously. For the vast majority of travellers, the only way to get around Bolivia is by bus. There are opportunities for flights, of course, but due to the landlocked state of the country those plane fares can cost extortionate…
The road gets steep and narrow on the bus ride to Parque Nacional Torotoro. “Oh god,” I breathed in deeply, trying to tear my eyes away from the blurry window and the darkness outside. Despite being half asleep, I was very aware that the undercarriage of our bus was essentially hanging over the edge of the narrow road. I didn’t know precisely what was beyond that edge, but I was willing to hazard a guess that it was a long,…
The sky is huge above the salt flats of Bolivia. There’s something about the vast amount of blue up there that makes me feel different; like I’m at once an intrinsic part of something, and yet I’m also utterly tiny and insignificant. It’s both dangerous and strangely thrilling to think of yourself as nothing more than a speck. The vast, open landscapes that make up the southwest of Bolivia illustrate this feeling like no other place I’ve been. For hundreds…
I’m very lucky to carry a British passport. It makes my life wonderfully easy at border crossings around the world – particularly in South America, where I’ve watched numerous Americans being forced to hand over wads of dollars for a visa I get for free. The bad thing, however, is that an English passport is usually so problem-free that I often forget it’s necessary to double check a country’s requirements. You’d think that travelling a lot would make me a…
When you think of wine and South America, Bolivia doesn’t immediately spring to mind. The country isn’t exactly famed for its wining and dining expertise – unless you head to Tarija, a small, relatively unknown city in the south of the country that is home to the vast majority of Bolivia’s vineyards. And at an altitude of 6,000 feet, it’s also where some of the world’s highest wine comes from. Read more: My Ultimate Travel Guide to Backpacking Bolivia Tarija…
I hadn’t exactly planned to settle down in Sucre. You might not have noticed, but my travels have been slowing down again somewhat since I reached Bolivia. Not to say they’re ending – not by a long shot! – but I’m choosing to spend a lot longer in each place I travel to. First I spent almost five weeks in La Paz, and now I’ve lived a full month in Sucre. But while I moved around a lot in La…
I didn’t even know we’d arrived in Morado K’asa until Roxana pulled at my arm. Clambering past a mother and her baby, we jumped down from the little micro bus and bartered with the driver to sell us tickets for the return journey back to Sucre that afternoon. Then we shouldered our bags, peeled off our suddenly unnecessary coats under the blazing sun, and walked towards the library. Morado K’asa is a tiny pueblo a few hours away from Sucre,…