A 12,000km skateboard journey ends at People's Square, Shanghai, China

A 12,000km skateboard journey ends at People's Square, Shanghai, China, originally uploaded by Robert Thomson.

The title says it all.
A great journey, and some really good pics to check out (click on the photo).
Well done, Rob!

Anything is possible in this world.

P1000314.JPG, originally uploaded by averylongwalk.

I receive quite a few emails about my books, journeys and so on. Occasionally I receive one that makes me realise that the whole thing has been worthwhile, if only to pass on the spark to somebody else. "You can't start a fire without a spark." This was a wonderful email to receive:

Having recently purchased a bike to get about town with (I detest the London Underground, constantly being herded around like cattle) and having some problems with the chain I headed to Waterstones to find a book on fixing ones bike. There, I stumbled upon 'Moods of Future Joys'...and it has left me in limbo! As soon as I finished it I of course purchased the sequel, struggled to put it down, and now having completed the two I am left unsure of what to do...
Well I know what I want to do. I want to wander back to Australia my way...slowly be it by bike or whatever. Your books have re inspired me. For the last year since I left Sydney I have been working in London. Hospitality really doesn't excite me. Nor does a desk job. The only thing that makes me smile is photography...and wandering where I want when I want to. I watch people and listen to what they say. I am scared of one day waking up and being boring. No longer having anything left to talk about...nothing exciting me.

I don't like the materialism of the world I live in, how people pride themselves on having the biggest 'everything', the most expensive 'everything'. I doesn't feel real. It all feels so...fake.
I hate that being 22 I am expected to want to party all the time...drink myself into oblivion constantly. I did that when I was 18. Young and dumb partying in Sydney, chain smoking, trying new 'exciting' substances, sleeping with as many people as possible. I grew so tired of it! I left and discovered London is very much the same.
I'm rattling shit I know. Your books have just got me to thinking again. About how much happier and content I feel when I am wandering, carefree...existing rather than just living. Doing what I want, not what is expected.
Thank you. I am sure this is one of thousands of e-mails you have received but thank you. Anything is possible in this world.
Mark

Some day, if you are lucky, you'll return from a thunderous Journey

Dawn on Snowdon, originally uploaded by www.alastairhumphreys.com.

Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.

Eyes will examine you for signs
of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces

of fur, or leaves,
if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.

Do not be surprised by prickly questions
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.

If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,

you will reassure them. We warned you,
they might declare, there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.

And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language

to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies

and granite and bone. They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear

your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they–like you–must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.
(Geneen Marie Haugen)

35%

visited 79 states (35.1%)
Create your own visited map of The World or determine the next president

Ian Hibbell's obituary. A life well-lived.

IN A man’s life there comes a time when he must get out of Brixham. He must leave the boats bobbing in the harbour, the Devon cream teas, the holiday camp and the steam railway; he must bid farewell to the nine-to-five job at Standard Telephones and Cables, up the A379 in Paignton, and hit the more open road.

Some might get no farther than Bristol. But Ian Hibell went so far in one direction that his eyebrows crusted with frost and his hands froze; and so far in another that he lay down in the hot sand to die of dehydration (as he expected) under a thorn tree; and so far in another that the safest place to be, out of range of the mosquitoes, was to burrow like an alligator into black, viscous mud.

In the course of his 40-year travelling life he went the equivalent of ten times round the equator, covering 6,000 miles or so a year. He became the first man to cycle the Darien Gap in Panama, and the first to cycle from the top to the bottom of the American continent. He went from Norway to the Cape of Good Hope and from Bangkok to Vladivostok, wheeling or walking every inch of the way. Every so often he would come back, showing up at STC (from which he had taken, in the beginning, only a two-year leave of absence) with vague murmurings of an apology. But pretty soon the panniers would be packed, the brakes checked, the tyres pumped, and he would be off again.

His cycle, loaded with 60-80lb of clothes, tent, stove, biscuits, sardines and water, was sometimes a complication. In the Sahara it sank to its hubs in fine, talc-like sand. In the Amazonian jungle he could not squeeze it between the trees. Crossing the great Atrato swamp, where the track became a causeway over slimy logs and then a mat of floating grass, the bike would sometimes sink into nothingness. He became expert at feeling for it in the morass with his feet. Every tricky traverse in mountain, stream or forest needed doing twice over: once to find a way for himself, then to collect the steed, often carrying it shoulder-high through sharp palmetto, or water, or rocks.

Yet Mr Hibell’s love for his bikes was unconditional. He took them, muddy as they were, into hotels with him, and clung fiercely on to them whenever tribesmen robbed him of the rest of his things. His favourite had a Freddie Grubb frame of Reynolds 531 tubing on a 42-inch wheelbase, reinforced to take the extra weight of goatskins holding water; Campagnolo Nuevo Record gears front and rear; Robregal double-butted 14-16-gauge spokes; and Christophe pedal-straps. It was so lightweight, as touring bikes go, that a group of boys in Newfoundland mocked that it would soon break on their roads. Instead, it did 100,000 miles.

Bikes rarely let him down. Escaping once from spear-throwing Turkana in northern Kenya, he felt the chain come off, but managed to coast downhill to safety. He crossed China from north to south—in 2006, at 72—with just three brake-block changes, one jammed rear-brake cable and a change of tape on the handlebars. In his book, “Into the Remote Places” (1984), he described his bike as a companion, a crutch and a friend. Setting off in the morning light with “the quiet hum of the wheels, the creak of strap against load, the clink of something in the pannier”, was “delicious”. And more than that. Mr Hibell was a short, sinewy man, not particularly swift on his feet. But on a good smooth downhill run, the wind in his face, the landscape pelting past, he felt “oneness with everything”, like “a god almost”.
A teapot in the desert

Human company was less uplifting. His travelling companions usually proved selfish, violent and unreliable, unappreciative of Mr Hibell’s rather proper and methodical approach to putting up a tent or planning a route, leaving (sometimes with essential kit) to strike off by themselves. But there were exceptions. One was the beautiful Laura with whom, after years of shyness towards women, he found love as they skidded down rocky tracks in Peru. Others were the strangers whose kindness he encountered everywhere. Peasants in China shared their dumplings with him; Indians in Amazonia guided him through the jungle; and in a wilderness of sand a pair of Tuareg boys produced from their robes a bag of dates and a small blue teapot, which restored him.

In a career of hazards, from soldier ants to real soldiers to sleet that cut his face like steel, only motorists did him real damage. The drivers came too close, and passengers sometimes pelted him with bottles (in Nigeria), or with shovelfuls of gravel (in Brazil). In China in 2006 a van drove over his arm and hand. He recovered, but wondered whether his luck would last. It ran out on the road between Salonika and Athens this August, where he was knocked out of the way by a car that appeared to be chasing another.

At bad moments on his trips he had sometimes distracted himself by thinking of Devonian scenes: green fields, thatched cottages and daffodils. He would return to a nice house, a bit of garden, the job. But that thought could never hold him long. Although his body might long for the end of cycling—a flat seat, a straight back, unclenched hands—his mind was terrified of stopping. And in his mind, he never did.

(from The Economist)

Listen to a tribute show here.

The London Gladiator rides again...

salar-1.jpg, originally uploaded by www.alastairhumphreys.com.

Well, he was the only cyclist in the race, but hey, a win is still a win!

On Monday 25th August 2008, after setting off from Tooting Bec almost exactly 3 weeks earlier on his bike and after pedalling almost exactly 2000 kilometres, my good friend Tootus Maximus finally arrived in Monaco to become the winner of the first ever Gladiatour de France.

I caught up with Tootus on a beach in Nice. Whilst eating an ice cream, an exhausted and emotional Tootus said: 'I've been in a few great battles in my time, but that was tough, really tough. The first 1000 kilometres to Lake Geneva weren't too bad as it was all pretty flat, but after that, it became pretty tough in the Alps. Some of the mountains were so high that it took almost an hour and half of non-stop pedalling uphill to get to the top.

What amazing views you get from the top of those mountains though! What amazing people I met on the way too! The French and all the other cyclists I met along the way were incredibly kind. I can't wait to organise next year's Gladiatour de France for other people to take part in as it's a really original and exciting challenge to complete.'

Two further things Tootus asked me to remind you about:

1) He rode in his gladiator suit for 3 weeks from Tooting Bec to Monaco for charity. If you would like to donate, just go to www.wcrf-uk.org/gladiator Thank you to everyone who has donated so far.

2) Every now and then Tootus would like to show you a photograph or two (like the ones attached) to keep you up to gladidate with what he is up to (his next challenge will be running the Great North Run with 25 other gladiators in October). Please go to Tootus Maximus' space on Facebook and add him as a friend http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=727647672
so he can keep you fully informed with what he's up to.

Best wishes and keep it gladiatoreal,

Will Hodson (on behalf of Tootus Maximus)

Photography for Sale

It is now possible to purchase some of my photography online. A selection of images are available to own as cards (even Xmas cards already - I hate myself!), prints, posters, canvases or framed pieces in a variety of styles (see below). I intend to rotate the stock every few weeks so, if you like anything, I suggest you grab it now! Similarly, please do pop back now and again to see if anything new appeals.

These limited edition, reasonably priced photographs make for original, low-effort gifts as well. 

Please click here to view the images available.

To cheer you up on a Sunday morning

Girlfriend, originally uploaded by Salminen.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to hit the road as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the road. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the road with me."
(With thanks to Moby Dick, and apologies for swapping the word 'ocean' with 'road')

The essence of adventure

I write occasional articles about travel, adventure and expeditions. This piece, that I wrote for the classy Traveller magazine, is one of my favourite pieces. It's short and sweet and makes me want to get out on the road. You can read it online here.

Fancy an expedition in Borneo?

Five people are being sought for an expedition to Borneo. 
Renowned photojournalist and author Mark Eveleigh is leading the expedition. Mark has worked for more than 60 international magazines and newspapers and is director of THE WIDEANGLE photographic agency.
Mark also guides journalists, photographers and enthusiasts on expeditions. If you want to learn more about this magnificent opportunity why not drop him an email? 

The Man who Cycled the World (...errr... not me!)

The Man who Cycled the World. Not me - no, Mark Beaumont puts me to shame! What took me over 4 years to complete took Mark just 194 days, shattering the world record for cycling round the world. I don't envy him his ride or record; I did my ride for different reasons. But it was a bloody good effort, Mark's a really genuine guy, and I hope you'll watch the four-part, prime time TV documentary about his expedition. It begins tonight at 10.35 on BBC1.
You may also have seen Mark on the new Orange ad on TV.

Eric Newby, Laurie Lee, Patrick Leigh Fermor

Benedict Allen recently presented a fantastic 3-part series on three of the greatest travel writers of the 20th Century. Patrick Leigh Fermor, Laurie Lee and Eric Newby were all fascinating characters, great travellers and superb writers. Here's a few tributes:
Eric Newby's Times obituary
Laurie Lee's obituary in the Independent
A BBC piece on Sir Patrick Leigh Fermor

Vietnam

I am fortunate, this week, to be in Vietnam for a speaking assignment. The theme of the conference is 'Reflect, Learn, Grow'; three very worthwhile actions. My week in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh) has been a good opportunity for me to reflect back on my ride round the world and to learn a couple of things about myself. For this is the first time I have been back in the developing world (discounting the Sahara) since I cycled out of it on my way back to Europe and home.
Arriving in the city I was interested by how happy and comfortable I felt to be back amongst the whirling madness of the world again after too long in the ordered routine of Europe. I was grinning as I wandered in the warm electric air; the lingering smell of drains and motorbikes, the beeping of the most motorbikes I have ever seen, the lunacy of crossing the streets (simply trusting that the waves of motorbikes will part around you like a shoal of fish), life being lived in the streets, families eating beneath naked white light bulbs on low plastic stools outside on the uneven pavements, men squatting on their haunches smoking and spitting. The constant, though pleasant enough, solicitations for motorbike rides, zippos, fake Rolexs' and very good sex with very beautiful ladies. I smile and keep walking. I slurp cheap noodles at a street stall and feel invigorated to be back. I eat bizarre things I have never seen before, a giggling girl shows me how to eat them, and I look back with amazement that this was how I lived my life for over four years.
I stare, mesmerised as a lady skins still-wriggling, decapitated frogs with a pair of pliers, her action as smooth as pulling off a wet rubber glove. I peer at desiccated squid, stinking yet apparently delicious with chili sauce. I wrinkle my nose and a lady in a conical hat laughs at me. The sky is grey and moist and the storm breaks through the heat. Motorbikes slosh their way homewards, ladies hide their hair in plastic bags, dashing through the downpour, and I wander warm through the gleaming reflecting streets, all the oily colours of electronic billboards. Motorbike lights look like stained glass lanterns, translucent and multi-coloured. It took me a while to realise that this was because everyone's ponchos were hanging over their headlights.
And though I love being here I realise also that I have moved on. It answers a question that has haunted me intermittently ever since I stopped riding. I don't feel the urge to get on a bike and follow my nose out of the city, riding on and on and on to discover more of the country or the world. I'm no longer self-contained enough to exist solely on my own, in the silence of my thoughts. My days of loving the squalor, the daily chaos, the feeling of being utterly alien appear, after all, to have been satiated by my four years on the road. It's an important thing to have discovered, something that can only help me begin to settle to my new life, to the more ordered stability of SOUTH.
The opulence of my 20th floor hotel room is fun and lovely, but here it seems even more grotesque than it does in England where we can ignore our rich bubble life. I make the most of the hotel though, watching the England cricket Test match live via South African cable TV, then up at 5.15 with the first greying of the sky and silvering of the Mekong river between the black skyscrapers shining with lights. I swim 80 lengths, hit the gym and then -feeling smug- consider that I have earned the right to eat fruit, miso, pho, 8 pancakes, steak and eggs, a croissant and a pot of coffee for breakfast (even I pass up the chocolate ice cream on offer). Even in Vietnam the daily intense training for SOUTH must continue (I swim also at lunchtime and again before bed), as must our search for sponsors. So I spend most of each day here in Saigon sweating in internet cafes amongst smoking, yelling youngsters, chasing a dream that will take us to the frozen silence of the South Pole. It's a hell of an interesting planet we live on!

(This website is not really an appropriate forum for this, but I spent yesterday at the Cu Chi tunnels and today at the War Museum in Ho Chi Minh / Saigon. Important, important stuff to keep in my mind. If you have the inclination, learn more here. Shocking. Awful.)

Laurie Lee, Eric Newby, Patrick Fermor...

A mouthwatering prospect: traveller extraordinaire Benedict Allen, has put together a TV series on three of my very favourite travel writers. I shall certainly be watching BBC 4 this week*. Here's what it's about:

This is a look at three outstanding British travel writers – from three very different traditions. Eric Newby, that very British thing the amateur traveller - someone who packs his bags and sets off (with little or no preparation) for the sheer hell of it. Preparation, he feels, rather spoils the fun. You might remember that Newby prepared for his attempt on a remote, unclimbed 20,000 foot peak in Nuristan by nipping down to Snowdonia (a hilly area in Wales) for a weekend, and was assisted by a waitress.(The adventure was immortalised in a self-deprecating book, A Short Walk In the Hindu Kush. Secondly, there’s the poet Laurie Lee – someone who meandered along playing his violin, in the tradition of a troubadour or wandering minstrel. He set out from home, walking off down the lane, and just kept walking – two years later ending his journey in Southern Spain. Better remembered for Cider with Rosie, his tale of growing up in the English countryside, this other classic account, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning is my personal favourite. Finally, Patrick Lee Fermor, a man of action and also intellect. Once described as a mixture between Graham Greene and James Bond, he walked right across pre-war Europe, sometimes sleeping in haystacks, sometimes in castles; from time to time reciting from his copy of Hamlet (in German!). He recorded his experiences in two fine works of literature A Time of Gifts and Between the Woods and the Water. These three characters travelled during the golden age of travel - between the golden age of exploration and the present age of mass tourism, and mass exposure of the planet on TV. The world was now safe enough for a novice to set out alone – and he or she still might find exotic experience right on the doorstep. In Travellers Century, I examine the lives of these three characters, wondering what makes the British such inveterate travellers – is this a tradition left from the Empire Days? Or is it that we’re from an overcrowded, fairly suburban place that we need to escape? Perhaps we’re just a small island race and need to understand our more powerful neighbours!

* actually I won't be watching. I'm off to the

Scott Polar Research Institute

to be impressed by

Martin Hartley's

photography that leaves me yearning to get

SOUTH

off the ground. But I'll watch the repeat!

Travel Photos

Some varied and inspiring travel photos here too, by Chris Jelf.

A reminder

A reminder from Bruce Chatwin that "man's real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot."

Into the Wild

Tonight I watched the film

Into the Wild

. It touched me deeply. I miss those days. Parts of it reminded me of why I love to travel, and of the glories and rewards you reap from living simply. The film reminded me of the freedom of the open road - freedom of movement, freedom of choice, freedom of thought and ambition. It reminded me how beautiful the world is, how good many of the people are. It reminded me of the futility of chasing pay cheques and 'stuff'. It reminded me not to forget all that.

By Bike and Boat to the Middle East

Whilst cycling through the Yukon I bumped into adventurer

Colin Angus

and enjoyed cycling and chatting with him. He (and his wife) have now arrived in London on their next great expedition:

From the rugged highlands of Scotland husband-and-wife team Julie and Colin Angus will row 6,500 km to Aleppo, Syria in the heart of the Middle East.  Their course will follow ancient transportation corridors traditionally used for trade and migration. They will experience and learn about the rich cultural tapestry that comprises present Europe and the Middle East in a manner that continues to promote environmentally responsible travel as with their previous travels. 
A corresponding school program will tie in with this expedition to promote active living, environmental stewardship and a curiosity of foreign cultures and landscapes.  Educators and students worldwide are invited to participate in this program, which will involve relevant curriculum, interactive weekly interviews with students using online conferencing software, and student participation in the adventure.
Connecting Scotland and Syria with a human-powered voyage also has a personal significance for the team.  Colin’s mother and father both hail from northern Scotland and Julie’s father is from Syria.  The journey will allow the couple to explore their family history.  In an age where globalization and cultural integration is the norm, it will enable the duo to reflect on their origins and unravel the events that led to their union in western Canada.
Two amphibious rowboats have been constructed for the journey.  The vessels each carry a bicycle and trailer which will allow them to travel on roads and bicycle paths as well as water.

Read more about their adventure

here

.

Ladies in Lycra

I thought a headline like that would get you looking...!

A friend of mine is part of a team heading off to cycle from Parliament Square to the Pyrenees to raise funds for worthwhile causes. Good luck, Louise! You can donate

here

or party here:

An impressive circumnavigation

From the website of

Rosie Swale-Pope

:

On 2nd October 2003 my 57th birthday, I'm going to set off to run around the world. Making my dream come true and practical necessity, go together. I shall be solo, self supporting and on a very low budget. I couldn¹t afford back up teams, luxury, or flights to different continent and stages across wide oceans.

My dearest wish anyway, is just to do a complete circle of the earth, planned to keep me on as much land mass as possible, This is also the coldest, hardest, most fascinating way, and includes almost 7,000 miles of Russia and Siberia.

And now she's almost done it! A brilliant feat. Read more

here

.