Erik The Unready

Well, the time of my departure has crept up rather sneakily and far quicker than I had imagined and in a few hours time I will be heading off into the unknown (well, OK, Belgium, but still...). I've said my final farewells, an experience far more wrenching than I had expected; I've taken care of most of my personal affairs and put them in some semblance of order; and I've packed my bag for tomorrow morning (which included some very last-minute purchases as I realised I was missing some important essentials). The great thing about packing for a trip of many months is that you don't need any more stuff than when you pack for just 1 month. So I've managed to distill all the possessions I need down to 17.5kg, including the clothes I will be wearing tomorrow. So what do you need for a trip like this? Below is my final checklist:

- 1 x rucksack
- 1 x day pack
- 1 x tent
- 1 x sleeping mat (cheap polystyrene type)
- 1 x sleeping bag (3 seasons)
- 1 x sleeping bag liner
- 1 x windbreaker/rain jacket
- 1 x fleece jumper
- 3 x trousers (thick, medium and light fisherman's pants)
- 6 x T-shirts
- 6 x underwear
- 6 x socks
- 1 x thermal base layer
- 1 x walking shoes
- 1 x sandals
- 1 x toiletries
- 1 x towel
- 2 x hats (1 beenie and 1 broad-brimmed)
- 1 x headscarf
- 2 x water bottles
- 1 x walking stick
- 1 x camera and accessories (batteries, memory cards, etc.)
- 1 x hard drive (to store photographs)
- 1 x first aid kit
- 1 x random travel literature
- 1 x diary
- Sundries (knife, compass, Duck tape, torch, pens, cash, passport, etc.)

One thing I won't have to worry about though is actually getting to Belgium. I had initially planned to hitch to Dover and cross on a ferry; I had even researched the best places in London to get a ride to the coast. But on my last day at work my colleagues totally surprised me by not only getting me a Eurostar ticket, but getting a first class one. It was a lovely gesture, and one that was totally unexpected, although it does somewhat run counter to my principles of travelling on the cheap - in fact I don't think I've ever travelled first class before. Ah well, at least it will be a different experience from my last long-distance train journey.

First Stop...

It's inevitable that many of the conversations that I'm having lately revolve around my impending trip and my plans for it. Possibly the most common question is: " so where are you off to first?" To which I have to give the thoroughly underwhelming answer of "Belgium". This often leaves people perplexed, as grand, multi-year odysseys are supposed to be to far-flung, exotic destinations like Patagonia, India or Kenya. However, despite not being particularly dogmatic about how I travel there is one thing I am adamant about: I will do my utmost to avoid flying. It's not that I'm afraid of flying, but I dislike the idea of being airlifted somewhere without experiencing what lies in between, as that way you don't see how the land gradually changes, or the customs subtly alter, or people's faces vary. It leads to a disconnect because it's harder to appreciate and understand a place - its history, its traditions, its customs - if you can't put it in context.

Anyway, I have decided to forsake flying for as long as possible (I have the time) and so will be zig-zagging my way east overland, trying to take in as many new sights and sounds and tastes as I can along the, which means that my first stop will be Belgium. Funnily enough, despite its proximity, and the fact that I've driven through the country on countless occasions, I've never actually taken the time to stop in Belgium (except perhaps to go to the toilet at some motorway service station). And that's a shame, because Belgium is a fascinating country in its own right: a modern creation that is split down the middle along ethno-linguistic political lines, home to some fantastic food and beer, the cradle of European comic culture, and home to the de facto capital of Europe. Not bad for such a small place.

So, the countdown has begun and I might have the think about packing at some point soon...

Loosening The Moorings

As my impending departure looms ever closer I still don't think it's properly sunk in yet; at least not emotionally. However, I have spent the past couple of weeks trying to get my affairs in order: putting my bank accounts and investments in order, getting a dentist check-up, cancelling my mobile phone, setting up proxy voting for the upcoming elections, researching places I plan to visit, seeing Avenue Q in the West End (I had been wanting to see it for quite some time and my departure gave me the requisite kick up the backside to go ahead and do it), arranging travel insurance (there aren't many companies that will ensure for periods greater than 18 months), saying my farewells, and trying to find a paper that might publish my blog posts so that I may earn a little on the side whilst travelling (still no positive replies, so if you know of any publishers who might be interested then feel free to get in touch...). I'm sure I will forget something fundamental though, I always do.

Despite my relatively light social footprint - I'm not tied into a formal rent contract and neither do I pay utility bills, etc. - disentangling myself from daily life is still quite a complicated process, with far more commitments tying me down than I could have imagined. I shudder to think of the mountain of mail that will await me on my return.

Colleague Engagement

I was quite apprehensive telling people at work that I was a) quitting and b) heading off travelling for a few years. I am lucky to be genuinely fond of the people I work with and so I thought they might perceive this unexpected move as something of a betrayal. In the end it turned out that it was neither that unexpected (which, in hindsight, is not such a surprise when I only take one 4-week holiday a year and end up complaining that it's far too short a time) nor viewed at all badly. Everyone has been very supportive of my decision and in fact it turns out to have touched something of a nerve with some people who confided in me that such a trip was a dream of theirs too, but that they were too worried about the long-term consequences - career, finances, family, etc. - to go through with it. It is certainly something I can understand and was wrestling with too, but perhaps I am more reckless than most and have a lower perception of risk. Ah well, I suppose time will whether it's justified.

Athlete's Foot Cream For The Soul

It's no surprise to anyone reading this blog and those that know me that travelling is an important part of my life. My 2004-07 trip certainly played a large part in forming my current worldview. From a rather naive, irresponsible, selfish individual I became a more relaxed and understanding person (OK, probably still somewhat irresponsible and selfish) with a different perspective on what was important for me. It's a difficult thing to do, analysing oneself, and the idea of travelling "broadening the mind" is a huge cliché; but it's a cliché for a very good reason: there's more than a grain of truth to it. It made me aware of so many issues, problems, realities that I was blissfully unaware of before and gave me a thirst for more. More knowledge of the complex world we live in, the inter-relationships and connections and the history; more of the nature that is so beautiful it melts the heart and makes you realise how precious it really is; and more contact with people from diverse backgrounds whose lives are so different to mine, and yet who share that common humanity, with whom, despite such differences, connections can be made.

I suppose travelling is a drug, one from which it is difficult to escape once you have been fully immersed. It's a common refrain amongst travellers that they have a List of places they want to visit, and that, contrary to logic, the more you see the more items get added to your List as you learn about further wonders of the world. And so the traveller is always undertaking a Sisyphean task trying to soak up all the world and its wonders, whilst it blithely keeps up with them like the Red Queen. I am no different, and over the past 9 months I have been staring at the huge world map hanging on my bedroom wall, tracing out routes for myself to as-yet unexplored places with evocative names: Roraima, Samarqand, Papua, Gagauzia. With each passing day the desire to go grows. Yet on the other side there are forces compelling me to stay. My Friends, who I care for dearly and whose company I enjoy; Indolence, because I have a comfortable job and life here; Caution, because if I go then I know that a career will be unattainable for me so late in the day; and Loneliness - not the loneliness of the road, because I know I will meet plenty of fascinating people along the way - but the Loneliness of not being able to stop, put down somewhere, have a settled, family life. I have met plenty of travellers in their 40s who just kept going and never stopped. However much I admire them, I do not want to end up like them, as I feel there is an essential part of life that they have missed out on.

But in the end the pull was too strong (I suppose I also wasn't sure whether being a consultant was really the life for me - I don't know if I have the requisite ambition). I don't know what pushed me over the edge, but one little incident sticks in my mind. I was going past a bathroom furniture store which had a sign in the window saying "have the bathroom you've always dreamed of". It seems an inocuous piece of advertising, but it got through to me: I don't want to dream about bathrooms; I don't want to be limited to that. So a couple of weeks back I took the decision to give in to the itch in my feet and go. Once I had taken the decision it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest and I could breathe more freely, more easily.

I don't know how this trip will turn out, but one thing is for sure, I will not live to regret not taking the opportunity. I also hope that it will slake my thirst for travel and let me settle down with a peaceful soul.

Where Did The Year Go?

OK, so what have I been up to in the past year that has made me too busy to keep up my blog? Well, for one thing, I haven't been that busy, and certainly not on the travelling front. One thing that I have taken a bit of time to do, is to have a look around a bit more of England, which I had barely really seen before (you always neglect what's on your doorstep). So over the past year I've had the opportunity to discover the Peak District, Dartmoor and some of the Home Counties around London. Although England will never have the spectacular scenery of Pakistan, or the Caucausus, there is, nevertheless, a homely charm in its rolling hills, quaint, orderly villages and verdant countryside. Plus it's very close by so you can go for a day trip or a long weekend. I've also been lucky enough to find some people to kick my lazy behind out of the house and get out and about, because if left to my own devices I will slob a weekend away in the blink of an eye.

I did, however, manage to take some time off to do one trip abroad last year, and that was to Croatia - a little 3-week jaunt, starting in the south and flying out of Austria (god bless Ryanair - no matter how much people complain about budget airlines, even with all the surcharges and crummy service it is still incredibly good value for money). It only served to reinforce my love for the Balkans, which certainly has my vote for the best region in Europe: stunning scenery, easy to get off the beaten path, relatively cheap (although Croatia didn't quite make it into that category), a fascinating history and crazy, endearing locals. The bijou coastal towns and dainty islands were pretty, but what enchanted me were the mountains and national parks inland from the coast - the karst landscape of the Velebit arm of the Dinaric Alps rises straight from the coast, and yet despite its accessibility it is possible to get away from it all and marvel at the majesty of nature and geology. And since a picture paints a thousand words, I'll let some of my hack photos do the rest of the talking for me:

The pristine white peaks of Rozanski Kukovi.

The setting sun sets the white limestone and autumn leaves ablaze. The little hut partially hidden behind the trees is where I spent the night: although all it contained were a few wooden boards and a wood-burning stove, the view across the Adriatic to Italy was priceless.

The path off the mountain went through this (partially cleared) minefield and I'm too stubborn to turn back and take the same way back.

Autumnal colours.

Moth stopping for a quick drink on Hvar.

Mauritania and Morocco Pics

Here is the continuation of my pictures, this time from Mauritania and Morocco.

Heavily overburdened pick-up (converted Peugeot 304) at the Nouakchott fish market.

The dry, desert landscape around Terjit.

Alfijo and Branko's Dyane (that's Alfijo checking out motor) with me squeezed in a small space in the back.

The iron ore train in northern Mauretania. Not the most comfortable ride I've ever had, but one of my most memorable - the front was about 30 carriages away, but the rear was over 70 away.

The flotilla of hulks in Noudhibu's bay.

Attending a wedding in Western Sahara (the groom, dressed in his finest boubou, is the balding one in the middle).

The old town of Essaouira seen from the port (pesky seagulls kept getting in the way!).

Leather slippers hanging in a shop in Essaouira's bazaar.

The Jemaa El Fna at night with all the food stalls and street performers.

And the last one: a couple of camels going for a ride.

Mali Pics

As I was unable to upload any pictures from my trip whilst I was out there here are a selection of my favourites.

A fisherman casting his net on the mighty Niger close to Segou.

Mother with baby slung behind her in typical Malian fashion.

The cheapest accommodation in Mali (and it's still very expensive for what it is): a bare mattress on a roof. At least I had a lot of room to spread out!

The imposing mosque at Djenne - the world's largest mud-brick building. On Monday's the town is transformed into a crazy hive of activity by the weekly market.

Obviously this biker must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

The landscape of the Niger Inland Delta is one of straight horizons with very little separating the water from the sky.

The legendary Sankore university in Timbuktu.

A tailor in the cloth market in Gao showing off one of his creations. Traditional clothes in that part of Africa are very bright and colourful.

Atop the Dune Rose with the Niger river on one side and the dry Sahel on the other.

Our taxi brousse to Bandiagara got a flat (not surprising seeing the condition of the car) and so we wait as the driver changes the tyre.

Beautiful tree in the early morning on the Dogon plateau.

The Bandiagara escarpment dominates the Dogon Country.

Climbing up the steep Bandiagara escarpment.

Just In Time

Hello everyone - OK, it looks like I've procrastinated horribly on my blog, and for that I apologise. My New Year's resolution is to take it up again and try and be more conscientious (when at home, although I have more spare time, I also have many more distractions than when on the road, so it is an effort to keep writing when I could be doing random, meaningless pottering instead). To kick me off below is a post that I almost finished when I returned from Morocco but never got around to polishing, and once it was left to one side it kept getting harder to come back to it. So better to finish it (it might end rather abruptly) and start the new year (and decade) afresh. So without further ado, please set you minds back 11 months...

It looks like I came back home at just the right time: on the evening of my arrival it started to snow closing down the entire country for the past week, and Morocco, as a parting gift, gave me a nice, painful cough combined with a fever. The one saving grace of the latter is that I'm at home and can snuggle up and subsist on a diet of camomile tea with honey and chicken soup in a centrally heated house without mourning lost vacation days. Being ill whilst on the road is an unpleasant experience. The lack of public transport meant that I also didn't feel bad about not going into work today due to my cough (I would have felt a bit embarrassed, after 6 weeks of holiday, to miss my first day back) and I could just as easily get my work done from home.

But that's incidental. This post is supposed to be an epilogue, a round up, of my thoughts and impressions of my trip. What have I learnt? what questions have been answered? what new questions am I posing? have I changed some of my previous views? What will I cherish? what will I look back on with dismay?

In very concrete terms the trip has strengthened my conviction in the importance of taking the time for simple social interactions - greetings and smiles. In the West we lead lives that are often very rushed and when going about routine chores such as grocery shopping or even just taking the bus we are often miles away in our heads with our everyday worries that we routinely ignore the people who are providing the service. Yet I find that when I take a leaf out of Malian etiquette (although, to be fair, it's not just Mali, but is common to many other developing countries) and stop to, for example, smile and ask the cashier at the local Sainsbury's how they are or nod and give a little "good morning" to your bus driver. Invariably there will be a positive response in return and it makes you (and I hope your interlocutor) feel a little lighter and brighter (the proper word should be gayer, but you can't say that anymore - at least not without eliciting a mocking snicker).

But enough of that, what about the bigger picture? In the media Africa is synonymous with poverty, suffering and corruption. It is, however, a mighty big place with a dizzying variety of cultures, languages, mores and problems and seeing it, or even referring to it, as some monolithic, homogeneous entity is not only deeply mistaken but also disingenuous. What I saw and the conclusions and views I drew from my experiences are confined to a small chunk of West Africa and I've no idea how relevant they are to the rest of the continent. There are a couple of things that struck me that I wasn't expecting before heading out there: the lack of initiative and the colonial legacy.

The lack of initiative for me is the strange dichotomy whereby the locals are, in certain respects ingenious at making the most of the little they have and manage to make utilitarian goods from what is, effectively, junk, there is no upscaling of this ability to solve problems on a slightly grander scale. As I mentioned before the Niger river is the main artery of Mali along which most trade is carried (and it was a lot more so some 50 years or more ago), and yet there are no jetties along its entire length. At the main port in Mopti stevedores have to wade in to their waists to get to the cargo pinasses and then wade out again carrying 50kg bags of rice, or other goods. A simple jetty would make their lives a lot easier and make the loading and unloading of goods infinitely more efficient and faster, and yet they are conspicuous by their absence. It's not as if a jetty is an immensely technical piece of patent-protected hardware, hell, even I could probably knock one together. I'm not sure what to attribute this historico-cultural inertia ("this is the way things have always been done and so we shall continue doing them so") to, possibly the highly autocratic tribal social structure where if something isn't ordained by the chief then it doesn't happen, but I do think that it's one of the main factors. And it's not just jetties, but a whole host of practices that are obviously inefficient and incrementally add up to stall progress. Of course some people would argue that progress is a relative term and that we shouldn't impose our Western worldview on people, but then without such derided progress the people will remain mired in poverty and ill health.

Then there is colonialism and its effects. When visiting the Bamako museum I was surprised to learn that the French only gained control of the land now known as Mali between 1892 and 1905. Mali gained its independence in 1960. The French had been in charge for less than 70 years. The story is pretty much the same for most of western and southern Africa. In that time they built a railway, roads, bridges, dams and set up institutions such as schools and an administrative bureaucracy pretty much from scratch (in the 50-odd years since little has been added except for Bamako's urban sprawl and a few more km of tarmac). Of course the French didn't do this out of altruistic benevolence but for their own gain, be it financial or political; though, given that Mali's main resources are peanuts and cotton, I'm not sure which direction the balance of payments leaned towards. And yet there is a, not uncommon, school of thought that pins all of the continent's woes to colonialism. The more I think about it and the more I see the less I can give the idea any credence: it's too facile and just smacks of over-indulgent self-flagellation by Europeans and a cop-out by Africans. European colonialism was just the last in a long line of struggles for power, the one which yanked the continent into the modern era. A rapid transition made particularly painful by the gulf between the two sides, but a transition that would have had to have been undergone at some point. Much more constructive would be to talk about how to set about fixing the many ills that plague the continent. Not that I have any answers, but it seems to me that change has to come from within and, to my eyes (and admittedly it was a superficial visit), I didn't really see much of a civil movement that would fulfil that.

Anyway, be that as it may, I thoroughly enjoyed myself there and look forward to discovering more about Africa's myriad cultures and customs (Niger and Benin have particularly jumped up my list of places to visit).

Marrakesh Express

My first stop in Morocco proper was Essaouira, a historic port town 200km north of Agadir. As I approached along the winding coastal road the landscape reminded me of the eastern Mediterranean (from southern Turkey through to Jerusalem): olive groves, rocky fields, crisp colours, especially the bright green of recently sprouted grass and leaves. Essaouira is an early example of something that I have come to loathe: the planned town. But since it was planned before the inception of motorised transport it's fantastically compact and full of character. A few main roads cut through the town whilst tight, dogleg alleyways radiate away to form little mazes and dead-ends that are fun to explore. The buildings, with their uniformly whitewashed walls and bright blue doors and window frames, also form a harmonious whole and afford plenty of opportunities for the amateur hack (me) to take snaps of everyday vignettes and catch brief glimpses through open doorways of tiled courtyards and domesticity. It being a port Essaouira is more cosmopolitan than its comperes, but even I was a little stunned to see, in a Muslim country, women in miniskirts lounging in doorways during one of my lost ramblings. It took me a while to realise that I had stumbled upon the red light district (how innocent am I?).

Essaouira is famous throughout Morocco (and even the world, for people who are interested in such things) as being the home of Gnaoua music, a genre of spiritual music (although Gnaoua incorporates esoteric and mystical elements like Sufism, as well) that is thought to have originated from the mixing of (black) African and Arabic traditions. I didn't really know much of this to begin with, but whilst ambling aimlessly this middle-aged local, who smelt distinctly of pot and alcohol, struck up a conversation, mentioned that he made musical instruments and offered to show me some. I had nothing better to do and so tagged along. He led me down a few alleyways before ducking into a low door and into his small home that he shared with his mother. His room was rather small and dingy, with a low table and a half-empty bottle of (local) wine. He pulled out his home-made bass - although it looked to me like something they used to make on Blue Peter I have since learnt that it was in fact the real deal - and jumped into some Gnaoua jamming. I'm no connoisseur, but I quite liked it (for a sample of gnaoua check out this site, or just do a simple search on YouTube).

From Essaouira it was on to Marrakesh, the final destination of my trip. As the bus headed eastwards and upwards the snowy peaks of the High Atlas became visible to the south, its jagged spine running parallel to the road and reminding me that it's winter back in Europe, and apparently one of the coldest in recent history, a reality I am not relishing. But until then I am planning to make the most of my time in the Red City (I've been trying, without success, to find a list of cities associated with particular colours: Jodhpur and blue, Jaisalmer and gold, Aberdeen and grey, Toulouse and rose, Jaipur and pink - there could be a book in there somewhere). The old city, or Medina, has survived the ages pretty much intact which gives it a special character. And it's no stale, preserved museum piece either, but a vibrant, living, chaotic jumble that is immediately endearing. The centrepiece of the city, both literally and figuratively is the Djemaa El Fna, a giant, irregular square (almost certainly the largest in Africa). The square itself is rather unremarkable, but what makes it unique is what goes on there: traditional storytellers, acrobats, musicians, snake-charmers, soothsayers, henna tattooists, dancers, purveyors of fetishes and traditional remedies, and tarot readers all congregate during the day and well into the evening. What's particularly satisfying is that they aren't there for the tourists but for the local population (because quite frankly I don't think the average tourist has any idea what the wizened Berber ladies with the funny cards are saying) and we, as visitors, are being allowed a glimpse into their world. In the evening over a hundred food stalls set up shop selling everything from your standard Moroccan fare (couscous with something) to the less expected (rather tasty snails).

Ho-hum, I would like to write more but it's 11pm and my plane leaves tomorrow morning and I need to pack. The next you hear from me I should be back in the "real world".