Introduction

My initial desire to travel had been met by mixed responses from all parties. Many of those around me offered rejoice and expressions of awe towards my undertaking, offering praise that helped to balance the internal struggles that occur naturally before any journey. Others offered remote interest, often leaving conversations strewn with doubts and disbelief that such a feat could be achieved. Many simply chose to ignore any mention of it, treating everyday occurrences as being of great importance instead.

I often find the latter attitude incomprehensible. I do not see any egotistical gratification to be gained from interest in this myself. Rather, what I found must puzzling was the lack of interest in the idea of exploration, the hopes of uncovering mystery and grandeur. I had hoped people would relish my tales, not my own character. A void cropped up between many, where I expected common enthusiasm. For those, this shall be dead paper.

These two stark emplacements of opinion served as a reminder that part of humanity simply isn't interested in the world beyond their own. I suspect for some offenders it is simply practiced bravado to hide their own inadequacies. In these cases, I find it difficult to explain to people that bravery is not the single catalyst that drives one out of home and into the world, but perhaps curiosity also.

For all who travel, it is possible to say we possess the philosophy that life is lived most in its extremes. This common philosophy is evident in all travellers, whatever creed, colour or race. Prejudice and fear have little place in our thoughts. Mutual respect creates camaraderie in short spaces of time, allowing us to weave strong bonds of friendship that no-one outside our number could achieve.Our ranks live a unique existence, shaking free our cumbersome load of vanity and doubt; we sow ourselves across the corners of the Earth…

My journey had never been a simple whim, or a banal search for hedonism. Mine had been akin to hunger or thirst: without it my mind became wearied and tormented by the familiar slog and routine of home.To do great things is to simply do what others haven't. This was my intention.

Britain is home, but it embodied all that was repulsive to my aspirations of nomadism. It is a tamed land, and I had discovered it all. Britain had always been famed for its adventurers, explorers and travel writers: an unexplained phenomenon still perpetuates exodus from our shores.

People around me that basked in repetition, to the extent it became their sordid vice were continual examples of failed fruition. This provided fears that perhaps I too would fail to function outside my area of comfort. This would be my last notion to abandon as I twisted from the shackles of normality and immersed myself in strangeness.

The worst malediction for many is the simple fear of being alone. Much later in my travels, pairs or groups would often argue with me that to be alone must provoke insatiable boredom. In reality, being forced to rely on oneself for every aspect of survival moulds the mind, and casts it like iron. Every thought becomes an epiphany, and every word an affirmation of confidence. Most importantly, upon returning from travelling, there is a feeling of invigoration, as if ordinary life is simple and easy compared to the intricacies of attempting routine tasks abroad.

Now that I have glimpsed the world, I need no longer feel inadequate in the presence of other travellers, for I have briefly seen the best and worst of life. From the relics of Europe, sleepless nights in the Orient, to the towering jewels of America, I have grasped the reins of self and speak shibboleths to all who have not encountered the world themselves. I therefore write this, based simply upon memories, to be scrutinized by anyone who encounters it. There is no hidden wisdom here, just a simple description of lands that aren't my own.