Travel Stories

Hell or High Water

The sound was deafening. The whitest of noise. I was at it’s mercy, unable to touch the bottom. A strong current clawed at my legs, pulling me as I kicked and spiralled my arms. Nothing slowed the motion. I could see the place where the water fell away, mist beyond obscuring the chasm.

The Hills Have Eyes

“Are you sure this guy actually likes you?” I thought I was. We’d met when I hired him to take photos a few years back and we still grabbed lunch on the regular. But now, driving down a deserted dirt road to nowhere, I wasn’t so sure. He’d sent me this way. Given me directions to an off-the-beaten-path town that would make for some pretty pictures. Over the last few hours we’d driven deep into California’s Mojave National Preserve. I wasn’t sure we’d make it out.

Fucking Amateurs

I didn’t need to look up, I knew they were watching us. Six people trying to maneuver a boat backwards into the open slip were bound to become a spectacle. They’d seen us coming. The giant logo running along our boom was a dead giveaway. And now, as the wind pushed us sideways towards their anchor lines, the crowd roared. They hurled insults, all in the local language, until one voice cut through the din – fucking amateurs!  We’d been invited to sail the Greek islands about six months ...

Three’s Company

I walked down the stone path towards the arriving taxi. He looked tired. After missing a flight, J had rebooked his entire trip from Vancouver to the Isle of Man. I, on the other hand, had arrived on schedule, more than twenty-four hours earlier. As I led him back towards the hotel lobby, a group at the bar waved and shouted, ‘Pam from Canada!’ J looked at me, confused. In the day he’d lost, I’d become an international sensation.  A year earlier, we’d begun planning for a trip that would ...