#van travel
I’m about to start my next lot of travels. In eastern Australia, a lot of people seem to head north to follow the warmer weather. Ii think I might do the opposite and see how far south I go.
We’ve driven some interesting roads during our time in the Balkans, but this really pushed our van to the limits! Would you believe this was a numbered road on the SatNav? We really need a 4x4 for our next adventure…
Join us in this week’s episode as we leave the snowy wonderland of Mavrovo National Park and attempt to find an alternative route down the mountain. Paved roads really aren’t our thing, so we test out a mixture of snow, mud and low-hanging tree branches on a track that was certainly not designed for minibuses.
Later we make it to the famous Lake Ohrid where we’re treated to another incredible driving road, and a surprise encounter with some wonderfully hospitable locals.
This video is really the essence of what travelling’s all about for us. If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
Living in a van for us has only ever been about one thing: adventure.
It’s not about living the dream on a beach somewhere, it’s not about having the most aesthetically pleasing home we could build, it’s about taking that home on wheels out into the big wide world and seeing how far we can push it to its limits.
Our van is a vessel for our photography as we travel around seeking out documentary projects and video opportunities. It’s a place to rest our heads at night before we continue our exploration the next day. It enables us to travel to far flung corners of the countries we visit and encounter locals wherever we go.
Our van to us is so much more than a van; it’s our home, it’s the heart and soul of our adventures, and it’s taught us some valuable lessons along the way.
Whether we’re camped up beside the most serene and peaceful lake or bumping and crashing down a dirt track mountain road praying the suspension doesn’t break she’s there with us, our constant companion. We might be thousands of miles from where we began in a country where we don’t speak the language or broken down by the roadside but we will always have the comfort of our home on wheels to return to standing right there beside us.
Join us in today’s episode as we hit up Mavrovo National Park in Macedonia for a dose of snow and winter vanlife!
We’re not exaggerating when we say this was one of our most exciting adventures and therefore one of our favourite episodes too!
Feeling euphoric after three days broken down we’re relieved to finally make it to Mavrovo National Park where we venture high above the mountaintops on treacherous roads all in the name of adventure.
We also give you guys a rundown of how we live and survive in our van during the winter months and tips about preparing your van for the cold and snow.
Join us on a winter adventure over on YouTube NOW! If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content ⠀
⠀
Another day of life in the wild.⠀
One of our last few days in Bosnia, spent amongst snow and pine, sprucing up before our big journey home-bound. We’d be returning worn out and penniless, with a broken van and a clutch of precious new memories, yet we did not regret a single moment of the last six months.
It’s a taboo subject to talk about money, but we left for this trip with just a few grand between us. For six months of living and travelling over 15,000 miles- that’s not a lot.
And so to anyone who says that we are privileged: you’re wrong. Our lifestyle is not a privilege, it is the product of hard work, ruthless saving and months of rigorous planning. All in the name of following our dreams, all in hope that someday we might be able to make the money to sustain doing what we love. All for that little taste of freedom.
And it was worth every freezing night, every stale loaf of bread, every skipped meal, every dinner scraped together out of leftovers, every push to get to the next fuel station and every questionable road. We have not lived well but boy have we lived.
We’ve driven spectacular roads, spent evenings in the company of welcoming locals, sampled cuisines and cultures from all walks of life, been to unbelievably remote locations and captured it all through the glass of a lens.
See we’re not just doing this for a jolly, to escape the 9-5; we’re doing this because we have a passion and the tenacity to chase our dreams. We sacrificed comfort and security for the promise of something so much bigger.⠀
You don’t have to be rich to travel; we’re proof of that. All you need is a dream, and the desire to chase that dream.⠀
Our van wheels crunched over unpaved road after unpaved road, kicking up mud and gravel as we bumbled along a series of winding dirt tracks which wove their way through endless pine forest.
This was the face of Bosnia & Herzegovina’s interior, a world away from the bustle and bullet-strewn concrete structures of its capital Sarajevo. Here, pretty little stone houses were strewn across scenic plateaus which seemed to appear mysteriously out of the dense thicket of trees that surrounded them and crept up to their doorsteps. Wild animals were known to roam these forests, and we wondered how humans could live so close to them without conflict.
We were still carving our route home out, ever Northbound, savouring these last few days in the Balkans before we would hotfoot across Europe back to England. We slept soundly that night, cradled by the forest, and coaxed our van into life with jackets bundled against the icy morning air. This was our pattern of travel these days; squeezing the most of every moment, battling with our van to get it home, the road our only constant as we went.⠀
As the forest dwindled and eventually gave way to civilisation we followed a winding little road partially covered by snow up to a ledge, where we spent the night sleeping underneath the remnants of Tito’s fist. Now a crumbling concrete structure, this bizarre object known as a spomenik had once been a monument to the Partisan soldiers who fought in the Battle of the Wounded in the valley below, but was nicknamed for its uncanny resemblance to Yugoslavia’s former leader ad the iron fist with which he ruled. However, shortly after the Bosnian War, a group of vandals planted dynamite inside and blew it to pieces, although its skeleton still dominates the skyline for miles around.
We were beginning to understand more of Bosnia’s chequered past, evident in every bullet-strewn building and every crumbling ruin we passed. Twenty years was not enough time to heal, but even after the visible reminders had long since been repaired, the memories would not fade for generations yet to come.⠀
⠀
Driving through the snow-covered mountains which encircled Sarajevo, it was hard to imagine this beautiful area as a war zone, even less so one that had existed in our lifetimes. Yet the scars leftover from the war were omnipresent; they were in every bullet hole-strewn building, in every road surface struck by a mortar, in every man who hobbled past us on wooden crutches. We had arrived in Bosnia & Herzegovina with the intention of seeing beyond its past, but found it quite impossible to ignore.
Perhaps most poignant of all the lingering remnants of war were Sarajevo’s abandoned Olympic venues; the bobsleigh track once filled with spectators, now a crumbling relic; the angular lump of concrete that was Hotel Igman, whose rooms had not been filled since the siege began. Most chilling of all perhaps, were the former Olympic ski jumps, located on the buffer zone across Igman ridge, laced with mines and used as a site for executions.
As our boots crunched through deep snow only the eerie silence in the air betrayed the area’s dark history. We’d spent the night at Hotel Igman, although not as its designers had intended; we’d camped up in what would’ve been its car park, or so we had presumed as it was buried under a foot or so of snow. Having woken up to find the bobsleigh track and surrounding pine trees painted white the previous morning, it gave us an enormous sense of comfort that the mountains on the opposite side of Sarajevo were also covered. This would be the last snow we’d see for many months, dusting the communist concrete structures and turning them into things of beauty, the snow and infinite forest of pine trees muffling all sounds as we slept beneath a blanket of white.
But now the snow was melting, icicles dripping all around us and soaking into our boots as we explored the remnants of Sarajevo’s ski jumps. It seemed metaphorical almost of our time in the Balkans; simplistically beautiful, all too brief and now slowly coming to an end.
We had just a few more days in Bosnia before our compass would point us North, and we would make our reluctant return into Western civilisation.
Post link
Join us in this episode we take a drive through Europe’s deepest canyon!
After 6 incredible weeks, we ready ourselves to leave Albania. We set off early after 48 hours of torrential rain, and contend with landslides and snow on the treacherous road to the Vermosh border crossing.
Here we cross into Montenegro through a very small and rarely used border station. Our journey across Montenegro takes an interesting turn as we end up driving through the depths of Europe’s deepest canyon.
From here we attempt to reach the famous Durmitor National Park. Will the snow and cold weather conditions be enough to stop us entering again like the last time we were here?
Join us on this incredibly scenic drive through Europe’s black mountains, on YouTube NOW!
If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
From Rust To Roadtrip on YouTube
I wash everything by hand in our van- underwear, tops, cardigans, you name it, using whatever river or lake water is available nearby. We take a trip to the laundrette once every two months for our bedding and that’s it. It saves money, but I also enjoy doing it in some weird, old-fashioned way.
Maybe because it reminds me of when I was younger. We were always moving between houses, hauling all of our stuff in this big old yellow Mercedes truck to and fro across two countries. I got used to washing my clothes by hand in the sink of whatever house we were in that month, always a different bedroom or kitchen to get used to.
Maybe that lack of permanence in my formative years is what drove me to eventually get a van. Those memories of brushing my teeth in a lay-by or sleeping in the footwell of our truck seemed like hard done-by times back then, but I look back on them now with a sort of fondness and nostalgia at my unusual childhood.
There are many hundreds of little reasons that made me want to travel; moments that seemed innocuous at the time now resonate with a deeper meaning and inspire me to push on further. Movement is in my soul; it makes my spirit restless to sit still.
Often challenges can be the most defining points of our lives, whether we realise it at the time or only once they have been overcome. Maybe one day we’ll look back at these times we’re living now, cast a fresh gaze upon old memories, and I wonder which of those will stand out, and which will fade away.
Join us as we embark on a journey to reach one of Albania’s most remote villages, nestled within the mysterious Accursed Mountains.
In this episode we explore the mountainous wilds of Northern Albania. Setting off at sunrise, we struggle with the hostile terrain over four hours of intense hiking, accompanied by our guide, before reaching the small village of Mregu. Cut off from the rest of the country, this village is home to only a handful of residents, lying around 3 hours from the nearest city with no road access.
Here we meet one of the village’s last remaining residents, who welcomes us into her home and shows us her way of life. We learn about the challenges of remote mountain living, how to live entirely self-sufficiently, and about the depopulation of this incredible area as Albania speeds into the 21st century.
We conclude this episode with a stay by the incredible Komani Lake, an intense lightning storm and some crazy driving through the city of Shkodër as we make plans for our final days in Albania.
Join us in this mini documentary as we discover a unique way of life hidden within the Albanian Alps, on YouTube NOW!
If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
Big thank you to @undyingheads for the music, make sure you check them out!
Photo essay available to view over on our lbjournals website
Deep canyon walls rose high either side of us as we followed alongside the raging blue river, weaving in and out of craggy rocks and diving through tunnels carved out of the very mountainside itself.
After six short weeks in Albania, which felt like it had lasted both like a lifetime and the blink of an eye, we were now driving North through the Tara Canyon, one of Montenegro’s most impressive natural wonders and the deepest canyon in Europe.
Our journey had begun that morning after an exceptionally rainy day in Albania, and as we waited for the diggers to clear the landslides that blocked the road we were questioning whether we had to leave at all or if we could stay here forever. Our second time in Albania had been just as incredible as the first, and we left with a deeper understanding of the country as well as a handful of new friends.
The border crossing into Montenegro was no more than a remote outpost, lacking in electricity or internet; they wrote down our details by hand, stamped our passports, shouted out the letters “L- D- V!” then a burly uniformed man lifted the barrier by hand and we drove beneath it onto Montenegrin soil.
The sides of Tara Canyon soared up to 1300m above us, higher than our windscreen view would allow, and we found ourselves stopping frequently to admire it with coffees in hand. This was day one of our meandering journey back to the UK, taking in as much of the Western Balkan countries as we could along the way, and our revisit to Montenegro did not disappoint.
Two years ago we’d visited but largely stuck to the coast, afraid of the heavy winter snow further inland; this time round we actively sought it, and were not disappointed as we turned a corner into the Durmitor National Park and found a vast whitewashed landscape spread out before us.
Sadly we couldn’t stick around to enjoy it; with burnt-out glowplugs we were barely coaxing our van into life every morning, and an overnight stint at -7°C would surely leave us stranded.
We drove onwards, following the canyon walls until we arrived at the border to Bosnia & Herzegovina…
P.S. This is actually four photos stitched together to create a vertical panorama- that should give you a sense of how big this canyon is.
, , , …
Our boots crunched over loose, rocky scree and a vertical incline that threatened to topple us over at any minute. The track we were following was unlike anything we’d hiked before; less a path and more a trail carved out by the resilient villagers who lived at the top of this mountain.
We had journeyed to the Northernmost corner of Albania until the road could take us no further; here we left the van and met our guide who would take us to meet the villagers living in some of Albania’s most remote regions, places only accessible on foot or by mule.
At this altitude in the Albanian Alps there was no vegetation, nothing to suggest this area would support life; the closest thing to trees were the makeshift poles supporting a thin electricity wire than ran from the bottom of the valley to the peak above us. We followed the path arduously, gasping for breath and legs screaming in protest while our guide, who’d been traversing these mountains since he learned to walk, sailed ahead of us.
Men twice our age passed us with ease, taking their mules to the top to fetch hay, and we doubted whether we’d ever make it to the end of this 2km near-vertical climb.
But then, mercifully, the ground began to level out, and a luscious green pasture spread out before us, covering the plateau. This was the last place on earth we’d expected to see people living, yet unbelievably a dozen or so houses were spread out across the vast fields where horses and sheep grazed.
It took another hour or so to reach a homestead which looked like it might be inhabited; many of the rest were crumbling ruins, long abandoned as their owners headed for the city. A middle-aged woman greeted us at the door, wearing a white head scarf and modest clothing; she was clearly surprised and excited to have visitors. She immediately invited us inside for coffee, and set about pouring glasses of rakia from a bottle shaped like a crucifix.
We were in awe of her home, which was furnished with beautiful polished wood items and an ornate wood burner in the center. We inquired how she had managed to get it up here, and she recalled hauling it up the same track we had taken, carrying it on sticks along with her husband on their shoulders. The same would’ve been true for every item of furniture in their house, making this otherwise ordinary house suddenly look quite impossible.
After drinks, Age (Aga) happily showed us around her property; she had vegetables and dried mountain herbs in her larder, dried cuts of meat in her barn. She kept sheep for their milk, churned this by hand to make butter, and knitted clothes and rugs from their wool. Her water came from a spring and her income came from raising cattle. Every part of her life was fascinating to us; our minds boggled at the length and difficulty of the journey we had taken, hours from the nearest city with amenities, right up to this woman’s house that would be ordinary if not for its exceptional location atop a mountain.
It was still incomprehensible, even though we’d completed the journey ourselves, and we imagined her and her husband making their monthly trip to Shkodër then hiking back up the vertical path with their supplies; it was a world away from simply visiting the supermarket. From this vantage point we could see dozens more houses scattered across the mountains in even more unlikely places, and we were curious whether anyone still lived in them and what their stories were.
We said goodbye to Age, who still had much work to do before the sunset, and began our painstaking journey down the other side of the mountain left in complete and total awe.
This is an excerpt from an ongoing documentary project about the residents of the Albanian Alps, one of the most inaccessible regions of Europe. The video of this adventure will be out on YouTube on Sunday, and the full photo essay will be available to view on @lbjournalssoon.
When you’re heading into the mountains, preparation is key. And in mountains as remote as the Albanian Alps it’s downright essential.
Unpredictable, wild, vast and unforgiving- these mountains command their presence and dare you explore their impenetrable façade.
We stocked up in the city of Shkodër pre-trip, the nearest amenities to our destination for several hours around. A week’s food, a tank of fuel; everything else we could need was already in our van. The residents of Malesi e Madhe, Albania’s Northernmost corner, grow their own food and slaughter their own meat, with monthly visits to the city for supplies; we would have to follow their lead in stocking up at our last opportunity.
The two hour drive from the city was nothing short of incredible; roads that wound tightly and sharp inclines enough to slow us right down to a walker’s pace. A handful of switchback turns thrown in for good measure on the Leqet e Hotit Pass. All the while overlooked by those imposing, jagged limestone peaks as we wound through the valleys at their mercy.
We stopped for a rest at a point where water gushed from a hole in the rock at a furious speed and trickled down through wooden channels out into the road. Here we made our final preparation, filling our tanks with the freshest spring water and loading them back into the van.
We continued our journey to the small village of Selcë, a place that just a few years ago would’ve been virtually inaccessible to us in our van, now paved with the smoothest tarmac road cutting the residents’ travel time to the city down by half a day. We would spend the night here among terraced mountainsides and sparsely populated houses in preparation for tomorrow’s expedition to begin at sunrise…
The distant sounds of the Call To Prayer rang out across the steely waters of Lake Skadar, crackling out through distorted speakers atop the minarets of several mosques, clashing and vying for dominance like the howling of street dogs. The sky was reflected in the glassy lake surface as it turned slowly from blue to purple to an electrifying red which set the clouds ablaze. And we were making our preparations to head deep into the mountains.
We’d been parked up amongst the waterlogged trees and lake reeds for several days, a furtive little spot accessible by driving through a shallow river that had swollen to twice its size following the rainfall on the day we arrived. But now the blissful sunset colours cast down onto the distant mountains of Montenegro and all was calm in the far North of Albania again.
Of all the lakes we’d camped by in recent months, Lake Skadar was easily the largest and most impressive.⠀
While we’d stuck religiously to our inland route around the Balkan Peninsula these lakes gave us some comfort and a gentle reminder of the ocean’s edge we’d left behind in search of provincial adventures. Although we’d grown up a stone’s throw from the sea and these country’s coastlines provided an easily navigable and scenic route, we’d been drawn to see more of Europe’s hinterlands, a world away from glitzy seaside resorts and tourist attractions. In the heartlands of Albania we’d discovered spectacular mountainscapes, empty lands, impassable roads and an authenticity, warmth and unrivalled hospitality from its people. The same was true of the Balkans’ whole interior, and in fact we’d only briefly touched the sea in Thessaloniki since our departure from Calais many months prior.
These lesser-visited areas are what we live for; places you won’t find in any guidebook, unblemished of tourist attractions. Just raw and honest countryside, nothing more.⠀
We finished packing up our backpacks just as the last of the light was fading, ready for our journey tomorrow into the most remote corner of this country. ⠀
⠀
Join us as we explore Albania’s lesser-known alpine town in the foothills of the famous Accursed Mountains- otherwise known as the Albanian Alps.
In this episode we explore what the town of Puka (Pukë) is all about. One of the highest towns in Albania, there is plenty of breathtaking scenery to absorb, with the Albanian Alps serving as a perfect backdrop to the newly renovated town centre.
Despite its small population, there’s tons to see and do as we highlight by meeting two local guides and budding hoteliers. We explore the stunning surrounding area before meeting with international charity 1 More Tree. Here we learn the importance of sustainable tree planting in areas such as these as well as learning of the devastating effects of an invasive caterpillar species that is plighting Albania.
From here we meet up with Marie Shkjau, owner of Devin Agrotourism farm in the village of Qerret I Madh. Here we discover how traditional living and rural life can be combined with tourism to create a very special experience for anyone lucky enough to venture to this corner of Albania. We sample some local organic cuisine and preserves, and of course some rakia!
If exploring the North of Albania excites you as much as it does us then check out our friends’ page @northexperience_al.
Join us as we discover the most beautiful area of Albania you’ve probably never heard of, on YouTube NOW!
If you enjoyed the video please don’t forget to Share, Like and Subscribe, or consider joining us on Patreon to help us keep on creating content
When it rains in the mountains, it really rains. Not a fine mizzle or the odd shower like we get in England, but a biblical, all-engrossing rain that pelts down from the sky and sends rivers running down the mountainsides in great waterfalls that flood the roads and make planning any sort of activity quite impossible.
Such is the unpredictability of the Accursed Mountains, a corner of Albania whose curious histories and unique way of life woven amongst its limestone peaks will forever keep us coming back for more.
This fascinating mountain range was so named for its wildly inhospitable conditions, and is one of the rare mountain ranges in Europe that is yet to be fully explored. But mountaineers with their compasses and maps will never truly conquer these mountains, for the only way to truly navigate them is with a lifetime of muscle memory, ingrained into mountain men from the age they learn to walk. There are few roads, no signposted trails, and no forgiveness; if you get lost and the weather doesn’t get you then the wolves surely will.
But while the mountains may ward you off with their inhospitality the people will surely not, as they are perhaps some of the warmest and most welcoming in all the Balkans. With no fear of strangers and no reason to lock their doors some three hours away from the nearest town, they will happily invite you into their home for a coffee and a rakia before you continue on your journey.
The Albanian Alps possess a deep sense of mystery that fascinates us and seems almost tangible as we pull off the craggy SH25 alongside the Drin river, unwilling to drive any further in the torrential downpour. The thunderstorm would not pass until tomorrow evening when we would be rewarded with another spectacular Albanian sunset, but before that we would endure a night of lightning strikes powerful enough to knock out the area’s only phone mast, and thunder that shook us violently inside our van; if you’ve never heard thunder in the mountains before, imagine someone dropping about thirty dustbins off the side of a cliff at once. It booms.
It felt all at once overwhelmingly exciting and familiar to be back in the North of Albania once again, parked up so close to an area we’d become so affiliated with that had played home to one of our favourite travel stories. But now we were about to make more, as we were set to be heading off the road and into the furthest reaches of these mountains on foot, a place where vehicles could only dream to go and mules were the primary mode of transport.
Soon we were going back into the heart of the Accursed Mountains.
It’s all too easy to simply pass through somewhere, admiring the scenery from a distance through dusty window panes like the hollow eyes of a TV screen.⠀
It’s much more complex and infinitely more rewarding to engage with life in other countries, to meet people and experience small snippets of culture through them, to learn what it means to be a local in even the most mundane sense, to really a country in a richer, more wholesome way.⠀
When you’ve assimilated into the local way of life, when you’ve learned things that could never be written in any guidebook, that is when one graduates from a tourist into a traveller.⠀
⠀
The people are their country; a country is its people. And to pass through a place blissfully unaware of the locals and their customs is in our eyes to waste an opportunity.⠀
Without those chance encounters, without delving into new cuisines, without saying yes and throwing ourselves into whatever comes out way, how could we ever truly say we’ve seen the world?⠀
⠀
When you travel you open yourself up to a wealth of experiences the world has to offer, both good and bad. But through these experiences you realise that the world isn’t such a dark, scary place as we’re led to believe. Most people we’ve met on our way have been good and kind, hospitable and welcoming. And the bad experiences are just lessons learned for the future.⠀
After all, we wholeheartedly believe that what you put out into the world, is what you receive back.⠀
Be good, be honest, be curious and be kind. And just see where the winds will take you.⠀
⠀
P.S. This might just be my favourite photo from this trip, taken in one of my favourite corners of the world ⠀
Lately, if we could sum up our emotions in one word, it would be thankful.
Usually upon returning to the UK after many months of stimulating, enriching travel, with more experiences under our belts than we could put into words, it would be with heavy hearts a deep sense of melancholy.
This time however, we’e feeling relieved to be back on British soil. We’re grateful not to be trapped abroad with no means of supporting ourselves. We’re grateful we have a safe place to stay. And we’re grateful to have found work in these trying times doing something positive for the community.
Our hasty return to the UK was a long and epic tale of border crossings and breakdowns, but that’s a story we will tell in due course.
For now we’re safely tucked away in our little cosy home, living on the bare minimum as always, patching up the rust holes and mending broken parts after another incredible adventure.
Stay safe out there, you guys.
[We will continue to post photos and stories from our travels until our feed is up to date as we still have a huge backlog ]
Tell us: what have you been doing this weekend in isolation to keep yourself occupied? We need some tips!
Deep in the heart of North Albania, nestled in the foothills of the Albanian Alps, lies a curious little town named Pukë (pronounced Puka).
An intriguing blend of old stone houses and Alpine-inspired architecture with a tall, white mosque tower rising proudly out of the centre, the town of Pukë is one of the highest in the country. Surrounded on all sides by sprawling pine forest, with the snow-lined peaks of the Accursed Mountains looming imposingly in the distance, it was the perfect place for us to spend a week getting a taste of rural Albanian life.
As we walked in search of our morning coffee and byrek the streets were alive with activity; women walking around with armfuls of fresh bread, crowds of men chatting and smoking in the local billiard halls, children crowding at the school gates to buy snacks from a vendor and people stocking up their cars with supplies from the mini market, to take to some faraway village no doubt.
Over the course of the next few days we would begin to recognise the same faces; likewise the bakers and shopkeepers we visited had begun to recognise us. The same police car patrolled slowly up and down the main street, its two officers smoking cigarettes and stopping to chat or move on the occasional badly parked car.
It had a wonderfully small town feel to it that reminded us so much of Cornwall and made us feel instantly safe and welcome. This was only day one of our time here and already we had so much to look forward to…
If you’re ever in the North of Albania make sure you hit up our friends at @discover_puka for a truly authentic experience of Albanian life and a tour of this beautiful area of the world.
Alone in the wild.⠀
⠀
We can never truly be alone, no matter how remote we go in our van. Because if we can drive it, someone else can too.⠀
But still we like to find these hidden crevices, areas of land with no purpose and no reason to visit them. We like to tuck ourselves so far out of the way we might not see another person for days, for reasons we can’t explain.⠀
It’s difficult to put into words, my desire to meet people and hear their stories in every corner of the world we go, and the yearning to conceal ourselves away like some childish game of hide and seek, except no one’s going to come looking.⠀
I can’t explain it, but I find solace in knowing I’m not the only one.⠀
In a particular chapter of a very well-known book Jon Krakauer finds himself climbing to the top of an Alaskan mountain so remote it hasn’t seen a visitor in years, risking his life in the snow, all in the name of solitude. The lengths he would go to to escape humankind, and the loneliness that struck him once he was back amongst them- that story sticks in my mind, always.⠀
Some may find unabounded silence and space unnerving, the knowledge that if something goes wrong you’re stuck out here. But we relish in it, the what if’s outweighed by the bliss of isolation. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, not one person has ever camped in this spot before and we might be the first.⠀
The solitude quells our minds as much as it unnerves them, but still the excitement of adventure keeps us pushing onwards into evermore distant corners of the earth.⠀
P.S. Can anyone name the book?
