From 'The Hero's Journey' to 'The Road Less Travelled', there's a reason telling a good story has a lot in common with travel. Although we all want our trips to be perfect, sometimes it's the unexpected, the unplanned, or the unforeseen that can make an ordinary trip extraordinary, and have us telling others about it for years to come.
That's why at Bradt, we don't just have guides to making the best trips! We also have a whole range of travel narratives and literature where writers share their unique experiences on the road.
We've selected some snippets from writers sharing some of their memorable travel anecdotes. Pick up a copy of the book for the rest of the story!
"I’m handed a wooden stick about four feet long with a rope loop on the end which (and now there is no question of a choice in the matter) I must drop over the camel’s head when Ian gets the vehicle close enough. In theory it sounds no more hazardous than a three-point turn but Ian’s last words before he starts up give me a flavour of what’s to come. ‘When it’s over his head for Christ’s sake get down. If you get your body entangled with the rope it could take your leg off.’"
"I walk home with the sound playing in my ears and open the front door. Upstairs I can hear my wife Eleanor doing natural voice exercises in the light, airy room at the front. I go into my little music studio tucked away in an outhouse at the back, lean my harp against my shoulder and start to play. I’m trying to capture the essence of that sound, not to copy it exactly, but to feel the speed and the rhythm of it, the sense of space and the promise of spring.
[...] When I stop, I’m surprised to find I’ve been playing for nearly an hour."
"Pencil-thin, snow-white minarets topped by sharp pointed cones peered up at us as we wound our way down the sweeping plains of northern Bulgaria, close to the Romanian border. Each one stood beside the unmistakeable outline of a small mosque.
Some lay in ruins. Others were locked up. One or two, though, had tiny cemeteries, where the grass was neatly trimmed around historic, turban-shaped tombstones. When we stopped to peer through the windows, colourful prayer rugs were piled up against walls where worn tasbihs (prayer beads) hung from small hooks. It began to dawn on me: these were living ancient Muslim villages. But what on earth were they doing here?"
"It was nearly midnight when, creeping along the ‘Road of Death’, the top of our hired bus struck an overhang, knocking out the driver and showering broken glass. ‘Pare! Pare!’ ['Stop' in Spanish.] yelled Yoli. Ben and I tried to reach the stricken man as the vehicle continued to roll erratically down the slope, the headlights illuminating the five-hundred-foot precipice on our right and the sheer cliff on the left. Stretching across, the second driver managed to grab the wheel and, after careering for the most terrifyingly scary 500 yards I’ve ever experienced, we smashed into the cliff."
