I kept getting the odd sensation that I was in fact perfectly stationary, and that I was pushing the world around under my feet.
It seems to me that the good lord in his infinate wisdom gave us three things to make life bearable- hope, jokes, and dogs. But the greatest of these was dogs.
I don’t want to be bored I don’t want to be with someone I don’t respect.
I love the desert and its incomparable sense of space.
Never, never have a famous partner. It’s too complicated.
By taking to the road, we free ourselves of baggage, both physical and psychological. We walk back to our original condition, to our best selves.
I just don’t see myself as a travel writer. I can’t. I don’t.
The genre has moved into this commercial aspect of itself, and ignored this extraordinarily rich literature that’s filed everywhere else except under travel.
The truth is I’m not really interested in travel writing as it’s generally conceived, and even less so in female travel writing.
The romantic view would be that nomads are wonderful people, better than us; they care about the environment.