I hate arriving in the dark. I like to get my bearings, see where I am, before night pulls a curtain over my eyes. But 8pm in Marrakech brings a disorientation greater than darkness; quite the opposite of sensory deprivation. As soon as I step out of the taxi I am whisked around a dozen corners in bewildering succession, in a half-trot to keep up with my wheelbarrow-borne duffel bag. I’m pretty light-footed in a crowded shopping centre, and like a fleeting ninja at rush hour, single-minded in

As a traveller there are some things that are terrifying – like two-dollar hotel rooms infested with  fleas, crazy waterborne diseases that you can’t pronounce like schistosomiasis, and the darkest, dingiest bathrooms void of light and filled with foulness. Then there are other things that call to you like the sensual sirens of Ulysses. Sometimes they summon you into the fiery furnaces of hell. I had heard of the Danakil Depression, seen it on ‘Planet Earth’, and had visions of it in my sleep

The first time I think about giving up is at the Col de la Cayolle, in the French Maritime Alps. I am stuck in the snow, hip-deep – one hand trying to push myself out, the other clutching the rope with which I drag my kayak behind me like a pulka. My bike is strapped on top, and every few meters the whole setup begins to totter. But for now nothing is moving – largely because I’m immobile. As I sink again into the powder, I’ve just about had enough. I scream every four-letter word I know, an

I wake for breakfast as I had any other morning this past week, but today I am dining alone, here in the small frontier village of Eshkashem in north-eastern Afghanistan. At the conclusion of my tour of central Asia by foot and 40 year old Soviet motorcycle – a Ural – last summer, I resolved to trek Afghanistan’s Wakhan corridor. It would provide a fitting climax to my travels before committing myself to another claustrophobic cubicle in a soulless office. For two weeks I have walked, eaten a

Everyone has heard of Sir Ranulph Fiennes. He is, after all, the perfect epitome of an explorer and completely mad-capped Englishman. His name is as ubiquitously mentioned down the pub as it is seen on the bookcases of the adventure section in your local library. Leader of the only team ever to to fully circumnavigate the world on its polar axis and the first man to completely cross the Antarctic continent unsupported, Ran is also one of UK’s top celebrity fundraisers, with an expressed aim o

Unlike many of the well-trodden backpacking trails across South America, at the place where the Río Marañón tumbles from the Andes into the Amazon Basin there is little tourism. Rocky Contos is a man who wants not only to bring people to this magnificent river, but also to provide income and a sustainable future for the remote Awajún villages, known for their hostility to strangers. Emil Carlsson, a Swedish raft guide who has paddled in Uganda, Iceland, Nepal, Scotland and the USA, participat

It’s 3 am on July 10th and we have just landed our packrafts on the shore of the Arctic Ocean. In this land of 24-hour light, our internal body clocks seem to be following the rhythm of another planet. With no obvious variation in the angle of the sun, just a steady circling of the horizon, each day stretches longer than the last. We lose ourselves in the steady motion of footfall on sand or are hypnotized by the shape-shifting horizon. We feel pushed to keep moving, long past our conventiona

These swift changes in the landscape around us also applies to wild edibles when there are tangible changes week to week and even one day can sometimes significantly alter the wild food larder. Foraging restaurants have become more popular over the last number of years, with some establishments changing their menu day to day to work with the raw ingredients that have been found that morning.Eating wild food in a good restaurant is an amazing experience and one that inspires me to try out new

“I speak to him you know” he says, and smiles. “Who?” I ask. “My Dad. He died seven years ago, but maybe he can hear me.” The wind whips and whispers between us as the Chilean and I straddle loaded bikes, shivering and suddenly quiet. Our front tyres are almost nudging, aimed at opposing horizons. I break his gaze and focus on javelins of dawn light that pierce the leaves of roadside trees and mottle the tarmac, and I’m edgy with the blindness of what to say next. “Good luck then” I finally

The Cuillin Sound is no place to be in a small plastic boat. The sun had sunken behind the jagged horizon of the distant Cuillin and the swell was increasing with the gathering wind. Making the crossing from Elgol into Loch Scavaig, the waves broke across our decks in a series of broadside sweeps. In the darkness, the faint green glow of a cyalume taped onto Kieron’s buoyancy aid flickered in and out of view between the rise and fall of each wave. Having waited for a workable weather wind

The Amadjuak River was a big turning point in our expedition, not that it had been easy before then. Our goal had been to build our own boats and then to put them to the test by embarking on a 1,000 km journey across the fifth largest island in the world: Baffin. The idea was Eric’s but the seeds of interest had started several years before, when Sarah and her brother were on an expedition to Greenland. They’d just come off the icecap and had found themselves in

Growing up in Mendoza, Argentina gave Manuel ‘Manu’ Bustelo the perfect introduction to adventure. As a teenager, he began mountain biking and climbing and, after attending a seminar delivered by Belgian explorer Alain Hubert, the nucleus of a plan to work with sponsors for No Bikes Land, a mountain bike descent of three volcanoes, was born. “It took 21 days to film the descents during the second expedition” explains Manu. “I had to go up and down several times as we had to cover a few areas

Descending the scree of La Canaleta after a long, cold summit day on Aconcagua I could have sworn I caught the scent of meat roasting on an open fire coming from a lower camp. It was, in all probability, a combination of mild altitude sickness, the longing for a really good steak, and the recent memory of such a dish earlier that month in an Mendocino restaurant when I got served with what seemed like half a cow when the steak flopped over both sides of my plate. This monster of a dish was o

With nervous anticipation, we free-wheeled our bicycles down the steep ramp exiting the immigration building, swerved around a gaggle of black market money changers, and out into Xinjiang Province. Rebecca and I had 90 days to cycle across China, a distance of around 5,000km from Kazakhstan to Vietnam. Our Chinese odyssey had begun. Xinjiang is comparable in size to western Europe, but from a glance at a map appeared to be mostly desert. Xinjiang’s capital, Urumqi, is the most remote city fro

I was a little bit reticent when Pen Hadow asked me to lead an expedition across the Arctic Ocean. After all, Pen was the first man to trek solo and without re-supply from the coast of Canada to the North Pole. But I was going to be the one at the front of his team: route finding; testing all the ice; making sure the way was safe and swimming across all the open water first. In effect I’d be leading the leader. Maybe I wouldn’t be up to the job? Or perhaps Pen would be at the back not liking

I am an adventurer, a dreamer, a passionate outdoor enthusiast but most of all a caver. But – why caving? I could have devoted myself to the many other loves of mine like climbing, fell running, canyoning, which are all far more civilised and respected sports. So what is it about gruelling sleep deprived 30 hour trips, chafed, exhausted and broken that makes me feel so euphoric? Why do I spend all my money and free time preparing for a ‘summer holiday’ that involves camping 5 days at a time

I ran down the bank, stumbling barefoot in the thorny scrub and cursing crudely. I wished I’d had the forethought of mind to have brought a knife or a head torch down with me, but there seemed no time if wolves were amongst our horses. The shapes began to move faster, as they sped and whirled around in a blur, never issuing a single sound. I couldn’t see the horses in the dark, nor hear them either, until I got right up close and threw myself onto their staking l

SUICIDAL BEGINNINGS: KINNAUR AND SPITI We are in Kinnaur valley, near the Tibetan border, and all our surroundings are painted in a vivid electric green of foliage. We are in a land of deep valleys and oriental tradition; light rains sweeping across us on our the first few tentative days of pedalling in this world unknown to us. Even though we travel light our muscles regularly complain about the steep sections we have to cover daily. However, they are not t

Before us was the appropriately named Lava Falls and it was everything I had expected and so much more. Akin to staring into a fire, we looked into the river in front of us and were mesmerised. Our eyes taken on a journey our bodies weren’t sure they wanted to embrace. I was scared and there’s no other way of selling it. We were two weeks into our trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon and everything that had gone before seemed to pale into insigni