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
You can start to forget the sacred-cow-swerving, hard-bench-bouncing, multi-tone-horn-honking and terror-inducing drive that brought you here. It may however take a slight bit longer for your gluteus and hamstrings to be back on talking terms with you. Your legs, back and lung muscles are taunted as your eyes and ambitions take in the breadth, height and white veiled flanks all around you. It’s a virtual playground for mountaineers, trekkers, backcountry skiers and snowboarders. You’re most
Having grown up watching David Attenborough documentaries, to think of Borneo was to dream of distant lands covered in thick rainforest, where the deadliest of beasts battled over territory, and aboriginal tribes practiced headhunting. It was a place where only the most daring of explorers would choose to go, so that became one of our primary goals; travel to Borneo, venture deep into the rainforest and seek out Orangutans in the wi
