A new section of the blog where I share with you things I’ve loved each month; from gear to podcasts, books to videos. This month I feature a great hike in Snowdonia, a couple sailing the world, and an environmental blogpost.
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Nostalgia for the days of rambling and roaming through the trees – springtime in California – when the air was thick with pine and my heart was full of adventure and promise.
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"There is something about a solo road trip that I find terrifying yet addictive. I am afraid of the tornado of thoughts I will have when driving 1000km alone, yet obsessed with wanting to experience them - with delving into that deep black hole inside myself that can only be reached on a journey like this one."
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A story about travelling to the Jökulsárlón Ice Lagoon in Iceland; how it felt to get there.
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Memories from my childhood are always somewhat hazy. I’m not sure why. When people start talking about the television shows they watched when they were five years old or the teachers that always gave them an extra five minutes of playtime or that very distinct smell of school dinners wafting down the corridor at exactly 11.55am.
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“Oslooo!” I called out to my three-year-old Trailhound, his little tail waved in the air as he leapt over to greet me. We bounded up the stairs leading to the summit of Mam Tor, two steps at a time as the sky was already a magical glow of pink and orange. My eyes were heavy but all I needed was this country air to revive me; air that smelt like early springtime freshness, the promise of change and excitement, of a long, warm summer spent happily in the hills.
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The first time I drove alone I had planned a three and a half hour journey to Sequoia National Park. After unknowingly making an illegal turn out of the car hire centre in Los Angeles, I headed towards the I-5 for my first solo four-wheeled adventure. I was instantly struck by the freedom of it all. The long road ahead and the wide sky above. “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars”.
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I stumbled and tripped, gripping to rocks with my freezing hands and falling through snow in my sodden leggings. I had to use both hands to steady my balance, and when the snow got deeper and the edge got steeper, I dug my boots hard into the snow to ensure I got a solid grip.
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Wandering in the Lake District with my sister Amira. A story about the feelings conveyed from the landscapes and the beauty of this part of the world.
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When I woke up that morning I knew I needed to escape – the city, people, pollution, noise. I live in a quiet and leafy corner of Southern Manchester, but a yearning for the rolling hills, biting country air and being completely and utterly alone comes from deep within me, an ache in my stomach that gradually increases the longer I am not there. It was painful that morning. And so I had to leave.
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Lost notes. The ones I forgot about.
Eggs, pancetta, onion… A shopping list from October 16th 2015. I must have been craving carbonara.
The weights I pulled when I rowed. My 2k split. The weights I wish I pulled.
The name of that place that person told me to go to, that I inevitably forgot about and still haven’t been to. *Writes down again.*
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"My eyes flicker open wearingly at the sound of a soft tapping on the canvas walls of my little green tent. It is dim inside, meaning it is either still nighttime or that my first day of riding on the South Island will be beneath rainclouds and on shiny wet roads. It appears to be the latter."
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