Wilfred Thesiger is perhaps the greatest ever desert explorer, and the ‘tagline’ to this blog is a quote from his seminal work, Arabian Sands. What Sir Wilfred (as he later became) actually said, in describing his time spent living with the nomads of the vast Empty Quarter of Oman, was: 

“No man can live this life and emerge unchanged. He will carry, however faint, the imprint of the desert, the brand which marks the nomad; and he will have within him the yearning to return, weak or insistent according to his nature. For this cruel land can cast a spell which no temperate clime can hope to match.”

I too have spent time with the Bedouin, both in Wadi Rum in Jordan and Sinai in Egypt (and written about it too), and it’s true that there is something about the desert, especially if you spend nights there, that is deeply transforming. You do emerge changed, as Thesiger said.

But I wonder if there is a nomadic disposition, if some people are more predisposed to respond to the desert than others. As someone who had a peripatetic childhood, I’ve always felt a restlessness, the call of a wandering (and wondering) nature. Is that why I’m attracted to the desert and the life of the nomad? If I’d had a more rooted childhood would I feel less restless as an adult?

I probably can’t answer this here, but certainly as I get older I feel myself becoming more settled. I still love to travel, especially to the desert and the Middle East, but I’m also happier to be home. And on those dark, rainy winter days, instead of packing my suitcase and heading on the first flight out to sunnier climes, I turn my eye inward and revisit my memories of light and sand, and to my time spent with the desert nomads. And my suitcase stays unpacked.

Istanbul, original destination of the Orient Express

Last week saw the announcement that the Orient Express has finally reached the end of the line – it is due to be axed in December after 126 years of service. Of course, this celebrated train long ago terminated short of the Orient – in its heyday the train crossed the whole of Europe to arrive in Istanbul, that magnificent city on the cusp of Europe and Asia.  Its demise is sad, nonetheless: the true end of an era. For not only is train travel the most satisfying way to get from A to B, allowing you to see the landscape and architecture transform across your journey, but the Orient Express represented a time when the perceived divisions between ‘East’ and ‘West’ were more blurred than they are nowadays.

Plane transport, with its dramatically reduced journey times, is supposed to make the world smaller, and bring us all together. But I wonder if, instead, long-distance modes of  land (and sea) transport, such as the Orient Express, actually do a better job of this, revealing the gradual metamorphasis of peoples and cultures through the carriage window, thus reducing ‘culture shock’ and allowing us to see that we are not all very different after all.

Children on the Abraham Path, Turkey

Twenty years ago, the celebrated specialist on world mythology Professor Joseph Campbell was asked ‘What might make the world a better place?’ His reply was surprising: “Tourism,” he said. Then he elaborated: “Go out and meet someone new. Learn a new language, another mythology and religion. If enough people did just that, we might see the beginning of the end of the demonisation of other peoples around the world.”

Whilst few of us have the time in our too-busy lives to learn a new language, mythology and religion on our holidays there is one organisation whose mission it is to offer people the opportunity to try doing just that. The Abraham Path, a new route of cultural tourism which follows the footsteps of Abraham (Ibrahim in Arabic) through the Middle East, to encourage us to “remember our common origins, to respect our cultural differences, and to recognize our shared humanity” as well as experience the warm hospitality of the people of this often maligned region of the world.

Whether learning how to bake bread in the traditional, time-honoured way in Turkey, staying with a family in a village home in Palestine or visiting a women’s cooperative to learn how to make soap with herbs and olive oil in Jordan, slow travellers on the Abraham Path are taking a major step towards Professor Campbell’s dream of a less divided world.

Craven Arms, Appletreewick, Wharfedale

In this country, wine is best drunk at home. (It’s just the same when you go out but about twice as expensive.) It’s beer that’s worth travelling for.

In this ‘staycation summer’, I’ve been enjoying some seasonal ales from local breweries.

My summer favourite has been Raspberry Blonde from Saltaire Brewery (the name describes it well) -enjoyed at the Craven Arms in Appletreewick (see photo).

A short walk from Appletreewick takes you through a dry limestone gorge up onto sandstone moors, with evidence of industry and agriculture from prehistoric times. You have to leave the car and take to you feet to appreciate this.

But I’ve found a beer to rival it. Theakson’s Grouse Beater is a seasonal reference, but gives no hint of the bilberry flavour (characteristic of the moors around here, now purple with heather.) It’s best drunk in Masham, the small town with a large market square and two rival breweries.

A walk followed by a pint: that’s slow travel. Best enjoyed in sunshine (not seasonal this summer).

A traveller, on the other hand, sets off on a journey, not knowing when – or perhaps even where – it will end. The journey is open-ended, and the traveller is open-minded: ready to embrace whatever experience comes his or her way.

Ed, Will and Ginger singing for their supper

Whilst some of us may aim to be travellers rather than tourists, not many have the time – or courage – to undertake what these three young lads have. Will, Ed and Ginger have spent the last few months wandering around Britain, singing for their suppers, and sleeping wherever they find themselves each night. They don’t know when their journey will end, and are loving every moment of it.

For many of us, this uncertainty would be too scary – for these three young men, the uncertainty brings them a glorious sense of freedom. Freedom from the constraints and pressures of modern, packaged life. Unrealistic hippies? Maybe, but as Ed says “”It should be a perfectly normal thing to do. There shouldn’t be any razzmatazz about it. Walking, singing – these are very simple human activities, but as a society we have somehow managed to lose contact with them at the most basic level.’

Ed, Will and Ginger  are the troubadours of the 21^st century. They are also living proof that you don’t have to travel far from home to be a true (slow) traveller.

Walking in the Sinai Desert

But time spent on foot (or on a camel) or living with the Bedouin, on voluntourism or homestays with families abroad, allows us to reconnect. There’s a slow food movement; there are slow towns: I think it’s now time to resdiscover slow travel. Time to forget about the ‘destination’ and think instead about the journey…