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For me, a journey to Damascus is an amazing hunt from beginning to end, a slice through layers of history in search of treasure.
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Spend sixteen weeks in the jungle and you being to question your own sanity, especially when you are the one goading everyone else ahead.
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Real travel is not about the highlights with which you dazzle your friends once you're home. It's about the loneliness, the solitude, the evenings spent by yourself, pining to be somewhere else. Those are the moments of true value. You feel half proud of them and half ashamed and you hold them to your heart.
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Where does one go in a tremendous city like Calcutta to find insider information? I recalled India's golden rule: do the opposite of what would be normal anywhere else.
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Foras Road has a sordid reputation (…) Old crones sat in doorways, while their daughters were pushed out to earn money. It is intriguing that a society which is very covert with sexuality should be so straightforward about prostitution.
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Move to a new country and you quickly see that visiting a place as a tourist, and actually moving there for good, are two very different things.
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The taste for glory can make ordinary men behave in extraordinary ways.
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Money spent on good-quality gear is always money well spent
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On a harsh expedition, there's no space for anyone who does not intend to finish.
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With an enthusiastic team you can achieve almost anything.
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In Morocco, before you even get to the matter of the sale, you have to coax the owner to sell.
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Close your senses and the imagination comes alive. It's inside us all, dulled by endless television reruns and by a society that reins in fantasy as something not to be trusted, something to be purged. But it's in there, deep inside, a spark waiting to set a touch-paper alight.
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For me, nature is something you watch on the Discovery Channel, or on the evening news -- as you learn how much more of it's been savaged to make way for the Blackberry realm that is my home
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I was no longer troubled when he pulled out a machete in a crowded bar, tried to pick up schoolgirls, or threatened to scalp us, then rip off our heads and scoop out our brains.
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On a hard jungle journey nothing is so important as having a team you can trust.
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Enlightenment, and the death which comes before it, is the primary business of Varanasi.
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The backstreet cafe in Casablanca was for me a place of mystery, a place with a soul, a place with danger. There was a sense that the safety nets had been cut away, that each citizen walked upon the high wire of this, the real world. I longed not merely to travel through it, but to live in such a city.
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Once in a very long time you come across a book that is far, far more than the ink, the glue and the paper, a book that seeps into your blood.
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Most journeys have a clear beginning, but on some the ending is less well-defined. The question is, at what point do you bite your lip and head for home?
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I was becoming addicted to Bombay. There was squalor and poverty, but I had begun to realise my good fortune and would never again forget it.
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A little imagination goes a long way in Fes.
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A man who embarks on a journey must know when to end it.
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Buy a house in a foreign country and, it seems, that anything which can go wrong usually does.
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Previous journeys in search of treasure have taught me that a zigzag strategy is the best way to get ahead.