I'd love to travel the old Silk road into China...rattling along in a rickety train...tiny cabins to sleep in...stopping at stations on the way to buy a bowl of fragrant rice from a stall on the platform...drinking tea from the samovar at the end of each carriage and playing cards with silent Chinese travelling to remote villages...
Or to venture down the forbidden back streets of Casablanca...to peer into small shops selling trinkets and finely woven carpets...tiny children pulling at your sleeves and cafes in quiet squares where old men sit under wide umbrellas in the heat of the day...drowsy from the scent of the jasmine and smoking opium...
To go to Siberia and hear wolves howling in the dead of night when the train stops at remote stations...to venture out to stretch your legs and buy thick black coffee from a half frozen vendor...wrapped in layers and wearing boots trimmed with fur.
Have a jug of hot water and a clean towel delivered to your sleeping cabin by a man with a huge moustache and gold teeth...bringing you a bowl of tea in the morning and all you can see from the window is glittering snow...
Changing trains to go on to Mongolia...vast steppes smothered in a multitude of bright spring flowers...tiny robust ponies and prayer flags...tattered by the winds. Small children carried in the saddle bags of the Yaks and drinking their milk while squatting on the carpeted floor of a yurt...watching while the women embroider intricate patterns on felted jackets and young men play dangerous games of their form of polo...eagles and buzzards flying overhead.
On to Peru perhaps...vast mountains and narrow roads over gorges...to learn the art of back strap loom from a lady with a face creased by weather and laughter...watching Alpacas being shorn of their wool and the sweaters and cardigans knitted...destined for shops in London and Berlin. Little people bundled up in replicas of adults clothing...faces with wide happy smiles.
To see Tibet. To see the shrines adorned with hundreds of brightly coloured prayer flags...to visit age old monasteries high in the mountains...carved out of rock faces or built in stone...perched on ledges over-looking deep ravines...silent monks going by with bare brown feet... shaven heads bowed. Simple meals served at long wooden tables...
Slipping down the back alleys of towns in Jamaica...venturing into dimly lit bars...being greeted by Rasta boys...hair in complicated dread locks entwined with pretty beads...their arms around your shoulders as they lead you to the table at the back...a spliff rolled and offered round and potent Rum is brought in small glasses...the bottle left on the table.
The Deep South of America...the bayous and the coon dogs...snakes slithering down into the still waters...alligators and crayfish...remote bars in among the swamps and the French patois' which I love so much...small wooden houses built beside creeks, jetties and old boats tied up firmly ...otherworldly men who live by themselves...selling crayfish to bars and hesitant tourists...full of tales about monster alligators...coon dogs howling in the unquiet nights, full of biting insects and the plop of a snake entering the murky water...
Offer me time away in the Costa de Sol and I'd likely turn you down...be my companion on the Old Silk Road or offer to share a sleeping cabin on the way to Mongolia...that'd be acceptable.
I don't snore but I wheeze like an old cat and crackle like a bowl of rice crispies. I don't have any real desire to see Peru - imagine the altitude/breathing problems at Machu Pichu - but the Old Silk Road, Mongolia, Morocco and Siberia makes my blood race and my heart beat a little faster, just thinking about it. Add Damascus and Jordan to that list too. 
x
All Those People With Interesting Lives...
Here's one for wheezy at bed time :) xxxx
Virgin.
