
I’ve always loved tales of travel and far off places, adventures under a burning sun, crumbling desert fortresses and high mountain passes. Travellers like William Dalrymple, Bruce Chatwin and Robert Byron have long captured my imagination with tales of Afghan chieftains, nomads in the dessert and forgotten ruins.
And they always seem to end up sat on low divans in a tent, or around a fire under the stars tucking into mountains of steaming rice studded with chunks of tender spiced goat or mutton. Their writing is redolent of heady aromas and strong tastes as well as being full of striking descriptions of lands travelled and people met. Continue reading






