Murdoch's Meander: The book I'd like to write

There is already a number of books on the less than impressive feat of traveling around the globe without planes. So let it be noted here that I don't want to write a book about that or in fact anything else.

But... If I was forced to write a book it would be entitled;

“How to travel for 22 months in female fertile pastures and only pull twice”

During this trip I've conversed with and befriended enough honey to stock a larder but unfortunately have only managed to spread it on my toast twice. My diary logs every one of the missed opportunities and in each case there appears another chapter worthy folly blocking my spoon from the jar.

Satisfaction in metaphor

The first sweetened bread was 11 months in from the start of my travels, a lovely from London that to be honest might just have been a charity event. Unfortunately though, even with semi fluent Spanish which normally guarantee's honey for all but the disfigured, the following 10 months passed without luck.

The book would chronicle all of the pathetic attempts leading up to my final weekend on the South American continent in Bogota, Colombia. Here I received a gift from the Queen bee. A youthful Julia Roberts smothered in a Colombian glaze, sorry gaze and affection - uniquely Latin.

The full story could only be told in the pub, as it was actually a bit of a 'Kenny's Part Deux'*. I'll tell you what though, this girl was worthy of a book. Bogota she was - through and through. A heart melting day of ice cream, bus tours, city stories, a visit to her parents and a walk round an area that, before we entered, I understood only as a 'poor street'.

You may have heard of FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia**)? For those not in the know; this is an IRA style group that exists to such an extent in Colombia that part of the capital city belongs to them.

Resident Evil. On Crack.

Seriously. She took me for a walk round it. This is a no gringo zone, more reminiscent of a strung out, crack infested hell on earth. You could not imagine it.. In Amsterdam cannabis is sold in coffee shops...here it is sold in baskets at the side of the road. There are three types of people in there. Crack heads, local vendors and the runners. She gave me the full story. Incredible. Maybe I haven't travelled much but have you ever seen fully loaded crack pipes for sale by the truly strung-out-itching-unwashed, on upturned crates at the side of the road? Streetwise she was – stabbings and shootings she has a witnessed. Bogota - the reality of rumors. Her survival brief, which I paid little attention to before 'going in' was as follows; look at something but at nothing, walk with a small limp and don't smile – ever.

Thee most dangerous situation of my travels so far, coupled with the affectionate Latin honey, knocked my senses askew for a week. Deep. A great last chapter, if ever it were to be penned, but none the less a sweet sweet finish to 15 months in South America.

Unlikely? But she did have contacts in there

So... back to my initial folly which now stands as an 'East to West' overland and sea circumnavigation without planes. Not 'around the world with no planes' as I have taken a couple, but only back East to get on West bound boats. And this was actually the reason for me being in Bogota. The flight was to Havana Cuba for Barfly, a 39 ft Najad and its captain Matthew with whom I shall sail back westwards to Panama where we'll go through the canal, into the Pacific ocean and across it to New Zealand.