You only live once

As I sit in my house I look around me at reminders of travel adventures and opportunities realised.
An intricate hand woven Nepalese wall hanging holds place over my couch and I remember the atmosphere, the bustle, the constant chattering in native tongue, the incessant sweeping of paths, honks from car horns, revving of motorbike engines and the ever hopeful question of “rickshaw ma’am?” as I bargained for its purchase.
In my bedroom there are paintings from a Scottish artist of landscapes on the Isle of Skye. Woolly sheep dot the emerald green hillsides, local houses sit squat on the hills to hide from the inclement weather and the bright red, blue and orange hues of the fishing boats and waterside huts contrast against the moody greys and blacks of the sky.
I remember the time spent on numerous trips to the Andes to climb wild mountains, swim in breathtakingly cold alpine lakes, listen to the sound of crumbling avalanches from the safety of my tent, shared bottles of cerveza cooled in the nearby trout filled streams, laughing at stories with fellow intrepid travellers on cold crisp nights, gloved hands curled around tin cups full of hot chocolate, skies filled with stars and revisiting Siule Grande with Simon Yates for the first time since his “Touching the Void” experience.
There are constant reminders of Africa. My birthplace. The carvings of African animals and people in stone and wood line the shelves. My first glance at a wild elephant in Tanzania and the aura and majesty that surround them, or the memory of the smell of the Msasa trees, the sweet earthy smell and the colour that floods the hillsides in Zimbabwe as the season changes in the Highveld.
I look at my bookshelf, my travel photography book sits front and centre with several Lonely Planet guides alongside. My computer is on my lap with the most recent trip photos begging to be collated. I think about those moments I didn’t capture on film. Swimming with three playful sea lions in the Galapagos directly touched my soul. I had the privilege of witnessing a very rarely sited small eared dog in the Peruvian Amazon. My guide signalled me to stop as we move quietly through the jungle. We stand with our hearts in our mouths as the creature, which glides effortlessly, almost cat like, in front of us pauses momentarily to stare directly at us before moving on.
These are the moments, the privileges and the insights into other people’s worlds, and lives, that I will never forget.