What do you love about travelling slowly? It's a question we're often asked.
During a tea break today we searched for the word 'slow' in Oli's book, Cycling to the Ashes. It came up 35 times, often, funnily enough, in relation to cricket. So, for example: "It is a slow English sport." (to a group of Turkish politicians) Or: "Although not enamoured at ﬁrst with with the slow pace of the game, the Serbs persevered, vowing to train three times a week."
Let's forget cricket for now. There were quite a few entries that related to slow travel and it was this one that caught our eye:
I had now been on the road for over four months. The relatively slow speed at which I had crossed from village to village, from one country to the next, lent a sense of continuity and slow adjustment to my travel. Arriving in a new country by aeroplane is always overwhelming, with the differences between home and destination accentuated by the speed and ease of the journey itself. But on my ride I had rarely felt out of place; I always had a sense of belonging, perhaps aided by a sense of purpose. I may have looked like, and occasionally acted like, an intruder in foreign lands, but I did not feel like one. So as we approached the end of the ferry journey and caught sight of another dusty terminal, I felt little but anticipation. Sudan was the next, very natural step on my way to the Ashes.
What does slow travel mean to you?