GUARDIAN I’ve had indolence ingrained in me, laziness taught as a masterclass and torpidity thrust on me as the norm. In other words, I’ve been thoroughly chilled-out at a very comfortable thirtysomething degrees celsius in the little visited Cabo Delgado province of Mozambique. Continue reading
GUARDIAN It was 2am. I’d been in Melbourne for 24 sleepless hours and was still wide-awake, feeling as though I were missing out on the essential glamour of a Lost In Translation moment because my low-rise hotel didn’t have views of the city. Instead of raiding the mini-bar, I went for a nightcap at a sleepy local pub called Rush – a misnomer if ever there was one. Rain came down in Hollywood torrents, the wind whipped up and I began to question the wisdom of leaving Blighty’s so-so summer for Melbourne’s grey winter. Continue reading
GUARDIAN I am not renowned for my sporting prowess. At a push, my lexicon of games might include rough and tumble bouts of Scrabble and an occasional innings at blackjack (normally out for a duck). Most who know me would happily confirm that I am sans any great British sporting genes. But having now been taught by the Zen master (or is he the patron saint?) of surfers, I might well be on my way to silencing my critics with some nippy footwork on the ocean wave. Continue reading
GUARDIAN I have seen another world; perhaps I’ve touched a place that belongs to the future. Women in white tunics whisper softly and streams of faint music attempt to soothe troubled souls. I’ve visited sanctuaries where guests act elderly regardless of their age. Everyone’s reality changes when surrendered at a health farm. You’re not allowed to think for yourself anymore. Continue reading
GUARDIAN It is said that many of the baobab trees are older than Christ; but then all of equatorial Africa’s east coast is riddled with hearsay. Over a few days, I was given the gen on an infamous murder case, informed of cheetahs dancing in mangroves, and of a giraffe who fell in love with a windsock. All wildlife was covered. Continue reading
GUARDIAN The trumpeting of angels or the spectral lights of heaven didn’t accompany me on my brush with death as I gazed at the angry bowels of the earth and the portal to possible oblivion. I sang camp disco instead. More specifically, Gloria Gaynor’s spirit urged me to sing “I will survive” at the top of my voice. Let me explain. Continue reading
Nick Maes 