I felt sure we could gain the upper hand by putting ourselves in the mindset of the Incas.

As far as Samson was concerned I was just another foreigner in pursuit of a lunatic quest.

When I am about to embark on a difficult journey, I comfort myself by reading the accounts of the great nineteenth-century travellers, men like Stanley, Burton, Speke, Burckhardt and Barth.

The first few hours in the cell were quite stimulating. I'd never been in a prison cell before and was quite enjoying the experience.

I had learned years ago never to give original documents to anyone if I could help it.

None of them seemed to mind sliding around in the faeces and choking in the smoke. They were determined not to miss the opportunity of watching a foreigner make a fool of himself.

In any case, a little danger is a small price to pay for ridding a place of tourists.

As anyone who's ever taken an Ethiopian bus knows, there is an unwritten rule that the windows must remain firmly closed.

The desert was bad, but nothing could compare with the horrors of a tropical rain forest.

There's nothing like a pack of mules to give one a sense of entourage.

But in Africa bureaucrats are usually too proud to accept a bribe, something I admire when I'm not the one being arrested.

In moments of great uncertainty on my travels, I have always felt that something is protecting me, that I will come to no harm.

It was an awkward moment. We were burning down our host's house, a situation which any guest seeks to avoid.

The first rule of an expedition is that everyone should stick together.

Most journeys have a clear beginning, but on some the ending is less well-defined. The question is, at what point do you bite your lip and head for home?

Usually, there is nothing more pleasing that returning to a place where you have endured hardship.

A journey, I reflected, is of no merit unless it has tested you.