You may have noticed that I love travelling and I love writing and if you know me well you may have sussed that I don’t want to be a Foot Health Practitioner all my life. Fighting foot fungus just isn't as glamorous as you might imagine it to be. So I’d like to tell you a little bit about the new career that I am embarking upon. It’s called travel writing and it just happens to be right up my street or, to be more accurate, my mountain path.
I have grand ideas for the future but, being realistic for a moment, it is much more of a hobby than anything else. So whether or not it ever earns me a shilling or two to feed the kids and the gas meter, I take enormous enormous pleasure from simply just doing it. Consequently I am sure you can imagine the utter delight when just last week I had an article published in Exodus Extracts magazine.
This fine publication is issued twice yearly by Exodus Travels to keep customers old, new and potential up to date with news and features about the group activity holidays they operate all over the world and the way they apply their ‘responsible tourism’ approach to global travel. They asked me to write them a piece on a recent walking trip I had done with them in Bosnia & Herzegovina. Thanks to Exodus I had had such a good time that I just couldn’t refuse. I immediately put finger to keyboard and now I have my name and the story of an amazing experience in print.
So Exodus have got me now. I fell in love with them on my first cycling holiday to Cuba a couple of years ago but after four more astonishingly good trips that I could not find fault with, and the inclusion of some of my writing in their glossy magazine I am besotted. They have filled my life with ambition in terms of travel, writing and the two combined and for that I cannot thank them enough.
I’m not monogamous though so my journalistic schemes and dreams do extend beyond Exodus Extracts. So who knows? With a bit of luck I might one day even make it onto the pages of TV Quick.
The piece I wrote for them starts like this:
By Terry Mullan
In November 1993 I sat at home and watched on the BBC evening news the Old Bridge in Mostar crumble into the Neretva River that it had spanned majestically for over 400 years. Already in ruins from months of bombardment, one last shell finally ended the life of the Stari Most and a wave of sadness washed over me …
To read the full article, click here.
Stari Most, from my Neretva terrace restaurant.