From the old...

...we travel to the new.

Final Comments

We have reached the end of this epic journey around the world. For now, at least.

Did I come back...different? Stronger? Wiser? Better?

I'd have to let you be the judge of that.

On a side note, I would like to apologise for the drop-off in blog posts in recent months; a combination of factors has caused this - lack of time, tiredness, and, sometimes, a lack of inspiration. Asia fires my writing in a way that the Western world can't. And South America is wonderful, yes, but on a budget like mine you are very limited in what you can do, and without adequate Spanish you are completely screwed.

I am frequently asked which place was my favourite. Each time, I have to respond with '...in what way?'

For fun...Thailand. For scenery...New Zealand. For happiness...Nepal. For personal growth...India. The list goes on. If you have any questions about my travels or general travelling, I'd be more than happy to answer them. Leave me a comment or send me an email.

Each country is unique and holds a different type of memory, a different kind of story. It is the people that make the country what it is. My friends and adversaries have defined each space; it is that which has taught me more about who I am, more than any sunset or mountain vista. That said, the landscape of a country can speak to you in a way that people cannot. With time to stare I felt, not as though I was gazing at a landscape, but that the landscape was gazing back at me.

As most of you will know by now, the delay in my most recent blog posts has been caused because my stay in South America was abruptly terminated by the inevitable certainty of life beyond taxes. But a journey is not defined by location. I've learnt more in the past month than I learnt in a year around the world.

The end of every journey is the beginning.

The Measure.

The body, like a book that you have borrowed,

Is something to respect and then return.

For those left behind, for the family and friends

What will become of a life at its end?

What will be the measure of my days, my weeks, my years?

What will be the value of my happiness and fears?

What will people think of me, what’s left of me to give,

What will be the measure of a life well lived?

Not how much I gained, but that I would not ask for more

Not what I believed, but the things that I stood up for,

Not the things I bought, but the things I gave for free

And not the things I learnt, but what people learnt from me.

Not my memories faded, but that people know I cared,

And not the things we lose, but the things that are still there.

Not the way I looked, but the smile upon my face

In our memories together, and in love’s saving grace.