Leaving London at night, the cool breeze brushing my cheeks, it was almost impossible to imagine the searing heat of Africa that waited for me at the other end of the voyage. It was late May, and I was standing on the deck of a 57,000-ton freighter bound for Ghana. Thirteen storeys up, and I was higher on a boat than I had ever been in a building. The lights and dark shapes of the Docklands drifted past silently, the only noise the occasional shattering boom of the ship’s horn reverberating through the emptiness of the Thames.

Slow Travel was something of a new concept to me, and on hearing about ...


There are approximately 1199 more words in this article.

To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.

Buy Issue Join Us

If you are already a member, please Sign in