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 ...
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