I hadn’t expected it to start with a hill. As a lime green man-kini and its host buttocks pulled away up the gravel path, the tiny town of Reuil dropped away behind me, and I puffed my way through the first kilometres of France’s strangest sporting event.
Some places have to be seen to be believed. During my second month in South America I drove south from La Paz towards the town of Uyuni in southern Bolivia: A base for the world’s largest, and highest salt lake.
From the moment we began walking the earth, we found ways to record our experiences and explain the world around us. Be it through cave paintings, stone carvings or the printed word, we’re experts at describing our surroundings.
At the edge of London’s Zone 2 there’s a wilderness. The constant hum of traffic is replaced by nesting birds, damp ground underfoot and a thick canopy that drops dappled shadows onto the pale faces of long-forgotten gravestones.
I have some advice: Don’t holiday in Lithuania if you don’t like carbs, if you wince at the thought of loosening a belt buckle or if, for whatever reason, you don’t enjoy eating.
A drizzly day in Vilnius can be deceptive. Rain hits the greys of dilapidated tower blocks and the cobbled streets of the old town are shiny underfoot.