May 3rd, 2008 03:28am Paula
Life has just been so cool of late.
Firstly, my darling mate Sarah, she of the first reconnaissance mission to Morocco in Slow Journey South, has just been out to visit for two weeks. It is such, such bliss to have had time with her - one of the hard things about living a dual nationality existence is how one eternally misses the people and places of one or the other all the time. It was wonderful to have her here, and we passed many a pleasant hour over long lunches and dinners - one of which is pictured here, along with another friend, Cath.
It has been such a busy month, one way or another. I went to Sydney and Brisbane for publicity for the book, and had a great time flouncing about feeling like the queen of sheba with my Random House publicist, Annabel. She did a marvellous job of hoiking me from one radio station to another, and in and out of book signings. She also loves sushi, so we did well on that front. It has been great to see the book getting so much publicity and such lovely reviews - I get chuffed every time I read a new one. Thanks most of all to those of you who have contacted me directly or left comments on the site saying how much you enjoyed it - they mean such a great deal, and give me a thrill every time I open up my email.
Sarah and I travelled up to my home town of Mansfield, and passed a couple of awesome days. Since I often feel a bit boring writing my blog when I am not walking, this particular trip gave me something to put in here that some of you may actually find interesting. Since my family left Mansfield, nearly ten years ago now, I have been - shall we say - horseless. Ok, I know I have had plenty of camels to keep me company, but I grew up on horses, and I miss them. Even more importantly, I miss the beautiful mountains and rivers of home, and the peace and joy of riding through them.
So it was just utterly wonderful to take Sarah up to stay with an old friend of mine, Lesley Dunlop, whose family has run Merrijig Lodge ever since I was a kid. She is the kind of mate I tend to catch up with every few years and never feel like I’ve skipped a beat; she has travelled all over, and is endlessly great company. Merrijig Lodge - and Lesley and her Dad, Chris Dunlop - have always run brilliant trail rides all through the hills around Merrijig and Mt Buller, anything from half a day to three days, and it is a real pleasure for me to go home and catch up with Lesley for a ride. We took Sarah out and
she came back gobsmacked by the sheer beauty of the country we rode through - if a little sore! For me it was a long breath out after weeks of racing around cities made up and speaking about myself and the book (alright, I am sure that you all think that sounds wonderfully glam, but it actually does get a bit tiring after a while - precious as I realise that sounds, and believe me, I am SOOOO grateful to be getting publicity at all, etc etc….). We drove up to Buller and sat in the sun and I thought how lucky I am to have grown up in such a beautiful part of the world - I hope I find a way to move back there in years to come.
One of the bonuses about Merrijig Lodge is it’s proximity to the legendary Merrijig pub - or to give it the official title, the Hunt Club Hotel, Merrijig. Sitting outside on the verandah sinking a quiet couple of ales after a horseride has to be one of the great pleasures in life. Sure beats the hell out of walking into dusty Tomboctou for a laugh. Sitting there watching the day fade into the glorious
dusky blue and rosy pinks of the High Country sunset, I felt lonely for the desert again, but also comforted by being back in the beauty I grew up amongst. It reminded me how truly important it is to live your life where you feel happy, and where the country matches your soul. Some of us just weren’t built for cities. I’m one of them. Fortunately for me, Graeme also loves the mountains up there, so I am not alone in my dreaming of going back home some day soon.
If any of you are thinking of visiting Australia any time soon, I cannot recommend any place more highly 
than Merrijig Lodge to see the glorious country of the Alps. Have a beer with Lesley for me…
All of the excitement over both the book and Sarah being here has helped me totally refocus on two things: the next book, and the last leg of the walk. I feel utterly enthused about both, and am writing again at last and planning madly. I sometimes feel so excited about how much I have learned, and changed, over the last few years; even this enforced break, which I once felt so resentful about, has in so many ways been such a wonderful learning curve. I feel strongly that this next phase of the walk may well be the most rewarding; if the first desert trek was dominated by the utterly rotten trauma of my marriage break up, and the second phase was a real shock in a physical and logistical sense, I have a weird belief that this last desert leg will be a consolidation of all that has gone before - a peaceful, well organised, well outfitted, and satisfying walk. The reality may well wind up totally to the contrary, of course, but I feel so very much more confident in myself about it. It has taken so long for me to really feel at ease with what I have done, and to believe in my ability to carry on; sometimes I have wondered if I have just been lucky, fluked it to get this far, and it is hard to look back and see what I have done right rather than simply see all the mistakes I have made. But I guess that in itself is a continual spur to always want to do better, and that is where I am at right now - full of the desire to really get out there and do it well, to walk every bit I can and enjoy it.
In the meantime I am appreciating every wonderful thing about being home amongst family, friends, and the accroutrements of modern life. Much and all as I would love to say I have come out of my walk with a desire to live like those in the countries I have passed through - I am a shameless advocate of the good life, and of the freedoms our life here in Australia offers. Whilst I love the thrill and exotic nature of the places I pass through, it is bliss to come home to a clean, safe, prosperous and educated nation, where the quality of life is so incredibly good. We are unbelievably fortunate. Although I learn much about humility and modest needs when I am travelling, it also highlights for me how amazingly lucky we are to be able to choose to visit the countries I have - and then return home. Our lives are easy, blessed, and full of a myriad of opportunity. We have much to be thankful for, I think.
To all of those booksellers who have been so welcoming in recent weeks, thankyou, and to Annabel and all at Random House, my thanks know no bounds for your generosity and hard work on my behalf. I am seriously chuffed to see the book get to Number two on the Sydney Morning Herald Travel book bestseller list! To all of you who have bought it - an enormous thankyou. I will hurry up and get the second one happening.
I called in to the local bookstore in Mansfield - after savage prompting from Sarah - and stutteringly offered to sign some copies of the book. It is hard not to feel a total plonker doing this, and I always cringe in shame, but the owners seemed ok with it and were lovely, so despite needing a soothing ale afterwards, I think it was a good experience for all involved.
Please keep emailing. You have no idea how heartwarming it is to hear of so many others who are dreaming and planning out there - particularly women! I think there is an endless supply of brilliant, creative, gutsy chicks out there who are just packing up and doing it. How utterly wonderful. I love hearing from every one of you.
I hope you enjoy these pics of the country I come from…slightly different to the desert, but God’s own, indeed.
March 26th, 2008 01:45am Paula
Hello all –
Well, it is finally here! “Slow Journey South”, my first book, goes on sale in Australia on the 1st of April – widely available in all book stores.
Now, as for those of you not lucky enough to live in Australia (ha, ha, ha) it has taken me some time to come up with an alternative. Just to explain the details to you – until my publishers, Random House, have secured overseas publishers in various countries (unlikely to happen until my book has proven sales in Australia) they will not sell the rights to Amazon, as that would substantially lessen the chances of gaining said publisher.
So the solution we have finally come up with is that the link on this site will go to a store called Gleebooks, in Sydney, who can arrange for sales to overseas.
THIS IS THE LINK: http://www.gleebooks.com.au/default.asp?p=displaybook_asp?bookCode=9781741667967
Here is the first review I received, from the Australia Bookseller and Publisher magazine, I was dead chuffed because this mag goes out to all the various book outlets and buyers, and the review was written by a lady who buys for Angus & Robertson, one of Australia’s biggest book outlets; getting four stars made my day!
Australian Paula Constant has written a lifeaffirming, positive, inspiring and informative narrative of her emotional and physical journey to give up a teaching job in London and walk for three years with her husband—walking out of Trafalgar Square in central London to France, Spain and along the Camino Santiago pilgrim’s walk to Portugal. The book finishes as they reach Africa, but it is far from over as her main dream is to walk right to Cape Town. The ending is left open for a second book that will hopefully cover the remainder of their walk through the Sahara with camels, right down to Cape Town in South Africa. Paula’s voice is a fresh and
compelling one. She writes really well in this genre and is thoroughly inspirational—giving much in the way of personal learnings and insights about life. Slow Journey South will appeal to those that have an interest in travel stories, those that are interested
in walking and hiking and those that enjoy reading about Africa and the Camino Santiago. This is one of the finest examples of travel literature in a long time!
Melanie Barton is fiction category manager at Angus & Robertson
This review from Australian Bookseller & Publisher magazine is reproduced by kind permission of Thorpe-Bowker, a division of R R Bowker LLC. © Copyright 2008, Thorpe-Bowker
The official in-store date for the book is 1st of April, although it may be possible to find it a week before then (yeah right, Paula, like there are going to be mad queues….) and trust me – I will be there accosting unwitting shoppers and coercing them into buying a book!! It is hard not to feel excited, it has been so long coming and feels great to finally have “evidence” of my walk out there – my own story.
It has also helped reinvigorate me in planning the next leg. I received an email from Niger today – after a move by the rebel MNJ Tuareg forces (whom the Nigerienne government, in their wisdom, refuse to negotiate with as they are considered little more than bandits and drug runners rather than legitimate complainants) to release 25 prisoners – a move largely seen as a peaceful overture in part engineered by Libya - the MNJ has unfortunately gone on to launch another attack on a military base, killing two. I cringe every time I hear news such as this, as every incident lessens my chances of returning to Niger this September. But this time around I will not be caught out again, and am organizing my plan B to enter in Libya in the event that Niger cannot get it together.
You can look at the goings on in Niger at www.niger1.com – I have been away from the desert long enough that it actually looks attractive to me once more!
I am busy writing the second book; seeing the first one actually in print has really helped to motivate me in a lot of ways. I find it very difficult at times – writing about my marriage break up for example is far from simple or easy. I also find it difficult often to really explain what it is like out there – I realize, reading back over my website and diaries, that I have become very accustomed to sanitizing my accounts, partly to avoid worrying anyone back home and partly because I was often so exhausted when I reached a town that I felt reluctant to go re live the last stretch I had been on. What interests me now is that in reading my diaries – which I have been doing lately for the first time since I got back – I remember so much that I had lost, or blocked out – whatever is the reality. And that can be difficult to write about, because I guess there was a lot of pretty hard stuff, and to some degree you can’t afford to dwell in that when you are out there doing it. It tends to come home to you long afterwards, waking you up in the night and making you flinch at involuntary times, or alternatively, bore the hell out of unsuspecting mates when you have had too much to drink. One friend said to me a few months ago, when I got into one of these accounts – “oh God Paula, not another bloody camel story” – and I thought: oh, dear, I think I better shut up.
So I try to restrict myself to those audiences who I know get it and are patient – my Mum, Graeme, Lachlan. It is a bit much to expect the general populous to have much interest in camel induced sleep deprivation!
Last week I went to Sydney to do the first of the publicity events for my book. This was the HDS booksellers conference – those are the guys who run the newslink outlets at airports, and various other brands worldwide. I addressed a conference of their regional managers and buys, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It is the first time I have done a talk about this book rather than the desert walk, and it was a joy to speak about the Europe walk again, to go right back to the beginning where all of this started. I ended with a passage from the book which I wanted to reproduce here, since I find it helpful to revisit myself, and a reminder of what is really important:
I think back to the person who sat on a sand dune and dreamed of walking through Africa, and I think of how truly powerful our dreams are, think that it is our dreams which tell us who we really are and what is important for us, that they are our identity, our reality, our comfort in the dark night and our defence against the false paths strewn in front of us by a society which does not honour their wisdom.
I think of how very close I came on so many occasions to deserting my dreams because they seemed too hard, or because people told me they were crazy. And then I think that this walk is the most important thing I have ever done, that I have learned more about myself and the world around me in this last year than I did in the thirty years before it, and I take a deep breath and throw back my head and look at the stars blazing with otherworldly power far above me in the clear crystal desert night and I feel the rip tide within surge and ebb once more and I think to myself:
There is nothing I cannot do.
I still love reading that passage. It reminds me of how it is out there.
I hope those of you who buy it enjoy it. And to the London mob – as soon as I have the advance copies in my hands, a copy will be winging its way to each of you, promise. Love you guys so much, Jo, Steph, Steve, Sarah, Dan and Stefania….I miss you.
Cheers.
February 13th, 2008 04:02am Paula
Some of you may remember a cycling gentleman that I met up with in Gao, Mali, last year, by the name of Lachlan Prouse. A fellow Australian, Lachlan had at that point already completed an incredible trip through over fifty countries, including Iran and Afghanistan - this is him here, with my good self.
Well, last week, Lachie turned up, still on two wheels, at our house in the Dandenongs - having landed in Perth some time ago and taken a leisurely cycle across Australia, catching up with mates and family on the way. I can't even begin to tell you how good it was to see him.
Between the last time we met and now, Lachlan has taken an amazing path - through some of the toughest African countries, including the Congo and Angola, to cycle all the way down to Cape Town. On the way he suffered from malaria; was shot at; struggled with infected leg ulcers; and survived months of mosquito infestations, tough country, heat and illness. I said the last time that I met him, that Lachlan is one of the unsung heroes of adventuring, whose exploits make the rest of us look pretty shabby by comparison. He is also one of life's great, gentle souls, who sees his time on the bike as a chance to explore his thoughts, and enjoy his solitude - and who never compromises his integrity.
For me, having Lachie turn up at home was a wonderful chance to really talk about my walk with someone who has seen me in the middle of it, and even better, someone who really gets what it is like to do this stuff. I don't think I stopped talking all weekend, and I felt like I had been through some great therapy by the end of it. For me Lachlan is the one person with whom I do not need to explain things too -he has been there and done it, to a greater degree than I have, and he gets it, totally.
I often come across people who have done pretty amazing stuff. But I have yet to meet anyone who has done anything in such a committed, wholehearted, yet understated way as Lachie. No website, no media, no sponsors; just a miniscule budget, a lot of hand stitched clothes, an old $200 bike that has gone all the way since China, and a thousand nights spent in yurts and huts from Mongolia to Lesotho. He has outraced bandits intent on taking his life, stoned soldiers unconcerned with whether or not their bullets hit him, and the incessant demands of starving and sick locals desperate for whatever he may be able to provide. He has done the tough months of isolation and pain, and withstood the incredible mental strain of pushing through country after country under the most demanding of conditions.
And yet we sit out on the balcony over a beer and all I am really aware of is the calm, gentle acceptance of someone who knows their place in life, and is happy to simply be in it. I wanted to put this post up because for me, and I know for Graeme also, having Lachie in our home for a few days was one of the highlights of the last twelve months. Wherever you are, mate, happy wheels, and may our paths cross again - I will be busting my butt to make it to Cairo the same time as you!
All our love. Stay cool.
January 30th, 2008 03:40am Paula
This has been the longest break my blog has ever had. I guess that I was holding on so tight last year, that I just needed to give myself a break; and I am happy to say that having done so, it feels like a whole new world out there.
Firstly, to those who knew him – Frank Walshe, our Dad, died on the 10th of January, at home in Cornwall. He lived well and inspired us all in his own way, and we will miss him.
I have been back in Australia for a while now after spending a couple of months in the UK. It was wonderful to spend time with Dad and his wife Ela, and Ela’s daughter Tanya, before he passed away, and I was glad I could go. It was also an enormous joy to be with my London mates again, and able to talk about the ups and downs the previous months had brought in terms of the walk, to people who understood it.
I spent a lot of time sleeping, getting fit, and weaning myself out of all the bad habits I had fallen into on my return from the walk, cutting back on the mad fits of mild hysteria and over-drinking and trying to get back to what it was that was important to me; and finding out where I wanted to go from here.
Unsuprisingly, I guess, although I confess it did come as something of a shock to me, I found that with a bit of rest, my enthusiasm for my walk and the desire to see this adventure through to the end, returned with a huge wallop. For the first time since I got back from the desert last time, I began looking at photographs with an eye to more than speaking engagements or articles; rather I just began viewing them with friends, talking about where I was and what was going on. I began to relive the journey and to fall in love with it again from outside, something I had found incredibly hard to do in the aftermath of the walk last year, plunged as I was into trying to talk about it, write about it, and get it back on the road. I desperately needed a rest from all of that and a chance to actually reflect on what the walk had really been – and, perhaps more importantly, to forgive myself for not having made it all the way across the desert in one hit.
This was a big one for me. No matter how many times friends or family, or indeed other expeditioners, told me that I had done everything I could, and that my only alternative had been to accept that Niger was impassable and return to Australia, I had found it extraordinarily difficult to accept either the reality of their words, or that I wasn’t somehow at fault for being forced to stop before I wanted to. I had struggled terribly with a gnawing sense of doubt, failure and inadequacy, and shed a bucket of tears in the middle of dark nights, fearing that my dream was finished and that it was in some way entirely down to my own inadequacies. I compared myself with one of my heroes, Michael Asher, who walked the same path (to this point in Niger) that I have, with his wife, Mariantonietta, twenty years ago. He was forced to a halt in the very same village that I was; and yet he managed to convince the authorities to let him continue, and went on to walk across war-torn Chad, into Sudan and finally to the Nile in Egypt, thus making the first European West to East crossing of the Sahara.
I wondered why I had failed where he succeeded; I felt that any honour or distinction my walk may have earned, was lost the second I had to leave my camels and take a plane out of there. No matter what the reasons, I couldn’t help but feel horrendously inadequate and depressed by the outcome of what had been such high hopes.
Asher wrote a book about his expedition – Impossible Journey. I read it years ago, before I had ever even left London. It seemed so otherworldly at the time to be almost like a moon landing; I understood nothing of what he had done, and the entire tale felt incredible and, indeed, impossible. I measured myself against this ex-SAS soldier and biographer of Thesiger, renowned author and expedition leader, and found myself horribly wanting. I doubted that I could ever even hope to emulate such a man, and I put the book away with forboding and doubt tumbling through my mind.
A couple of weeks ago, and just as I was feeling a new energy and vigour rush back into my mind and body, a new push for the walk starting in myself, my Aunt gave me another copy of the book and asked if I had read it. Full of trepidation, but figuring it was about time I faced my fears, I opened the book.
It was the best thing I could have done.
Far from depressing or humiliating me, Asher’s tale buoyed and encouraged me. Having virtually mirrored his route until this point, I could relate entirely to every description of place, guide, camel, landscape, and experience; I could feel every doubt and laugh ruefully at every cockup. I empathized with his concerns and laughed at his observations, and for the first time since I left Mauritania, I felt comforted by the knowledge that not only did someone else absolutely understand what I have been through – but also, and far, far more importantly for me, I felt the first stirrings of real pride and relief at my own accomplishment. Here was someone who I have long admired and respected, and yet when I read his book – he had fallen into so many of the same traps I did, had so many of the same problems I encountered.
Yes, I envy him terribly the fact that he was able to continue his journey and cross the desert in one hit. Far smarter than I, Asher and his wife travelled much further each day, riding their camels for about half of every day’s march. If I were to ever attempt another desert crossing I would do the same thing; but mine is a walk, and so, somewhat stubbornly, I stick to my promise of making every step from one side of the desert to another.
But the most important outcome for me was the feeling of beginning to actually respect my own journey, and, for the first time, to accept that it wasn’t my fault that I had to take a break; and also to discover that my will to complete the journey had returned with a vengeance, this time accompanied by a true enthusiasm for the remaining country.
This was an extremely vital development. I had been horribly aware, in the dark months after my return last year, that my true desire to continue had suffered a real setback. Deep down, far where I couldn’t speak about to anyone, I asked myself if I could really face going back; if I genuinely wanted to complete this walk at all. I thought of the bad guides and of starving camels, of tribal councils and corrupt officials, of machine guns and menacing intruders to my camp, or begging women and uncomprehending nomads. I thought of the prickles and exhaustion and just plain fear sometimes, and, perhaps far harder, of the intense loneliness and ache that comes from months of isolation within another culture. I felt deeply tired within, tired of fighting for sponsorship, of trying to get back there, or pushing and pushing, for years now, to make this dream a reality.
So it was sheer bliss to realize that having given myself a true rest – mental as well as physical; having spent hours doing yoga, and resting my mind, and concentrating on making my body well and my mind still, that suddenly, I had rediscovered my love for this walk again. Suddenly I could feel once again the immense excitement and sense of anticipation that I get looking out over that deserted, empty space, the infinite realm of possibility that almost chokes me with longing at the beginning of every walk, the urge to get into it, to get beyond that first vista, to find what the journey will bring, what inner and outer voyages of discovery I will make. I felt my mind open up once more, and deep inside I felt a resurgence of the determination that got me this far. I came back to Australia and I thought: Now. NOW I’m ready to go back.
It’s funny, but I think life just wouldn’t let me do it until I got to that place in my mind.
So now I am back and thoroughly into it. My book comes out in two months (!!!!) and I have been thrilled watching the cover come into life, and the final shape it is taking. Even though this book covers the European walk, which now seems so far away, it is with a massive sense of satisfaction that I watch it coming into being; as if finally, I have some tangible proof of my experience. Finally, my story, told the way I want to. I can’t wait to hold it in my hands, and for you all to read it!
I am booked to return to the desert on September the 1st. The situation in Niger is better, but not entirely resolved; but I am working on the basis that it will be. Somehow, I will find a way to continue my journey. It is just not finished for me, and now – I want it. Truly, and deep in my heart.
I want to leave you with some words I found my TS Eliot, in a book called “Four Quartets” that my Mum sent out to me whilst I was walking last time. They have been an inspiration and comfort to me:
In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
Happy New Year to you all.
October 17th, 2007 03:53pm Paula
I read back over my last post before I wrote this one, and I wondered: where do I start? It is so difficult, sometimes, to explain all of the mental twists and turns one takes in coming to a decision. Sometimes I read back over this blog and think that it is nothing more than a sketch, leaving out all of the intricacies life throws us. But then - that is what books are for, I guess, so in the end, here is the place to simply deliver the facts, hopefully with a dose of humour. The detail comes with the book.
After a horrendous period of intense debate, discussion, deliberation and angst, I have taken the most difficult decision of my life: to postpone my walk for eleven months. I have talked with representatives and contacts in Niger, Libya, and Egypt, all of whom have offered incredible support and assistance. But the bottom line for me is that I set out to walk from West to East - and at this stage, that is simply not possible. If I thought that it was likely to remain impossible, I could consider resuming my walk from Libya. But all of the information from Niger indicates that a resolution is possible, and likely - meaning that if i m prepared to postpone, I can pick up my walk from where I left off - including my treasured camels.
It is impossible to convey how difficult this decision has been. Up until the deathknock, I felt I could find a way through. And I found many wonderful sources of information; I found many avenues that will aid me in the future. But my bottom line was, I could find no way to achieve my original goal. And no matter how important walking itself is to me, nor how much I may want to simply put my sandals back on and walk in the desert, I know now from bitter experience that to set off without correct preparation and planning, is simply irresponsible, and a recipe for disaster. Although I had options to resume my walk from both Libya and Egypt, (in the case of Egypt walking backwards toward my finishing point of the last walk), the bottom line is that a/ I want to achieve my goal of walking West to East; and b/ I do not have the groundwork in place to set up and totally re-equip my expedition from either country, in a short amount of time.
So I finally sat back, bit the bullet, and accepted that my walk is off for a further 11 months.
It is without a doubt, the hardest decision I have ever taken.
My biggest fear was: will I definitely go back? If I take this time off, will my drive fade, my ambitions alter - will I simply decide that this is all finished for me?
But one day walking in the city addessed this for me.
On a whim, and totally lost and unhappy, I walked into the foreign language bookshop. This time last year, when I visited and asked for CD's on Arabic, there was only one set - woefully inadequate. this time, there was an entire array, a whole wall, of Arabic language books and CD courses. Even better, for the first time I saw CD's covering all the different dialects - and the courses were comprehensive, rather than being tourist market stuff. Suddenly I was immensely excited - I can actually STUDY Arabic! And go back truly fluent! I picked up these books and CD's and rolled them around in delight, thinking of how brilliant it would be to actually be really able to communicate, rather than stumbling along as I have been.
And suddenly the opportunities began to roll around in my head. I can finally have the space to write my desert book, rather than just putting it off until a future date. I can guarantee to my publishers that I will be here for the release date in April of my first book. I can learn Arabic, PROPERLY, get every visa complication sorted in advance, have the time to pitch for sponsorship properly, and make sure that every bit of equipment works exactly as it should. I can prepare for this walk in a way that I have never prepared before, and make it WORK. And all of those thoughts made me believe for the first time, that this is actually a GOOD decision; that I am not letting myself down, or failing, but that in fact I am taking the right and responsible decisions to make my expedition really happen.
And there is the thing. When I set out from London this was a dream, a jaunt, an idea. I never really understood what it could become, or where I would get to. But after walking nearly 12000 km my walk is no longer a jaunt or a travel; it is an expedition that I have sweat blood and tears for, that matters a lot to me, and that I want to see succeed. And if making that happen means taking eleven months out - then so be it.
Now that I know what I am doing I will keep this website updated more frequently. This Saturday, I am flying back to the UK. My father - one of the world's healthiest men - has been stricken down with cancer of the spine, and I guess there is no way to defy the end that is coming. He is based in Cornwall and I am going, with my sister, to see him. I don't know how long I will be there and I am glad that I now do not have to think about cutting my time with him short to go back to the desert.
I know that the next year will not be easy, on a whole range of levels. But I have finally realised that my goal does not have a fixed date of expiry on it; and also that I still, absolutely, believe in what I am doing. I will go back as soon as circumstances permit - and I WILL finish my walk.
I hope you guys all stay along for the ride. Thankyou for your emails and comments; Heidi, I was incredibly touched by what you wrote, and read it on a day when I really needed to. I thank everyone who has written emails of support and encouragement over what has been a really tough period. And I have to say - I am out of it now, and simply excited about what lies ahead. I know I will make this work.
More soon….once again, thankyou.
October 1st, 2007 04:51am Paula
When I am back in Australia - or the UK - I know that my posts are frustratingly sporadic. This is often because I feel as if what I have to say is pretty boring when I am not walking; and also because I don't like to make everyone party to the million small struggles that occur as I try to get the walk back up and running. But I think a full update might be due.
I have been planning, ever since I came back, to return to the UK and then Africa on October 20th. I have waited with bated breath for every update from the Niger authorities and the wonderful Guy Villeneuve, Canadian consul to Niger who was so helpful to me when I was there. But every bulletin has brought no good news, and the situation has seemed to remain fairly desperate.
I have tried to work out the logistics of getting into Libya and continuing there; but seem stonewalled on every front, as I can't even get to my camels to ship them up North at the moment, and the Southern region of Libya is also unsafe. Added to this, I feel immensely frustrated at the thought of having to miss such a huge chunk of my walk at such a vital stage.
Then there has been the usual hassles of funding; but I have felt loathe to head into pitching strongly, until I have a firm view on what is happening out there, and can guarantee sponsors a return on their bucks.
I have waited as long as I can, and this week yet more bad news came through from Niger, and I felt despondent and lacklustre.
But I went to Adelaide last week to address the last of the Birkenstock retailers and their audiences. I love doing Birkenstock presentations; the people are always wonderful, and it takes me back to the desert and the walk and I always leave feeling reinvigorated.
And suddenly I just got - well - plain mad.
I have NOT come this far to get stonewalled. I think some part of me has been sitting back and just hoping for the best, hoping that things will improve, hoping, somehow, that I will just get there. And now, three weeks out from my fly date, it just aint happening. For family reasons not necessary to explain here, I must return to the UK regardless on the 20th for a brief time. I am not deciding - up until the day I go - to cross this walk out, not until I have lobbied every sodding individual on the face of this earth as hard and often as I can, and explored every single option that even vaguely presents itself. I think about putting it off for a year; and if I must, I will; but that has to remain the absolute last resort.
There are several problems. One is that my book comes out next May. That means that I have to be back here then to fulfil my obligations to random House, the publishers. This precludes me puttiing the walk off until Christmas. The second is that because I have not got funding at this stage, I am still totally broke - something that I refuse to worry about at this point, but which is unsettling, even though ultimately, I believe, solvable.
But there are a million other considerations. If my camels must remain in Niger, do I want to go into Libya and pay out a colossal sum of money - in a hurry - to set the whole expedition up again, when I will still be missing a vast chunk of my walk and thus not achieving my original goal? Even worse - I would be setting myself up in a new and strange country, without contacts, in a hurry. A recipe for disaster, in my book, and I am doing all I can do find people who may be able to assist.
I think about putting things on hold, and about the other options
- like perhaps doing the Australian walk this year and going back to Niger next year. And I can't say that it doesn't appeal, in the face of all the problems.
But I feel furious and resentful about this; and, I confess, slightly bloody minded. At what point is "putting off", really "giving up"? Sure I see that I cannot fight political instability. But in my heart I know damn well that if I could just get on the ground, and hire local nomads who know the route and understand the conflict, that I could get through that territory safe as houses. But since I am now known to authorities and Guy has vouched for me, any nefarious ideas I may harbour in the dark nights aren't really an option, no matter how tempting.
And I can't just give it away. I have held onto this dream so hard and for so long that to let it go is a mammoth task. Only a couple of days ago, I had decided that fighting on was futile, that I had best simply cut my losses and put it on hold. But I woke the following morning with new ideas and impulses surging through my brain and I thought: no way. Until I know without any shred of doubt that every single option is gone - I do NOT let this go. And there it is - I still want this. I want it so much it hurts. I miss my walk. I miss my camels. I AM BLOODY WELL NOT DONE YET.
I walk around Melbourne endlessly, pounding the pavement and drinking too much coffee, thoughts churning in my brain and ideas cropping up and being discarded. I have been through the now familiar cycle of despair, despondency, depression, too much booze, and guilt and low self esteem. I know the way this stuff works, now, after three years of going and coming back. I try to ride it out, cry the tears and not put it on my family and friends too much. I know also now that no matter how well adjusted I may think I am when I get back, that it takes some months for the experiences to really filter through, and my equilibrium to restore. This process has been even tougher this time as I have tried to explain my walk in the media, something which is often difficult, and frequently is misinterpreted. At times I have felt as if my walk has been hijacked in some way, that I myself have been taken over by other's perceptions of what my walk is and what I do.
But when I wake up in the night and the walk is storming through my brain, I don't think about any of that. I lie there and I think - is this over for me? Am I done yet? Is this still what I really want to do, what I am MEANT to do, or am I just being stubborn and obstructive? Do I need to let this go now?
And from deep inside me - every time - comes a resounding NO. This walk is hard, yes. My God, it is the hardest thing I have ever done, on levels that I find difficult to explain even to those closest to me. And I don't always enjoy being out there, or feel confident in my abilities to make it through. But for some bizarre, unfathomable reason - it is still what I WANT to do. And a part of me will never, ever rest until it is done. I can't give it up. It is who I am and what I do, and I will not allow that to die, no matter what.
It may end up that this gets put on hold - even for a couple of months. At the moment it seems I face concrete no matter where I turn. But in some strange way, I feel more motivated and passionate about it now than I have from the day I returned. Maybe in some strange way it is because for the first time I am facing the fact that someone else is making the decisions; that it isn't ME controlling whether or not I go back, but external influences. And that makes me as mad and determined as hell.
I said once that I wouldn't let this walk take over my life; that I wouldn't dwell in a stagnant place, or let it govern my existence. But by the same token, I am stuffed if I am giving up because the going got tough. And I think it is worth fighting for.
So if you are wondering what is going on back here in Australia; well, I walk, and I eat (a LOT), and I dream and scheme and write and pitch and plan. i discuss every option with my friend and mentor Graeme Joy, and we try to plan a way around the obstacles. I cry and I rant to my mother and she cooks and listens and is the most wonderful person on the face of this earth. I talk to my sister and I talk to my mates, and everyone has ideas, and they all persevere with me even when I think I must drive them up the wall and back again.
And I thank you all for that.
I don't know what is coming from here and I cannot make any guarantees. But I know one thing:
I will NOT give up. Not now, not ever.
And I don't want to.
On that note….must be time for cake.
September 24th, 2007 08:42pm cyberhobo
This article appeared in the September 2007 issue of NOVA Magazine.
September 24th, 2007 08:32pm cyberhobo
This article appeared in the September 2007 edition of Adelaide Matters.
September 3rd, 2007 05:48am Paula
I am sorry it has been such a long break between posts. Sometimes it feels like I got off the plane, onto a merry-go-round, and haven't yet found the stop button. But it is all good stuff, and I guess it is about time I let you know what has been happening.
Firstly, after three years of walking without any media interest whatsoever, I finally got some coverage - some of which you can see on the news section of this site. This has largely been orchestrated by Birkenstock Australia, who have been absolutely magnificent in their support of 
me and my walk. I have been doing presentations in their outlets around Australia - this photograph was taken in the Perth Subiaco B-store, where I was last week. I was incredibly fortunate to stay with Angela, who works with Mike, the manager, in a consulting capacity - and many fine bottles of wine and a great time was had by all! The reception at all the B-stores, and in Perth especially, has been just fantastic - they even have my old shoes on display in the window. Poor, downtrodden things that they look….
I also spoke at a Perth luncheon - the Chick Chat, a meeting a business and entrepeneurial local women. I found it a truly brilliant event - not only because it is sponsored by Veuve Cliquot! - and met a range of fascinating women. There is something so warm and inspiring about being in a room of achieving, strong women - it really is a fantastic experience.
I have become more accustomed to presenting, and now I am working through an agency called Saxton's Speakers Bureau, who will handle booking me out. It has been a huge learning curve for me to get to a point where I am really comfortable standing up in front of an audience and speaking about my walk; it is also incredibly difficult to distill my years of walking into a forty five minute presentation. But I find it tremendously rewarding to do, and also, to some degree, therapeutic.
In addition to all these lovely happenings, my first book has finally been bought by Random House, and is due for release in May next year. The second is in the birthing process just now. I have been so close with publishing contracts over the last couple of years - I seemed so many times to get right to the point of signing, only to have it fall down over editorial or other detail. Finally I have a publisher who is genuinely enthusiastic about my work and is not trying to change its original flavour, which has been enormously satisfying. I have learned a lot about the way publishers work, and the final outcome has made me incredibly glad that I have stuck to my guns over the way I want the book to be. I guess that in the end it is my story, and I want it to be told my way, rather than have it moulded and shaped to fit a genre or a particular market. I wrote it the way I wanted it, and I still feel proud of it; so to know that it will come out as I planned is immensely pleasing. I can't wait to see it in print next May!
I went to a luncheon with Saxtons last Friday, and the guest speaker there was a man named William Tan. He is rather incredible; crippled by polio as a child, he has gone on to become a doctor, and, most recently, complete 7 marathons on 7 continents in one three month period - all in a wheelchair. One of those was in the North Pole. He has raised some 8 million dollars for charity and is, quite frankly, a total inspiration. It did me so much good to hear him; I felt very emotional throughout his speech, and being the huge wet sock I am, found myself with tears running down my cheeks a lot. No matter how long I have been doing this for, there are still so many days when I wonder if I will ever get the money together to finish it, or how I will actually manage to put myself back in that environment and walk a further 3,700km. Hearing William made me realise again that all of these things are just hurdles that I have overcome before, and will again; the hurdles always seem so much more insurmountable than they really are, and all it takes is just DOING it to make it happen.
I need to remind myself of this often. After the initial euphoria of being home, there is an inevitable downturn when all the detail of organisation - AGAIN - sinks in, and the list seems ridiculously long, and funds horrifically short. An uncomfortable fact of this kind of expedition is that while the media may become involved, and sponsors, none of that involvement actually equates to an income for me - which means that I need to be working. That has been the background to working up presentations with Saxtons, which actually brings in an income; but it also means that when I am putting in time to do those, or the commitments for Birkenstock, I am unable to pitch for more funding for the walk. Sometimes, and especially as the leaving date comes closer, that can feeling daunting and distressing, and one wonders exactly where it is all going to go.
So listening to Dr Tan and realising that he has gone through that process, over and over, and also had it all happen at the last minute; that he understands how unsettling it can be having a ticket booked, but no guarantee about either the military situation or finances, was tremendously reassuring. And I look and see exactly how much he has achieved and think - yep, Paula, you CAN do it, just hang in there.
You would have thought I'd have learned that by now; but it seriously never hurts to hear it again. No matter what has gone before, doubts always seem to lie ahead, and "Real Life" with all its mundane concerns can be just as stressful as dealing with Tuareg chiefs and rotten guides. More so, I often think.
But beneath all of those concerns has lain the wonderful support and encouragement I have from my Mum, my mates, and people around me. And the enormous comfort of being in the home environs, of being able to stroll through the hills or put on a pair of skis for the day - this is just so cool and so much FUN, I love it. I can't wait to get back and finish my walk; but I will be thinking every day of when I can finally come back to Australia, also. Talk about rediscovering your roots - I just love it back here, not least because of the sheer magnificence of the country itself. Just so beautiful.
At this stage I am booked to return on October 20th. The list is, as ever, longer than my noteboard. But I know that it will happen; I just have to put my head down….
I really appreciate all of the emails and text messages. I miss all of my mates in the UK and will definitely be having a beer or two on the way through - take care and I can't wait to see you all. I will update soon and let you know how things are going, and in the meantime, take care.
Cheers
Paula
August 15th, 2007 02:31am cyberhobo
This article appeared in the July 14-15 edition of Q Weekend.
Previous Posts
Sarah and I travelled up to my home town of Mansfield, and passed a couple of awesome days. Since I often feel a bit boring writing my blog when I am not walking, this particular trip gave me something to put in here that some of you may actually find interesting. Since my family left Mansfield, nearly ten years ago now, I have been - shall we say - horseless. Ok, I know I have had plenty of camels to keep me company, but I grew up on horses, and I miss them. Even more importantly, I miss the beautiful mountains and rivers of home, and the peace and joy of riding through them.
So it was just utterly wonderful to take Sarah up to stay with an old friend of mine, Lesley Dunlop, whose family has run Merrijig Lodge ever since I was a kid. She is the kind of mate I tend to catch up with every few years and never feel like I’ve skipped a beat; she has travelled all over, and is endlessly great company. Merrijig Lodge - and Lesley and her Dad, Chris Dunlop - have always run brilliant trail rides all through the hills around Merrijig and Mt Buller, anything from half a day to three days, and it is a real pleasure for me to go home and catch up with Lesley for a ride. We took Sarah out and
she came back gobsmacked by the sheer beauty of the country we rode through - if a little sore! For me it was a long breath out after weeks of racing around cities made up and speaking about myself and the book (alright, I am sure that you all think that sounds wonderfully glam, but it actually does get a bit tiring after a while - precious as I realise that sounds, and believe me, I am SOOOO grateful to be getting publicity at all, etc etc….). We drove up to Buller and sat in the sun and I thought how lucky I am to have grown up in such a beautiful part of the world - I hope I find a way to move back there in years to come.
One of the bonuses about Merrijig Lodge is it’s proximity to the legendary Merrijig pub - or to give it the official title, the Hunt Club Hotel, Merrijig. Sitting outside on the verandah sinking a quiet couple of ales after a horseride has to be one of the great pleasures in life. Sure beats the hell out of walking into dusty Tomboctou for a laugh. Sitting there watching the day fade into the glorious
dusky blue and rosy pinks of the High Country sunset, I felt lonely for the desert again, but also comforted by being back in the beauty I grew up amongst. It reminded me how truly important it is to live your life where you feel happy, and where the country matches your soul. Some of us just weren’t built for cities. I’m one of them. Fortunately for me, Graeme also loves the mountains up there, so I am not alone in my dreaming of going back home some day soon.
than Merrijig Lodge to see the glorious country of the Alps. Have a beer with Lesley for me…
I called in to the local bookstore in Mansfield - after savage prompting from Sarah - and stutteringly offered to sign some copies of the book. It is hard not to feel a total plonker doing this, and I always cringe in shame, but the owners seemed ok with it and were lovely, so despite needing a soothing ale afterwards, I think it was a good experience for all involved.
