The idea of my heart dancing with delight was far too good to pass up.

The backstreet cafe in Casablanca was for me a place of mystery, a place with a soul, a place with danger. There was a sense that the safety nets had been cut away, that each citizen walked upon the high wire of this, the real world. I longed not merely to travel through it, but to live in such a city.

As a travel writer I've specialized in gritty, fearful destinations, the kind of places that make a reader's hair stick on end.

Move to a new country and you quickly see that visiting a place as a tourist, and actually moving there for good, are two very different things.

Money spent on good-quality gear is always money well spent.

It was an awkward moment. We were burning down our host's house, a situation which any guest seeks to avoid.