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

I was becoming addicted to Bombay. There was squalor and poverty, but I had begun to realise my good fortune and would never again forget it.

Once in a very long time you come across a book that is far, far more than the ink, the glue and the paper, a book that seeps into your blood.

Previous journeys had taught me the danger of taking too much stuff.

Respect was one thing. Survival was another. It was important that I kept my priorities in the right order.

For me, a journey to Damascus is an amazing hunt from beginning to end, a slice through layers of history in search of treasure.

There can be few situations more fearful than breaking down in darkness on the highway leading to Casablanca. I have rarely felt quite so vulnerable or alone.