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It’s the earliest hours of the morning, and I’m laid on the floor of a concrete shed halfway up a volcano in Costa Rica, waiting to be murdered.

Fancy a scholarship in travel storytelling, including entry to a $160 course, all for free? Read on.

There are squatters at my mother’s house.

I quietly close the door behind me, blocking out the sounds of a successful dinner-party, and take a few deep breaths. There’s the promise of rain in the air – not the cloying, drippy kind of rain Costa Ricans call “cat’s hair”, but proper rain, the kind that dances above car roofs and tears branches off trees. The temperature’s dropping fast. After nearly a year in the tropics, it’s a shock.

My body convulses.

Holy shit, what is this? Should I call for help?

Ah yes. I remember now. It’s called ‘shivering’ – and I’ve forgotten how much I love it.Read More

This is a post about a bunch of useful books, and how I’m using them this year.Read More