Darren Hill

It feels a little unfamiliar, strange but nonchalantly done to write 2024. A new year with new experiences, different perspectives and yet the same bills to pay, the same desires and concerns.

All of this and more is what I felt being back in Hong Kong. I was here over 30 years ago, and I cannot remember much about me being there, as I look hard, deep into my memories no visual images are be recalled, none of my senses are awakened to a smell, sound, sight remembered.

The flight out was a long, hard one, 12 hours and 9 minutes, nothing compared to the 14 hours and 31 minutes I did coming back, that should be left for another storytelling opportunity.

The first thing that struck me as I was walking through the bustling Hong Kong Airport was how clean it was, spotless. This would remain an observation the entire stay. Along those lines, I did not see one homeless person as I walked around both Kowloon and Hong Kong Island. Something that is unmissable in the UK and USA. Are the Chinese better at hiding it or is it simply not there? I don’t know the answer to that. Second observation, much the same as in India, I am in the minority now, I stand out, I am also different and am highly aware of that. In some ways it makes me feel good, in many other ways I feel vulnerable, detached, exposed.

Both evenings I stayed in Kowloon, walking about the beautiful promenade, the Avenue of Stars, taking in the stunning, neon, artificially-lit Hong Kong Island skyline. Iconic is the only word, a scene like this you could look at many times and find something new to look at every time. There were hundreds of people out, taking photos, talking, listening to music, just enjoying the moment. No rush, the occasional jogger streaming past, trying to make their life a little better.

During day one I headed over to Hong Kong Island and up Victoria Peak. I took the MTR underground train from Tsim Sha Tsui station, one stop to Admiralty. Walked to the Peak Tram and took that to the Peak.

From the top of Victoria Peak, you are treated to a spectacular view of Victoria Harbour with Hong Kong Island on one side and Kowloon on the mainland. I walked about Lugard Road, a pleasing little road that circumvents the Peak. If you ever make it to Hong Kong, you HAVE to do this little walk, it is only 3.5 kilometres, and the views are superb. Not only are you treated to the views, you are also educated as you go with fabulous information boards that describe the geology, fauna and wildlife that you are encountering.

At one point I came across Pinewood Battery, an old army outpost from the 1930’s. As I stood reading information regarding where I was, I became aware of something shifting through the earth a few feet away from me. I looked up to see a wild hog, snuffling, searching for food. It was completely oblivious to me, as it was of the black Labrador that a local lady was walking. Of course, the Lab saw the hog and made a beeline for it. Thus ensued a humorous few minutes of lady shouting after dog, resulting in her proclaiming “I’m going to the toilet, I am going to the toilet”, which actually worked, and the dog returned!

My time in Hong Kong was refreshing, enchanting, and captivating. I felt at home, seeing signs, names of brands, things to eat that were extremely familiar to me. But at the same time, I felt completely deficient in being able to communicate, blend in, and relax. I enjoy being out of my comfort zone and feel Hong Kong is a place that if I had the time could come to love. Give it a try, you won’t regret it.

As you know I am fortunate to be able to travel often. Through my current work, here I am in Phoenix, Arizona, for Christmas 2023. How lucky am I? Yes, it pulls me away from family and friends, but it gives me the opportunity to make new friends and discover new places.

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, I walked up Piestewa Peak for sunrise. I have done this walk before, again for sunrise. Piestewa Peak is the second highest mountain in the Phoenix Mountain range at 796 meters. Named after Lori Piestewa, the first female native American to be killed in action, March 23, 2003, she was only 23 and later awarded the Purple Heart. I think that this is an extremely fitting name for this mountain, it stands tall, it is tough to climb but when you get to the top the warmth and connection to the earth is clear, simple and majestic.

At the top I was treated to a performance by Ken Koshio, a Japanese drum teacher who has walked this Peak every day for the past four years. He is up there for every sunrise, and he drums and plays the flute in honour to the sun, earth, and sky. It is a ritual that is turned into a performance as his reputation has grown. This morning was very special, as the sun came up Ken played Amazing Grace, the sun did not disappoint, it painted the sky with orange, red, yellows that made my heart sour and tears well from deep inside. How lucky am I?

After such a glorious start to the day I headed up to Sedona. I have been told a lot about this area and how it is a must-visit place and yes, it most certainly is. Magnificent, the rock, red, white, clay all combination of these colours. I was heading for Devil’s Bridge but took a little side trail. I am so glad I did, I was treated to all kinds of cactus, trees with white berries, trees with silver bark, peeling away to reveal yellow, red, white, all sorts of colours on display. I was in awe, and I was also soothed. Mother Nature confirming to me that, don’t worry, I’m in control, if you humans mess it up, I will bring it back, no matter what it takes.

The walk to Devils Bridge was a pleasant one, the Bridge was full of people waiting to have a picture on top of it. It spans a small section on the side of the mountain, I thought it was crossing a valley, but it doesn’t, a little underwhelming but I was glad I took the time to see it.

The drive back to Phoenix was assisted by a much-deserved and earned Baskin Robins Cookies and Cream Milkshake. I was in Heaven, well Arizona, it felt close.

Happy Christmas everyone and here’s to 2024!

Onwards and Upwards.

Buen Camino.

This was my first time to Romania; I was very excited but at the same time nervous as I knew I did not have much time there. I wanted to do so much, however, I had to work so there was a limit on what I could do.

20^th December 2023 – Bucharest

I arrived late at night. The night’s sleep was not the best but I forced myself out of bed early so I would have enough time to see a little of a city that was completely new to me. I was staying on the outskirts of Bucharest; I was due to leave around 1pm so time was of the essence. I decided to stay close to the hotel.

A quick glimpse at Google maps and it told me there was a park with a large lake right across the road. I thought there would be no better way to get a feel for the city than a lovely stroll through the park.

I headed out and the first observation made is that the traffic signals take an awful long time to change! I was waiting to cross the road, the little green man to appear, and it took a while. Not knowing the traffic, I didn’t want to make a dash across a six-lane road, even when it looked like the way was clear.

I did make it safely into the park. The lake was covered with a thin layer of ice, thick enough for a flock of seagulls to stand on, but I am guessing that was the limit. I came across many large structures in the park, from the Hard Rock Café to a concert venue. I also found the Muzeul National al Satului “Dimitrie Gusti”, an ethnographic museum devoted to Romanian village life. It was fascinating, from peasant farms and houses to a rustic, wooden windmill.

With it being winter the park was very quiet, and all the kiosks and cafes were closed. At one point I came across an area that had rope bridges, tree houses and high wires tied between the trees. It looked a lot of fun.

I was unaware that Bucharest is known as Little Paris. This soon became apparent as I walked past the Arcul de Triumf, I don’t think I need to translate that do I? To make certain, here is a photo!

Bucharest is a relatively flat city, few high rises and those that can be found seem to be no more that 10 stories high. I had a delightful time, a serene time walking around the small part I saw. A mix of old state-built housing to modern glass fronted buildings. The city gave me an open invite to come back, an invite that was genuine and honest.

21^st December 2023 – Budapest

Again, I arrived in Budapest at midnight, straight to bed as I wanted to be up early to make the most of another new city to me.

All I wanted to do while here was to take in as much of the atmosphere of the city that it had to offer. It was a little cold but not life threatening, mainly though it was dry. I began the day by walking along the east bank of the river Danube, it flows, solidly and gracefully through Budapest. I learnt that the city is made up of three cities, Obuda, Buda and Pest, officially merged in 1873 to create Budapest.

As I walked, I encountered a striking monument, The Shoes, to honour the Jews who were massacred by fascist Hungarian militia during the Second World War.

They were ordered to take off their shoes, as they were valuable and could be sold after, and were shot at the edge of the water so that their bodies fell into the river and were carried away. Wow, my heart sank, and my soul yearned for better times. 

A little further along and I came to the Parliament building, opened in 1902, it is stunning. Later that day I walked up to the Castle District and got an amazing view of this beautiful building.

Now people talk a lot about the Christmas Markets in Budapest, so I headed off next to St. Stephen’s Basilica. Third largest Church in Budapest and a World Heritage site, you can see why when you are there. The bells ring out every hour, listen in to our podcast and you will hear them, two bell towers with six bells altogether.

In front of the Basilica is a Christmas Market, wonderful, full or Christmas knickknacks, food, drink, clothing, ornaments.

I decided to have a massive sausage sandwich and to try a local cake, Chimney Cake. A sweet yeast dough that is rolled into a long rope and baked around a cylinder. They are coated in melted butter and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. It was fluffy in texture and tasted like sweet milky bread, I loved it!

Budapest is stunning, if you have not been, please add it to your list. The buildings are all well looked after, the streets are wide and clean. In Pest, the east of the river, there is a network of trams, running down the middle of the streets. Adding so much character and noise to the environment, I was in awe at how well designed this city is. 

I later walked across the Szechenyi Chain Bridge, opened in 1849, to Buda. Now west of the river I was in the Castle District. The National Gallery is here, imposing itself on the city as well as various stunning churches (St Matthais standing out), fortified walls, steps criss crossing the hill, old houses and new apartments. 

Bucharest gave me an open invitation to come back whenever I want, Budapest demanded I return and I return soon.

Rest or Pest? Both amazing, but this time round the Pest won!

Living in Brighton opens up numerous places to visit. London is only an hour and ten minutes away by train, and the South Downs runs between the two cities. Along that route you also have The Old Way. The Old Way starts in Southampton and makes its way to Canterbury, some 240 miles long. 

About a 35-minute drive from Brighton is a quaint little village called Alfriston, it sits not far from The Old Way/South Downs Way. It is on the river Cuckmere, and I had heard that the whole area is delightful. I wanted to experience this for myself and so I drove over to Alfriston, parked up the car, and set off to discover.

I have come accustomed to relying on the OS (Ordnance Survey) app on my phone to show me the route. Alfriston is one of those places just remote enough for there to be no signal. I had to follow my nose to just begin the walk, but I wasn’t worried, I needed to make my way to the river and go with its flow and I would, at some point, reach the sea!

I found the track by the Church of St Andrew in Alfriston, down the side, across a little bridge and hugging one of the tributaries that will eventually lead me to the Cuckmere River. The Cuckmere valley is beautiful, a wide, low valley mostly owned by the National Trust, hence it has become a haven for wildfowl. As I walked today, I saw Swans, Canadian Geese, Heron’s, Little Egret’s, Seagulls, Kormoran’s, Magpies, Crows, the list goes on. I loved it.

I decided to follow The South Downs Way which basically keeps me high, you stay up on the top of the valley and can look down at the river. The estuary of the Cuckmere is breathtaking. I popped out of Friston Forest to be greeted with this amazing vista, the Cuckmere River meandering its way to the English Channel. Dickens lived here, Queen Victoria enjoyed the beach here and you can see why.

I walked down to the coast and started to make my way east, towards Eastbourne along the coast. Boy, am I glad I did! The Seven Sisters stand stoic here, towering white chalk cliffs that stand proud, saying “We are England, and we know it!”. The contrast of the black rocky beach and the grassy green tops pops the cliffs in a way that is unforgettable.

If you are ever in this area or come to London, take time out and come for a walk along this coastline, you will not be disappointed. I walked so far along, and in one of the dips between the cliffs I sat and ate my lunch. This is why I walk, to be out, in nature, connecting, reconnecting, listening and learning.

I walked back along the coast and up the west side of the Cuckmere. I was treated to the White Horse of Litlington, carved out into the hillside in 1924. The smell of a bonfire took me back to my childhood.

This day was all about time and it was a time I enjoyed.

As I type this, my heart still pulsates with the rhythm of Cape Town—a city I’ve longed to explore for over three decades. South Africa, a land of contrasts and raw beauty, together with the distant allure of Japan, has topped my travel wish list for years.

Finally setting foot in Cape Town, I found myself immersed in a tapestry of poignant history, breathtaking natural wonders, and a vibrancy that resonates with the soul of a traveller. ‘the story pilgrim’ may have journeyed far and wide, but this was a pilgrimage of a special kind—a dream realized.

Day One

In the Footsteps of Giants and the Embrace of the Sea – 4^th Nov ‘23

Arriving on a lively Saturday morning, my introduction to Cape Town began with a stroll along the Sea Point Promenade. The Atlantic air was laced with the salty zest of adventure as I walked among families and friends, all revelling in the sun-kissed, wind-whipped shores that spoke of freedom and the simple joys of existence. Robben Island, a stark silhouette on the horizon, served as a silent testament to the indomitable spirit of Nelson Mandela. It stood there, stoically, a reminder of resilience and hope, and I couldn’t help but reflect on the profound solitude he must have felt, so near yet so far from the mainland that was his home.

As the day waned, I found myself in the company of colleagues, savouring what can only be described as culinary bliss—a steak so succulent, it seemed to capture the very essence of South Africa’s rich bounty.

Day Two

Ascending Table Mountain, A Monument to Eternity – 5^th Nov ‘23

The next morning was a call to ascend, a steep trek up Platteklip Gorge to conquer the iconic Table Mountain. Each step was a narrative of persistence, a two-hour journey of contemplation, surrounded by the wild, rugged beauty that only nature could so artfully design. Reaching the summit, I stood there, triumphant, in a sanctuary above the clouds, Cape Town sprawling endlessly beneath me. It was a clear Sunday, with the city parading its finery—the cerulean waters, the urban expanse, and the welcoming smoke of braai drifting on the breeze.

That evening, the promenade beckoned again, this time with a sunset that painted the sky in strokes of fiery passion, a canvas of tranquillity that no photograph could do justice.

Day Three

A Symphony of Landscapes – 6^th Nov ‘23

My final day was a voyage along Victoria Road, meandering towards Clifton and then Camps Bay, with Table Mountain cloaked in a veil of clouds, a mysterious guardian watching over its dominion. The diversity of the landscape was a marvel—the juxtaposition of rugged mountainside giving way to serene beaches, the textured rocks, the green of the grass, the whisper of trees, and the delicate brush of flowers against the canvas of the Cape.

As I ambled through this scenery, I was engulfed in a sense of serene joy, the kind that comes from witnessing the grandeur of nature coupled with the realization of a long-cherished dream. Each view, each scent of the sea, each smile from a local, was a chapter in the book I didn’t know I had been writing for the past thirty years.

Cape Town did not disappoint; it was everything I had imagined and more. The peace I found in its embrace was a gentle reminder that some dreams do come true, not with a grand fanfare, but with a quiet affirmation that resonates deep within the soul.

And so, as ‘the story pilgrim’, I have etched another tale into the fabric of my journey. Cape Town, with its myriad stories, has imprinted itself on me. And yes, I will return. For some pilgrimages are not meant to end; they are simply pauses in a story that is yet to be continued.

Thirty-three years ago, a twenty-year-old me first step foot in Mumbai – or as it was known then, Bombay. I was there to join a new cruise ship.

I didn’t have the correct visa, I nearly didn’t make it through immigration, but after five hours of waiting in the airport I was allowed in. I remember the airport seemed like a huge warehouse; empty, old equipment basically only able to do whatever job it was designed to do.

Here I am much older, and we are all living in a different time. I stepped off the plane after the eight-and-a-half-hour flight, with no worries about whether I was going to get let in. No worries about how my hotel would be, and yet I was nervous.

Ever since doing the Camino de Santigo, somehow I knew, had a feeling, that my next long pilgrimage will be in India. I don’t know what that is. I don’t know if it would happen, but the feeling is still there, it is so strong that I can not and will not ignore it. Coming back to India, at this time in my life, is exciting, it’s invigorating, it’s worrying. A good worry, the kind of worry that keeps you on your toes.

It was a night flight out; we would only have around 27 hours in Mumbai. I wanted to see the city as much as I could, so I decided a guided tour would be the best thing to do. The cabin crew community is a close one and we like to share our top tips for trips and so it was easy to find a highly recommended tour guide, Mr. Binny.

Mr. Binny met us at the hotel. There were only two of us, but he said he had arranged two more people to join us, but we were to drive about two hours to get to them.

Two hours. It was only thirteen miles away but the traffic in Mumbai is something else.

As we drove through the chaos you quickly realise that it isn’t chaos at all. It is just countless people, taxis, tuk-tuk’s, mopeds, bicycles, buses, cars, lorries, dogs, carts, going about their daily business. This city is huge. You can ask ten people that live here what is the population of Mumbai and you will get ten very different answers, I heard from between twenty-five million to as high as sixty million! Google it and you will find the answer twenty-one million. Interesting how all the locals I asked, they all overestimate. It seems like there are more. Everywhere you look you see people rushing, sleeping, talking, buying, stood still watching, there isn’t a moment of stillness.

We headed first to the Gateway of India. Erected to celebrate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary. Originally it was made from cardboard and then they decided that they liked it so much they would do it properly and used stone. Here was our first taste of being a tourist. Random people asking to have a photograph taken with you. Beggers holding out their hands, looking up at you with beautiful, large brown eyes, looking into your soul and very quietly asking for something, just anything.

Next, we stopped at Dhobi Ghat, the open-air laundry, constructed in 1890. In 2011 it gained a place in the Guinness World Record book as most people hand-washing clothes at a single location – 426.

The industry and countless work that goes on here is amazing. Sheets, napkins, bedding, jeans, shirts, hang from every available space. No clothes pegs needed here. They take two equal lengths of rope, twist them together and use the natural force of the ropes squeezing together to hang. We are in a slum and the laundry here is spotless. As we stood on top of the buildings we could see high rises in which, Mr. Binny tells us, live millionaires. One building he points out, which is about 12 stories high, only homes four people.

Off to Victoria train station, or as it is now known, Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, CST for short. Modelled on St Pancras Station it is another place of a hive of activity. Mr. Binny points out that here was one of the places that the terrorists attached back in 2008, killing 58 and injuring 104. Crazy.

Our final stop was Mahatma Gandhi’s house. This hit me like a brick wall. Having just spent a whole day driving and making our way through what I described as earlier chaos, this house was a place of peace, stillness, calm. As you walked up the steps you could physically feel the serenity the eluded from inside.

The first floor was basically a library, full of books that were read by Gandhi or about the great man. The second floor was sparse, just the walls dotted with articles about him and his life. The third floor was where he lived and worked. The room he slept in was out of bounds, but a glass wall allowed you to have a look at the basic way he lived.

Two other rooms had dioramas depicting events in his life. What this man encountered and fought for in his life is simply astounding.  The level of self-control that he must have had is beyond anything I have personally encountered. In 1930 he walked 240 miles as a non-violent protest against the British salt monopoly. In 1933 he went on a country wide pilgrimage against untouchability, the class system in India. The list goes on.

I was shocked into silence.

‘the story pilgrim’ is all about trying to figure out what this life is. Here in India the difference between how we all are blessed, or not, with differing lifestyles, choices and privileges is evident. Well, it isn’t evident, it is thrust into your face. Poor living right next door to the megarich. The untouchables working with the elite, and they are happy to do so.

Every person I met had a soft soul, a smile on their face or a longing in their eyes to want to be a better person. They work hard here, and India is most certainly a place that I will return to, again and again.