My seven weeks travelling through the country had become a bit of a blur. And it was on that train, somewhere in China, that I decided I wanted out.
There’s only one brief moment when I feel afraid. I am in Volcanoes National Park in the North West corner of Rwanda, and I’m crouching one metre away from an angry female gorilla.
It’s fair to say the pre-trip vaccination jab isn’t the best part of travel. No-one really looks forward to that visit to the doctor when they pull out a needle and tell you to “relax” while they put it in you.
It wasn’t until the last night, singing bad karaoke in a sticky Dotonbori bar, that I realised what had been bothering me. Japan, in all its weirdness, was starting to feel like home.
They say a Frenchman’s heart lives in Paris, but his stomach lives in Dordogne.
Along with mint tea, souks and tagines, snake charming was, to me, quintessentially Moroccan, and I was desperate to see a 'performance'.