‘Time for dreaming’: five writers on the slow travel joys that bring them peace

19.02.2024 - 10:17 / theguardian.com

I was deep in the folds of the mountain of Tryfan when it first happened. When time seemed to stop ticking at the breakneck pace it always does when I’m sitting at laptop, working on a deadline. Instead of blue light from a screen, I was sitting at my tent door, basking in the purple glow of dusk as it crept into the Ogwen Valley, in Eryri/Snowdonia national park. The luscious green of the grass on the mountainside had turned a more muted shade and the blue of the Menai Strait in the distance had become barely distinguishable from the twilight sky.

I find the whole process of wild camping meditative – from packing my backpack before I leave, to planning a route on a map, slowly making my way to my chosen pitch, then methodically finding and creating my bed for the night. But it’s not until I have unfurled my camping mat and sit swaddled in my sleeping bag – warm but with the exhilarating chill on my face from the cool night air – that the true magic begins.

I often choose to sleep out because something is on my mind and I need the space to think it through. But once I’m there, I find that I think of nothing at all. I am present in the moment.
Phoebe Smith

Sailing, sometimes, is slower than walking. Sometimes, in fact, you’re going backwards. Often, you’re pointing away from where you want to go. It’s a pace that suits me, though. Why rush, when the journey is all the destination you need?

Best of all is when I let my boat choose its own route. That’s what happened when I came to Greece. When beautiful Paxos was swarming with speedboats, we escaped and floated off to sea. I was unsure of our direction when it struck me: don’t choose one! Just go where the wind blows best. I set the sails to the light northerly and we slowly headed east. Gentle sailing, time for dreaming. I stared at shifting shades of sea and landscape. I watched hypnotised as a spinning jelly overtook us and marvelled at terns plunging like rockets. Free and happy, drifting in a slow-motion trance. A state of mindfulness out there on the water, achieved without trying.

As the sun started to sink, I saw a bay and headed in. We dropped anchor outside Aphrodite’s cave. What a reward! A splendid home for the night and a wonderful welcome to Greece.
Susan Smillie

It was after many years of foraging that I realised why, apart from the free food and the pleasant afternoons out, it had become such a central part of my life. It was this: every year my father would take the family on trips to pick blackberries and trips to gather cockles. I loved every minute of every one. These, I now understand, were the only childhood experiences that felt truly and entirely real.

I am guessing here, but I believe this is because foraging is something we do