“Didn’t you get bored?” is the question most people ask when I tell them we spent fifteen days crossing the Pacific Ocean from Hong Kong to Los Angeles. I asked my myself a similar question before we left. Scared about lacking stimulation I took a stack of DVDs, a pile of books, a sketch book, and a selection of travel-sized board games. I didn’t get through the first two items and didn’t even touch the last two. Being at sea with nothing to do is far from boring.

The northerly part of the North Atlantic was a mass of low pressure systems and storms forcing us to sail through the tropics instead. So there was plenty of sunbathing to be done, along with watching clouds, sunsets (the highlight of many days) and stars.

We had a luxurious journey, in comparison to many of those experienced in South East Asia, especially as we were given the Owner’s Cabin, the best on the ship. After the craziness of the past few months and the pace at which we had travelled through Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam is was wonderful just to stop. To have drawers, cupboards and a washing machine so we could wash and unpack the stinking contents of our backpacks. Time to catch our breath, reflect on the continent we were leaving (Asia) and the very different continent we were travelling towards (North America).

To be given two weeks with no itinery, no phone calls and no emails is a rare treat, and an even rarer treat to be given a whole extra day. As we crossed the International Date Line Wednesday 3rd December 2008 literally happened twice.

The first third of December started like most others on this ship - the alarm went off at 07:45, with breakfast at 08:00. We had recently discovered porridge on the menu, which made a refreshing change from the fried meat of the last week. It was a warm, sunny day with a large roll factor. The rolliest we had experienced so far which made doing everything either an uphill or downhill struggle. The swell was in fact so strong that the front of the ship was damaged, but she just ploughed on.

I went through the usual routine of writing in the morning, eating at midday, reading and snoozing in the sun after lunch followed by yoga and the exercise bike before dinner at 17:45. The evening DVD screening was Son of Rambow (excellent) and Bobby (average).

At 22:30 we crossed the International Date Line, 180° latitude, and the day started again. So when we woke the next morning we opened the second third of December window on our special, homemade World in Slow Motion advent calendar.

The second third of December began much like the first. Alarm at 07:45, porridge at 08:00. It was cloudier and windier than the first third of December but the nauseating rocking had subsided. Everything carried on pretty much like it had the first time round except that the reading and snoozing took place indoors as there was no sun. After the gym the day took an unexpected turn. A note on a chair inviting me to take a stroll to the bow was followed by games in Morse code and flags. Then I was led to the prow of boat where, surrounded by nothing but Pacific Ocean on three sides, Tom got down on one knee and popped the question.

That evening we celebrated with the Philipino crew who gave us Spanish brandy, a guitar serenade of George Michael and sang love songs to us on the karaoke machine. The German Captain shared his private stash of Nutella with us. You can’t beat that for history repeating itself.

[Lara and Tom are travelling around the world without flying. For up-to-date information on their adventures visit www.worldinslowmotion.com]

Huge congratulations to two of our globetrotting bloggers, Tom Fewins and Lara Lockwood. They have just won a prestigious Lonely Planet Travel Blog Award!

Tom and Lara are worthy winners. They are traveling the world by land and sea, eschewing airplanes and taking their time to stop and stare. Their dispatches from the front line of Slow Travel are always clear-eyed, witty and well-written. They’re an amazing pair. And we’re all delighted to have them as part of the Slow Planet blogging team.

Right now, Tom and Lara are on a ship crossing the Atlantic from Philadelphia to Antwerp, Belgium. I feel a bit envious. I’ve always wanted to take a long, slow voyage on a ship. How extraordinary to sail into port after a week or more on the high seas.

When they get back to London, the drinks are on me…

One thing that I love about working in the ‘birth business’ is that I don’t have a structured schedule. Mine is more like a feast or famine schedule - no babies for two weeks, then BAM! four babies in three days. It certainly makes for an entertaining life.

Babies come whenever they like, and they always seem to come in a clump. Yes, a clump. “Group” would be the wrong word. A group feels orderly, predictable. But a clump - well, that sounds like just the right word for how babies arrive in the world. They seem to get a signal that NOW! is the time, and they all come in a clump, all jumbled together, jostling for position.

I attended five births the other week - five glorious, slow births. These babies didn’t watch the clock (neither did their mums and dads and caregivers), and certainly didn’t concern themselves about my lack of sleep. These babies came in their own time - one gently in the water, one with her mum’s feet firmly planted on the ground, and a few with grand flourishes. But, they all came at their own pace - slowly, deliberately, safely. These babies taught us patience, and more than a few hard lessons.

So, when this recent clump had all arrived, I jumped at a chance to go with my husband on an impromptu visit to a small island close to our home. I didn’t have any babies due for a week or two, so I could breathe easy, and run away.

We walked onto the ferry as the sun set, and, fifty minutes later, walked off the ramp into the darkness, carrying our backpacks. We didn’t know exactly where the local Inn was, but the clerk had said, “You’ll find it.” We followed a woman who was pulling a suitcase on wheels, jittering over the rough road, hoping that she was going to the Inn. We might have been following her to her cabin, but we didn’t mind. We were living slowly.

Sure enough, she drew us through wrought-iron gates to the Galiano Inn, complete with cedar shakes, tall tree posts, and, through the door to a vaulted space with a stone fireplace. We had arrived.

The next morning, we woke up to see the sun rise over Mount Baker, watched the large ferries plough through Active Pass, and laced up our boots for the day’s walk. We had left our car, and our bikes, at home, opting for an even slower pace around the island. After breakfast, we walked to the Bluffs, explored the cedar forests, waved at llamas, watched the eagles soar, checked out the local organic food store, and, 15 miles later, returned to the Inn for a good soak and a read (about the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.)

The other people staying at the Inn spent their time in the spa having hot stone massages and facials. But, that’s not our style. So, we told the clerk that we’d be hiking to Montague Harbour. She had a quick intake of breath, “Oh, there’s some wicked hills! You’re walking? Really?” Being a mapmaker’s daughter, and daring enough to interpret those lines on the map, I took a guess and said, “Let’s head clockwise. I bet there’ll be less hills that way.”

Boy, am I glad we didn’t go the other way!!!

As it was, the hills were still a challenge. But, we just kept in mind that we were on foot, and not grinding our way up those hills on our bikes (or on the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage!) We had time to stop, think, listen to the wind in the trees, watch the misty rain fall, feel it on our faces, wrap our scarves more tightly, gaze at the sandstone cliffs and the erratics at their feet. It took two hours to hike to the harbour, where we ate caraway cheese and stone fennel crackers on the shell beach. We didn’t meet any other pilgrims on our trail, just a lone cyclist on a 40 degree hill, pretending to be Lance Armstrong on Mont Ventoux.

After four hours on the hike, we could feel each muscle working to keep us going. No pain, just good hard work. Our legs seemed to work independently, keeping pace with each other. We held hands at times. We tucked out hands in our pockets when we needed. Then we saw the rain heading our way. It came as a mist bank, white and blanketing the hills. We knew there was a pot of tea close by, at the Market Cafe, and reached the cafe just as the downpour started. A roaring fire, four throbbing legs, two cups of tea, and chocolate. Slow hike rewards!

An hour passed, and the rain softened. We ran across the street to the locals’ trail to Sturdies Bay, only two kilometres away. This was our third passage of this trail, so we felt like we knew its secrets already, knew where the fern grove was, where the boggy sections were, where the people were gathering firewood, where we needed to take small steps to easily climb the steep sections. We felt like we belonged.

At the end of the trail, and around the corner, we treated ourselves to a visit to the local bookstore. It’s one of those places that has reviews glued to the shelves - “John’s pick”, “Jennie’s favourite”. I bought “French Toast: eating and laughing your way around France.” My husband bought “The Wisdom of Donkeys: finding tranquility in a chaotic world.” Two slow life books.

Later that night, after we’d left the island by ferry, and arrived home, fully refreshed, the stragglers of the baby clump decided to arrive. Two babies came over the next three days, one after the other. We’d only been home for five minutes when the first phone call came. “Jacquie, I think the baby’s coming!”

I smiled, changed out of my hiking boots, put on my birth gear, and headed out into the night. I loved our Slow Escape, but I also love Slow Birth (and those unpredictable clumps of babies!)

- Jacquie Munro, Slow Birth

It was one of those ideas which bubbled up from the bottom of a pint - a nice slow pint - of ale.

“Why don’t we go on a trip around the world…?”

“Lara pulled a long face.”

“Without flying…”

“Her face lit up.”

A year later we found ourselves on the open road: no job, no house, no family and friends; just the two of us, a couple of bulging backpacks and a vague route sketched out on a little Michelin map.

This was World in Slow Motion - our aim was to circumnavigate the world, choosing to undertake it wholly without flying - the old-fashioned way, the slow way.

We didn’t view our decision as debilitating; instead we saw it as an opportunity, opening up a whole new world of possibilities to us.

Without flying we were able to perhaps able to get a clearer sense of the world, its sheer size, its variety and differences. Almost infinite possibilities.

Plus we would be able to travel between these different worlds, dawdling where we felt the need, becoming more sensitive to the gradual changes between places - towns, regions, whole countries - as they arose around us.

There were other benefits as well - we hoped to get closer to the people and places we passed through - something you simply couldn’t do in an anonymous aeroplane screaming between A and B. We would get to stop at C and D and, if we felt like it, E as well.

Then there were the environmental benefits as well, flying being a far more carbon-intensive mode of transport than any other. With the need to reduce our individual carbon footprints more pressing than ever, we have opted for a greener journey and, through our website, hope to help others do likewise.

This website (www.worldinslowmotion.com) not only recounts our adventures but also seeks to help others who would like to give travelling without flying a go, offering as it does a plethora of information for prospective surface travellers, from getting visas to booking a berth on a container ship.

Now eight months into our travels we have travelled some 36,000 miles, through 18 different countries. It’s been an amazing adventure, and all the more enjoyable for not flying.

We’ve met many interesting characters along the route - from drunken Russian soldiers and
teenage Laotian monks to Japanese salarymen and Mexican cowboys - and had same memorable experiences.

Particular highlights have included visiting Mayan ruins in the Guatemalan jungle, speeding through the streets of Hanoi’s old town on a moped and hitting the streets of New Orleans during Mardi Gras.

I’ll shortly be posting accounts from some of these adventures, plus adding in new ones occasionally as we travel across our current country, the United States.

In my own time, of course…
We hope you enjoy travelling with us in slow motion. For more information visit our website www.worldinslowmotion.com

Nine months ago I was in an exciting new job, whizzing around and between London and Cambridge and not getting the sleep I needed.  As the whirlwind of my former life reached its apex it suddenly stopped.  I was on the train to Europe, seeing the world in slow motion and looking forward to Russia, Japan, China, South East Asia, the Americas and back again.

I quit London for the world. I left fast for slow. For on this global circumnavigation I was going to make sure that my feet didn’t leave the ground.  Or more strictly speaking, the earth’s surface for in between these countries there were some large bodies of water that we going to need to cross.

Tom and I had embarked upon seeing the world in slow motion.  Our mission was simple - to travel 360° around the world without flying.  We wanted to see how the world is made up, to celebrate the similarities and differences between countries and to leave behind as small an environmental footprint as possible.

Slow Planet joins World in Slow Motion eight months into our ten month trip.  I’m therefore going to rewind a few months and start my postings from the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where I found myself the only woman on an enormous cargo ship in the middle of oceanic nowhere.

[If you want to know where we are right now visit www.worldinslowmotion.com]

I recently discovered that there is a Slow Bicycle Movement. Are you cycling too fast?

While I an not a doctor, I could swear by the healing abilities of slow cycling.  Insolvable problems, mental road blocks, stress - they all seem to disappear while cycling.  You become so absorbed in the new environment that your insecurities quickly dissolve.

Try cycling to get lost.  That’s right: cycle with no plan, no destination, and no expectations.  Cruise and let curiosity abound.

A good time to get lost on your bike is after work.  Take the other route home next time.  After a while, you may find yourself in a new part of town.  Let the streets hypnotize you.  Let the tall trees overwhelm you.  Smell dinner cooking from homes.  On some occasions, you may meet a friendly cat.   On other occasions,  may meet interesting people.

Weekends are also an excellent time to explore on bike.  I recommend Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon.  Just ask yourself: north, east, west, or south?  Why not ask a friend to join you too.

Cycling slowly can renew a sense of appreciation.  Somehow meaning always finds you on the unmapped adventure.  And while you are rejuvenating on the ride, you may even solve that one problem.

For more slow cycling tips, see the Slow Bicycle Movement website.

Concorde, ah, Concorde…it’s almost five years to the day that the world’s first much celebrated supersonic passenger jet made a somewhat ignominious retirement. Following the disastrous Paris crash of 2000 and coupled with the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and the somewhat pricey, elitist cost of the whole ‘Concorde experience’ this was all perhaps a little inevitable. But the really interesting aspect of all of this for me was the notion that for practically the first time in history travel had just a got a little slower.

Since someone in Asia hacked a piece of wood into a rounded shape around 4000BC and discovered the propellant properties of the wheel it seems we’ve been forever getting inexorably faster. From cart and horse, to racing chariots, through the fears that steam rail travel would cause people’s necks to break, and red flag waving men preceeding ’speeding’ motorcars to alert sleepwalking pedestrians, we have lurched from a fear to a love of speed. Now it’s of the essence, road cars with engines capable of several times the speed limit, planes to take us on short-haul flights of bunny-hops less than 150 miles, we want to be there quicker, and ‘there’ is further and we want to do it more often!

So for me the  fifth anniversary of Concorde’s retreat from serving the Trans-Atlantic flight routes is no bad thing. We’ve taken an arguably progressive step back from our obsession with ever faster travel. Travel that valued the destination over the journey, that encouraged a ‘fast food’ approach to experiences - stuff as much as you can in, as quick as you can, and compelled us to travel in cattle-trucks of the sky, sat, strapped in serried rows, glued to the in-flight entertainment and instructed when to eat and sleep (like giant babies in some aerial nursery).

Let’s rediscover the joy of slower travel. That part of the travel experience is about being on the move. Travelling through rather than simply over countries, relishing the gentle transitions of landscape, culture, people, language and cuisine. Meeting the people and negotiating borders that are real and physical not thousands of feet below. Ride an animal or two, they’re usually slow and pretty low carbon to boot, even if theyre not always available or entirely willing! Imagine the journey as a home-cooked meal, one to take care and love over cooking and then really savouring the end result. Or travel as a slow seduction process as you get to know your destination and the places along the way intimately, rather than a quick ‘knee-trembler’ behind the bike sheds of a budget, package holiday. Last year I went all the way around the world without flying and the experience of slow travel was incredible (www.lowcarbontravel.com).

Is it possible to travel ’slowly’ by plane? I don’t know, although a recent trip on an airship suggested to me that the return of the Zeppelin would certainly bring a new glamour and wonder to aviation. But when we travel in a truly grounded fashion, over the surface of our wondrous planet, be it overland or sea, we really connect with it. ‘The world’s a small place’ goes the clique. Well, yes. Until you travel through it.

So why not resize your planet. Reaquaint yourself with a slower pace of life and style of travel. And don’t worry about the absence of Concorde from our skies. Just enjoy the respite from our ever escalating speed and do things more sedately. But make the most of it. Before long Richard Branson will be twanging us into space on his passenger rocket, and things will start getting a whole lot faster again!

Ed Gillespie

www.lowcarbontravel.com