Five hundred words does not cut you much slack when you’re trying to convey a travel experience that is memorable, informative, evocative and original all at the same time, and I was impressed by the economical skills of those who reached the shortlist. The entries were a pleasure to read because of the adventurous choices of destination. Entrants introduced me to the Nicaraguan jungle, the coast of Greenland and Lake Baikal, others reminded me of the seductive musical heritage of Mali and the barely changed rural beauty of Transylvania.
In fourth place, Mette Stentoft’s description of the nearest I’ve read of a real-life mermaid – the remarkable lady singing to seals in Ireland. In third place, I liked Laurence Shelley’s ‘All Change’, about an encounter with a ‘cutting artist’ on the Bund in Shanghai. Whereas most of the entries were descriptive, this had a little human story, too, told with endearing and effective understatement.
In second place, I chose Paul Rew’s account of rafting down the Colorado River. He broke up the orthodox travel writing conventions successfully, playing with language to create a sense of excitement, danger, humour, and the stupendous backdrop of the Grand Canyon itself. There was an energy and immediacy in his writing that made me want to be there. Now.
The winner, by a short head, was ‘Journey into the Heart of Greenness’. The location was remote and intriguing, the writing flowed confidently. The author, Sarah Gilbert, knew exactly what she wanted to say and how to say it. The great skill of travel writing is precision and transforming the images that fill your memory into words without losing any of the vision and excitement. Sarah had a good story to tell and told it with clarity and lightness of touch – a real pleasure to read.
Congratulations to all those who took part. The response was beyond all our expectations; we had more than 1,500 entries. And if you didn’t get it right first time, keep trying. Good travel writing is much harder than you think. I’m still working on it.
The winner is...
Journey into the heart of greenness
Sarah Gilbert, 44, is a business development co-ordinator from London. She takes us down the jungle waterways of the Amazon.
Rosano suddenly stops and turns. He peers at me through the half-light, rhythmically tapping his machete against his leg. ‘Are you married? Why not? You must be what, 30?’ I open my mouth to protest but he presses a finger to his lips and points upwards. High in the thick foliage, a group of spider monkeys is swinging nonchalantly from branch to branch.
Sweltering in long trousers and rubber boots, I’m trudging behind my bare-legged, be-sandalled guide into the heart of Nicaragua’s Indio-Maíz Reserve. Mile after mile of dense vegetation, languid jungle waterways and mysterious lagoons, it’s the largest area of virgin rainforest north of the Amazon.
An ex-hunter, Rosano has the knack of seeing the unseeable. As I pick my way through the snarl of roots and fallen leaves, he points out elusive jaguar tracks and a procession of leafcutter ants marching home with their haul. I’m amazed when what I think is a shadow turns into a slumbering sloth clinging tightly to a branch.
It takes determination to reach this primeval paradise. Two days earlier, I’d left Managua in a single-prop plane, thudding down on a dirt clearing in San Carlos, a town on the shore of Lake Nicaragua. Then up before dawn to catch the boat that would take me over 100 miles along the watery frontier with Costa Rica.
As the boat announced its arrival with a piercing blast of the horn, the children splashing about in the soupy water of the dock scrambled ashore. Smaller than I’d imagined, it was already overflowing and there was nothing for it but to join the melee. Ducking under hammocks, clambering over legs, I wedged myself between a woman with a parakeet nestling in her cleavage and a short, stocky man, his black hair hanging to his waist.
Ten hours on a narrow wooden bench was a daunting prospect but I was soon engrossed in the ebb and flow of river life. The boat interrupted the fishing expeditions of herons and cormorants. White egrets perched in the trees like strange fruit, while scarlet macaws took umbrage at our intrusion and burst noisily into the air. I watched crocodiles slip quietly into the water, while people slipped quietly into Costa Rica, where work is plentiful.
Eventually the river narrowed and I began to hear the roar of the sea. Only an outstretched sand bar separated the windswept Caribbean coast from the river. As dusk fell and we arrived at San Juan del Norte, I felt like I’d reached the end of the world.
After our hike and a feast of river shrimp the size of my fist, washed down with ice-cold beer, Rosano takes me cayman spotting on the moonlit river. As we glide slowly through the reflected trees, the hum of cicadas and the low growl of howler monkeys are all that disturbs this tropical time warp. Later, I sit amid the jungle chatter, sip a Nica Libre and watch for shooting stars.
Sarah has won an all expenses-paid travel assignment to Botswana for High Life and the subsequent feature will be published in the magazine later this year.
