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Jonathan Lorie is the Editor of 'The Traveller's Handbook'.

The first-time traveller
by Jonathan Lorie

June 27: Lomé beach, Togo. My first night in Africa. Lying on a long beach, counting the shooting stars. Deep black sky. Sand between my toes as white as icing sugar, stars so close you could lick them. Coconut palms dancing in the sea breeze. Moonlight bright enough to write this.

Last night I was in a tapas bar in London, saying goodbye to friends. Sports cars whizzed past with their roofs rolled down, drivers in shades, jazz-funk blasting. I had a glass of wine and an ironed shirt, and people asked me what I'd miss in Africa. I said friends and books and clean sheets. Also toilets.

This morning I walked from the airport into Lomé. A capital city built from sheets of tin. The central market was a madhouse of stalls selling gaudy cottons, dead fish, bicycle tyres, voodoo skulls. Noise, people, heat, sunlight. Hands coming at me from the crowd, saying "Patron, patron." Boys frying bowls of rice and plantain on fires in the gutter. Old men in kaftans squatting outside the central bank, waving handfuls of filthy notes for exchange. Inside the bank a clerk took my English pounds, put them in his jacket pocket, produced an envelope of local currency at a generous exchange rate and said "Sans papiers."

Next door was a supermarché where white people were buying a little bit of home - ice buckets, saucissons, perfume, wine. It had air-conditioning. Outside there was a beggar on crutches with one leg stopped at the knee. Inside there were deep-frozen croissants.

Tonight the town's electricity failed but the street stalls were lit with candles and my taxi drove slowly between hundreds of soft flames in the hot velvet darkness.



CONTENTS

Rules of the road
And finally



That was a diary extract from my first visit to Africa. And if you're contemplating your first big trip abroad - wherever it is - you might recognise some of these emotions. As a first-time traveller, perhaps the biggest hazard you'll encounter is your own state of mind. The trick is knowing how to handle yourself. First there's the anticipation before you go, the sense of not quite knowing what you're getting into: the heady mix of fear and excitement. Don't be put off by this. Seasoned travellers will tell you that they still get this buzz - and still relish it - but like any addict, they have to go further and further to feel it. On the other hand, good pre-departure preparation can do wonders for your confidence - and for the trip itself.

So use this book (and perhaps a regional guidebook) to prepare yourself properly: there are lots of chapters here that would help you. And talk to people who've been there. Do some useful background reading to get your bearings, and pack carefully.

Then, when you arrive, there's the shock of being out there for the first time, in a strange place with different ways and values. You may have no way of understanding what's going on or being said. As many people say of India, it may challenge your entire view of the world. At the least, you won't know how to order a decent meal.

Again, don't despair. Many travellers find that the shock of the new is actually liberating: it allows them to leave behind the person they were at home, their inhibitions or preconceptions. Others never quite adjust. But if you don't want to be the kind of tourist who spends all day sheltering in the hotel compound or arguing with the locals, I suggest you try the adjustment option.

This may take a little time. It depends on how much difference you're adjusting to. For my first three weeks in India, I hated the place: the poverty, the dirt, the crowds. Travellers on short trips often get no further than this stage, because they don't have the time; it's important to allow yourself the right amount of time for the place you're visiting. India takes longer than most places, but slowly I began to enjoy things: a family who invited me home for rose-scented tea, pilgrims bathing in a river, even the hurly-burly of the trains.

The third and best emotion, if all goes well, is wonder. I don't need to tell you about that. You'll know it when it hits you and you wonder why you never did anything like this before.

So now we've sorted out your head, let's look at a few tips for handling the outside world.

Rules of the road

1. -Talk to people. Whether it's fellow travellers or locals, the people you meet are one of the great pleasures of any trip. They're also the best source of inside information on what's really good to see or to avoid locally.

2. -Don't plan too much. You'll find that local information or simple serendipity open opportunities which you could never anticipate - a side trip you hadn't planned, a festival you didn't know about, a place you want to savour for longer than expected. So be flexible: leave unscheduled gaps in your trip and try not to buy tickets you can't change.

3. -Be patient: especially in developing countries. Where the infrastructure is poor, getting things done can take ages. You stand more chance of achieving your goal by persisting very patiently and politely, than by demanding Western standards where they could not exist.

4. -Never lose your temper. It goes down much worse than it might at home, and can escalate situations rather dramatically.

5. -Trust your instincts. If a situation seems unnerving in any way, duck out of it. Always take your security precautions seriously. Learn to judge people and situations quickly and act accordingly. Equally, if something seems unexpectedly appealing, go for it.

6. -Enjoy. Don't take everything too seriously. Allow yourself to appreciate the strangeness of foreign cultures, and exercise your sense of humour regularly.

And finally

Let me leave you with a portrait of another first-time traveller: my friend Marius. He's a game warden in South Africa, six foot six and built like a rhino. Out in the bush he's a bit of a daredevil, known to chase lions on foot and to fly his microlight above wild game. I drove with Marius right across the deserts of Namibia and none of our adventures scared him.

But Marius had never been outside southern Africa, until the day he visited London. I suggested we meet in Covent Garden, a trendy part of town. And there he was, an unmistakable figure among the glittering designer-shoppers and black-clad cappuccino-drinkers, dressed just as I had last seen him in the Transvaal: khaki shorts, dusty T-shirts, 'feltie' boots. On his belt he carried an enormous bush knife (until I said he'd better hide it, because in England it would be confiscated as an offensive weapon).

He stood on the kerb and we talked a long time, until I realised that he was rooted to the spot. "Pretty glad to see you, Jon," he said in his Afrikaans accent. "Man, I can take anything back home, but your traffic here scares me stiff."

And it was true. The cars down Long Acre had him running for cover. He'd rather walk round the block than cross the street. And the crowds of shoppers just baffled him. He stood there like a bull elephant sniffing the wind. How he managed the underground trains I cannot imagine.

Then I took him to see the Changing of the Guard outside Buckingham Palace, and he wept at the pageantry of it all. Later he explained that he'd never seen snow before, so I put him on a train for the Scottish Highlands - after buying him his first pair of jeans, just to keep him warm up there. And he still talks about that trip with fondness.

Which just goes to show that, however great our experience, we're all first-time travellers at heart.

 
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