Forget coach tours to the coast and caravan parks with bingo afternoons.These ageing adventurers decided that the world had more left for them to discover and that, more surprisingly, there were new versions of themselves to find on the journey. They also learned a thing or two along the way: acts of kindness go a long way, it’s never too late to make new friends and travelling solo has some unexpected first-class perks. Here are their stories.
‘I had a go at the things you’re not supposed to do when nudging 80’
Recently widowed and nudging 80, Roy Burrows took himself on a round-the-world journey of self-discovery
In January I set off on a five-week round-the-world trip to New Zealand, Australia, Chile, Argentina and Spain. I planned it about a year ago. My wife died in 2022; we’d been married more than 50 years and had a full and wonderful life. Then when you’re on your own you think, what do I do — who am I? I decided to do something Mary would probably not have wanted to do with me, and spoilt myself by booking business-class flights.
I went to Christchurch in New Zealand because I have a dear family friend there, John, who has Alzheimer’s and I wanted to see him while I still could. Another minor theme of the trip was that I’m a birdie (please don’t describe me as a twitcher) but I was surprised by how many European species were there. It seemed very English — there were even people punting on the river. The only thing that told you you were far from home were the enormous blue gum trees reaching to the sky in the botanical gardens. My bridge tutor was in New Zealand at the same time, so John’s wife, Helen, and I met with Mo and her husband, Melvin, in the botanical gardens. I met some really interesting people on my travels, but I was meeting old friends as well. It was like being away yet not being away.
My mother was born in Australia but I hadn’t set foot there, so I wanted to go to Wagga Wagga, stand on the street where she was born and feel my Australian heritage. Mary got on well with my mother but she wouldn’t have wanted to go halfway around the world to see where her mother-in-law was born. The way my mother described it I imagined it as a dustbowl — she’d talk about walking to school barefoot in the 1920s. Now it’s rather civilised and very green, a pleasant swathe of agricultural land. Friends put me in touch with someone there who very generously helped me with some of the research and organised for us to dine in that street in a house that could have been where my mother was born. They made me feel very welcome; it was rather nice.
Advertisement
I stayed with friends in Brisbane and Melbourne, then from Sydney I flew to Santiago in Chile and on to Puerto Natales on the Chilean-Argentinian border, and went up to Torres del Paine National Park. From the Argentinian side there’s a very characteristic profile of these towering mountains. Patagonia would have had something for Mary and me. Before the children came along we did some riding and agreed that we would have liked to have been gauchos. So that was one reason I wanted to go there. Then there’s Bruce Chatwin. His books In Patagonia and The Songlines are two of my favourites and I read them again as I travelled. So I could go and be Bruce Chatwin — although I wouldn’t tell everybody. And I did play the small-time gaucho in Argentina, albeit with a bloody crash helmet, they insisted on that. There are things you’re not supposed to do when you’re nudging 80, but I did it twice.
At school I was awful at modern languages but I brushed up on my Spanish before I went and did reasonably well. I even learnt that one should speak Castellano in Argentina, a different Spanish. I was testing myself in so many ways.
From El Calafate on Lake Argentino, I went on to stay at the most glorious place, Estancia Cristina. There are no roads — you have to go in a boat then get a bus up to the resort. I treated myself to a double room. You don’t feel so alone in a big bed, somehow, as in a single bed. I probably conjured my wife.
The perennial concern of English people is that they might fall in with other English people, but I met a couple, Julia and Jamie, and we rattled along together and went trekking. It turned out we had friends in common on the Isle of Wight. Again, one’s away but not away.
Being a birdwatcher I was fascinated to see a condor flying over the spikes of the Andes — they have the largest wingspan of any bird. I drew a condor in my journal — I always keep one with a daily record of observations, sketches and maps. Patagonia is a serene, unspoilt place. One thing I learnt was that those snow-covered peaks are not snow-covered peaks. They’re glaciers, not snow — every white finger you see coming down the Andes is a glacier. I saw landscapes that didn’t look real, more like a collage of cut-out coloured paper.
Advertisement
John Betjeman once said that single men are often well received wherever they travel, because people are intrigued, perhaps feeling sorry for them travelling on their own. Like Santiago, Buenos Aires was rather seedy at times, but a highlight for me there was being scooped up by Fernando and Ksenia, whom I met at the Flamenco Theatre El Viejo Almacen; they insisted I join them for lunch the next day. I hadn’t met them before in my life, but these beautiful people were like family to me.
When I left Buenos Aires I found that the airline had sold my ticket because I’d not checked in the day before. I didn’t shout, but I guess I was very voluble because they upgraded me. Now I know the difference between first class and business. The moment your bottom hits the chair in first they offer you a glass of champagne. In business it can take up to three minutes.
My advice to anyone considering this sort of trip would be to do as much planning as you can — not with regards to anticipating what will happen, but rather where you put yourself so that things might happen. I booked my trip with Trailfinders, a first-class travel agency that was particularly good on transfers.
And don’t be afraid to ask for help. If you’re as lucky as me you’ll come out of it enriched and wanting to do it again. For me it was a life-changing trip. I became a “we” person, part of the world again without Mary. By travelling away from home, I found myself.
Roy Burrows spoke to Liz Edwards
• Everything you need to know about travel insurance for over 70s
‘Our normal holidays were Scottish coach tours’
Advertisement
Anne Lamb, 84, toured Sri Lanka, including a climb up a rock temple and a safari
When an old friend called last year and asked out of the blue if I would like to join her and her husband on a tour of their homeland of Sri Lanka with a few others, I agreed immediately. Only after I put down the phone did I wonder what I had done.
I had just turned 83. Travelling 5,000 miles to a place that has suffered civil war, a tsunami, terrorist attacks and an economic meltdown that sparked months of protests seemed more like something my war-correspondent daughter Christina would do.
I would be travelling in a minibus with six other OAPs, aged from 60ish; I was the eldest. Apart from my friends Subadra and Ananda, I had met the others once. But I had recently lost my husband of 62 years — I had been caring for him at home for years — and yearned to have a bit of adventure while I still could. We had made some unusual trips to visit our daughter in her postings in Rio, Peshawar and Johannesburg, but our normal holidays were coach tours of Scotland.
We exited Bandaranaike airport into the tropical heat to be garlanded with orchids by ladies in silk saris. Waiting for us was the minibus in which we would spend the next ten days, touring with our driver Prem. He was so patient during our trip. I puzzled over how a country with such warm-hearted people could have become embroiled in such a brutal and protracted civil war.
Advertisement
After a night at a nearby hotel we headed north. What a beautiful lush country it is — the palm trees, the rivers and paddy fields — and what a thrill each time an elephant emerged roadside from the jungle. Everything stops for the mighty elephant.
Our first challenge was a steep climb up to Dambulla, the country’s best-preserved cave temple complex, dating from the 1st century BC and still a functioning monastery. It wasn’t an easy climb, particularly given the heat and humidity, and we weren’t all super-fit — there were a few knee replacements among us. But it was worth it, the hanging rock towers over the plains giving spectacular views.
Meanwhile, the group dynamics were developing — each of us adopting roles. Chris took over group finances; Claudia was the information officer, ending each day with a fun quiz to keep us on our toes. Bob was the chief photographer; Elaine had an amazing recall of pop songs and led the singing with Subadra. Subadra still spoke Sinhalese fluently, which was useful. The only word we understood was “ayubowan”, the local greeting — and the name of the WhatsApp group Ananda set up.
We started the next day early while it was cooler, setting out for Sigiriya, an ancient city on a high granite rock, with a fascinating history of intrigue, murder and suicide.
Looking up at the sheer rock I doubted my ability to climb the 1,200 steps in the heat, but three of us decided to tackle it — the three oldest! Then we met Remi. We were initially reluctant to hire one of the very persistent freelance guides there, but we soon saw the benefit. Not only was Remi a font of knowledge about King Kashyapa, who lived with courtiers and concubines in the late 5th century, he gave us the confidence to reach the top and admire the outstanding views. I was thrilled to have made it.
Advertisement
Driving to Kandy we had a taste of rush-hour traffic — the roads full of tuk-tuks, a distinct lack of road markings and lots of near-misses — but somehow it seems to work. We arrived just before the evening service at the beautiful Temple of the Tooth, supposedly home of the Buddha’s tooth that was removed before he was cremated.
The next few days took us to a gem shop (there was a Sri Lankan sapphire in the engagement ring that Prince Charles gave Diana), a tea factory in the hills, and on a wonderfully scenic train up to the tea plantations. Almost too scenic — despite the signs warning “do not take selfies” a boy fell out of the train from an open door. He was stretchered away, but it was a sombre group who rejoined Prem in the minibus.
Our busy itinerary meant a safari next day to Yala National Park. We transferred to a Land Rover, which was great if rather bumpy. We all took it in our stride when we got stuck in ruts. We saw elephants, bison, mongooses, monkeys, crocodiles, peacocks, painted storks and colourful exotic birds. We had to memorise them — Claudia would be testing us later.
The food throughout was delicious and exquisitely presented. I loved bowl-shaped hoppers, a fried egg served in a coconutty, rice-flour pancake, and curries cooked in bananas leaves. In Galle, the coast town inside a fort built by the Portuguese, we rejected Prem’s suggestion of dinner at the Marriott hotel and instead found our way to a beach restaurant, Fish Point. It was magical, the waves lapping the shore and fairy lights strung up. And Chris, Mr Finance, told us that our feast of mullet, coral fish, tuna and giant prawns came to £15 each.
Our wonderful trip was nearly over, via a night at the splendid colonial-style Galle Face Hotel in Colombo. Chris and Claudia showed us the hotel museum, where the main exhibit is a 1935 model Standard Nine, the car Prince Philip bought when he was serving nearby in the navy in 1940. It cost him £12.
We were sad to leave, but happily Ayubowan is still up and running, and we regularly keep in touch. I was thrilled I’d done it — less than a year later I was diagnosed with advanced cancer. Thinking of our little Sri Lankan minibus full of OAPs always makes me smile. Do these things when you can.
‘My family weren’t too worried — we’re an adventurous lot’
Chris Allsop, 72, rode his motorbike from London down the the west coast of Africa
My trip of a lifetime — an 11,200-mile motorbike ride from London and down the west coast of Africa to Cape Town, including trips to Cape Agulhas, the southernmost tip of the continent, and Franschoek — took four months, but it was 54 years in the making. I was a banker in London and retired 14 years ago. I was 72 years old last year and I thought, “If not now, when?”
When I met my wife we planned to do a great adventure in Africa, then life came along — first a mortgage, then kids. When we retired she wasn’t keen, but it was always in the back of my mind. I’ve been riding motorbikes since I was 17 and I wanted to do the trip on a small bike. When I told people about my plan they’d say “You’re too old” or “The bike’s too small”. That only made me more determined to prove them wrong.
My family weren’t too worried — we’re an adventurous lot. My wife was born in Somalia and grew up in Uganda. She knows that most Europeans think Africa is dangerous, but that is just not true. Africa is a huge, varied continent, but one thing that’s consistent is the friendliness and hospitality of the people. It seems that the less people have, the more generous they are.
Motorbikes, on the other hand, are dangerous, despite also being tremendous fun. My children thought that I was mad because I was doing the trip on a motorbike, not because I was travelling through Africa. And I have seven grandchildren who think I’m a hero, so that’s quite nice.
The west coast route is reasonably well worn for motorcyclists but few people do it on their own — let alone in their seventies. Most do it on big adventure bikes, but if your fancy BMW breaks down on poor roads it’s very difficult to fix. Parts might have to be flown out or the bike might have to be shipped back to Europe.
Ten years ago there were 10 million motorbikes in Africa — today there are 27 million and every kid on the street can fix them. I did the whole journey on a 125cc bike and nothing went wrong, though I was so slow that even trucks were overtaking me.
Before I went I pored over all the internet forums and reached out to many bikers. Finally I got to a point where I thought that I’ve got to just get on my bloody bike and deal with problems as I go along.
I bought the bike in London and rode it to Casablanca, Morocco, where my son, Tom, lives with his wife and children. I then flew back to London to sort visas; I had to cross 16 borders and some were quite expensive — Cameroon was US$250. Then I returned to Casablanca and, on August 18, hit the road.
The heat isn’t too much of a problem on a motorbike, but the rain is. When it rains in England we have drops; when it rains in Guinea it’s like standing under a waterfall — in seconds the whole road is like a river.
I was nervous about two parts of the trip in particular — Guinea and Nigeria. I’d been told that in Guinea the roads and food were awful and the officials on the border were not to be trusted. But the mountains of Guinea were among the most beautiful places I saw. In Nigeria, people told me, I’d be held at gunpoint, mugged in the street or stabbed, but it was all a load of rubbish — the country was an absolute revelation and its people are the nicest on Earth.
Anyone who has a motorbike in Nigeria joins a biker club, and I was taken under the wing of one almost as soon as I arrived. Many bikers there are lawyers, oil executives or doctors. When I left a city they would escort me; in new cities they came and met me. I was helped by some delightful people who wouldn’t let me pay for food and got me very drunk indeed. They treated me like a revered elder statesman.
One moment that sticks out was when I was in the Cameroon highlands, waiting in a little tin-roofed bar for a rainstorm to pass. When I’d been there for a few hours a man came over and said that he was worried about me, asking: “Where are you going to sleep tonight?” I hadn’t a clue, and he offered me his spare bedroom behind the bar. It was a simple wooden-frame house, but clean and insect-free, and I slept like a log. When I woke up in the morning he’d cooked me bananas and avocado — it was fantastic. I gave him some money, and in the end he accepted it, but he was embarrassed to take it. I was incredibly touched.
It was just one of many acts of kindness I received during my trip.
The most spectacular landscape I saw might be the Karoo mountains in South Africa. They have high plateaus and lush valleys with colourful wildflowers and blue-blossomed jacaranda trees. Namibia is also a beautiful country, and then there was Angola, which felt a lot like Brazil — there is a cultural crossover, with fantastic music and wonderful beaches.
Luckily I never got ill, but I did sustain an injury. At a party in Lagos I was treated as a celebrity and it kind of went to my head. I drank too much and at 4am I woke up in my hotel room in a pool of blood, having fallen and cracked my head. That was my own stupid fault.
The biggest challenge was the loneliness — day after long day on my own. You start thinking some strange things.
As for my budget, I wanted to do it properly — this was my life’s adventure after all. Still, I set aside £20,000 but actually spent less than half that.
The trip exceeded my expectations. If you love motorbikes and find yourself on an empty African road on a tiny bike, your spirits lift and you think, “This is what I was born for.”
Chris Allsop spoke to Katie Gatens
Become a subscriber and, along with unlimited digital access to The Times and The Sunday Times, you can enjoy a collection of travel offers and competitions curated by our trusted travel partners, especially for Times+ members
Sign up for our Times Travel newsletter and follow us on Instagram and X
