It was the summer of ‘95 and I was a 20 year-old medical student
wannabe-beat-traveller journeying down Mexico way searching for soul, spirit,
tequila, tortilla, dust, desert, nature, adventure, and the wild ol’ mariachi
songs of love, tears, hope and death. But not a full-stop. Jack Kerouac didn’t
do full-stops and, at that time of my life, the work of this 50’s Mexico-junkie
beat-poet was my numero-uno travelling companion. On The Road and Lonesome
Traveller: such stories fizzed with words that flowed off the pages like a
roaring torrent of energy and life and the beat-spirit pummelled into my brain
with force and power and off I went.
