700 miles and a friend: Traveling with a donkey

Travel is not just physical movement — it is a great test for both the soul and the mind. Today, we want to talk about a person who undertook such a deeply philosophical journey. He crossed the entirety of Britain, from one end to the other, with his only companion — a donkey.

I have never lost the spirit of travel that lives inside me. In my childhood, every summer, my parents would push me and my sister out of the house and say, “Only come back to eat.” That habit instilled in me a sense of freedom. Running through the streets of Hackney in London and coming back home exhausted became an inseparable part of my childhood memories.

Later, in my late twenties, I walked across the American continent, spending nights in nature and hitchhiking. That experience taught me to look at the world differently.

After returning to Liverpool, I started working in documentary photography and entered into a long-term relationship. But when that relationship ended, I was emotionally devastated. At such a difficult time, I rediscovered the true meaning of my life — travel.

In the summer of 2016, I set out on my next difficult journey to find myself again. I walked mostly on foot across Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan, covering 1,600 km. It gave me a feeling of unity with nature. I realized that slow, unhurried travel creates opportunities for sincere human connection.

But it was hard to recreate these feelings in Britain. Abroad, my “foreignness” attracted attention. In Britain, I disappeared among the crowds as a 43-year-old white man. I'm not good at starting conversations with strangers. So, for my next five-month-long journey across Britain, I realized I needed a companion who would draw attention — a pack animal, a donkey.

That’s how I found a donkey at a local farm called Alwood Donkeys and named him Martin. His nature felt like he had chosen me: he, too, was solitary and liked being alone. We trained together for seven months, working day and night, and built a strong mutual trust.

We started our journey from the Cape Wrath lighthouse in northern Scotland and finished at another lighthouse in Dorset. It was nearly 700 miles — about 1,100 km. But I quickly understood that walking a donkey around the streets of Wirral doesn’t prepare you for the West Highlands of Scotland. Hills, bogs, biting insects — the terrain tests both man and beast.

The first six weeks were full of difficulty, hesitation, even tears. One day I tried to get Martin through a bog, but he stood firm, legs out, refusing to move. I got angry with him, and then felt deeply guilty.

But wherever we went, people’s faces lit up. Everyone who saw Martin was delighted and started talking to us. They offered us tea, coffee, food, kindness, and places to camp. Not once was I rejected. Traveling with Martin restored my belief in humanity.

What’s interesting is that when I started planning the route based on Martin’s mood, placing his needs before mine — the journey became more peaceful and joyful. At the end of each day, he would lay his head on my chest, exhale deeply, as if expressing trust. It’s hard to describe that connection in words.

After the journey, I fully purchased Martin. He still lives on the same farm, and I cover all his expenses. I visit him at least twice a month. We have since walked from Liverpool to Blackpool and are now planning a month-long walk across Scotland.

I didn’t just walk across Britain — I formed a lifelong friendship with a 15-year-old donkey named Martin. Read 'Zamin' on Telegram!