The DVDs just kept on coming. They were arriving with postmarks from India, Poland, Brazil, and all over Europe, the USA and Australia.
Incredible films of true-life derring-do were landing on our doormat at a startling rate, complete strangers were sending us links to obscure vintage travel documentaries and our friends were getting used to receiving the call, “You gotta see THIS!”. As the films piled up, the realisation dawned that we were sitting on a unique archive of stupendous, but essentially unknown, celluloid gold. Eventually, we reached the logical conclusion: “We should start a film festival.” Quickly followed by: “But not a normal film festival…”
Ten years earlier, I had left my job at the BBC to ride a small motorcycle a rather long way – from Alaska to Argentina. This resulted in the publication of my first book, Lois on the Loose, and an eventful career as a travel writer ensued. A few years later, I rode the length of Africa, crossing the Sahara, the Congo and Angola to reach Cape Town, spawning book number two.
Read the rest of this article from Independent.
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