Table of Contents
In 2015, I pushed a cart containing everything I owned and walked out the door of my home in New Jersey.
Seven years and 45,000 kilometers later, I became the tenth person to walk around the world; the first to do it with a dog.
What began as my response to the loss of two friends as a teenager became something much richer: an intimate encounter with humanity in step.
After seven years of walking, I can say with certainty that the world is much less dangerous and much more welcoming than we are led to believe.
Yes, there are risks and yes, there are places where you should be careful. I was attacked with a primitive homemade knife in Panama City and tied up at gunpoint in Türkiye.
‘After seven years of walking, I can say with certainty that the world is much less dangerous and much more welcoming than we are led to believe’
But the vast majority of people, regardless of their politics, religion, or economic situation, will go to great lengths to help a stranger.
Central America
The first thing one learns when crossing continents is how wrong most of our assumptions are about places we’ve never been.
Take Central America, which my friends and family feared would be my downfall. Yes, El Salvador and Honduras topped global crime statistics, but what I found instead were grandmothers who insisted I stay for dinner and farmers who shared their harvest.
The only time I truly feared for my safety was in Panama City, when a man with bloodshot eyes and a face drawn like a rat put a knife to my neck.
But even then, local merchants rushed to my aid and chased the man away.
South America
In South America I learned what true isolation means.
Crossing the Peruvian coast and then the Atacama Desert (the driest in the world) I often went days without seeing a soul. Yet even here the remarkable generosity of humanity flourished.
Savannah on Ecuador’s high plans – ‘In South America, I learned what true isolation means’
Camping in the Atacama Desert, Chile
In a small Peruvian restaurant I found a note from another world walker, Karl Bushby, written years before: ‘Whatever your plans, go ahead! Follow the path. Escape. Live it! Get angry, crazy mothers!
In the midst of those overwhelmingly repetitive days in the desert, Karl’s note was like finding a message in a bottle, exactly when I needed it most.
Upon hearing my story, the restaurant owner fed me like a king and put me up for the night, freeing me from spending another night camping in the desert.
Europe
Western Europe, which I assumed would be the easiest part of my trip, brought its own challenges.
While the infrastructure was great (think endless bike lanes and public facilities), it was there that I felt most alone.
In Europe, “people were friendly but less willing to invite strangers into their homes”
Eye protection for Savannah in the desert, south of Piura, Peru
Tom and Savannah found the perfect campsite in Maiolina, Italy, with sea views and a castle.
Kayaking among crabeater seals in Antarctica was a highlight
I was recovering from a bacterial infection and was haunted by persistent psychological pain. I felt a separation from people that was less common in the developing countries I had already walked through. People were friendly but apparently less willing to invite strangers into their homes.
Only on the Camino de Santiago did I feel revived. For the first time on my trip, there were people traveling in the same direction and at the same pace as me.
The conversations I shared during that stretch allowed me to get out of my head and rediscover the joy of walking.
Central Asia
While planning my adventure, I didn’t take into account the possibility of a once-in-a-century pandemic.
Stranded in Azerbaijan as borders slammed shut, I found myself the subject of an experiment in staying still. It was there that I learned that sometimes the most meaningful experiences come when your plans are completely derailed.
‘The most beautiful valley I have ever seen’ in Kyrgyzstan
Under the incredible stars in Kyrgyzstan
The pause offered me a new perspective. After years of living on the move, always existing as a perpetual stranger, I suddenly recognized my deep longing for deep human connection (friends, a romantic partner, and a close family).
That recognition made the rest of my walk more challenging, but it also made me excited about the possibility of life after my seven-year walk.
Texas and beyond
Just five months into my journey, I adopted Savannah, a mangy puppy from an Austin shelter.
Initially, she turned out to be my biggest challenge (I couldn’t get her to walk five minutes on a leash), but she quickly revealed herself to be my biggest blessing.
Together we crossed jungles, deserts and countless mountains. She was always stronger than me. Every time I collapsed at the end of a long day, Savannah would come over wagging her tail hoping to play, as if 24 miles was just her warm-up!
When I was detained at gunpoint by Kansas police (who apparently found a man pushing a baby stroller suspicious), it was Savannah who helped calm the situation.
She was my only constant and our warm introduction wherever we went.
If there’s one thing Savannah revealed to me about the world, it’s that kindness is universal.
When I began the international part of my hike in Mexico, I could barely order coffee in Spanish. When I arrived in South America, I was talking politics and philosophy with the locals.
But for most of my walk, I only spoke a pidgin version of whatever the local language was. This limitation helped show me that a friendly dog, a smile, and genuine curiosity transcend the local language.
Some of my most meaningful connections came through small gestures and broken phrases. Something as simple as placing my hand over my heart (a gesture I learned in North Africa) helped me navigate countless cultures.
In Türkiye, strangers invited me into their homes so often that I barely needed to camp. In Georgia (the country, not the state), families treated me like a long-lost son.
Even in Algeria, where government-mandated police escorts followed my every move, the officers themselves became friends and shared their meals and stories.
As the years passed, the fundamental truth that people are the same everywhere dawned on me.
Tom Turcich was only the tenth person on record to walk around the world, while his four-legged companion Savannah was the first dog to do so.
‘Savannah was my only constant and our warm introduction wherever we went’ (photographed in Peru)
“When I crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge back into New Jersey, I realized I was no longer walking to escape or prove a point.”
Poring over my journals while writing my memoirs, The world walkI realized that walking around the world wasn’t really about walking at all. It was about slowing down enough to see humanity at its most basic level.
When you’re moving three miles an hour, pushing everything you have in a baby stroller, you make yourself vulnerable. And in that vulnerability you discover something remarkable: people, almost everywhere, are good.
As I crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge back into New Jersey, accompanied by friends and family for the last few miles, I noticed that I was no longer walking to escape or prove a point.
I walked home, carrying with me the knowledge that, while the world is vast and complex, it is also remarkably small and interconnected. We all, in our own way, walk the same path.
The World Walk: 7 years. 28,000 Miles. 6 continents. A great meditation, step by step by Tom Turcich is published by Skyhorse