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Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in adulthood, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea captain; my grandfather was a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation his father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus, it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of the sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.

Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in adulthood, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea captain; my grandfather was a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation his father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus, it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of the sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.

Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in adulthood, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea captain; my grandfather was a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation his father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus, it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of the sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.

Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in adulthood, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea captain; my grandfather was a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation his father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus, it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of the sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.

Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my heart, the very sunshine of my existence. In childhood, in boyhood, and in adulthood, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide, wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night on which I was born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean. My father was a sea captain; my grandfather was a marine. Nobody could tell positively what occupation his father had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a midshipman, whose grandfather, on mother's side, had been an admiral in the Royal Navy. At any rate, we knew that, as far back as our family could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery waste. Indeed, this was the case on both sides of the house; for my mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus, it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition. Soon after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life, purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores of the sea which had for so many years been his home. It was not long after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.

Who among us has not enjoyed the transient pleasures of a little sugar? A bite of biscuit, a slice of cake, even the simple act of stirring sugar into a cup of something warm—all these constitute a deeply individual moment, a tiny space of solitude in the hectic race of humanity. Worldwide, people enjoy a sugar rush, which they hope ,will pass. The global consumption of sugar crossed 178 million metric tons in 2024—but, in fact, the impact of sugar and its sibling, chocolate, stays with us forever.

Sugar's planetary history is remarkable. From being a locally grown product, it has expanded to 65 million acres worldwide; a dozen countries use more than 25% of their arable land to grow it. Alongside cattle ranching, 80% of the Amazon rainforest has been cut down for growing sugarcane. Once planted, it takes 25 gallons of water to produce one pound of cane sugar—that's a mind-boggling 34 liters per teaspoon. Meanwhile, the global chocolate market has caused the deforestation of vast stretches worldwide; cocoa decimated 2.3 million hectares just between 2001 and 2015. These industries further emit greenhouse gases, warming air and releasing chemicals into land and water, harming ecology and species.

Alongside, sugar and chocolate have bitter social histories. Both stem from pasts of enslavement; their global boom shows colonialism gleaming in shiny wrappers of business. These transplanted entire families—in a bitter-sweet twist, the ancestors of V.S. Naipaul, the Indian-origin writer, were taken as indentured labour from Uttar Pradesh to Trinidad to grow sugar. Helpless child labourers still work in cocoa farms, spraying pesticides and carrying sacks of goodies. Ironically, commodities which harm earth and vulnerable communities ultimately catch up with everybody—many of the world's deadliest diseases, diabetes to cardiovascular illness, come from these.

Who among us has not enjoyed the transient pleasures of a little sugar? A bite of biscuit, a slice of cake, even the simple act of stirring sugar into a cup of something warm—all these constitute a deeply individual moment, a tiny space of solitude in the hectic race of humanity. Worldwide, people enjoy a sugar rush, which they hope ,will pass. The global consumption of sugar crossed 178 million metric tons in 2024—but, in fact, the impact of sugar and its sibling, chocolate, stays with us forever.

Sugar's planetary history is remarkable. From being a locally grown product, it has expanded to 65 million acres worldwide; a dozen countries use more than 25% of their arable land to grow it. Alongside cattle ranching, 80% of the Amazon rainforest has been cut down for growing sugarcane. Once planted, it takes 25 gallons of water to produce one pound of cane sugar—that's a mind-boggling 34 liters per teaspoon. Meanwhile, the global chocolate market has caused the deforestation of vast stretches worldwide; cocoa decimated 2.3 million hectares just between 2001 and 2015. These industries further emit greenhouse gases, warming air and releasing chemicals into land and water, harming ecology and species.

Alongside, sugar and chocolate have bitter social histories. Both stem from pasts of enslavement; their global boom shows colonialism gleaming in shiny wrappers of business. These transplanted entire families—in a bitter-sweet twist, the ancestors of V.S. Naipaul, the Indian-origin writer, were taken as indentured labour from Uttar Pradesh to Trinidad to grow sugar. Helpless child labourers still work in cocoa farms, spraying pesticides and carrying sacks of goodies. Ironically, commodities which harm earth and vulnerable communities ultimately catch up with everybody—many of the world's deadliest diseases, diabetes to cardiovascular illness, come from these.

Who among us has not enjoyed the transient pleasures of a little sugar? A bite of biscuit, a slice of cake, even the simple act of stirring sugar into a cup of something warm—all these constitute a deeply individual moment, a tiny space of solitude in the hectic race of humanity. Worldwide, people enjoy a sugar rush, which they hope ,will pass. The global consumption of sugar crossed 178 million metric tons in 2024—but, in fact, the impact of sugar and its sibling, chocolate, stays with us forever.

Sugar's planetary history is remarkable. From being a locally grown product, it has expanded to 65 million acres worldwide; a dozen countries use more than 25% of their arable land to grow it. Alongside cattle ranching, 80% of the Amazon rainforest has been cut down for growing sugarcane. Once planted, it takes 25 gallons of water to produce one pound of cane sugar—that's a mind-boggling 34 liters per teaspoon. Meanwhile, the global chocolate market has caused the deforestation of vast stretches worldwide; cocoa decimated 2.3 million hectares just between 2001 and 2015. These industries further emit greenhouse gases, warming air and releasing chemicals into land and water, harming ecology and species.

Alongside, sugar and chocolate have bitter social histories. Both stem from pasts of enslavement; their global boom shows colonialism gleaming in shiny wrappers of business. These transplanted entire families—in a bitter-sweet twist, the ancestors of V.S. Naipaul, the Indian-origin writer, were taken as indentured labour from Uttar Pradesh to Trinidad to grow sugar. Helpless child labourers still work in cocoa farms, spraying pesticides and carrying sacks of goodies. Ironically, commodities which harm earth and vulnerable communities ultimately catch up with everybody—many of the world's deadliest diseases, diabetes to cardiovascular illness, come from these.

Who among us has not enjoyed the transient pleasures of a little sugar? A bite of biscuit, a slice of cake, even the simple act of stirring sugar into a cup of something warm—all these constitute a deeply individual moment, a tiny space of solitude in the hectic race of humanity. Worldwide, people enjoy a sugar rush, which they hope ,will pass. The global consumption of sugar crossed 178 million metric tons in 2024—but, in fact, the impact of sugar and its sibling, chocolate, stays with us forever.

Sugar's planetary history is remarkable. From being a locally grown product, it has expanded to 65 million acres worldwide; a dozen countries use more than 25% of their arable land to grow it. Alongside cattle ranching, 80% of the Amazon rainforest has been cut down for growing sugarcane. Once planted, it takes 25 gallons of water to produce one pound of cane sugar—that's a mind-boggling 34 liters per teaspoon. Meanwhile, the global chocolate market has caused the deforestation of vast stretches worldwide; cocoa decimated 2.3 million hectares just between 2001 and 2015. These industries further emit greenhouse gases, warming air and releasing chemicals into land and water, harming ecology and species.

Alongside, sugar and chocolate have bitter social histories. Both stem from pasts of enslavement; their global boom shows colonialism gleaming in shiny wrappers of business. These transplanted entire families—in a bitter-sweet twist, the ancestors of V.S. Naipaul, the Indian-origin writer, were taken as indentured labour from Uttar Pradesh to Trinidad to grow sugar. Helpless child labourers still work in cocoa farms, spraying pesticides and carrying sacks of goodies. Ironically, commodities which harm earth and vulnerable communities ultimately catch up with everybody—many of the world's deadliest diseases, diabetes to cardiovascular illness, come from these.

Who among us has not enjoyed the transient pleasures of a little sugar? A bite of biscuit, a slice of cake, even the simple act of stirring sugar into a cup of something warm—all these constitute a deeply individual moment, a tiny space of solitude in the hectic race of humanity. Worldwide, people enjoy a sugar rush, which they hope ,will pass. The global consumption of sugar crossed 178 million metric tons in 2024—but, in fact, the impact of sugar and its sibling, chocolate, stays with us forever.

Sugar's planetary history is remarkable. From being a locally grown product, it has expanded to 65 million acres worldwide; a dozen countries use more than 25% of their arable land to grow it. Alongside cattle ranching, 80% of the Amazon rainforest has been cut down for growing sugarcane. Once planted, it takes 25 gallons of water to produce one pound of cane sugar—that's a mind-boggling 34 liters per teaspoon. Meanwhile, the global chocolate market has caused the deforestation of vast stretches worldwide; cocoa decimated 2.3 million hectares just between 2001 and 2015. These industries further emit greenhouse gases, warming air and releasing chemicals into land and water, harming ecology and species.

Alongside, sugar and chocolate have bitter social histories. Both stem from pasts of enslavement; their global boom shows colonialism gleaming in shiny wrappers of business. These transplanted entire families—in a bitter-sweet twist, the ancestors of V.S. Naipaul, the Indian-origin writer, were taken as indentured labour from Uttar Pradesh to Trinidad to grow sugar. Helpless child labourers still work in cocoa farms, spraying pesticides and carrying sacks of goodies. Ironically, commodities which harm earth and vulnerable communities ultimately catch up with everybody—many of the world's deadliest diseases, diabetes to cardiovascular illness, come from these.