Get That Life: How I Get to Travel the World for a Living

Sarah Marquis has walked more than 27,000 miles across barren deserts, subzero mountain ranges, and desolate countryside where few humans have ventured before. She has challenged crocodiles, escaped avalanches, and disguised herself as a man to escape danger. Marquis, who was named a 2014 National Geographic Adventurer of the Year, lives in Switzerland when she's not pacing the globe, and has written four books about her explorations, which she calls walks. The latest, Wild by Nature: From Siberia to Australia, Three Years Alone in the Wilderness on Foot, was released in the U.S. earlier this year. She shares some of her close encounters with the elements and tries to explain how walking the world has given her purpose.

I grew up in northern Switzerland in a small village in the countryside. I spent hundreds of hours exploring nature. When I was around age 9, I went into a nearby cave with my dog for a little overnight adventure. I forgot to tell my parents that I was going to stay overnight. The next morning when I returned home, I found out the police were looking for me. From that point, I think my parents understood that they had a wild kid. They have been nothing but supportive ever since.

When I was 17, I had an idea to travel across Turkey on horseback. It was the unknown that really attracted me. My mom's eyes popped out of her head when I told her this. She said, "Sarah, it would be a good idea to take some horseback riding lessons." I said to her, "Mom, I saw it in a movie. It doesn't look at all difficult."

I took little side jobs — working at a ski station, as a lifeguard, at a train station — to save as much money as I could to go on my trip. I wouldn't buy mascara because it cost $12 and I needed that money. I contacted a youth association in Istanbul that helps people who travel to get organized and complete their trip. I was connected with a local guide who took care of me along the way.

I ate apricots on horseback, riding through a village where the women took me in, washed my body with milk, and gave me tea. It was freedom. It took me a month to complete the journey, and then I flew home.

I went back to work at the ski chalet, working at the bar at night to save money for my next trip. I had the idea to cross the United States on foot, walking the Pacific Crest Trail from Canada to Mexico. I told my friends about it and they all said, "You're crazy." I had never been to the States and I was fascinated by the big, open spaces. I still am today.

When I wasn't working, I spent my time training. For the U.S. trip, I needed to be able to walk long distances carrying a backpack that weighed at least 60 pounds. I started practicing with packs weighing 5 pounds, then 10, and up. I practiced running and snow shoeing, and I read as many trail books and survival guides I could get my hands on. One thing I already knew a lot about was snow conditions, because I'd lived in the mountains my whole life.

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In May of 2000, when I was 28, I set off on my trip. I had my guidebook, my pack, and before I left, I mailed ahead resupply materials that would be at various points throughout the journey. I started in Lynn Canyon Park [near Vancouver] in Canada. It was avalanche season and the trail was blocked with snow. I had to go around it and I ended up walking through some restricted FBI land [in Washington state]. I didn't know because I couldn't see any signs in all the snow. When I got to the next little town, the cops were waiting for me at the local pub. They waited until I ate — maybe they could see that I was starving — then they came to arrest me.

They said I needed to be out of Washington state within 48 hours or I would go to jail and have to pay a $5,000 fine. I found some lovely people in that little town who allowed me to fly with them in a small airplane down to San Diego, where I could start the trail from Mexico [instead].

The second day in, I met a drug smuggler who wanted me to take him to water. I led him in the wrong direction then I ran away. Then I ran into a major wildfire that had been burning in the area for months. Firefighters had to evacuate me by helicopter.

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The trip took four months and six days. When I finished — back where I started the first time — I could feel the excitement in my legs. It was magical and empowering to realize I had crossed the United States on foot, alone.

Being alone for long periods of time, when you are out there with nature and you are fighting with the environment, you realize who you are. There is no escape from yourself. I learn more about myself, about nature, and how we're all connected to it. It's the most powerful thing. It's why I walk.

I came back to Switzerland and went back to work at the bar in the ski lodge. I spent the next few years working and traveling. I visited French Polynesia, New Zealand, South America, and Australia. Australia affected me in an amazing way — the smell, the trees, the space, the freedom. I wanted to walk through the bush land in Australia.

I trained for nearly two years and put 10 kilograms [about 22 pounds] on my body. I knew having extra weight would help save my life on the trip [because] there is not a lot of food to eat, and the walk is very physical.

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In 2002, I set off on a 17-month walkabout across the Australian outback. About four months in, I stopped at a farm to get some water and met a wild dog. The farmer was going to kill him because he was a threat to his livestock. I thought, Not on my watch. So I stole him and ran away. I put a small backpack on him and he walked with me for 10,000 kilometers [about 6,200 miles].

I named the dog Joe after my brother, a precision mechanic, who helped me survive this journey. As I was training for the trip, we mapped the walk and decided on GPS coordinates where he would fly in to deliver me supplies and new gear.

I carried 15 days' worth of food with me and supplemented with bush tucker [any growing food native to Australia—including flowers, fruits, and berries]. Every five months, my brother flew in from Switzerland and brought me new gear and supplies. He'd stay with me a few days, give me a massage, feed me, and make sure I was all right.

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These meetings were really important to me psychologically as well. Most of this walk was in the middle of nowhere. I spent weeks without seeing another human. When I would arrive at the GPS coordinates for a resupply and I saw a little tent, knowing my brother was inside, it was the most amazing feeling.

The biggest challenge of this trip was that I crossed so much desert. Finding water was difficult. Much of my training was studying the landscape so I could search it like a treasure map for sources of water. I read everything I could about the area, and became an expert in aboriginal culture to understand how they found food and water in the bush. I've taught myself [many] of my own survival skills — and I learned to trust my instincts — but most of the tricks that have saved my life come from [reading about and spending time with] the aboriginal culture.

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Toward the end of my trip, I collapsed in a dune. I had a kidney stone and I was dehydrated. I woke up and I was near a fire with people speaking a weird language. An aboriginal tribe took care of me and fed me. I spent about three weeks with them recovering and learning before continuing my trip.

When I'm on a walk, what I miss most is food, like cheese fondue; second is a shower. There is no showering during these walks. You just stay smelly. Every two weeks or so I'd encounter villages, but there is never a shower. Sometimes I was given a bucket of hot water. Hygienic pads are obviously in short supply, so I always carry them in my first-aid kit. They have many uses [other than for menstruation].

When I came home from Australia, I decided to write a book about the journey. I self-published it in Switzerland and it became a best seller right away. I was approached by publishers to write a book about my next journey. I have published a memoir after each major trip and I'm working on my fifth one right now.

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Before I left for Australia, I was contacted by Swiss TV, who had heard about this young woman who was going off on a crazy journey. They wanted me to shoot video of my trip and send it back to them. At each resupply stop, I gave my brother my video clips that I shot on a GoPro camera, and he sent it to the TV station.

When I got home — with my new dog, Joe — I was a little famous. They had been airing my footage every week and thousands of people were watching. I started getting phone calls for speaking engagements. I started at schools and small group events, then moved up to corporate events. I brought along my brother and my dog. I collected small speaking fees at first — about $300 to $400 each; a year later, as I felt more experienced talking to an audience, I was able to charge more. I was making more money than I ever made working at the bar. I was able to save faster for my next trip.

In 2006, I spent eight months walking the paths of the Incas from Chile to Peru, all throughout the Andes Mountains. The terrain went up and down and up and down, and I had altitude sickness for much of the walk. The only food I could keep in my stomach was peanut butter. Again, my brother brought me resupply and helped me survive. I didn't bring Joe the dog on any other trips because I didn't want to risk [that he might get hurt].

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Over the years, I had reached out to thousands of companies for sponsorships. In the beginning, nobody wants to hear from you. It's such a fight to get one pair of shoes donated. But after my South American trip, I started to get more exposure and sponsors came to me. I am now sponsored by Sportiva, The North Face, Ice Breaker, Debiopharm, and Tisso Watches.

National Geographic contacted me in 2013 when they wanted to name me a National Geographic explorer. It's not a salary thing, but they offer support however they can, usually with gear or equipment. I always put a third of my own money into my trips. The sponsors help with gear, communications, and technology, and they give me the equipment I need to document everything.

After returning from South America, I noticed a picture of Mongolia in the window of this little travel shop in my town. I thought, Cool picture. Then I went home and dreamed of Southeast Asia and Australia. I wanted to walk from Siberia, across Mongolia, and end up in Australia. I studied aviation maps of the region to find the best paths for me to take. I put weight on again.

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This trip took three years. I conducted Bengal fever in the jungles of Laos. I always keep antibiotics on hand, which have helped me recover from many illnesses. I disguised myself as a man as I crossed the barren landscape of Mongolia. Some men on horseback discovered me and followed me for days. They would wait until I camped every night and they rode around my tent, getting drunk and screaming, taunting me. I think they were just lost souls with too much vodka. It was frustrating and one day I decided to take them on. I turned around and ran as fast as I could at one of their horses. It scared the horse so much that it bucked and the man fell off. To fall off a horse is the ultimate shame for them. They ran off, but I knew they would be back. I escaped by changing my route and sleeping in underground sewage tunnels every night. I shared those holes with dead animals but it felt like a five-star hotel to me. I was safe. There's always a way out of a situation. You just have to be creative and keep walking — maybe a little faster than before.

The end point to this walk was a little tree in the bush of Australia that I had discovered on my walk in 2002. It's all alone in this vast desert. When I built this expedition, my team [an expedition manager and two cousins who helped] wanted to end in a city so we could bring media in. I said, "No, we're going to end at my tree."

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I left Siberia in the June of 2010 and arrived at my tree on May 17, 2013. It didn't sink in that I had been walking for three years. You go one step at a time, day after day, week after week. Then when it ends, it's a mix of sadness, happiness, and the excitement that you achieved it. It's such a powerful, personal emotion.

Whenever I return from an expedition, it takes about three to four months to get used to the noise and the people. After being alone in nature for so long, every little thing stresses me out — smells, sounds, movement. My family and friends understand and they let me take my time.

My routine after every walk is to slowly get used to society again, then write a book about the experience, then go on a promotional tour, speaking engagements, and then work on planning and training for my next adventure. Before each trip, I do every kind of health scan and dental scan I can to ensure I am in good health.

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I finished my latest trip in September 2015. I spent three months in Australia surviving with no supplies. The goal was for me to only use aboriginal survival techniques. But as a backup, I did take three ounces of flour a day so I could subside if I didn't find any food. The flour is the only reason I lived. A photographer from National Geographic came at the end of the trip — dropped in by helicopter — and walked with me for six days.

I have been starving. I have been face-to-face with crocodiles and snakes. All of this is part of the excitement. The more you know yourself and your capability you are able to do anything you want. I never said, One day, my job is going to be an explorer. My need to explore and walk in the world is a passion that comes from inside me. If I ever stopped exploring, I have no idea what else I'd do. My mission is to inspire women. I realize how lucky I am. Women who read my books send me emails that say, "You changed my life." "I went walking for days and I never felt so free." It makes me realize how important my voice is. To have a voice is a luxury and an amazing responsibility.

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