Sinuhe Xavier embodies the accrued life experiences of a hundred men yet wears it with the nonchalance of one. He's charged through the perilous Mexican 1000 and spent nights in the echoing emptiness of a Colombian jail cell. He's navigated old Land Rovers over treacherous terrains from Panama to Guatemala, patching up their battle-wounds with his own hands and the dog-eared manual inside his head. Chainsaws and fishing rods hold no mysteries for him, but you wouldn't know. While calm seas never made a good sailor, the man exudes a chill as tranquil as a seasoned mariner in still waters.
You wouldn't see him cloaked in the customary machismo. Instead, he possesses a quiet confidence, a self-assured swagger that softly underlines his gritty achievements. From fjording Icelandic rivers in cement-thick volcanic mud to hobnobbing with the Ivy-leaguers and billionaire philanthropists/adventurers at The Explorer's Club, Sinuhe straddles worlds with grace and calloused savoir-faire. He's as comfortable nursing a single malt after a tempestuous Highlands shoot as he is deftly navigating Noma's wine list.
Sinuhe, with his tweed blazer or his t-shirt, wrenching Overlanders’ dream bikes or discussing romanticist paintings, stands as an unimpeachable testament to his experiences. When the dust settles, it's Sinuhe you'd share a scotch with, toasting to the day's labors and new stories. Xavier, the man shaped by a hundred lives, yet irreplaceable. God made Sinuhe then broke the mould.
// Bill Roden
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