Following my feet, finding my way.
One of my goals for 2020 was to visit 20 new places, so I thought I would challenge myself to keep track and explore each place a bit more in-depth than previously.
#1: Malta (January)
#2: Hengisbury Head, Bournemouth, United Kingdom (March)
#3: Geneva, Switzerland (March)
#4: Lulworth, United Kingdom (March) Cancelled due to Covid-19
#5: Scotland (April) Cancelled due to Covid-19
#6: North Devon (August)
#7: Kent (October)
Hengistbury Head, a beautiful, nature filled headland just outside of Bournemouth, is a hive of activity most weekends, and this last one was no different. Despite the wintry temperatures and the southerly gale, children and dogs ran amock, gleefully jumping in muddy puddles, and paddling in the estuary.
Home to more than 300 privately owned beach huts, I am told that they are some of the UK’s most expensive, selling for more than I would consider paying for an inner-city apartment. As well as high-prices beach huts, the Head also is home to a large number of rare flora and fauna, which are well documented by the Hengistbury Head Visitor Centre (https://www.visithengistburyhead.co.uk).
This was my first time exploring the area, and was lucky enough to choose the only day of the week when it did not rain. We were however blown sideways by the wind, and got ourselves stuck in some muddy holes, but none the less had a lovely gander around the sand dunes and the estuary.
I have realised that I am woefully unprepared for outdoor excursions in the UK, and watched wistfully as families decked out in wellies and raincoats passed by, as I drudged through the mud in white running shoes, while the wind cut through my beloved hoodie, leaving me with prickly damp skin that only a hot bath could cure. it’s not that I mind the cold, its just that I continuously forget to put on more layers. I like to contribute this to the fact that my house is toasty warm and the double glazing keeps out the sound of the wind, giving me a misguided view of the weather outside.
I will undoubtedly continue to explore with or without adequate clothing, as is the way. One day I will remember to always carry a raincoat, but for now I can only hope.
February heralded my much awaited trip to New Zealand to see friends and family and recover from the dull and damp English winter. I was lucky enough to be granted two full weeks of sunshine, and got to enjoy the variety of outdoor activities that my home town offers, including the new foot bridge across the Manawatu River, He Ara Kotahi. Meaning “to bring people together”, the bridge does just that, heralding an increase in both foot traffic and bicycles, and was consistently well used every time I visited.
It was a blessing to be able to spend time with close friends and attend a lovely wedding, however my favourite part was being able to sit and spend time with my parents, especially in their beautiful garden. My mother has recently returned to New Zealand from a year of volunteering in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, and to have both her and my father together in one house again was the best feeling of all.
I was lucky to be able to travel to Wellington to spend time with my brother and his fiance, recently returned from a number of years in Ethiopia, and enjoy time in the “Coolest Little Capital”, the city in which I spent most of my university years.
Returning to town after nearly a year proved a strange and eerie experience, feeling myself pulled in multiple directions, and unsure of where I belonged. I am reminded daily of the extremely unique and lucky position that I am in, to be able travel to world and experience adventure, all while having a solid family base to be able to return to.
… because that is one of my goals for 2020!
I spent last weekend in Malta, a tiny island in the middle of the Mediterranean, filled to the brim with Brits, and Western clothing shops. Despite the beauty of the old civilisations, it is crowded, even in Winter, and I struggled to find any true refuge from the noise.
From Stone age farmers, to Romans, to Arabs, to Normans, to Knights, to French, and finally to British, the nation of Malta has changed hands many times, only gaining independence in the 1960’s and joining the EU in 2004. It boasts some of the earliest stone buildings in the world, before the Great Pyramids, and Stonehenge, as well as many beautiful beaches and landscapes.
The museums, however, were lacking, and as well as looking like high school science project displays, did not hold the answers to many of my questions. Despite this, the country continues to win multiples tourism and creative art awards, and could be worth a visit, but rumour has it don’t go in Summer.
Another year has come and gone, and there has been so many adventures along the way.
Christmas was spent with family in West Sussex, surrounded by children, laughter, bickering, and food. It was beyond what I had hoped for, and I am so lucky to have family close by, even though I take them for granted. I have promised to stay in touch this year, and see them more often.
Apart from the bank (statutory) holidays, I worked right through the festive period. The office was understandably quite empty, but it meant that I got a lot of work done in peace and quiet. I tried to stick to my routines for the same of my mental health, and spent a lot of time in an empty house while the other girls went off on holidays. Quite frankly it was bliss. Radox baths and candle-lit evenings are indeed amazing stress relief.
What next? I am itching for the next five weeks to pass quickly so that I can relax in the sunshine, and drink coffee on the deck with my parents. I have struggled to plan further than my much anticipated trip home, but it’ll come. I don’t want to look back on my time here and regret not travelling more, or having more adventures.
I am so blessed to have the opportunity to simply pack it all in and move across the world. I am blessed to have a supportive family that I know will catch me if I fall, and will support any stupid or far-fetched ideas I may come up with. Even though we are in four separate corners of the world, it is the closest I have ever felt to them, and for the I am extremely grateful!
So I voted. I cast my ballot. I discussed politics with my flatmates. I hoped for change. Then the results were announced.
For now I am safe. I am on a New Zealand passport, I have a qualification that is sought after, and, semi jokingly, I am the right skin colour. So why do I feel uncomfortable about the future?
I’m not a particularly politically minded person, but I know my beliefs, and I know my ideals. They will never fit into politics, that’s just not who I am, but I still hold out hope, and I still try to back up my ideals with statistics and data. I’ll admit I’m often wrong about politics, and too tired to argue, but I care. I see the other side of the population, of society, the forgotten, the let down. Does that makes me more idealistic? Maybe.
I realised that my day to day life leads me to not always see the best of humanity, and my job takes such an emotional toll on me, that even the worst horror stories on the news no longer appear to surprise me. Maybe it makes me appear cold and unemotional, but I know myself better than that. I am good at putting on a professional face and going about my job, picking up the pieces of society on the edge.
There are not enough of us in the same position to be able to make a difference to politics. Our voices are not loud enough. We do not fight hard enough. Because life happens, and we simply accept so much of it. We have been taught that there are so many others that are worse off, so we accept what we are given. Then elections happen. And again, we did not fight. I did not fight. I simply accept.
The future is interesting.
…a sobering memorial to the lives lost. The family tree’s cut short. Equal parts beauty and sadness. Trees have grown over the mud, the grass is vibrant green, a far cry from the pictures hanging on the wall’s of the well preserved buildings, devastation and mud.
Dressed in jackets and scarves, hats and gloves, the wind treated us to sub-zero temperatures, but it is still so hard to imagine a bitter winter in the death camps. How can this have been life for so many? How did the world let this happen?
I learnt that Polish villagers managed to smuggle out photos and evidence of the atrocities being committed in Auschwitz and Birkenau in 1941 but the world would not, did not, believe. It would be years before help came. Is this not being repeated throughout the world, even now? The Rohingya people of Myanmar, minority tribes throughout Africa and South America, the threat of Global Warming. Even still there are those who are not listening, will not believe.
I count myself incredibly lucky to be able to visit, to pay my respects, and to learn all I can. I don’t have much to say, and I didn’t take many photo’s. What I will do though is forever remember this experience.
I don’t want to sound like a broken record but… I am frustrated with travelling alone. I feel like I am treading the same streets over and over. Seeing the same history. Tasting the same food. And always going to bed early.
Usually I give myself two days somewhere, and try to see as much as possible so as to not get lonely or anxious, but Palma is small, and I have an extra full day to myself. I decided to stretch myself – I booked a cave excursion to the north of the island, knowing that I’d have to be social and polite, but happy to be out of the city and feel less alone. Only hours later the company informs me that it is now winter, and there is not tour for a few days. Boom. Now I have 24 hours to myself. To tread the same streets I’ve walked numerous times since I arrived. To drink more coffee. To sit and watch people.
What do normal people do on holiday? How do they keep busy? How do they spend their time? Do they sit in cafe’s reading? Maybe they travel with others. I’m just wallowing. I love being alone, to read, to watch TV, to daydream. But for some reason I’ve lost the love for it. I’m yearning for someone to share Europe with. To share adventures with.
I have no more leave until April, bar some already booked trips, but in the meantime, I will explore tour options and force some social interactions with like-minded folk. How does one meet people in this social media era? How do anxiety ridden twenty-somethings make friends? I certainly don’t know. Don’t feel sorry for me, at least I have my flatmates who I pass once in a while on the landing. And my colleagues who I occasionally see between bouts of stress and coffee. They’re all older and wise, and take no nonsense – I’m learning. Suddenly it’s so important to keep up with my old friends from home, who know me, who love me, who accept me. And especially whose who live on the same side of the world! What a blessing!
Also- what is with us privileged white kids and only speaking English? Everywhere I go I am surrounded by a multitude of languages, and youngsters who speak switch from one to another with ease. But not me. Not the Americans and the British that I meet in hostels. I’m stereotyping, but seriously! Every child should learn a European language, it’ll take them far in life. I feel guilty every time I have to say “No Espanol”, and make an apologetic shrug. That’s what breaking barriers is about – racial, language, social. People who speak multiple languages can cross cultures better than any of us English only speakers. That’s something to thrive for.
I’m rambling. This is why I shouldn’t be left alone for too long. The beauty of travelling also opens my eyes to the harshness of reality. The barriers, the “haves” and “have nots”, the “poverty tourism”, the egocentricity of some tourists, the ignorance of others. maybe that is make what making me lonely? I don’t want to simply be a tourist looking in at others lives – I want to be a positive impact, to give back, to be of use.
Off to plan my life of servitude. I’ll keep you posted.
Its an unusual feeling simply jumping on a plane and finding oneself, only hours later, in another country. Coming from the antipodes, it is no mean feat fitting a two or three day overseas excursion into life, but here I am, with quite a number under my belt, and more booked for the year. I am blessed to have an international airport so close, and a job that has the flexibility to allow for long weekends here and there.
Travel is exciting. It’s beautiful museums. It’s meeting people in hostels. It’s delicious food and drink. But it’s also long waits in airports. It’s sore feet from walking for hours. It’s lonely meals surrounded by couples and groups. It’s early nights in noisy bunk rooms. It’s sad selfies to prove to yourself you were once adventurous.
I’ve read many blogs by solo travellers who seem to thrive on their own, but I just never feel as free and enlightened as they appear. I love being able to do what I want, when I want. but it doesn’t always make up for the fact that I simply have no one to turn to when I see something beautiful, no one to ask what they want to eat, and no one to explore with after dark when the city is still alive. There is certainly something to say for organised tours.
I was lucky enough to spend a few days in Amsterdam at the beginning of the month, catching up with an old school friend and her partner. The weather was atrocious, but we walked a lot, ate a lot of cheese and meats, and caught up on years apart, exactly the kind of holiday that I need and love. I would like to go back in the spring to view the sea of poppies and experience some of the culture.
This was quickly followed by a solo trip to Malaga, an Andalusian port city on the southern coast of Spain, renowned for its Moorish remnants of the Castle of Gibralfaro, and the fortress of Alcazaba. Beautiful, hot, and touristy, it was a whirl wind of walking mountains and exploring castles. Again, with the excitement comes loneliness, but I took the opportunity to join a walking tour to see the sights and have an injection of socialisation with fellow visitors.
Back home, today heralds the first day of half term, a week of report writing and catching my breath, before a huge push towards Christmas. Ideally it would be a moment for rest and rejuvenation, but instead it is freezing cold, stressful and unpleasant. I have some more trips planned between now and Christmas, and I am relying on those to get me through. I hear the Christmas markets are a must see, and look forward to wrapping my hands around some hot mulled wine.
The year keeps plodding on, the seasons keep changing, and I keep busy. All I want is a weekend at home to sleep and recover from life, but that may be some weeks away.
A number of weeks ago I spent a long Friday night driving to Milton Keynes, a “New City” north-west of London. Built in the 1960’s, wide roads and grid lines are abundant. Not on my list of places to visit for its beauty, what took me there was instead family; a visit from my aunt in South Africa and an opportunity for a weekend with my cousin and her husband. It was a lovely weekend of reminiscing, healing, and eating, just what our family is good at. We even managed a walk through a camino-esque forest, bringing back memories of a wonderful time in our lives.
The following weekend was spent on a course along the coast, lending a little amount of time to exploring new little villages and walking along the wind blown harbours that dot the coast line. No stories to tell I’m afraid, just one of exhaustion and pouring rain.
In other news, my town apparently holds an annual “Arts by the Sea” festival, which I found out about by accident on an Sunday evening walk with my neighbours. The central city was alight, and the Town Hall was a stage for a sounds and lights performance, a vast contrast to the day to day building in which I work. Hundred of people milled around the gardens, wrapped up against the autumn chill, and all that was missing (in my opinion) were coffee vendors.
This weekends brings more European travels, and although I know that I will thoroughly enjoy it, I currently have a strong desire to simply skip my flight and spend the weekend sleeping. I’ll keep you updated.
Finding my own way 