I don’t know about you, but I think about travelling a lot. I have been thinking of places I want to visit, things I want to see and adventures I want to go on since I was about fourteen. I save pictures of undiscovered places as my phone background and research maps, train journeys, volunteer programmes, anything that can take me far away…you name it. I have even gotten so far as saving for all of the wonderful adventures that I’m going to have…but I’ve never really taken that final step. Actually GOING.
It’s partly because I don’t know how to go about it, and partly because I would kind of like someone to hold my hand and walk me through it all but it is mostly because I am terrified. What of I don’t know. I like flying, I meet new people all the time, I don’t mind being on my own and I want to see the world. Yet the fear is still there, coiled around my intestines and sitting happily on top my bladder like the world’s ugliest baby.
And then January came along. I have been reading travel mags for years and about this time last year they had feature articles on surfing holidays, which they repeated again. l flicked back through my phone and found, in the bookmarks, a link that I had saved last year for a surfing holiday, seven nights in Bordeaux. You camp in little tipi’s on a beach, surfing lessons, equipment, food and accommodation are all included and they even run trips to the main city as well.
It’s hardly trekking to base camp and there are many who have been braver than me and gone further than me for much longer. But for the first time in my life instead of just saving it for one day, I e-mailed the company, inquired about dates, location, how the pick ups worked and just generally annoyed the shit out of them…and put a deposit down.
And you know what? I am still terrified. But I also feel fantastic.
joshandkitty 