The early bird catches the worm. The night is always darkest before the dawn. Well, unless I’m mistaken, I’m not of the feathered variety but I was up at 4am last week, much earlier than the dawn and in my stupor decided that yes it was true, it is darkest before the dawn. I’d just rather not know about it, rather be rolled up in my duvet, face smashed into the pillow, dreaming of far off lands… even a land as close as France, as long as I’m away exploring. Doesn’t have to be far; near, far, where ever it be, as long as I’m there. Viva la France! Viva L’Espagna! Viva… Le Cornwall!

Viva anywhere! Exploring takes you out of yourself and into someone else’s shoes. Ooo it’s glamorous stepping into the unknown. Where am I going? No idea. Why am I going? Because it’s just so gorgeous. Yes but… really… why? Isn’t that the point? Why do we travel? Why explore?

For want of a better explanation I continue to turn each new corner and gaze at new sights. Shred the map and spin in a circle like a compass going haywire around magnets and flee off with my eyes closed.

4am, heading into London. What was I thinking? And to a skyscraper nonetheless. Let’s ascend 40 floors above dawnbreaking London shall we? A toast to the sun. Lying low under the clouds. Another toast to the pinks and purple hues that lazily lie across the lands. An actual piece of toast in my mouth as my eyes adjust to the overwhelming beautiful site before me as I chow down on breakfast in one of London’s 24hr restaurants.

Follow with one rich, dark cappuccino and the hazel in my eyes flares to life. London secrets await! Down at street level. I walk… wondering… wandering. It’s cold. Where’s the sun now? Hidden from me by the huge buildings of Fenchurch Street. The Scalpel, theWalkie-talkie, the formerly known Heron Tower, the list goes on…

The sun is hidden from me and me it. Brrr. Hello Gherkin. My conically shaped friend. Onwards explorer, to Leadenhall, it holds such a historic look for me, it’s charming and reminiscent of London in the late 1800’s, witnessed in movies, of course… one is not immortal.

Backtracking, I made my way to Spitalfields, a completely new piece of the city for me. It’s 7:30. It’s eerily quiet. Empty stalls. Chairs awaiting bums. Restaurants still. This area has masses of history under its new layers of paint and glamour, most of which I barely scraped the surface. The market itself, although closed, was fantastically quirky and vibrant. Maybe the early hour deceived me into thinking the roads are always clear, the pavements are easy to negotiate and the sun always twinkles. Wait, what happened? This bed dweller, this night owl has been… something has… what’s… what’s become of me? When did this owl become a lark? Where’s the brooding for bedroom comforts? Where’s the moodiness gone?

Exploration my dear Watson, the owl has come out of its tree and flown into the sunshine, easy does it mind, there be buses and skyscrapers around. A transformation has taken place, it’s quite… odd. The early morning sun has shone new light onto the once sleepy owl and she’s wanting more.

The next journey will begin just as this one did, early and with purpose. Push through the clouds, the pink and purple hues, find your feet and explore the unknown. Travel wakes us up to what has always been there, whether it’s 27, 500 or 7000 miles away, we are the best of us when we turn a new corner and peek into the unknown.