Month: Apr 2022

Where did all the planes go?

We saw friends tonight. Ate beautifully home cooked food and laughed and talked for hours on end. Inevitably chatter turned to travel and we shared our plans for Scotland. When we mentioned that we’d be away for our 4th wedding anniversary, two jaws hit the floor. It is indeed shocking how fast time flies. Even though we accept it to a certain degree, I have to remind myself and others that we did lose two years due to covid. 

Two years in and out of lockdown, watching the world tears itself apart in worry and fearing lost time. The days turned into weeks which turned into months and people both stayed home and lost their way. Their routines changed. Their lives were static. Horizons unknown. We learned just how much we take for granted in this world. A cuppa at your grans. An impromptu road trip to the seaside. Walking into a shop without queuing or wearing a mask. And actually being able to buy what you need. Hello toilet paper! 

Christmas. 

Birthdays. 

Hugs. 

We are guests on this planet and this was not felt more than when the world fell silent.  Roads that were once so immense in their sound, fell silent and the skys were empty. But we heard the wind rush through the trees and the birds singing. The seas were without their splashing visitors. But dolphins were seen enjoying the waterways of Venice with nary a tourist boat in sight. We spent months in masks, scared to be closer than 2 metres, the very air felt dangerous. But the earth inhaled a deep fresh breath as emissions reached an all time low. Mother nature continued without us, making it seem all very trivial and humbling.  

Beautiful scenarios were shared throughout the world. A date between two neighbours on opposite rooftops in New York. Fathers and mothers on furlough watching their children grow without interruption. Enjoying our gardens and realising their worth. Balconies full of instruments raining down their tunes in Italy. Happy Birthdays sung over video calls. Families coming together with zoom quiz nights. Friends reaching out with a listening ear like never before. The roads of London were alive with singing and the UK were clapping for the heroes in blue. The sun shone for weeks on end and it felt, at first, like a giant bank holiday. Relationships were missed but stable in their state of hibernation. It forced us to stop and evaluate. 

Some of us could stay at home all day, working from home or being paid to stay still. We forgot what it was to be surrounded by people. We learnt the value of home. The value of everything. To pass the time people cultivated new hobbies. Learned a language. A new skill. Got crafty. Planted life into their gardens. We glued ourselves to the tv. Both for entertainment and escape and then updates on where we stood in an ever changing world. We appreciated the once mundane and lived for the silent security.

Once restrictions were lifted there was a picture circulated online of a large, healthy, glossy stem of bamboo, left to grow without human interference. It grew next to neighbouring stems that had felt the destructive power of the human hand. Words, letters and symbols had been scratched onto their surfaces. The glossy surfaces were gone, left tired and victimised. 

If we learn anything from this image it’s that mother nature not only survives without us it flourishes. 

Still waters became crowded again as noisy roads drowned out the bird song and slowly the skies welcomed the planes among the clouds. The world stepped into a new era. Fears of leaving lockdown were shared. How do we return to normal when normal no longer exists? We cried. Those of us who felt that lockdown had forced us into a much needed rest period wondered if we could or indeed wanted to return to our busy pre-lockdown lives. 

We questioned whether there was more to be found in life than the rat race and the constant to and fro nature of socialising and ‘living’. We had become comfortable prisoners in our homes. So what new world was outside? Could we nurture a new world? A world built in lessons learnt and a new appreciation.

Ultimately the world changed. It changed because we had changed. Priorities switched. Countless conversations took place about never ever taking anything for granted again. 

Three examples stick in my mind of moments I felt an almost alert presence of living in the moment. 

Dancing without the help of alcohol at family celebrations, once shy feet were running to sway, shimmy and swing. Fear no longer ruled this person. The fear slept in the past where feet were still and music was quiet. 

Travelling to Italy on a postponed trip. The city of Florence was quiet. Winding streets were ours for the taking. We were smugglers of dreams. Relishers of hope. Venice was sleepy. St Mark’s square was oh so alluring in its empty splendour. The Grand Canal was the main character and shone its shimmer proudly in between the few boats dancing along its waters. We were humbled by the circumstances and grateful for the opportunity. I wonder if we return to Venice, whether it’ll be the city we know or whether the returned crowds will have changed its face to something unrecognisable from our 2020 trip. Appreciation lived in this new world, where greed and entitlement once reigned. 

Drinks with friends in the garden. Restrictions meant only garden visits were allowed. Blankets, chairs and hot water bottles were packed. Umbrellas taken just in case. Gin was drunk in favour of food. By the bottle. Laughter ruled the day. And the rain came. On and off. And on again. It did not matter. The umbrellas covered us. The water would evaporate. We’d lost enough time. The dodging of raindrops did not matter, we learned to laugh and dance in its reality.

My only hope is that as the planes return, our eyes are not lost among the clouds. That our feet will dance without hesitation. Our loud laughter is heard again. That life is grasped and treasured and we remind ourselves that perhaps it wasn’t two years lost, but two years of learning and change. That the scars left by the world healing are a map of where we’ve been and where we find ourselves now. New paths built out of what once was. That in our learnings we have become kinder to ourselves. Not rushing ahead but taking the time we need to adjust. Taking as long as we need to navigate out of the old and into the new. The very personal, nurtured worlds we have created to protect the self and soul. 

Confusion over the carbonara

One of my fondest memories of travelling is not even mine.

It’s Mr W’s. 

Four years ago we took an impromptu trip to Rome. Our first time in Italy.

Rome itself was unexpectedly brilliant in the most simple of places and a little underwhelming in other big tourist draws. I’ll do another blog on those really soon. 

My favourite part of the whole trip, is when Mr W told me of his encounter with the cashier in Caffè Italia on Via Di Santa Croce late one evening. As we had spent the better part of the day walking and visiting, our food intake had been small, and we were starving. We wandered into this eatery only a stones throw from our accommodation and Mr W went to order. When he returned he had the biggest laughing smile on his face. His story went somewhat like this:

Mr W: Hello, I’d like to order some food.

Cashier with a exceptionally deep voice: Sì

W: The carbonara 

C: Sì

W: Margherita pizza

C: Sì

W: The Lasagne

C: (a look up from the till and slightly longer drawn out) Sì

W: A Cappuccino

C: Sì…

W: A cola

C: Sì

W: And a tiramisu 

C: (confusion) Sì

Now you have to really imagine how deep the man’s voice was and how long the drawn out nature of the responses were, but I sat in both hilarity and mortification. It slowly dawned on me that we were sitting at a table designed for two and the food definitely wasn’t. We basically had 1 night to try all the foods on our list. Easy right? We then learned that ordering coffee with dinner is unheard of in Italy. Then there’s the amount of food we ordered. Ah when in Rome eh!

It’s funny how food can make the best memories in the most unexpected of situations.

A few years ago we spent 6 days touring Cornwall and Devon. Another first-time trip. And we had the most glorious weather when exploring Newquay, Torquay and Lands End. We even saw a basking shark while looking out to sea from the Minack Theatre. It was absolutely beautiful. At the end of our trip we stayed in a countryside hotel in Dartmoor National Park. We had decided to spend two days relaxing and taking a few walks. The weather decided to send a monsoon which made driving impossible, let alone walking. Stuck in our hotel on a weekday, we couldn’t stomach the monotonous offerings on the tv and made a dash out into the rain. Mr W found the closest possible small cafe and we spent a good 40 minutes driving the windy roads of the national park. We came upon a small town and splashed our way to food and warmth. We each ordered a cream tea. Baked to order the scones came warm and HUGE, with pots of cream and jam. Absolutely delicious! The owner had relocated from South Africa with her partner to run this quaint place. And we are so glad she did! When the scones were finished, she brought more over, when the jam/cream was finished, she did the same. It became a vicious circle which ended with us unable to walk too fast to dodge the raindrops back to the car. Totally worth it.

On our honeymoon, we treated ourselves to a luxurious trip to the Maldives. The restaurant open to us for lunch and dinner was exclusive to our accommodation and was another luxury we didn’t anticipate but was more than grateful for. Each evening, there were dishes to tempt every kind of palate and a chef cooking dishes to order too. On occasion there would be a one-off menu item that could help yourself to. It just happened to be the last item before you reached the tables. Walking through the well laid out buffet every day to get to your table was enough to tempt you to stay all night. Indian curries, delectable chicken dishes and more fresh vegetables than you can imagine. One particular evening, Mr W pointed out a large piece of meat as we perused the offerings, noticing the texture I remarked that it was Tuna. ‘No way,’ he says, ‘it’s way too big.’ Albeit it, the thing was enormous. But I couldn’t hazard a guess at it being anything else. When our waiter came to our table Mr W asked what the dish was, ‘Tuna’, Mr W’s jaw dropped. ‘But it’s so big.’ The waiter said, ‘We have lots here.’ In a bemused kind of way. I had to stifle a laugh as we both realised we were in one of the largest networks of Atolls in the world surrounded by the Indian Ocean and tuna would have been as a Brit getting chicken or pork. Mr W had his fill and learned a new lesson that maybe, on occasion, his new wife did know what she was talking about!

I like to think that when we eat while travelling we are having the most authentic foods because we are in the place that does it best. What I’ve come to realise and indeed appreciate about the food we eat on our travels isn’t its handmade qualities or how much you get for your money, but how in any language we can connect with other people. Be it the confused Italian, the passionate Devonshire baker or the bemused Maldivian. It reminds me that no matter how far we travel and no matter where we end up there are connections to be made. And ultimately that’s the most tantalising part. 

Auto-travel-mode. Planning the NC500.

A quick one today giving an update on the NC500 in a little under 5 months. Time is flying!

So, I spent the better part of 2 weeks in January mapping out our trip. We’ll be doing the trip anti-clockwise, which means joining the circuit in Inverness. There are a few reasons we chose to do it this way. 

  • When we spent two days in Edinburgh last year, it rained the entire day we were in the city centre. This meant our plan to climb Arthur’s seat was cancelled. We both don’t mind a bit of rain, but it had brought along a thick mist which meant we wouldn’t have a view of anything but from the top! Ironically, it was the only thing we both card most about on the actual day. So we plan to stop in Edinburgh really early on our way up to the Cairngorms and finally head up this major tourist hotspot. 
  • We’ve been given a lovely two night stay and have chosen the Lake District to do this in. It also means we’ll be staying in a lovely hotel for our 4th wedding anniversary and as we have really crunched the budget for this trip accommodation wise, it means on our anniversary we can really relax and unwind in complete and utter comfort!
  • Both of the above reasons, don’t rely too much on starting in Inverness and ending in the Lake District, however when you look at how the scenery changes from the East to West coast of the Scottish Highlands you will see how much more mountainous and rugged it gets. For us, we decided we wanted to start slowly with the sloping coastal roads of Inverness, Wick and John O’Groats before heading up and over and then down the dramatic landscape of the West. 

Where my research has taken the trip is down through Ullapool and then onto the Isle of Skye, which in itself looks absolutely phenomenal! I predict that we’ll be heading back to Scotland within a few short years because of how much there is to see and do! We managed to collate our research early on and had three word documents on what we wanted to see and do. 

Planning this all out, meant laying it all out in a kind of mapped loop, the amount of stops was unbelievable and it became apparent very quickly that our 16 day trip would not be long enough. So we made the hard decisions on what to take out and it has left us with another two week trip for sure in the future. 

Something you ought to know about how I travel. Once I’m there I don’t know when to stop. I go into auto-travel-mode. My body is tired. My mind is wired. And I should stop. But the thing is I am my freest when I travel. Seeing, doing, exploring. I was probably a bird in my former life. Never stopping. Always moving. In my nest, I’m still and calm. And then I’m in flight. Soaring and not letting my tired wings rule my heart. 

In the beginning process of planning this trip, Mr W, shared his concerns of us jamming too much in and wondering if we may have to ‘delete’ stuff as we go along. The concerns over the roads and how long it takes to get from point A to B are real! The roads are winding, often single-laned and there are cattle to barter with for space. The plan itself accounts for almost 30/40% more time on the road between locations to allow for this. And as we have said all along, this trip’s main aim is to drive the NC500. To be a part of that growing crowd that experiences Scotlands now not so hidden gem. Not what we see and do. That’s not to say that we won’t be seeing and doing a lot of stuff, because boy will we! 

I remember the trip Mr W and I took to New York, his first, my fourth. It was monumental before we even arrived in the city due to the fact it is, and was, my favourite place in the entire world. I was hoping to show him everything that was so great about the city and see him coming away from it loving it as much as me. I’m not saying it was a dealbreaker in our relationship, but a small part of me was so nervous that my boyfriend wouldn’t want to return and I would have a giant NY shaped hole in my heart. Turns out I left NY as his fiancee and with him loving the city too! Win, win. During a walk on the highline, Mr W asked me what the plans for the rest of the day were, and when told he remarked there was no way we could manage it all with the amount of hours left in our day. I remember stopping, sitting, looking down at W17th Street and crying. He didn’t understand me. I want to keep going. I want to see everything. I don’t want to stop. And my now fiance was unhappy with how I did things. Crushed! 

It’s only now I realise how much I do cram into these trips. And how hard it must be for someone who loves me to keep going for my sake but feel exhausted at the same time. Their inner voice is screaming for them to stop, while mine is screaming keep going! I think my voice is just so scared that another chance may not come up. Who knows what tomorrow may bring. It’s the fear of not going back. Not having another chance. Missing something. Having unfinished business.

We’ve done a lot of travelling since that life changing trip to New York and we have grown as a couple and our travel habits have vastly changed. This is enormously down to the 2020/2021 lockdowns and how we now view city breaks vs hiking trips. I know one day we will get back to the city breaks and stomping those pavements but for now the mountain roads are calling!

The more I see online and each little researching moment I have throws more and more at this trip, and most of it doesn’t stick due to timing but then some does. The days will be early, which is so out of my comfort zone and there will also be a lot of trust placed in me, eep, but I’m sure we’ll love every minute. Mr W will still have his concerns, as will I, but together we’ll be fine. We compliment each other with our differences. That’s what I hear anyway!

**Update, we continue to try out the canned foods for our roadside dinners, Mr W tried the spaghetti rings and sausages, said it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t sold. I had the chicken curry which was more fiery than I thought it would be. Both of us were pleasantly surprised. The quest continues!**

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com/

Still sitting still

When I was in University I was a mess, I was scared to enter the lecture room, and knowing now what I didn’t then, I know anxiety has ruled my life a lot longer than I ever realised. For a worrying moment, when I noticed how far back the anxiety stretched, I wondered if it had stopped me doing much in my adult life. 

Today, I had the most bizarre flashback, whilst sipping tea on a bench in my garden. I wasn’t covered in compost anymore nor was I chilly in the April breeze, I was in Paris. I was sitting outside a Parisien cafe, drinking coffee and watching the world go by. It was a Sunday morning, the early morning sun was making the cobbles blush and there was calm in the air. It seems it is one of my fondest memories, because it made me smile, really smile. 

It got me thinking, about other seemingly insignificant moments, that have created a collage of beautiful memories I unlock from time to time. 

New York, 2007, the Empire Diner, Sunday brunch. I’m wearing a lace tunic top and the waiter is parading up and down with peoples eggs and coffee as if he had just come from the Catwalks of Gucci. He had swagger. He had confidence. He had attention. And he loved it. He had a wonder woman tattoo on his upper arm, and paused by our table to say ‘Honey, I love your top’ in his American drawl. I have a photo of the two of us vogue-ing, it was fabulous and so was he. I picture him now, on Broadway in some garish and absolutely fantastic musical number, living his dream. 

Santa Susanna, Barcelona, 2014. The first sunny afternoon in 6 days, we dash to the beach to thaw our bodies and grasp back some of our holiday before the rain returns. The beach is busy. The sand is hot. Glorious! Women and men selling their wares stomp up and down; sunglasses, hats, scarves, coconuts. The cacophony of their voices, mingled with the muffled chatter and the gentle waves, just screams beach holiday to me. A sunbathing man calls over a small asian woman, selling her skilled masseur hands, I remember glancing over, and seeing her kneeling on the sand. She starts to dig a hole with her hands. Dumbstruck I continue to watch, the man waits, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. She continues to dig a deep round hole. In time, she stops and the man lays a towel over the hole, and it is only then that I realise the void is for his belly. I force my staring eyes away from the scene and tell myself to act normal. But for the rest of the day, I laugh internally, to the scene I witnessed. Lets, assume the man had seen this particular lady before and knew this was common practice, that’s one theory. Alternatively, I often think about someone being unprepared for the practice of the void/belly scenario and looking at the woman in complete disbelief. Much like I had. That memory generally floods back to me when I go to or see a beach. 

The Great Barrier Reef, Australia, 2013. I’m drinking a cocktail out of an enormous glass, my legs are over the side of a huge catamaran and all that stops me from plunging into the ocean is a thin rope that acts like a fence at the side of the top deck. I’m sunkissed, curly haired and tired. I have spent the day swimming the coral reefs and am in awe of where I am. I am nine and a half thousand miles from home, I have quit my job and am living out my dream. I am the luckiest girl in the world. No time to think of going back to England. No time to think if a brush will go through my hair later. No time to waste on anything but this moment. 

I often feel the best memories of my life, so far, are the ones that happen when I’m not moving. While I’m static, the world carries on around me, and I can appreciate the moment. What’s funny is in those moments, I never realise how much impact they can have, how much you’ll flit back to them in the future. How warming they’ll be when you are doing one of life’s mundane tasks. Maybe it was wishful thinking today to think of Paris whilst potting up some planters in the garden. Maybe I’m just grateful to have lived a life so rich in travel and culture. Maybe I’m starting to realise the small moments are the important ones. 

This is why when I had the truly horrifying thought that anxiety had stolen so much of my adult life it took me a while to come back to these memories. I have pushed and pushed myself to do and see everything when I travel because there’s an irksome voice in my head saying ‘make the most of it, do it all, miss nothing’. As lovely as it would be to see the world and run from experience to experience it would seem you aren’t in fact seeing all there is to see.  It is now that I truly believe when we stop, sit and look, we’ll find the world will continue turning, it doesn’t mean we are missing out, it means we are able to relish in it. Drink a cuppa, take a breath and appreciate it all. 

New, naked and without your glitter

Did you ever sit at the window as a kid and watch the rain? Maybe you still do. 

It’s often thought to be quite morbid if you enjoy the rain; it’s cold, uncomfortable on your clothed skin and creates a dreary sky. This said, I couldn’t be happier than sitting in my small garden nook, with the shelter of the overhanging roof above me (just because I love the sight and smell does not mean I’m inviting the common cold to attack my body, I’m an adult don’t cha know!) The noise, the smell, the freshness of the rain is all too enticing. The smell of rain is a real thing, one I am happy to point out to anyone that laughs when I announce ‘I love a proper smelly rain’. It is called ‘Petrichor’ and it is the earthy scent when rain hits dry ground.

Just what is its draw? As like anything else that surrounds us, it’s old news; the sun shines, the wind howls, the rain comes and goes. But watching the rain has always felt very soothing to me. Changing the sight, smell and colour of the scenes we see everyday. 

One of the most precious memories of my first trip abroad, that being my first abroad without my parents, was splashing in the gigantic puddles around Rockefeller centre in Manhattan with my oldest school friend. I’ve visited this memory in a previous blog.

There have been other times since then, when I’ve found myself in the rain, walking, laughing, standing still with arms raised to the sky. Australia’s humid banana plantations. The Dominican Republic’s jungle paths. A small island in the Maldives caught in the tail of a passing typhoon (a wonderful honeymoon for sure!) And each time it’s been like the water has washed away this idea of glamour that a passport gives you, the sheath of perfection you wrapped the holiday up in, all of it washed away into puddles and becoming diluted until it fades away.

Travelling isn’t something to be glamorised into a big glittery, sequinned mess, it’s something stripped back and raw. New York isn’t meant to be pretty, it’s a working city, it is built on over 400 years of commerce and trade, the first settlers in the early 1600’s didn’t plan to create tourism, they saw money in the beaver skin trade and the potential of the harbour. They saw life, growth and the chance to survive. Buildings grew on the island, as the trees once did, not for the purpose to look down on the city but to house its commerce. The glitter arrived much much later. 

What we experience when the rain falls, is the glitter washing away. The money in your pocket becomes soggy, the expensive clothes on your back no longer protect and the make up runs off the tip of your nose. You are without money, without protection and without your mask. You are as vulnerable as the day you enter this world. You are new. Naked. Without your glitter. For a moment you are aware you are alive, you are awake to the sights around you and a whole wide World is Born.

Travelling to me is much like the rain, no pretence is needed among the people, landscapes and avenues you don’t know. You are new, naked and without your glitter.

A hop, skip and a fracture.

It’s 10:40pm.

Outside, the only light on the street is from the moon reflecting its light off the clouds. The occasional car drives past. After six years of living here I’ve gotten used to them gliding across the tarmac. The birds are tweeting in the trees and I can’t get used to it. Yes that’s right, 10:42pm, and the birds aren’t asleep. And do you know why?

Because they are home! 

They have nests to maintain. Mouths to feed. Worms to forage. Water to source. Sunlight to chase. 

When they migrate you can imagine a more peaceful night. Food on tap. No responsibilities. Just away. No cares. 

And here I am doing just that. I’m home. It’s bedtime. Mr W is infuriatingly fast to fall asleep and I’m sitting up reading. Reading a book that has no real value, but gives me enough escapism to deaden my mind to sleep. Except it doesn’t work, I’m thinking about washing and work, food shopping and chores, gardening and social calendars. Cats. Birthdays. Trips. 

Trips. Trips. Trips. 

Where I find a plethora of other lists of things to do. 

Hiking. Wild swimming. Exploring. Seeking. Finding. Napping. Snacking. Living. 

I’ll put my hand up for the first time, hey let’s put both up, and shout… ahem…

I was wrong! I was so wrong in fact I’m going to make triple-y sure I was wrong. 

So, as bad as it sounds, my total number of trips in the UK for 32 years amounted to family trips to the Norfolk Broads and a long weekend in both Cornwall and Somerset. Ta-da! Ignore day trips to London, it’s 34 miles away, just doesn’t count in my book. 

Lockdown forced us to rethink flying, and other than our rebooked trip to Italy in Sept 2020, we stayed in the UK. We managed a long weekend in Edinburgh and Northumberland and then… we… returned to Northumberland for 3 days just one month later. 

Now these dots… you see… right there are put there for dramatic effect. For you see ladies and gentiles, I do not return to a place unless it has captured a piece of my whole actual being. 

There are few places that have done so, not being funny, once I’ve decided I’m going somewhere I GO ALL OUT, I’m seeing everything it has to offer, who knows if I’ll be able to go back? Why would I want to take the risk? So when Mr W and I decided to return to Northumberland one month after our first visit I was shaken. (And we’re going back in June 2022. Oops) 

You know what this amazing place did? It shocked me. First it’s in the UK, yep, and there’s me never bothering with home travel because, well I need a plane to call it a holiday. Unless I’m going up in the air, I’m still home, I’m in England, I don’t wanna be where I was born and bred! I wanna be right over there! Across the water, over mountain passes, tray table up, no peanuts. 

Second, I don’t hike, I don’t scramble, I don’t wander. But you will have caught me scramble down a rocky waterfall on my arse, dirty, soaked through and smiling. Laughing. Happy.

Not a shop in sight. No selfie stick welding tourists. Not even a car park destination. Just a field and a slight path trodden into a boggy hill. 

And I tell you this, I’ve never felt more awake to the possibilities. 

Northumberland has wonders even the locals don’t know about. Take Crammel Linn for example. A colossal cascade of water over a dark deep pool of water. The noise is enormous and an assault of the ears. But let’s not start there. Let’s start with finding this place. There are no signs, our B&B lady had never heard of it and its starting point is on MOD (ministry of defence, I’m sure you knew that but I didn’t up until 3 years ago, eep) land. Great start!

We find ourselves driving through winding lanes and across a beautiful bridge and then onto seemingly nowhere. I find the sign for MOD land and know it’s somewhere close. The only hint that we are in the right place is an old wooden sign pointing down a sloping field. We don our hiking boots, I would live in these bad boys if they didn’t scream MUUUUUD, and we take the first steps into the boggy wetland that is the path. There’s the odd plank of wood submerged in the watery, mossy ground, and I pray we aren’t in the wrong place. It is windy, no, that’s the wrong word, an invisible wrestler is pushing me back to the car and for good measure he has a misting spray levelled at my face. It is blindingly ferocious weather and yet we trudge on. We will see this waterfall. We will endeavour. And then, my arse falls out. We’ve reached what can only be described as the rockiest steep drop off I’ve ever seen. It’s an open field, the fence is at the bottom of the slope ahead and it’s wet. The rocks jutting out are threatening to gouge my legs apart and the fence has barbed wire. Mr W goes first and he leads me down. After several hundred ‘I can’t do’ moments we reach the fence. It takes me another 10 minutes to climb over the stile, which, I shit you not shook like a defecating dog and being on a slope was vastly different heights on either side. I’m 5ft5 and yet standing on that stile looking down I was an uncomfortable 7ft5! Did I mention there was barbed wire running along the top too? Honestly you couldn’t make this up. So, off the stile, onto a single foot track running beside the fence and a steep slope leading into an abyss of bramble and bushes. Lovely. But what is that I hear? Through the wind, I hear a cataclysmic sound of falling water. Before we can see the waterfall it’s just a hop, skip and a fracture down an even dodgier zig zag of a slope mounted with loose soil, large slippery rocks and nothing to hold onto. My god, what a journey! 

And then there it was. One of nature’s gifts to the world. A crash of water against water. A huge monolith of stone at the mercy of the rushing river. Once my legs retained their blood flow, we sat down and raided the trusty backpack for supplies. I couldn’t tell you what we ate, but it was likely crisps, water and some kind of sugar sent from heaven to keep my body from crumpling. 

As we sat there, the weather changed and the glorious Northumberland sun shone for us. A robin danced in the shadows and I was swept away by the solitude of the moment. 

I wasn’t thinking of washing or work, food shopping or chores, gardening or social calendars. I wasn’t thinking of much, my mind for the first time since before the pandemic had found peace. It turns out to drown out the noise of your daily life, you just need to find a louder noise. The wind, the rain and the waterfall. My daily life never really stood a chance. We sat until our bodies warmed slightly in the sun and then said our goodbyes. It was a special moment; our first UK waterfall! 

I listen now to the birds in the trees, and realise we aren’t so different. When it’s time to switch our minds off, we just need a new environment, a crazy adventure and somewhere else to call home. Even if it’s just for an hour in the lap of a waterfall. 

Photo taken by me at Crammel Linn, Northumberland. 

Please find other photos on Instragam @frameworktravel

Wear the damn shorts. Exclamation point.

‘The way you look is the least interesting thing about you.’ 

A recent,  little quote I have acquired from the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast by the lovely Laura Adlington and Lauren Smith. If you need a boost, a different perspective on weight, appearance and everything in between, I highly recommend it! 

Go Love Yourself

So, the way you look is the least interesting thing about you. 

Who would even have that thought cross their mind nowadays, let alone say it out loud? When you say it out loud, and then again, and again, you’ll realise just how very true it actually is. The more you say it the harder it becomes to retreat back into the old way of thinking. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of money to be made in how people look on the outside! Therein lies the problem.

But it’s actually true. Everything you put on the outside for people to see, doesn’t come close to what your mind and soul has to offer. 

Compassion is not the make up on your face. 

Humour is not how you style your hair. 

Morality is not the size of your stomach or thighs. 

Even the kindest of people can have a crooked smile. And the wickedest of people can have a radiating grin on their face that lures you in. Looks are deceptive!

And yet we are conditioned to be attracted to how someone looks in the relationships we seek. Whether it be friends or lovers, we are taught to gravitate towards people by how their looks make us feel. Predominantly it is how people look that our brains conjure up a split second decision on whether we are to pursue a person. Unfortunately, judgement is so ingrained in our psyche that 99% of the time we do it without even realising. 

It’s also true of names. There was a vastly publicised argument between Holly Willoughby and Katie Hopkins a few years ago over children’s names and how certain names meant Ms Hopkins’ children would be dissuaded from playing with the Tiffany’s or Tyler’s of the world. It still blows my mind. And yet judgement of others comes in the form of so many other quick like a cat fleeting thoughts, that we don’t even know we are doing it. 

In 2020, oh yes, the world fell silent. We all swore to ourselves that when the world opened up again we would embrace all of life’s wonders and happiness would reign supreme. I was one of those people and with every good intention, when the curbs were lifted, Mr W and I headed to Italy. Rebooked from its initial date in the April, we headed into a recuperating world and sought to grasp every spaghetti noodle and shake the life and soul out of it. We train-hopped through Pisa, Florence and settled into Venice before responsibilities forced us home. 

It was a wonderful, exhilarating trip. With small backpacks we were, quite literally, at the mercy of the Italian sun. Personally, I was not at all prepared for the heat and my rash decision to pack shorts was all too praised by my boil in the bag body. However, the go free and wander nature I had adopted was soon thrown into turmoil when my short stumpy and fairly chubby legs were on display for the world to see. They’d not seen daylight for a fair while, the shorts were, well, short and teamed up with animal print socks peeking out over a pair of battered converse, I was not going to be invited to a fashion show anytime soon. 

I’m a big girl, I have PCOS and it’s ravaged my body since my teens; only in recent years have I learned what this means for me physically, our fertility and my mental health. What people don’t realise when they look at me, is why I am the way I am. Why I’m bigger. Why my smile wanes occasionally. Why my mind wanders in a room full of people. They just see my size. But underneath that is a warrior fighting battles only she understands, because PCOS is so very different for every individual. Some people have a few symptoms, some have fertility issues and some don’t. And then there’s some people like me. Every symptom. Fertility issues. A rollercoaster of mental health issues, determination and unlimited failure. 

To have people look at me, up and down, whilst wearing those shorts will stay with me for a long time. I got caught up in the ‘fuck it’ nature that so many others embraced after lockdown 2020 that my anxieties over my clothing choices were muffled like never before. I’m sad to say, it made me retreat into myself that day. I didn’t wear the shorts again. And yet, the least interesting thing about me that day was my clothing. Indeed, my body. 

Inside, I was a girl on the move again. Travelling. Living. Fearless. Mentally free from the covid prison of the previous 6 months. Doing what she did best, pursuing the next horizon, the next adventure and pushing for the hidden wonders of the world. Outside I was wearing yellow shorts. Big. Deal. 

The day after short-gate, I wore jeans. They were mildly uncomfortable. I won’t lie. I have little legs, so I find that the steeper the hill the more I have to stretch my legs and those tight jean-ie beauties were having none of it. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a huge hill we had decided to take when on our way up to the Giardino Bardini. Yep, I’m a freaking idiot! Giardino Bardini is a 17th century villa surrounded by the most beautiful gardens overlooking the Arno river and Florence. We found a bench and just sat. No words to be said, but a knowing look now and again to know how lucky we were to be safe, healthy and happy in a world that had lost its way.

When we reached Venice, with its winding labyrinthine streets, I felt a sense of peace in the moments where so few people could see me and I could look up from my feet and see what the city had to offer. Italy was on the news early on in the pandemic because of how fast it was ravaged by covid and the horrors we had not yet witnessed in the UK. We found that just 6 months after Italy had been struck down, the towns and cities had an almost eerie quiet to them. Tourists had not yet returned in their droves. Locals were still weary and you just felt so humbled to be walking those streets. To be given the chance to witness a place in its quiet splendour was indescribable. When talking about Venice in the past, all I had ever heard of was the masses and masses of people that bombard Venice with their boats, feet and ticketed day trips. This was not the Venice I had experienced in my daydreams, and yet even though we felt extremely lucky, the nagging thought of why it was quiet was never far away. And here I was worried about getting a ‘look’ off a stranger I would NEVER ever see again. How does that poison even infiltrate a mind? 

My legs that carried me through Italy wore shorts. My stomach that digested the oh so many delicious delights of Italian chefs was happy. My hair needed (knowing me) a good bloody brush and my makeup was most definitely rushed. 

What I looked like then, and now, is the least interesting thing about me. 

What my soul looks like when I’m travelling is radiant, beautiful and free. Wear the damn shorts!

Coffee for four

A purple flowered tea tray. 

A floral coffee cup for Mr W.

Coffee for four. Two couples who know each other but have never really spoken.

Today we went to pick up an exercise bike from family friends. They’ve known me since I was maybe 10 years old. David gave me a 3 week stint in his Chartered Surveyors business as part of my final school year work experience. It seems so long ago and just like yesterday all at the same time. I was 15 years old, with nothing but a small amount of filing under my belt and was quite young minded to boot. I learned to make tea very quickly for a busy office, having to remember each person’s likes and milk/sugar requirements. Making friends quickly with the office girls, I found my confidence and enjoyed talking with people on the phone. When I sit and think about it now, I see the merits of the school’s work experience programme.

Fast forward 18 years and Tina and David are still in my life. They’ve been to family parties and weddings and yet we’ve never sat down and just talked. When Tina and I organised a time and date for us to collect the bike; she happened to mention having a cup of tea and I automatically started worrying about what to talk about. I often think I have nothing real to offer someone in a conversation, especially if we’ve not chatted much before. 

I’ve also always really liked Tina and David. Even in passing at parties they always, always stop to say hello, they are sunshine personified in people form and I challenge anyone to walk away from a 5 minute conversation with them without the biggest grin on their face. So what if I made a complete fool of myself, with my rambling that often takes over and leaves me flustered and stumbling over my words?

As we sat talking with Tina, we spoke about their plans to head away for a few weeks to Norfolk and the mutual places we had visited in the Uk. We spoke of our plans to do the NC500 later this year and were regaled with stories on their trips to Scotland in the past. The company was so relaxed that I found myself sipping my coffee more and more slowly to prolong our time with her.  After some time, David joined us and jumped right into the conversation of travel and I felt a genuine smile lift my cheeks. Stories of motorbiking through Portugal, camping in Wild Scotland and driving through Spain. 

David spent some time biking through Portugal and there came a day that he and his companion could not find their hotel. Being such a small village, neither the residents nor local Police spoke a word of English. Bringing out his hotel confirmation, the police radioed for help and the next thing David knew, a squad car had turned up to lead them to their destination. The language barrier did not stop a human helping a human. I love stories of genuinely lovely people, and stories abroad remind me of why travel is so important to me. It always has been.

We spent only a short time together, considering how long we’ve popped in and out of each other’s lives, and it has made me realise how often we let opportunities pass just by letting anxieties control our fears. If I had shied away from the invite, I wouldn’t have learned so much about two very special people. Just by saying yes, I enjoyed talking about a mutual interest and coaxing myself out of a shell that is slowly suffocating me. 

The natural rhythm of talking about travel is why I believe it is so important to embrace it. We may not have been to the same places, but the beautiful affliction of wanting to know what’s down the road, round the corner or over the hill, brings out  the best in everyone. It’s what saw two couples, different in so many ways, spend a fascinating 2 hours together this morning. As we left, we sat in the car for the briefest minute and just smiled and acknowledged the fact that we did not want to leave. It was fascinating to sit with two people I have known for such a large part of my life and realise I genuinely did not know them at all.

Photo for this blog taken by Dave Watson.

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com/

Out of body experience number 342

Usually these happen in my sleep when I have the weirdest dreams. But oh no no. Not today. We have a night-time routine, the same as anyone else really. Lock the doors. Check. Close the blinds. Check. Teeth. Cats in. Evening pee. Check. Check. Check. 

Tonight as I did my sweep of the kitchen I could not help but crack myself up! Today I took in a shopping order and we bought some bits to try for our Scotland trip. As mentioned on previous blogs, we are hoping to squeeze the mighty budget of a 16 day trip to it’s suffocating point, and (!) I absolutely want to be as sustainable as possible. It’s become an obsession. 

At first we planned on living off of noodles, the potted kind, as they’re easily recycled however on a road trip Mr W and I got to talking. We do our best talking on the road. It was on a road trip in 2020, where we put the Scotland trip into motion! Don’tcha know! Anywho, we decided that travelling over a 1000 miles and walking upwards of 10-15 miles a day warranted more sustenance for our bodies so we got thinking about what else we could consume that was nutritious. As the evenings stay lighter and the days get warmer I have been craving fresh and crunchy salads. Not only is it good for the soul it does fight the PCOS that ravages my body! So win win! Oh the digression tonight is real. So we got to talking about buying some salad etc and whether we could get tinned sweetcorn and tuna to add to these salads on the road so we get a real hit of super healthy tasty foods. And then it hit us, tinned food. Metal cans. Recycling. Check! Paper labels. Recycling. Check! So we had a look online and found an array of foods in a can. Mr W is trying some different fishes in sauces, things like mackerel in a spicy tomato sauce, that he can whack on a salad while I dry heave outside. And I’ve gone all 80s retro and found some stews, and ravioli and currys in a can! I mean we’ll have to eat them cold but honestly how long would they stay warm in Scotland anyway. 

I’m made up! We need to wheedle out the good from the bad, and tonight’s delicacy was spaghetti bolognese for me, poured into a bowl. I’m not an animal. And a lamb stew for Mr W. Both got a thumbs up. So the trial will continue over the coming weeks. I have a feeling it’ll make a big difference to the trip having actual food! So team that up with the odd pot noodle and salad, we’ll be raring to go! 

So, the out of body experience came, when out of the corner of my eye I saw all these cans sitting on the countertop. Often I’ll wonder what would happen if I was getting out of the shower and a burglar was to just be there. The doors are locked, no windows open, I’m just a stupidly imaginative person who must think burglars can just pass through a keyhole. Now I’ve just wondered what if someone broke in, and thought wow, that’s a lot of cans, are these guys doomsdayers? Have they got a secret bunker, and why aren’t the cans inside the bunker? Then the image of this burglar, let’s call him Barry for shizz and giggles, wanders round in the semi dark, checking all the door frames for hidden latches to the secret doomsday bunker. 

Sorry Bazza, we’re doing an experiment, mate. Nothing more nothing less. Closest we’ve got to a secret bunker is… 

Feedback will continue on the cans! Watch this space. 

Small but mighty

There is a man somewhere in the world today who once stopped by a window to look at my face. In my mouth was an orange segment. It had come with a dessert and as I had always done, I placed the segment between my teeth to get all the juicy flesh out. Whilst doing so I had glanced out of the window and two or three business men had walked past. They kept on their way until I realised they had reversed their path to check what they had seen. That snapshot moment made them laugh and me too. I was in New York for the first time celebrating my 18th birthday and  was having a luxury meal with a friend and some family. On an 18 year olds budget this meant it was more than a hot dog and can of cola. Luxury!

Later that night, we walked to Rockefeller centre to watch the ice skaters. I took the segment with me. Not long after arriving other tourists asked me to take a photo of them. Armed with my orange I readied the shot and said cheese. As they smiled, I smiled fully revealing the bright orange hidden mouthful. From memory I know that they displayed shock and laughter on their faces as I clicked the cameras button. I’d like to think I took another picture, a more normal one, so they ended up with the shot they asked for. And just like that, I gave them back the camera and they disappeared into the crowd. I spent the rest of the night watching the skaters.

Not too long after on the same trip the heavens opened and there was a huge downpour in the city. We were stuck in our hotel. At 18 years old, my friend and I felt an injustice at being kept from the city we had dreamed of visiting. So with little to no sense we jumped into a yellow taxi outside our hotel and went back to Rockefeller centre. The roads were slick with water and Rockefeller centre itself was flooded. The puddles were inches deep and we had on relatively thin clothing with no umbrellas. We spent the best part of 30 minutes jumping in puddles. The puddles aren’t any different in New York to London but it was freeing just to be doing something. There was a doorman outside one of the buildings, sheltered from the rain, watching us. I remember his black hat and formal clothing . The rain picked up and we squeezed into the doorway with him. His face told us we were crazy and I remember exactly how he looked at us.

Those three moments, however small and however fast they sped by, jump into my memories now and again. However insignificant they may seem, they remind me how those people affected my day and perhaps how in turn I affected theirs.

Occasionally, more often than I care to admit, I wonder what effect I have on this earth. Whether my life is passing by without anything I do making a difference. I wonder at the age of 33 whether I’ll ever do anything important.

Memories like those hold me together and remind me that if they are important to me maybe they are important to others. Are there three men out there that remember the girl with the orange smile? Is there a family that look through their holiday snaps and remember why the first photo at the Ice rink was not posed? Is there a doorman, now retired, that every time it rains thinks of the two crazy Essex girls with no coats, no umbrellas, running around in puddles?

We don’t know the impact we have on other people but we know how the small memories impact us, which may mean other people feel the same as well. It is all these memories that make up the bigger picture. The stitches of one big beautiful canvas. The canvas of your own life with an interwoven pattern of people that you meet daily, once, twice or fleetingly around the world.

Not every stitch will be beautiful. Not every pattern will stand out. However at the end when everything comes together it will make up one beautiful life. All those moments will have made something spectacular.