Day: Jun 15, 2022

Thirty faux Birthday

34 years old hit me like a tonne of bricks this year. As the last two birthdays were spent in lockdown I didn’t have much to do with numbers or the age related conversations. It would have been nice if we had all got together and agreed that as the last two years most celebrations were put on hold, an age delay would be appropriate. 32 sounds much better than 34 in my opinion. Especially as it wasn’t acknowledged the first time around. 

It was up to Mr W to plan my birthday this year and it was time to travel again. It was simpler for all concerned to keep in the Uk and there’s a big ol’ list of things for us to see that we really should be cracking on with. 

High up on that list, for quite some time, has been Durdle Door. The plan was set and from our accommodation we set out for the coast. It was 6:53am to be precise as we clambered into the car, to be precise, and I am not a morning person. Or wasn’t a morning person before I met Mr W. It has taken a long while for me to adjust to his ‘up early’ mantra and I dare say I still struggle now and again, but when it works logically I’m pretty good at jumping on board. A vanilla soy latte will most certainly sweeten the deal. 

The sun in the sky was already warm and I thanked my lucky stars that the day was looking clear and blue. March is always so unpredictable and usually you can shrug it off. But while on a cliff? I think not!

We arrived at the Durdle Door car park at a little after 8:15am and I once again found myself in awe of the sea. With the fresh morning sun beating down upon its surface it glittered in such a way that fixed me to the spot. It’s an image that will never grow old. It was quickly apparent that we were very high above sea level. We could not see any waves breaking. Just how far from the car would we find the infamous site? 

We hoisted our behinds into the boot of Mr W’s new SUV hybrid and changed our footwear into something more sturdy. With the sun bearing down on us I felt silly donning a coat, jumper, hiking boots and a woolly hat but what is life if not a little silly. The car park was all but deserted and I took a moment to drink in the birdsong. I felt a million miles away from England. I’ll never truly believe that places like the Jurassic coast actually belong to the UK. The turquoise waters surely belong somewhere else. 

Hopping out of the car, we donned our backpacks and headed down the shingle pathway. Oh wow, this first part of the walk was quite steep, and with loose shingles underfoot, my semi conscious brain was not working in line with my body. What’s interesting about the wander down the cliff front is it gives nothing away. No far off view of the famous door itself. And then BAM, there it is, below you. 

You reach the end of the well-trodden path and arrive at the top of some pretty precarious looking stairs. To the left of this is Man O’War Beach which overlooks one of the most beautiful coves I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. The horseshoe shape allows the very edges of the sand meeting the water to glow in its most fantastic turquoise colour whilst the sun practically blurs out the sea in its midst. The whole scene just glowed in such a spectacular fashion that the reason we had come here was all but forgotten. 

But it wasn’t, there were stairs to be introduced to. Time for the brain to engage with the legs on this one. Sturdy enough the stairs weren’t the issue, but looking down was. I am not scared of heights. I am not scared of heights. I really am not scared of heights, but it would seem, little to no handrail, morning legs and so much to keep turning to see equals the oh my goodness feeling of I’m going to die!

Reaching the bottom felt amazing, I pushed away the thought of the ascend later on, and marched out onto a shingle beach. Shingle so deep that I was quite literally ankle deep in places. Fear not, I think, continue on, for soon you will be sitting and staring and loving the view. Across the beach I trek until I find my own little mountain of pebbles to lay my coat. I think, stupidly, that it has taken me 34 years to get here, so a little thing like cold water shouldnt stop me from letting my feet have their moment in the sea. I release them from their boots and socks and stand on the shingle. Ouch! I stagger forward into the water only to rapidly sink. What is happening? I’m losing height. I can’t move. The water is moving the stones around my feet and I’m ankle deep. And it is freezing! Mr W to the rescue.  

I am yanked out of my trap and plonked on to my waiting coat. My feet are sunburn red and I cannot feel my toes. That was clever. I sit in the rising sun willing it to thaw my feet and I take in the scene. Durdle door is in shadow. The sun has not yet cast its light upon it and yet I find it doesn’t need the sun to highlight its already striking presence. It is magnificent. It rises from the water and frames the horizon beyond it. I feel as though if I could reach the door, I’d find it a gateway to another world. I could be transported to anywhere I wish as long as I made the leap and trusted it. 

The sea is gently lapping against the pebbles of doom and I am lost in its persistence. The water is so clear here. Beautiful. 

A kestrel flies past and breaks me from my reverie. He is flying over the cliffs and lands on the monument itself. He has chosen to nest in one of the most famous landmarks in the world. I’m unsure I would choose it as a place to live myself, all he can see from up there is me and the beach. Wouldn’t it be better to live on the cliff and overlook this spectacle? 

It is not long before the time to leave is upon us, feet dry and shoved back into their cotton prison, we head away from the lapping waves. The hour we have spent on the shoreline has seen a great change into the once deserted beach. People are arriving by the camper van load and our moment alone has passed. We reach the bottom of the stairs and take a moment to turn and face Mr Durdle. From here it feels as though you could reach out and touch it. It is huge in stature and looms over the space entirely. We are in his shadow and its company. It feels intimate and secretive. It takes a while for me to turn away. 

Up, up, up we climb. Admitting, again, that we’ve been outwitted by the typical tourist spot. It’s up in the must-do lists for a reason. And if you will drag your sorry ass out of bed early enough, you’ll have it all to yourself. You, the sea and the sun.  

7 billion reasons

One of the very first memories I have of travelling is looking out at the landscape of Europe from the plane window. I was flying to Greece. I was 10 years old. I had never seen something so beautiful before. Mountain pathways strewn through rocky scenes like arteries and pockets of forests dotted around as if dropped by the heavens above. Every time I have flown since, I try to wrangle the window seat. Ignoring the fact I am too shy to make small talk with strangers and don’t like to invade or have anyone invade my personal space, HELLO ANXIETY! I secretly covet this window into a world where you can see a scene that cannot be replicated. Each time you fly over the world it changes depending on season, time or frame of mind. The colours, the feelings, the awe. It has soothed me in times of great anxiousness and taken me out of my body to the pathways below. At times I feel like I am a fly on the wall of the tiny villages scattered below. How do those people live? Do they have worries like me? Are our worries different entirely?

The villages are so tiny, and accessed by the smallest of roads and highest of mountains, where do they go for their food? What happens if they fall ill? Does that make the worries I have trivial to these people?  

There is something about soaring above the world that makes me calm enough to let go of my worries, it opens up my eyes to the 7 billion people on the planet and the simple fact that I can’t be the only person with worries and anxieties. That in itself makes me realise I can handle it, because everyone else is. With love, friendship and a step outside my own anxieties once in a while. A lot of the time anxiety is described as being something you ‘suffer’ but it often strikes me that by changing our mindset to anxiety being something we ‘live with’ means we take control. We can stumble along our own mountain roads without too much fear and become used to the steep drops that appear along the way.

To the moon my friend. Imagine how much our eyes would see from there!

This is a relaunch of Framework Travel. A relaunch of who I can be. Who I want to be. What this blog can do to reach, help and inspire people.

Recently my anxiety has taken over my life. And something needs to change. More than ever I’ve felt my flight or fight kick in and for the first time ever I can’t fly. I can’t look down from that window and ignore my issues. The only thing I can do is come at it from a different perspective. If not from above, from within. 

So along with my very skilled photographer husband, we are relaunching Framework Travel as something personal, in which we will discuss our anxieties over covid, struggles with our health and fitness, fertility matters and ALOT of travel. 

We have in the last 18 months experienced a whole other way of travelling. And this year will involve more of that. We’ve embraced sustainable practices even more recently in and outside our home, and will be incorporating as much of this into our future travels. First up is a long weekend break in Northumberland in June, somewhere we’ve been twice before (both in 2021), but absolutely adore! Next up, *breathe* is a 16 day trip to the Scottish highlands along the NC500. We will be driving the entire route in our hybrid car and seeing how far we can stretch the almighty english pound. This will include extreme budgeting when it comes to accommodation, food and activities. With a very few luxuries thrown in for good measure, we are celebrating our wedding anniversary after all, we will be sharing everything we do and spend with you. Including what we pack! 

There are over 7 billion people in this world and if I can inspire and help others, my anxieties will seemingly melt away. I’ll be able to climb those mountains and traverse the highest, steepest paths home and maybe someone, up in the clouds, watching out of their plane window will feel some kind of respite from their own demons.