The first time I went abroad I was 5 months old. So for storytelling purposes it is null and void.

But oh, the third time abroad. Well, I was 10 and it was Halkidiki, Greece. My first ever time on a plane. (We were driven to Spain when I was a baby.) It’s funny when I think of the trip I don’t remember the airport. The luggage. The hotel reception. I’ve always thought that I have a weird memory. Ask me who that guy was in that film that one time and I’ll tell you his name, his dog’s name and where he’s from. But ask me about my childhood before the age 11 or 12 and I’m pretty clueless. Maybe when senior school started my brain had to make room and sent in a little man with a big broom and swept most of my childhood memories away!

I remember a lovely evening meal we had. More of the feeling it gave me. It was on an outside terrace with big pagodas on the side of a residential street. The voices were loud. But happy. The streets were musical with the swallows flying overhead. The night was warm in the pathway of the setting sun. All considered I don’t remember being at a table or what I ate, I just remember the huge sense of family and community that I felt. The loveliest part of the memory isn’t what food it was or the view, it was the feeling that has stayed with me all these years.

Thinking about this today has made me realise that you can plan and plan a trip to better your chances to see as much as possible and weaken your anxieties. However you can’t plan for those moments that stick out. That made the whole trip.

In 2019 we rented a villa in Majorca with my dad and his partner. It was planned to be a completely relaxing trip with possible short day trips thrown in. We had meals of simple salads and chicken that everyone had a part in making and serving. Days off were spent by the pool, reading and snoozing. There were a few trips out in the car but mainly it was about a sedentary life with the odd swim and alot of snoozing. And yet in those often viewed as mundane activities the magic happened.

I woke Mr W at 6am one morning and we went up to the rooftop terrace as the sun was coming over the mountains. The whole landscape came alive as the night turned into day. Mr W had complained initially about being woken up. But soon enough we were arm in arm, watching the island wake up. A nearby farm dog started barking, a cockerel crowed and the haze over the fields lifted like a veil.

We took a very brief drive up to Cala San Vicente and had a walk along the small roads that lined the frequent coves. As we approached the top of one road the sea was crashing against the cliffs’ rocks with such force that it sent a huge wall of water droplets 20 or so feet in the air. Being particularly windy here the droplets were caught by the ferocious wind and sent in our direction. It was a brief vacation from the heat of the Spanish sun and it was hysterical. It wasn’t planned. The day trip of course was decided but how do you plan for waves, rocks and wind that work together so succinctly in order to make four people cackle so witch-like? I remember the chill that flooded my body for the briefest of seconds. And the laughter. And the feeling of freedom. That I could jump off that cliff and fly away on the wind and water. It’s something about moments like that that make a trip.

Later that week, Mr W and I introduced Dad and Pat to a drinking game. It involves cards and a lot of drinks. You get drunk very fast. And
gets messy. Was that the plan? No. Did it happen? Yes. But pray tell, can you plan to have someone spit their drink across the table in laughter? Absolutely not. Is it a stand out memory. Abso-freaking-lutely.

I like to think of the beautiful places we are yet to travel to in the world. Of places far and wide on our list. What we’ll see and do. What’s more important lately is how those components become almost secondary memories. It’s the pieces of magic in-between that I treasure.

The time my mum ordered a ‘dirty granny’ cider in Melbourne.

When I cut my brother’s hair in Bulgaria and was doing fine until I had no idea how to frame his face. He was stuck that way for a fortnight.

When Mr W had me splitting firewood on our first camping trip.

When my brothers and I snuck out of our rooms at 2am in Egypt to go swimming. The competitions in the pool and the hilarity that ensued.

If the man in my brain with the broom returns I’d ask him to take out the memories of the Vatican and the Empire state building and leave all the jewels I so treasure.