Author: Zara Watson

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.

Lockdown in retrospect

Lockdown. Lockdown. Lockdown.

What does that even mean anymore? 

Does it mean we get angry at the neighbours who bypass the guidelines to suit themselves?

Does it mean we have fears that life will never return to what was once ‘normal’? 

Normal for me is travelling. Normal for me is freedom. Plan a trip. Buy an airline ticket. Pack a backpack and go. If I’ve learnt anything the past 10 weeks it’s that there is no normal anymore. They are the words from everyone’s lips. Online. On the phone. From a conversation at a socially accepted distance.

Social distance. Lockdown. Corona Virus. Words you never thought could cause so much pain and upset in this lifetime. Unprecedented is another one. Something so large in scale it stopped the world in its tracks. Like never experienced before. I’m sure the Spanish Flu had the same amount of impact on the human race in terms of fear and confusion. However it is down to the technology capabilities we have today that news is manipulated on a greater scale and reaches around the world quicker than anything else on this planet. So what do we do?

One of the first things I’ve done is to stop reading the news. In the initial weeks I felt panicked at the very thought of leaving my house, my hands were cracked red raw and there was no other topic to talk about. It took over life as we knew it. I’m pretty certain that that happened to 99.99% of the world population. 

Truth be told, I’ve, until now, lived a blessed life of travelling the world when I want to and where I want to. When that’s been taken away from you, it starts to creep up on you that what once was viewed as such an easy vocation, is actually more of entitlement which isn’t granted to everyone in the world. Others panicked about their livelihoods, their homes, their friends and family. For one brief moment, I worried about when we would next leave our doorstep. It all seems so stupid now. Especially in retrospect. As the Uk lockdown slowly begins its ‘easing’, the new panic of an imminent second wave  plays on your mind. So you find yourself stuck in your adapted ‘normal’ and being rigid. It’s the fear isn’t it? It’s not letting you go. It’s self preservation. When this first started I was sad to be kept inside, away from everything I knew, now that’s all I want. Home. Home. Home. Safe. Safe. Safe!

Mr W and I sat in our garden the other day, a cool 2 metres away from my dad, visiting for the first time in over 2 months, and we got to talking about travel. Inevitably, that will be the cornerstone of conversation with me and whoever will listen. And I got to thinking about my time in Australia.

I landed into Melbourne, Australia on 2nd February 2013. Tired beyond belief and yet still raring to go! Two days later, with 7 stops on our tour around the Melbourne coast, we were to witness the first of our Australian delights. Koalas! Up close and personal with a 9 year old, male, who was huge and very focused on his lunch. Hand feeding Wallabies under sparse bushes, dodging the midday sun. Scouring the scorched landscape and glimpsing a rather chilled out Kangaroo. That afternoon, jet lagged and a little awestruck, to beat the fatigue, we dodged the odd tourist taking a pleasant walk down Woolamai Beach and jumped into the roaring waves. The sun beat down pursuing my exceptionally white English skin and if I paused to notice I’m unaware of it now. It slowly dawned on me what we had got ourselves into, this was going to be the most tiring and life changing trip of my life. Soaked with salt water and smelling of sweat and sun cream, I jumped into the surf once more. Sweat, nice, I know. 

Later that day, when the Aussie sun took its leave and the sky turned inky indigo, we watched tiny penguins emerge from the sea and race up the beach to their nests. Above us the jewels of the Southern hemisphere sparkled and trailed across the sky and in front of us the waters kept pushing forward these funky little creatures. And I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt free.

If you had told me that I’d come home, get engaged to the love of my life, move into our own home and get married, I’d have said you had experienced the effects of seawater on an empty stomach. But I did and it’s been its own little whirlwind. A different kind of freedom. A safe freedom where someone has my back forever. Who picks me up when I cry over crap people, who pulls me out of the surf when the water gets too strong and who also knows when to push me back in to deal with it myself. 

So moving forward, I’m going to surround myself with my memories, my new found sense of gratitude for the once viewed ‘small’ things and go with the flow. 

Nothing is forever. 


Take this day by day. And know that you are not alone. Each night is a chapter closing. Each morning is a chance to refresh. You’ve got this. And be kind to yourself. We are each droplets of water in one very vast ocean. Ride the wave, jump into the surf and know when to ask for help. 

Rest your feet or keep running?

This time last year I suffered a loss.

It came suddenly and quite literally took my breath away. For weeks, I didn’t sleep, eat properly and I shut down. That’s what grief does to a person, whether it’s an instant hit or surfaces in time, it comes for us all. 

We lost a close family member 2 months ago, we knew it was coming, we just thought we had more time and when it happened, everything seemed to stop.

Grief is the reminder that we’re not here forever and grief is a reminder that life is brutal. Maybe brutal is the wrong word, it’s unpredictable and no matter what you do, you can’t plan for the unpredictable. Even with prior warning you can’t predict how you will feel. Grief is the phenomena of all emotions. 

You can’t predict at that very moment what your body will do, how your brain and mind will cope with everything that’s going on. You might just be sitting on the sofa for hours, while things get put into place and ticked off the list of ‘matters that need attention’ and when night-time comes, your body and your mind are absolutely exhausted, you are drained of every emotion, every tear and every word. 

And yet, you don’t sleep. Sleeping is something that you always do and you don’t want to do something so normal. If you return to any kind of routine it’s like you’re moving on and no one wants to move on. Moving on means forgetting, it feels rude, it feels disrespectful, it feels wrong.

Everyone closed ranks to the outside world and time was suspended between everything before and the moment we were living. Is living the right word? The moment we were suspended in? Clung to no date or time, just letting it pass us by while we float in the ‘somewhere’. There was no future and every day seemed so unreal and dreamlike. Wandering around in a haze, quite unsure of what to do but at the same time going through the motions as if it was completely natural. All your future plans seem so unimportant, it was more about what should we do now? Right in this very minute. We haven’t got forever. 

What would we do differently? 

Are we missing a moment that we’ll regret later on? 

What part of life are we missing?

Are we living the life we are supposed to lead?

Where is our path taking us?

When it comes to hearing stories about someone when they die, stories you never knew, a history of someone’s life pushed together to be one final paragraph, a sum up of someone’s life, is very strange. As I sat there listening, I realised I didn’t really know him at all. I always had a feeling that I knew him, but his life before I came along was so much bigger than I knew.

He was a lucky man. He found happiness in the simple pleasures of life. He had a wife, he had children and soon he had grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He vacationed only in the UK and stayed in the same part of East London his entire life. I often wondered whether he was happy living the same life day to day. Same house. Same road. Same town.

I find myself now realising that he had it all. The human condition pushes us to keep going until we’re completely happy. Pushes us to strive forward into unknown territory. To find the perfect sky. To chase those horizons. To buy the pretty bags. Expensive trainers. Perfect wallpaper. Big TVs. When does it end?

It has made me identify why I travel. Most simply put, it is an activity to push the body and mind to escape to somewhere else and relax. It is the allowance we give ourselves to switch off from responsibilities and not feel guilty about it. 

I travel to search for something more than I have. I have a great life. I have a family that loves me. I have a husband. Me. Married. STILL, can’t quite grasp that. I’ll never be alone. I have amazing friends. I have a roof over my head. And I have the opportunity to build a travel company. Advice. Tips. Whatever it may be, I can tailor make it to what I know and what I can provide for other people. That makes me happy and I have the opportunity to follow that dream.

I understand now that those lucky enough to reach a point in their life and sit back and say hey I’ve got what I want are so very lucky. They are content and not racing after the next dream. They have it all. 

I’m still working things out. I’m still chasing that horizon. I’ve not found the ‘thing’ I’m searching for yet. Travel is an escape, I know that more than ever this year, but I also think I’m the best person I can be when I’m travelling. I prefer who I am when I’m out there searching for the next piece of the puzzle. People are different. 

Some people will think I’m lucky following my dreams around the world. And I am. I have an amazing life. Every once in a while though, I’m going to remember that there are those that can sit back and be content in life they’ve built. They can rest their feet while I’m still running.

One moment please…

Yes, one moment, please. Heard of the saying ‘One moment can change your life’? Visions of winning the lottery or becoming a parent for the first time used to flood my mind. It’s when a moment so unexpected comes along that you realise it’s the small moments that create the biggest ripples.

I once met someone, who let me talk, let me be me, wanted to go for coffee, was late so it turned into drinks and invited me to a movie the following week. While we sat in the theatre, he lay his hand out flat and looked at me. With a quizzical look on my face I asked him ‘What?’, he said ‘I’m asking you to hold my hand.’ And the rest is history. That moment changed my life. He later went on to travel with me, grow with me, buy a home, build a life and kneel down in Manhattan and ask me to be with him for the rest of our lives. That moment, during the movie, the moment I decided to trust him changed my life.

No matter how hard we try to create a perfect moment, life sometimes gets in the way. The He in question is now my husband, he had planned for over 6 months to propose under the Rockefeller Christmas tree; had worried at the airport that the security team would reveal the engagement ring if they pat him down too rigorously; let me guide him through New York to the tree and then saw me panic at the sight of the thousands of people that ascended on the twinkling lights of the world’s most famous Christmas scene. It was very overwhelming and crowds that deep bother me. That night we walked away from the tree and he walked away from the planned proposal. He kept his cool so well that when he did propose the next day, I was speechless.

Literally speechless, my throat had closed from a particularly nasty cold, team that with the tears running down my stunned face and the shock it took a moment for me to realise I hadn’t said yes.

We had wandered to Madison Square Park, before our brunch booking a few streets away. It was all blue skies and beautiful, the park was quiet, a Sunday morning, and the resident squirrels were climbing up onto the bench to say hello and even up the Mr’s pant leg. I was in my element. New York. Sun. Animals. Bliss. And that is when he did it. I suppose we are very lucky a squirrel didn’t grab the ring in some way of harbouring a hostage for some food!

You see, you can spend your life trying to perfect an upcoming moment, or you can live everyday like the next moment is going to perfect.

Why do I do this?

Hi everyone, so it’s been a really busy 2 weeks launching Framework Travel. I’ve had to launch a brand new Instagram, a business page on Facebook, a new blog and I’ve even attempted Pinterest which is still under development as far as I’m aware. Doing this feels right but there’s obviously apprehension every step along the way. Will people care about a small local business offering advice and tips on travel? And the bigger question is, do the channels of social media allow enough time on people’s news feeds for posts anymore?

What seems to happen is the same posts keep being shunted to the top of news feeds and then you lose posts in the hustle/bustle. Some days on Instagram I end up doing between 5 and 8 posts a day because you need to keep up that momentum. You can’t rely on the people that follow you because Instagram is such a huge unknown, it relies on who can see what on their news feed and how much time they have etc. But the beauty of Instagram is the hashtags, they promote your post so much wider than you could imagine. So I can be talking about an Australian rainforest and can tag Australian sites into it but then I can also tag Essex and UK travel companies in and also a tagging that includes touring or walking tours or guided explorations. The idea is that you’re putting so many different bookmarks on your post so people that have those interests have got easy access to it. The trick is that those people who like your posts etc will then make their way to your profile and hopefully follow you and you gain attention that way.

The unfortunate thing on Instagram is there are millions of people trying to do the same thing they will follow you hoping you follow them etc. The main issue with that one is I’m a firm believer in following what I like not what I should have to do in order to gain and retain followers. Integrity sucks!

There are some lovely people out there who say keep going and I’m going to be easier on myself at this stage because I am only entering my third week. I believe the content I used to go out with was too information filled and Instagram is purely a photo site so you wanna be quick, you wanna be snappy and you want to just inspire. Which is ultimately what I’m here to do, I want to inspire people to travel, and it’s a common enough dream, but not a lot of people think it’s achievable.

There are people I know that would go to Benidorm every year or summer in the UK and, please do not get me wrong, Spain is a gorgeous country and the UK has so much to offer but people often fall into the trap of going back to comfort zones because they do think that their dream destinations are unachievable.

What’s happened since I’ve launched Framework travel is I’ve had to go through old photos of my various travels throughout the world and really identify what travel means to me. I’ve been to some really spectacular places and I’ve seen nature at its best. I’ve seen tiny little penguins run up the beach on Phillip Island just below Melbourne, I’ve swam the Great barrier reef, I’ve been in the freezing cold winter’s of Paris in the rain and it’s been beautiful, my lips turn blue and I didn’t care. Travel takes who you are and puts it in the foreground, when you’re working or looking after kids or looking after a household you often become this masked person. You are mummy/daddy, you are a worker and you are a person that has a role to play. When you go anywhere, even a day trip in the UK those roles fall away and that’s why I travel because you get to be the person you are just in your head and you become the real you.

The other reason I travel is to share places I’ve been with others. When looking through photos to share on Framework Travel I’ve been particularly conscious that I don’t want to share photos with my family or my friends in, that is private to me and of course to them. But it also isn’t about me sharing my life with other people on my business pages it’s about sharing the places I’ve been to and the feelings that you get when you’re there.

I found one particular photo of a trip to New York 10 years ago and it’s of my brother in Central Park and he’s sitting on a bench and to the right of him is the expansive Mall , one of the most iconic locations in the park in my opinion. You can see the huge elm trees, which are famous in their own right, and my brothers not looking at the camera he’s just sitting there and it’s one of my favourite photos. He looks in thought and relaxed. As I started looking back, I realised I’ve never really sat with anyone I’ve travelled with and asked what did you think?  I always just let them come to me if they had any impressions or things to discuss but since doing this, family (especially) have told me how much travelling meant to them and the places I went to them with really meant to them.

And ultimately that’s what I hope to achieve I don’t want to go on holiday with you all, as lovely as you are, a girl needs time to do the everyday stuff. I’m not saying I won’t take up an offer now and again, but the point is, if I can help someone achieve their travel dreams or open their eyes to new experiences in places they’ve been before or suggest tips that make their travels just that bit better, then I’ve already succeeded at what I set out to do. And that is to help people be the people they actually are.

I truly believe people are at their best when they encounter something new as it’s like they’re a child again and the old phrase is, wouldn’t it be great to see the world through a child’s eyes?

Larking around

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.

Addictive Substances

When you travel, do you often want to see so much of the place you are visiting that you end up needing more than 24 hours in a single day?

I spent 192 glorious hours in Manhattan with my dad over a decade ago. It was Summer, the days were swimming in sunlight, the evenings were mild and time passed so steadily, it felt natural to wander in Central Park and take time to sit on a bench and watch the world go by. There was no city rush, no queuing for sightseeing and certainly no huddling in busy restaurants and bars.

This was a time to pound the streets, see everything outside and alive. It was a time to let the city envelop you, kick your senses into gear and press you onwards to the next sight, smell sound and sun drenched statue.

One particular Statue, the Lady of Liberty herself, was the particular subject of our wanderings one blissfully beautiful day. We had risen reasonably rested and made our way downtown to Battery Park. Jumped onto the Circle Line; gazed back at the dock, the island, The Big Apple as we made our way out onto the Hudson River towards Liberty Island.

Having seen her some two years before, I returned as a friend does out of fondness and familiarity. But, as it so often does, Manhattan had much more to share, and my quick visit turned into more than 3 hours of walking and talking on that wonderful island. Gazing up at the green lady in all her splendour. Turning back towards the water and seeing the skyline of Manhattan stretched out before us and watching seagulls following ferries here and there. Ferries going to Ellis Island, to drop wanderers off and picking the newly educated up.

We took another ferry that day. From the tip of Battery Park, you can, for free, take the Staten Island Ferry from Manhattan to its namesake 30 short minutes away. Tourists often do so to view New York’s harbour from a completely different angle and perspective. The angle is much different because you are able to see the much broader scope of the entrance to the Hudson River, and in the same view both Liberty Island (very small of course) and Manhattan and it’s harbour. You see, the Staten Island ferry is a commuter ferry, and it transports millions of workers each year to work on Manhattan island. The fact that it is free has it’s obvious merits with tourists too. Once on the Staten Island side you can go and explore, or as most do, wait until the ferry is ready to depart again and hop back on. And that is what we chose to do, a decade ago. It all seemed very cool and as if we were in a secret club.

Once back in Manhattan, we found it was already mid-afternoon. We strolled through the big city streets and found ourselves at the site of the fallen World Trade centre. At this point in time, it was a large square pit. Empty. Wire mesh fences surrounded everything. There were memorial pictures hung everywhere. It was, in truth, both humbling and devastating to behold. It will stay with me for many years to come.

Now, as we had found out early on in our New York escapades, time was not our friend. Our days were crammed with ‘we want to see this and we want to do thats’, our addiction to strong coffee based concoctions was by then as strong as the need for blood in our veins. With the walk to Chinatown and Little Italy still to make, a hit of the good stuff was needed, pronto!

We found a Starbucks, round the corner to one of my favourite stores in all of Manhattan (Century 21) and ordered the necessaries. I don’t remember what was said, drank or what but I remember the doors, they were the revolving kind, the table we were at was small and there weren’t many other tables or sitting patrons. People flooded in and out going about their day. Their routines. And all of a sudden something got us right in our bellies. A laughter, for a reason forgotten to me now, took us and shook and shook and shook us until with eyes streaming and faces red we found it difficult to breathe. Even upon stopping, we only had to look again at each other, and the laughter erupted once more. As people came through those doors the look of confusion at these two crazy people only spurred the laughter on more. Eventually, and I truly mean eventually (!) the laughter subsided and we went onto to explore the pockets of Chinese and Italian cultures.

We only realised later that exhaustion had found us in that vast city. It had hunted us down and although we clung to that beautiful caffeine for strength, it bore us down and claimed our sanity as its own.

And in all honesty, I didn’t care, and nor do I now. Wherever you go, whatever you want to see or do. Take the insanity. Shake shake shake every second out of the time you have when you have it. It’s yours. Yes we made it to Little Italy that day, our feet hurt, we were tired, the caffeine couldn’t help us anymore. But we did it. It was beautiful. Blossoming out onto the streets were families eating dinner together, it was early evening, the sun was low in the sky, gorgeous smells wafted from kitchens and laughter serenaded the breeze.

The next day my feet no longer hurt, I had slept, I was no longer tired, all I remembered were the good moments. Liberty. Laughter. Love.

Best believe me, the next chance, the very next chance we got, we were gulping down a coffee concoction and racing off to see more. Insanity or not. Time’s not to be wasted.