Tag: freedom

Steps that count

44,162 steps – Northumberland – 3.5 days

14,878 steps – Greenwich – 1 day

Unknown steps – Tunisia – 1 week

Before the pandemic and certainly before Mr W, holidays were spent either walking around New York, pacing out the heavily padded itinerary or on a sunlounger on the beach. It was either ALL the walking possible or none at all. 

Since Mr W and I have travelled together there have been the odd holidays that we’ve sat down, maybe 2 in 9 years, and I couldn’t say for sure that that is. It seems we have an inability to sit still. 

Our first trip together was in October 2013. Tunisia was not a place that I’d ever thought to travel to but was cheap enough and still warm enough that late in the year that it ticked enough boxes for a short week away. The ticked boxes from the travel agent were proven correct with hot sunny days followed by balmy nights. I was looking forward to sitting by the pool with a plus one for the first time in my life. And I’ll say it, I wanted to show our relationship off to the world. I was happy and wanted to shout it from the rooftops. We spent hours in the pool, swimming, playing and laughing. One lady swam past us sighing, saying ‘It’s so nice to see a couple having fun’. I practically skipped back to the lounger. 

I foresaw the rest of our days in Tunisia playing out similarly. Sun, lounger, pool, book, naps and love. On maybe the 3rd day, we dragged ourselves out of bed quite late and made our way down to the secluded pool where it seemed only adults ventured. Book and bag in hand, I layed down in the dappled shade and set myself up for a day of warm breezes and the latest storyline of my new book. In my peripheral vision, I could see Mr W, he wasn’t lying down or grabbing his book. He was sitting as you would do while you wait for a bus. I asked him what was up. He said ‘Do you want to go and explore the local area?’. With all my being I wanted to scream, NO! I’ve literally just sat down! And yet we did go out, we walked to the local market. The next day we took a train to the next town along. The day after we took a little tourist road train to another town. It wasn’t until we were reaching the end of the week when we finally ventured onto the beach and I again attempted to surf the beach sofa. Soon his static body entered my peripheral vision and his boredom and utter dislike of being there had us moving somewhere else. 

Do I think that’s where the busy holidays started? No. 

Do I think that’s where the lazy holidays ended? Quite possibly. 

We’ve spent time with family in Majorcan villas but did we sit still for longer than half a day? Also no. 

When the pandemic hit and we moved our Italy trip to the autumn from spring, we felt that we were insanely lucky to even travel. The week travelling from Florence to Venice without too much interruption from the covid laws felt like the deepest breath we had taken in 6 months. We wanted to make every step count. Every single minute of those six days felt magical. Every plan fell into place. Every smile fell naturally onto our lips. Regardless of how busy we were, there was no moaning about tired feet, only an appreciation for the freedom to travel. We didn’t want to waste a single second. 

Now, almost two years later, we have spent three long weekends hiking and pushing ourselves past our once thought of limits. The trips have been eye-opening in so many ways and we have such a new passion for countryside vacations and our limits will be pushed furthermore when we go to Scotland and try wild swimming and even longer hikes. 

When I used to pound the sidewalks of New York from 8am to 8pm I wouldn’t stop to think how many miles I had walked. To be fair, I didn’t have the technology to count the mileage/steps. I can only hazard a guess that I walked upwards of 9 miles a day. So why am I now seeing 5 miles a day as such a big deal? Maybe because it’s brought to my attention by watches and apps that notify you before you ask them to. Or because I still find it amusing that some place, like Northumberland, I once saw as inferior to New York, is now on the same level when it comes to awe-inspiring. I never would have guessed that I would choose to walk and hike the UK with as much gusto as I did exploring abroad. Times have certainly changed!

We have been talking recently, Mr W and I, about taking a vacation somewhere warm, with a pool. A villa break for just us. It has come to our attention that we need some time to stop. We need to jump in the pool and only emerge from it because of pruney fingertips. We need to start and finish the book we haven’t got time for at home. The afternoon naps. The late mornings. The step count being in the hundreds rather than the thousands. 

So far, we haven’t had the luck of booking the trip. However, even though we now see the value of exploring and travelling more than ever and our new found appreciation for hiking is pushing us beyond boundaries we didn’t know existed, we have come to a bigger realisation. 

It is to stop. Even though it is often said that every step we take when travelling is precious, I think it may be the steps we don’t take that can be just as important. When we start to travel again in the opening world, we are pushed by the memory of being locked away in our homes to go further than ever before and take on personal challenges that we’ve always avoided. 

By doing this, we are pushing ourselves so hard all the time that we will forget what was good about being locked away in the first place. The simplicities of a good lunch in the sunshine. A night watching the stars with a cup of tea. Drawing a blanket up under your chin for an early night’s sleep. A walk in the country to give your lungs a fresh breath. 

These steps count too. Whether they are counted by your watch or listed on an app. 

These are the non-steps that keep you still long enough to save your tired soles for their next big leap into the unknown. 

Step one. Stay still. 

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.