Tag: New York

Intrepid explorers

Flashback to New York, December 2015. 

It was time to indulge in Mr W’s interests. A visit to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum. Docked on the Hudson at Pier 86, the enormous aircraft carrier that fought in World War II is now devoted to showcasing planes, helicopters and space exploration throughout history. 

As we approached the massive vessel I wondered how fast I could speed through the ‘ordeal’ without it looking too obvious. Upon entering the belly of the ship, I found myself utterly transfixed by the huge anchor chains held in place securely and walking back in time when viewing the bunk beds the men used to call home. 

There are large guns on the flight deck that took me by surprise, in a good way, I haven’t been around anything in a military sense before so it was really interesting to see that sort of thing in real life instead of on a television screen. 

From street level on 12th Avenue you only really get a feel for the height of this spectacle, it’s only when on the flight deck do you realise how very enormous it really is. The grey painted deck stretches further than the eye can see and is littered with a vast number of planes. 

Obviously Mr W was in his element as we strolled around in the winter sun, pointing out a Lockheed SR-71 with its sleek black body and a utility military helicopter called ‘Huey’. Meanwhile, I pointed randomly and said, ‘Hey wasn’t that in Forrest Gump?’ and marvelled at just how many I recognised from the big screen movies. It felt like meeting a static, metal celebrity. It was definitely a complex mix of feelings when recognising the pieces on board whilst realising what they had been used for in the past. 

There has only been one other time in my life when I have come eye to eye with a scenario that identifies war, and that was as a young child at the Imperial War Museum in London, and even then I don’t remember much now. In fact, that only part I remember is the very real feeling trench experience, which ended up being both scary and emotional. In a way, both museums brought war and everything that comes with it to the forefront of my mind in a  way no movie or television programme can ever do. On screen you see the helicopters and army vehicles as props that an actor is using as part of a scene. When it’s right in front of you, it’s a different feeling altogether. I would say there is some naivety there and that’s why I believe museums like the Intrepid are really something to consider when you visit a country different from your own. It reminded me that behind the tourism and the glitz and glam of restaurants and the theatre, New York and America as a whole has a huge history and some of it is damn uncomfortable to someone as wide-eyed and innocent in the way of the real world. 

I made sure after my Forrest Gump comment, to keep my voice down, these machines had protected lives, taken lives and the utmost respect was needed in a place like this. 

Our tickets on the day included entrance to the ‘Space’ department on board and it was absolutely surreal to be in the presence of an actual shuttle. Standing on one of the elevated walkways you find yourself almost nose to nose with this vast space vessel. How on earth does something that big reach space? And yet, its size wasn’t that different to an aeroplane. I’m not sure what I was expecting but I found myself once again utterly entranced. Exploration is what any travel minded person hopes for and here was a ship that could travel off of the planet we could only dream of travelling on ourselves. 

Once back in the belly of the Intrepid we found ourselves winding through alleys of grey steel, ducking through hatches and ascending steep stairs clinging to the handles with fear of the climbing angle presented. It wasn’t until we entered one room that we found an actual real person sitting awaiting the next wanderer. Sat upon a simple stool, he waited as we glanced around, his hand resting on a cylindrical piece of machinery with an upright handle. He must have caught my eye as it rested upon it and asked if I knew what it was. I answered quickly, forgetting myself, ‘That’s what they use to tell the engine room what to do.’ He nodded and smiled. And then I blurted out ‘I remember seeing it in Titanic’. The room echoed with his laugh. ‘Yes that is very true.’ It was the Engine Order Telegraph and he said I was correct and I felt myself glow with both embarrassment and pride. This girl was participating in the day. Talking to the man was so lovely. I find that connections which are formed so quickly and over silly little things really make my heart sing. 

When leaving this vast piece of history I found myself grinning. I had entered without any sense of excitement or interest, it was something booked purely for Mr W and yet I left feeling more connected with New York than ever before.  Connecting also to a growing appreciation for the unknown pieces of history I hadn’t taken the time to visit or take an interest before. 

A sweat shop in New York

Dragging Mr W into another clothing store, I laughed at the groan escaping his mouth. ‘Come on, I love this store.’ Bargain hunting in Soho, Manhattan was the game of the day. Strolling around was just as fun in the Winter sunshine. How could it not be? We were in my favourite place in the entire world, and Mr W had proposed just days earlier.

Bemused at his groans, I knew the next store would make him happy. I had no idea exactly how much. Walking into the store it became very clear it was closing down. I was a lover of the store myself and I was gobsmacked. Big banners were strewn around the place with big letters spelling ‘CLOSING DOWN SALE’. ‘EVERYTHING MUST GO’.

No. No. No!

And then Mr W’s face lit up.

The sale was incredible. T-shirts that normally cost $30+ were now $5. Hooded jumpers were $10 down from $50+. Hats, shoes. Bargains. Bargains. Bargains! Mr W was in his element. We left with two huge paper shopping bags full of goodies. I remember standing out on the sidewalk watching him glow in the aftermath of the shopping frenzy. It’s an image that lives happily in my memory.

He never spends money on himself. In fact, he’d rather stitch up a battered pair of jeans than buy himself new ones. He has boxers that are older than our relationship and even now, nearly 7 years later, he still has the clothes he bought that day in Soho. The funny thing is he will always try and get the best deals for himself and stretch the lifetime of a pair of socks and yet walking past a shoe store he’ll ask if I fancy a pair. It’s insane.

Back to New York. After his shopping spree, we both jumped in a cab with his purchases and headed back to our hotel. Later on that afternoon, we walked to W43rd and 12th Avenue and took a trip on one of the Circle Line boats around the island of Manhattan. As the light faded in the early evening, we saw the city lights come to life. I braved the decreasing temperatures and stood on the outside deck to get some photos. The Freedom tower/One World Trade Center glittering in the night sky. It was phenomenally beautiful. I kept turning to usher Mr W outside, but even with his arctic winter coat on, he stayed put.

I have viewed the island of Manhattan from the water half a dozen times and it never ceases to amaze me how happy one place can make me. After touring the island and passing under the Brooklyn Bridge, our boat turned, repeated its path and sailed north up the Hudson river. We glimpsed the Empire state building, lit up for the night, and docked, cold and excited for the evening ahead.

Due to December’s early sunsets, the boat had sailed at 4 o’clock which meant we were back on 12th Avenue by 6:30pm. More time left for us in the evening and therefore more opportunities to see places. We took a slow stroll to Times Square. It is about a 20 minute walk through midtown-west and reasonably quiet until you are right in the thick of it. Night was truly setting in and the chills that came with it were very real.

We meandered through the crowds until we came to the Swatch shop. Lighting up the sidewalk on Times Square amongst all the LED billboards is an incredible feat and this store had managed it. In stark contrast to the bright reds, blues, yellows and greens around it, this store was starkly bright white. The walls were made up of lightboxes. Overhead were exceptionally strong lamps. The floor was white and therefore exceptionally reflective. It shone like a beacon. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the moths of America called it their church.

Not a huge fan of browsing I spent some time checking out various watches before I saw Mr W pause at one particular stand. In his nonchalant way he said, ‘That’s nice’, and went to walk away. I pulled him back and said that I still hadn’t got him a Christmas present, what If I bought it? He said no, but our pausing at the stand had set off an alarm in a sales woman’s mind, and she rushed to our side. I told her I was interested in the watch and she went to get one for us to look at. When she returned she offered to fasten it to his wrist. He kept shaking his head until eventually I persuaded him to slip it on. I remember thinking, why does he always do this? It’s a gift, it’s something he likes, surely it can’t be a bad thing? Did he realise how hot this small, lightbox was? Let’s buy the watch and get out into the fresh, cool night.

Hallelujah, our purchase in its fancy box and bag, we stepped into the cacophony of sounds, lights and smells. The nighttime was upon us and it was time to head back to the hotel. In true fashion, we found it hard to get a cab and so walked the 6 blocks back slowly.

When we reached our room, I remember seeing Mr W removing his coat with his back turned to me. He was muttering about how hot he had been. Since the boat, his coat had been zipped up halfway against the Winter weather and he could finally remove it. The scene plays out in my mind frequently. He unzipped the coat and slipped it off his shoulders, over his arms, wrists and hands and slung it on the bed. I remember seeing his new mid-grey t-shirt from his happy shopping spree covering his broad shoulders. As he turned, his eyes connected with mine, before I burst out laughing. On his chest, starting at the collar, two dividing lines of colour were drawn down his body at an angle creating a large V. The inside of the V was a very light grey colour. Below and surrounding this was the mid-grey colour I had seen on his back. The poor bugger had melted inside his arctic coat. The sweat had changed every inch of the light grey shirt that was not exposed to air into the deeper grey.

After I stopped laughing, he started to say that he had felt hot walking around in his coat, and when we went into the Swatch shop it had only ramped up the heat inside his coat. The coat had elasticated cuffs and therefore when the sales woman had offered to help him put the watch on all he could do was point blank refuse. He said something like ‘I had a river of sweat on my wrist, no way could she touch me.’ I fell about laughing.

That night he had to dry the shirt on the radiator ready to pack for our flight home the next day. Even now, when he wears it or I wash it, I smile. It is a memory of when he was extremely warm and courteous that keeps me warm and smiley.

Limits

It is day 876,352 of having Covid. 

Really, in actual fact, it is day 5 of testing positive. My life hasn’t changed apart from missing one day of work and allowing myself to watch as much tv as possible until my body needs sleep. Today has been a busy day considering that on Saturday I slept for over 20 hours. I woke up and no longer felt the fatigue in my bones. So I grabbed the laptop and started ploughing through the to-do list for our next big trip. 

To be fair it is a small list at this point, but two hours in and one of the days on the trip had transformed completely. Out of the 14 mornings while we are away, most of them start before 7:30am. In fact, most start at 6am. Paint me shocked. Tell the girl from 10 years ago who’s days usually started at lunchtime. Mr W has definitely had an impact. 

The plans I looked at today were busy enough to have us doing three big hikes starting at 6am. There’s maybe one day when we need to start at 5am to drive for two hours to witness the sunrise and I don’t mind it as a one off, but there are certain limitations when it comes to the body. Hell, in January, after a fortnight of deep research and planning for this trip, my limit light was blinking and my brain shut down! So, doing an endless fortnight of 14 hour days of photography, walking, driving and battling all the elements is going to be exhausting. So, when I found myself cutting parts out of the day in question, I was pleasantly surprised at how calm I was. When it comes to travelling I rarely know my limits. I will be up and ready for a long day and I will never go back to a hotel without completing an itinerary. It’s how I’m built. 

Or at least how I thought I was built. Today’s cut, pastes and deletes were owed to something new I found to do near Ben Nevis, a place which opens a lot later than the rest of Scotland. This caused a shift in the day’s plans and meant taking two things off the agenda. It made me choose between events rather than force myself to do everything. In light of these changes, I realised that we would be too late to another event and with a quick ‘delete’ and an ‘Oh well’ I made the necessary adjustments. This is not me!

Also, I know how frustrating it might be for me to sound so vague, but I really want my first experience of telling you about our trip to Scotland to sound fresh, so keeping details back as much as possible is really important. Stay tuned!

It’s not that I haven’t had limits before, I have, I’ve dragged my arse across Australia feeling tired up to my eyeballs. I’ve forced my feet up and down the avenues of New York because the itinerary calls for it. My limits are screaming at me like warning bells and I hear them, I just pretend I don’t.

It’s only since travelling in this country and the changes that lockdown brought about that the voice inside my head with all warnings about limits has started to make sense. In our personal lives we’ve even started to block out weekends so we can be at home, together, with nothing else to do. Inevitably, when I get a message asking if I’m free on those blocked out days, I will feel awful about saying we aren’t available because I’m a 1000% committed people pleaser. Being a people pleaser has ultimately stopped me looking after myself in situations and in turn neglecting Mr W. His limits are often dictated by my own. And that is not fair. Saying no to people is a crushing feeling. Especially as I never have. There’s a mass of guilt that swarms over me everytime I do. And that in particular is something I have to work on.

It just so happens that the weekend just past was blocked out. We needed to do this so we could spend some much needed time in the house we pay a mortgage for because June saw us come and go like passengers at a railway station. And then we got covid and were home anyway. Maybe fete stepped in and missed the memo.

During lockdown we found it hard at first to sit still, but as the weeks dragged on we found comfort in these walls. And as the world began to open up, we found ourselves dreading going backwards into the fray of events. It’s a complicated feeling. It isn’t the events that are the problem. It’s the sheer number of them. It’s knowing your limits. There came a time where we’d be seeing people for brunch on a Saturday morning, after a heavy night out the Friday, running a quick errand before seeing family on the Saturday afternoon and then heading out that night. Repeating ourselves on Sunday. Time flew and it felt difficult to enjoy it. How could we be in the moment, when we were thinking of where we had to race off to next?

When lockdown ended in July 2020, I particularly found it difficult to return to normal. To hug again, close the window and enter the crowds. An afternoon with friends was beautiful and yet saw me sleeping after the exposure to filled hours. Since we’ve put a curb on our weekends, we feel lighter and have to remind ourselves that doing things on other weekends shouldn’t be classed as ‘busy’ but ‘enjoyable’ instead. Yes, we still get rather busy, but it isn’t work, it is socialising. It’s freedom. It’s life. 

For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating the limits before they appear. I realise now that the fear of limiting your life, your time, yourself is very real. Push just a bit harder. Strive for more. You can do it. However there is a very large part of life that calls for boundaries and the ability to say no. It is self preservation. It is knowing that no matter how hard you try, keeping the pace is not always possible. Saying no every once in a while has to be a good thing. Choosing to stop instead of being forced to stop is always going to be win-win. Lockdown taught us that. And for that I am grateful.  

Photo by Dave Watson

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

Engaging moments

A squirrel runs along the back of the bench we are sitting on. It is 10:30am, or thereabouts, on a Sunday morning, and we find a rare occasion to sit down in this busy city. We’re in Manhattan, we flew in yesterday afternoon and have so far hit the ground running. The planning for this trip started in February 2015, it is now December. Mr W, my boyfriend at the time, had succumbed to my pleas and allowed me to show him around my second home. New York City. 

We land with only a few hours of daylight left, dump our bags at our hotel and head out into the city. The plan for tonight is a wander around midtown, ending up at Rockefeller centre to see the tree. The big one. La pièce de résistance. Christmas has landed. We stroll up past Bryant Park, lit up by its Festive huts selling their wares, past the Public Library with its wreath wearing stone lions and pause slightly to glance upon the luxurious Saks display and there it is. 30,000 lights and the famous star. And there are thousands of people surrounding it. With the months of preparation behind me, I’d forgotten one key piece of information, tonight was the first Saturday since the tree had been lit. As we get closer to the crowd, my fight or flight kicks in and I have to walk away. Crowds really bother me. The feeling of being shimmied about or being squashed is too much. Mr W understands and we leave with a plan to come back another time, we say a brief ‘Hello’ to Radio City Music Hall and hit Times Square. 

The next morning is the big one. We wake early as the sun rises into bright and clear skies. The Empire State building awaits! One of the most iconic places on planet earth. With its art deco features, history in the making legacy and most amazing views this will be my 5th visit. Mr W doesn’t like heights but the nerves are blown away by the fierce winds up on the 86th floor. With its iconic criss cross metal fencing and viewfinders, it is undoubtedly the most recognisable scene in the city. Coming early has been a good choice, the crowds are thin enough you don’t feel rushed and there’s a slight haze as the sun rises over the East River and shines over the island. It feels as if you are watching the city wake up, allowing a slight lay in on this Sunday morning, and head out into the new day. As we emerge from the gilded lobby we realise we are early for our brunch booking. We take the time to head to Madison Square Park. It is warm enough to walk and the sun feels good. This is one of my favourite past-times in this city. We find a bench and watch the sunlight play with the dappled shade as the city’s residents run, stroll and walk their dogs by. I’m always caught by envy at this moment. Watching the world go by. Of how lucky they are to live here. I know this will be one of the few times we’ll sit still on our 5 day visit. As if they are aware of that fact, grey squirrels approach us, they climb up Mr W’s legs, awaiting a handful of food. One makes it onto the back of the bench. Mr W smiles as he sees me in my element, wild animals so close and friendly in my favourite place. I glance over at him as he looks around and nods ever so slightly. In a single move, he sweeps off of the seat and kneels in front of me. The moment transforms, the city fades, and if he asks me to marry him, I do not hear it. The blood pounds in my ears, the traffic falls silent, there is only us. I start crying as he smiles from his grounded position. There is much laughter and crying and disbelief as I finally remember to answer his question. My trembling hand accepts the beautiful diamond ring while my voice remains caught in my throat. And just like that, the day comes back into focus. The squirrels have abandoned us. People walk by. The taxi’s rumble by. 

I start my engaged life by calling out to two people passing by. My voice is not playing ball and I sound like a strangled banshee. They ask me to repeat myself. “We’ve just got engaged, will you take our picture?” Forever captured, is me shaking, blotchy faced on that bench. Amazing. 

Peeling ourselves from the bench, we head to brunch, steak and eggs for him, bellini for me. The shaking has not subsided and, besides telling the taxi driver, the world does not know what has happened. It carries on despite my world having changed forever.

Before leaving for our trip, several of my colleagues all but bet money on the engagement happening in New York. With exclamations of “Of course he will, it’s your favourite place in the entire world.” And despite my and his insistence that it wouldn’t be happening, they would not stop. It would seem I’d be returning to prove them right. After reflecting on that, we spoke about how he proposed. All was not as it seems, I had inadvertently ruined his initial proposal plans. It was to be under the Christmas tree the night before. But he is laughing. He says it does not matter, that the opportunity in the park was perfect for us. Both laughing, relaxing and drinking it all in. 

I often think of this moment in time. So much of our now married life is planned. Weekends. Social events. Holidays. Schedules are the order of every day. What our engagement reminds me to do is sit, stop and listen every now and again. It’s in those moments we find ourselves again. It is those times that everything around becomes white noise and we find our way back to everything truly important in our lives. 

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.

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.

Memories 101

When lightning strikes, its effects are said to be almost invisible, a spider webbing of a injury, no real discernible outward scars. It’s said to burn your insides.

Memories hit like lightning. Coming for you whether you try to avoid it or you welcome it’s blast. Heating your heart and soul with its warmth. It happens so sudden that your emotions are released in their truest and most honest form.

I’m laid here, late, in bed. And BOOM, memory floods into me of a moment over 12 years ago. Sitting with a friend outside Central Park, New York, plastic container in hand and a fork in the other, eyes looking greedily at the cheesecake before me. I literally feel my mouth watering at the yester-year mind-image of that snack. In a quick second I went from moving my hand with fork towards the NY goodness to flattening my hand against the plastic of the lid and slamming the container closed as a huge engulfing sneeze shot its way out of my body. It was over in a literal very fluid second. And I quickly recovered to begin my delicious treat… all the while my friend looked on bemused. Something along the lines of me wanting to protect the food from whatever my body was going to divulge from nose, throat, lungs had produced a swiftly executed, almost choreographed, move that ensured complete safety of the Precious. She laughed. I laughed. And we carried on.

I’ll never forget that very small moment, between my friend and I, between the cheesecake and my nose and between me and NYC.

Lightning.

And, oh, that cheesecake, what dreams should be made of!