Tag: travel memories

Scotland, where do I start…

Where do I start…

I sort of disappeared didn’t I? An avid reader actually thought something had happened to us. But I promise day 13, 14, and 15 of our trip ended quite simply and without too much to talk about. It was also our wedding anniversary on day 13 and with a few disappointments in our plans for the day it was easier to focus on us and enjoy the day for what it was than what it could have been. 

Over the coming weeks, I’ll be re-visiting our trip over on my instagram and facebook pages with all the photos I have that I think are worthy of sharing, there are over 2000, and I’ll be updating all the daily itineraries so you can benefit from our learnings. There will also be a mini Lake District blog coming soon and I’ll be discussing just how successful being ultra prepared was. 

So there is a lot in the pipeline and I honestly can’t believe it has been a week since I’ve written. In a way it’s been nice to have a break, as you can imagine writing while travelling did not leave me with a lot of time to relax. It was often the case that the spare hour or so that I had in the evenings, between accommodation arrival and bedtime was purely given over to recapping the day. At times, it felt like a slog, one evening in particular I was puking up my dinner (suspected sun stroke, haha yep, in Scotland) and then back to writing ten minutes later. But most of the time, it really did help me wind down and process the day in a really special way. 

Moving forward I’ll be able to pick apart the days further which will bring the memories flooding back. Which I am really looking forward to. Scotland really was a picture perfect experience. Every twist and turn of the roads gave new light and insight into the landscape and not once did we hesitate to turn round to peek at another roadside waterfall or river. It is safe to say we are addicted!

Down to restraints of weather, time and sometimes physical ability (hi sciatica, you utter tw*t) we actually only managed about 90% of our visits which isn’t something to sniff at but I am rather hard on myself for not achieving the desired 100%!

We also found that a lot of the businesses we were aiming to visit had changed their timings at the last minute or were closed due to unforeseen circumstances. As you can imagine, having missed some bits of this trip means I have already started building a ‘Scotland 2.0’ itinerary and it is already incorporating places we want to go to again. I’ll be discussing these in my ‘Highlights of Scotland’ blogs (also coming soon). So strap on those reading glasses, for it is going to be a whirlwind, much like the windy conditions we are experiencing in Essex today, for the Scotland information coming your way is going to be full on! All in all, I estimate there will be approximately 25 blogs to entice you to try this trip for yourself. 

This month is proving to be really quite busy for Mr W and I. We have a birthday party for a rather special lady to plan, a trip up north to negotiate, a few days out in London, work trips and friends to catch up with. November too, is getting rather full! In the coming weeks we will be setting our travel plans for 2023 (crazy!) and the logistics that they will present.  

Something I have realised in the last three weeks is just how special travel is to me. It is a given that I find travel special having started this blog and taking you through my history and present relationships with worldwide travel. And yet, this trip has ultimately taught me so much about myself and how my (and Mr W’s) tastes have changed. Scotland has opened my eyes to what travel can be moving forward and how you travel ultimately being such an important factor of the trip. So until I really get stuck in to the future blogs, I wanted to say a huge thankyou to Mr W for all the support on this trip, it was NOT easy, sciatica is no laughing matter and on day 2 I was extremely close to coming home, all the driving and all the hysterical laughs that he pulled out of me. It’s also prudent to point out how much trust he had in me in planning this trip. It was enormous in scale and I’m grateful we came out the otherside with more love than ever. Although I’m sure Mr W would gratefully have thrown me off a cliff at some points. 

And then, there are the thank you’s to you all. The people who continue to read about our lives and those who share and invite new people to read along. It’s given me a sense of purpose back and isn’t that just a wonderful thing!

Oh! And one final little preview, I will be reviewing all of our accommodation and giving you all some foodie tidbits. As always I will be completely honest and that means sharing the good and the bad. Once the blogs mentioned in this post have been written they will be linked down below and also on the original ‘NC500 Day XX’ Blogs too. I’ll incorporate all the pre-packed food and the packed essentials into these blogs so you can determine for yourself how worthwhile it all is.

Till then… 

Running from the rain

This is going to be a relatively short post. 

I am so very busy putting together the last bits for our Scotland trip and yet I found myself reminiscing about a trip from a long while ago. 

In 2008, my mum took my brothers and I to the Dominican Republic. She has been before herself and always wanted us to go. It was, until that point, the furthest we had ever been from home. The weather was sticky and hot. The beaches were stunning. The pool was cool. 

And boy did it rain. Every other day the heavens opened, the floodgates opened and it rained cats and dogs. It wasn’t itty bitty rain, it was big stair-rod rain that forced its way through clouds and air to the ground. The lush greenery was evidence of its great power on the island. 

Whenever it rained, sun loungers would be thrown aside as people grabbed belongings and ran for shelter. Bodies would burst from the pool and into the dry doorways of hotel rooms. 

And it wasn’t until I started planning for Scotland that I saw how funny this practice was. 

People would get out of the pool because the rain would make them wet. 

Hysterical. 

Whilst planning Scotland, I have had to think about every eventuality when it comes to food, weather and clothing. We have hotels booked every night but to keep costs down we are taking about 90% of our food for the fortnight and have needed to be quite inventive in our approach to every travel aspect. Something we will be doing for the first time is wild swimming. We have invested in wetsuits and as a bigger girl this is something that I would usually avoid. Wetsuits are unforgiving when it comes to lumps and bumps. And yet I had a fuck it moment. 

The other day I was looking up the details of Loch Maree and made a mental note to pack a woolly hat to wear with the wetsuit so no heat escapes through my bonce. Good eh? I then made a small prayer that it wouldn’t rain while we were swimming… 

See where I’m going with this?

Heaven forbid it rains while we are in a body of water. 

And there you have it. We have come full circle from the Dominican Republic to the Scottish Highlands. Lovely.  I really think situations can be determined by your approach. Why run from the rain? Clothes dry, puddles evaporate, may as well make the most of it!

Naked side of the Maldives

Even though I never expected to marry I was quite sure that if I ever did I wanted to go to the Maldives on my honeymoon. 

I have discussed in past blogs how I’d never thought of marriage growing up. Whether it was a disinterest, lack of faith in the dating scene or even not seeing my worth in a relationship with another person, it never was something I’d considered. 

And then there was Mr W. 

He knew how important the Maldives were to me. My dad had shared photos with me of a trip he had taken there when I was very young (and impressionable) and I yearned for those turquoise waters and pure white sands. 

As our wedding loomed and Mr W and I played the wedding planner game, the honeymoon seemed to always float around at the back of our minds. My mum took care of the car to the airport hotel, the hotel had been booked well in advance and being all inclusive all we needed to do was pack. That in itself was a strange experience. We packed two days before our wedding and the bags were picked up by the car without any involvement from us. 

With all the plans, paperwork and payments to be made in relation to the wedding the honeymoon quite literally took a backseat. In the lead up to our wedding life had been hectic but with six weeks to go there wasn’t too much left to do and I looked into the island resort we’d call home for 10 days. Adaaran hudhuranfushi looked idyllic. Sweeping vistas of the shallow lagoon. Tree lined sandy pathways. And a spa!

Not being one that likes the thought of being naked and then touched by a complete stranger, I had always run away from the idea of visiting a spa with Mr W before. Knowing this was the time for complete indulgence, I asked Mr W if he would like a couples massage. He was worried I was going to hate it, but reassuring him, we booked a facial, foot scrub and full body massage. What could possibly go wrong?

The day of our wedding came and everything went as planned. The military planning had paid off. After an interesting experience at Heathrow we landed into Male and jumped on our speedboat across the Indian ocean to our bliss. On arrival we met the tail end of a tropical storm and the heavens opened in a dramatic way. Unexpectedly we heard someone calling my maiden name and we were whisked off on a golf cart to our private water villa. Arriving in darkness had its merits. We would wake up the next morning and see the island wake up right in front of us. 

Having booked our honeymoon for October meant we would have hot weather with occasional showers of rain. As neither of us are sun worshippers and we planned to spend a lot of time in the water we reasoned that we couldn’t get any wetter. We awoke to blue skies with the strong winds of the season pushing clouds towards the horizon. 

Breakfast was held in a restaurant at the start of the private pier and still tired from the wedding and flight, we sat in silence taking it all in, the views and the food! Nervous about the massage afterwards I had a simple breakfast of eggs, beans and toast. And then we took a slow walk to the spa centre. 

The spa itself was absolutely stunning. It was placed in a large round wooden building with a conical pitched roof and I had to pinch myself yet again. There were pools of water which trinkled with drips and flowings of water. Having previously booked, a lady came to say hello and say we would be led through soon. I took the opportunity to ask her to tell the masseur about the sores I had on the back of my ankles. I had worn my wedding heels for 9 hours before giving up the ghost and begging for some of the flip flops we had bought for guests. The balls of my feet had had enough and the spongy-ness of the flat shoes felt like heaven. I was able to dance on for another 45 minutes without any issue. But 2 days later, the real damage had been revealed. The straps of my shoes had cut into my heel and left open sores. I needed this area to be treated really carefully. 

Ironically, this worry about my ankles had made me forget about being naked in front of others. We were led into a private room with two beds. The room was absolutely beautiful and as it followed the circular shape of the building the walls led out from the door at a diagonal angle to nothing. The fourth wall was gone and all we could see was plants and sand. The inside was being invited in and it was so calming. Beautiful. 

Covering ourselves in towels and climbing onto the bed we were soon joined by two women. They were both absolutely beautiful and I felt my nerves reach new heights. They asked us to sit at the head of the beds, while they kneeled on the ground before us with big bowls of warm water and swirling oils whose scents rose up to meet our noses. Petals floated around our feet as they were guided one by one into the water. After spending over 12 hours on the plane and an additional 2 hours travelling upon disembarking our feet were most definitely needing a vacation of their own. 

Trying to relax, I keep glancing at the view. It still did not feel real. Looking down I saw the ladies hand full of glimmering crystals of which I thought I looked quite rough. BEfore my brain decided to catch up with my eyes, her hand cupped the rock salt and took it to the back of my ankle. Between the pressure of her hand and my ankle the rock salt exfoliated the already sore skin. Throwing my head back and muffling a scream, I awaited the moment it would stop. Prepared for the onslaught on the next foot, I gripped the edge of the bed and gritted my teeth. Did I really think my feet would thank me for this? 

Afterwards, we were asked to lay on the beds under our towels. Having kept my knickers on I didn’t feel too bad but having such a bad relationship with my body image over the years made me really anxious. Laying them face down allowed me to pretend I was somewhere else and I actually started enjoying the pressure of the massage. The muscles that had been tense since the flight started to ease. Very nice indeed. My calves were loose. My back was free of its stiffness. And I was unsure if my now very relaxed neck and shoulders would be able to hold my head up. 

Soon we were asked to turn over and our faces were treated to moisturiser and their own mini rubdowns. I wonder now whether I had started to smile at how wonderful it felt. If I did, fingers and thumbs soon pushed it out of shape. A wet folded washcloth was placed over my eyes and then the lady continued to massage the front of my body. 

A very strange sensation started to flood over my chest. From under my makeshift eye mask I could not see what was happening. I started to wonder if my chest was bare to the elements and the ladies’ gaze. I could not tell. To this day I do not know. I started to feel tense and anxious again, but only in my mind, my body felt loose-limbed and flexible and finally felt ready to leave the wedding behind and start our honeymoon. 

Upon dressing and saying goodbye, we walked out into the blinding sunshine and wandered afresh along the paths and explored the island. Pausing only to study the plants of the vast kitchen garden the island had planted, we walked hand in hand, relaxed and happy as man and wife. 

Placeta de Les Verdures

There is a town on the island of Majorca.

The town is called Alcudia. 

Alcudia town is walled.

Within these walls there are winding streets. 

On one of these winding streets is a square. 

This square is called Placeta de les Verdures. 

By night, it is quiet and keeps only the company of three trees.

By day, three restaurants throw open their doors, take out their tables and chairs and stretch out their arms and awnings for the people in the know. The sun peeks between the leaves on the trees and darts over the edges of the white sun shades. The space is small and yet unashamedly inviting. 

Whenever we visit, we are shocked to find a table. This place is popular. You can feel the hum of the town in the air, you can hear the laughter, conversation and clink of glasses around you and yet the very effortless nature of this place feels beyond serene. 

The food at most is a reflection of why I love Spanish food. It is simple yet elegant, fresh, tasty and wholesome. It is the type of place you can order a beer and sip it as slow as your heart desires. You are not rushed and you are not certainly bothered. 

I often think of this small square when my mind needs a place to escape to. In my memories I am sitting in the dappled shade, sipping on my soda and enjoying the very easy pleasure of having a meal with my family. It is as if this square is built for stillness. Outside of its alleyways and walls there are market traders, tourists and locals going about their day. If you really listen you can hear their rushed ramblings, their strolling shoes and their feverish flip flops. Otherwise, this square contains within itself a calm and seclusion that is hard to find in this world. 

All life is here. Going about it’s usual every day. And yet it is a place you can get lost in your thoughts without being disturbed. It is a place where you can escape from your sofa, at home, 1200 miles away.  

Man with the big broom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penguins and Cockatoos

With the celebratory weekend behind us, I’ve been reminded that the last Jubilee was in 2012. I have been scratching my head in befuddled bemusement as I simply do not remember how or where I was during the event. I’ll let it go as it was a big year for the UK and I’m sure it got caught up in the melee. We hosted the Olympics and the summer was spent fawning over the many medals Great Britain accumulated. It was also the year I booked my huge 2013 trip to Australia and therefore spent the majority of the year crossing off days on every available calendar, bent over a computer researching and planning and squirrelling money away like Scrooge himself.

It’s as I remember Australia that I am drawn back to two particular memorable high points…

I spent the majority of Day 3 in Melbourne soaked with salt water and smelling of sweat and sun cream. Nice image, I know. The sun beat down unforgivingly and if I paused to notice I’m unaware of it now. With 7 stops on our tour around the Melbourne coast we were witness to our first Australian delights. Most of the ‘delights’ were made more so by my forgetting that they were included in the pre-booked tour; the wildlife centre with a $10 cuddle from a huge 9yr old Koala being one of these. As we scoured the scorched bush for Wallabies we were greeted with a chilled out Kangaroo and it slowly dawned on me what we have got ourselves into. Australia had arrived rather under our feet than we had arrived in it! After all, once a wallaby simply hops out of the bush and grabs your extended hand to have his breakfast, of pellets not human flesh, you rapidly forget yourself and drown in all that is Australia. Additional unexpected experiences came in the form of Woolamai Beach and the typical ‘Ozzie surfer’. I didn’t know whether to run into the surf or help them with their surfboards. OKAY OKAY, I ran into the surf, rather a typical Ozzie than an Essex girl any day. Although this Essex girl did stare… only slightly, but overcome by the ‘small’ waves and I was back on track.

The beauty of this place is how dedicated they are to protect their country and all its inhabitants. Witness to this first and foremost during the penguin parade on Phillip Island; we were told to sit, not stand, and to see but not capture (on camera) the unique little penguins that raced up the beach to their nests. This was all to prevent ‘spooking’ the little waddlers and allowing them to live a semi-normal life. Who else can say that on their rat race home there are hundreds of people watching you? Unfortunately, a lot of our fellow tourists didn’t find the same respect for our lil black and white waddlers and stood up, blocking our view and preventing their homecoming, whenever they could. I’m proud to admit that out of anger for lack of viewing space, but more out of respect for the penguins, I told one ‘serial stander’ to SIT DOWN. I realise now it’s my own compulsive need to be a rule follower that gives me the proverbial balls to approach people in this way. ‘Look mate, the penguins are just trying to get home, so sit down, yeah? There’s a good chap.’ Otherwise, I really don’t say boo to even a goose. After a vast majority of the crowds had seen their first glimpse of the lil guys they upped and left, so we were able to move down to the front and witness the amazing spectacle within about a 5 metre distance. It makes me smile even now to remember the extra time we took to drink it all in. Above us the jewels of the Southern hemisphere sparkled and trailed across the sky and in front of us the waters gave birth to these funky little creatures. And I couldn’t stop smiling.

The smiling continued on the next day, so easily you would think it had been pinned to my cheek bones. Set off by the morning sunlight pouring through the surrounding mountain ash trees in the Dandenong Ranges the cockatoos on my arms were a stark white colour that shone as bright as sunlight on snow.  And we were due to feed them their breakfast.  Our coach driver John was kind enough to mention that holding the large, metal feed tray out, up high and level would prevent their sharp beaks from clipping at their favourite part of the human hand. Seeds, food. Hands, not. But what he neglected to say was just how heavy six or SEVEN of these birds could be! With a thick hooded jumper around my shoulders and my backpack straps also acting as a barrier, their claws clung to me as they squawked and shrieked to get at the seeds. It was hard to focus on anything but them once you saw their plumage and sunlight yellow crests up close. Their eyes were constantly on the lookout for more ‘victims’ entering the feeding area with a silver tray held high and glancing around us, I 

remember my mind taking a snapshot. The sun streaming through the giant trees reaching upwards of 75 metres, the birds, the fresh air and the happiness all flooding the space. 

Australia had welcomed me with sunlight, surf, style and a few small scars from my new white and yellow friends. 

Walk like an Egyptian. To and Fro. To and Fro.

The very first time I paid for someone else to travel was a big birthday celebration. 

My mum was turning 40 and had always wanted to go to Egypt. It was both of our first time in the country and I picked the Sharm El Sheikh Red Sea resort. We spent a week in the intense sun, cooling down in the huge pool and exploring the area. The area was built for tourism, it was not a cultural trip. Therefore we spent all but one day at the hotel. But it is one of my fondest memories. Times were simpler. 

Nowadays I long for the trips where I used to do nothing but people-watch and my movements were based on the sun’s position in the sky. I’m in no way saying I don’t enjoy the travelling I do now. It’s amazing. Just vastly different.

A trip now begins with a plan and long days filled with exploring and discoveries. It’s rewarding and beautiful and I wouldn’t change it. 

Even when Mr W and I have booked the quiet, relaxing holidays, we’ve each felt the ‘itch’ to get up and move around. Is it anxiety fuelled? Is it the need to see the world? I’m no longer sure. 

What I do know is when the time comes to sit still, we’ll be able to do it. 

My first time in Egypt was as unplanned as they come. When booking the trip I was given flight information, but told my hotel would be allocated on arrival. There were two 4 star hotels and one 5 star hotel in the possibilities and I counted my lucky stars that we were given the 5 star choice. I remember it so vaguely, a small all inclusive hotel with two pools. The smaller of the two was heated and therefore drew in my mum like a moth to a flame. She’s not good with cold water and when attempting to get into the bigger, colder pool one day decided slower was better and retreated down the pool stairs one tiny step at a time. I sat hidden by my book, laughing and watching everyone else laugh too. The noises, well shrieks, bounced all the walls of the surrounding accommodation and am sure drowned out the call to prayer that sounded nearby. 

That’s how we spent our days, until the sun fell behind the nearby mountains. When you are that close to the equator you can reach up, block the sun from view behind your thumb and literally trace it moving towards the horizon. It’s incredible. 

A mile from the resort we found the tourist nighttime hotspot. Restaurants, shops and a few clubs. It was the main hub for the entire hotel complex and came alive at night. There was so much going on you could not turn your head fast enough to take it in.  Shisha bars with all types of flavoured tobacco to try. Souvenirs of Egyptian cotton and drawings on papyrus. The locals offer you 12 camels for your hand in marriage. The open air was still warm, the lights glowed orange and allowed the night to darken to their deepest black. We spent hours wandering until it was time to leave. The last stall sold hand painted canvases. Large expanses of bright colours showcasing the wonders of Egypt; sand dunes, pyramids and camels in abundance. We each bought one, which we rolled securely and placed inside a sturdy cardboard tube. They both still hang in our homes.

As we left, waving away the throng of taxi drivers who called to us for ‘cheap taxi, cheap taxi’, we spoke of the lion painting that had caught my mum’s eye. She’d loved it but didn’t know where to hang it at home. We walked the mile back to our hotel, made it all the way back to our room, sat down and she gave me the look. The look that said, ‘I know where I would put the picture’. 10 minutes later we were on our way back to the market. Ignoring the taxi drivers and the calls from the bars to ‘please come in for a drink’, we head back to that last stall. Where she bought the picture and we walked the mile home. 

That picture still hangs in my mum’s home. My childhood home. Every time I see it, I remember the four miles of walking it took to buy it. I remember the laughter. The to and fro and to and fro. 

It’s when these memories pop into my head that my longings for the ‘simple holidays’ return. Sitting still, under the sun’s glare and a simple night-time walk can have even more impact on my life than I’ll understand at the time. 

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!