Put me on my death bed right now and I would spend most of my time snivelling and trying to get sympathy. In between, if you were silly enough to ask, I would probably recount my life in journeys. Student debt to solvency, single to happily married, starting points, turning points, aspirations. You know, the big stuff. I might not mention which particular diet fads worked or didn't work. I may not remember that mistake I made at work which was not significant but for which I spent nearly an entire week mentally crippling myself. I would definitely not care whether on Tuesday 24 August 2003, someone had remembered to put the bins out.

And yet on a daily basis approximately 90% of my energy is ploughed into just those issues and the bigger picture is....well, a bit over pixelated.

This is fine, I reason. And perfectly rational. What is important however is not to let stuff I won't remember prevent me from finding the time to create the memories I will cherish.

And so....operation no regrets. Beginning with a travelling adventure. Eleven months, eleven counties, two backpacks, myself, my husband and the odd mosquito along for the ride.

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

Begin Again

I have to admit it. I am sick again.

Of course the difference, this time, is that I am not mid trek in a tent in the middle of nowhere and have the luxury of walls and a sofa and, crucially, a toilet. These things have never seemed so luxurious.

I send M out to enjoy some beers in town, but for my part, our plans are much loser (no pun intended) in Cusco and so we can juggle things around to allow me a day reading books between toilet and sofa without crushing disappointment or missing out.

South America, they say, is the puke and diarrhoea capital of the world, at least as far as travellers are concerned. Thus far I have poo pooed (no pun intended) this notion. Now I am beginning to see a glimmer of truth.  But it's a rite of passage as far as travelling goes, and an expected component of the overall experience so I swallow it (no pun intended) with relative cheerfulness.

The only thing is I am a bit worried I might be turning into our Spanish teacher's ex boyfriend.

Our lively, sparky teacher back in Santiago, Chile, told M one day in his conversational Spanish lesson, about a trip she once took to Bolivia. It was great, she said, but she wished she hadn't brought her boyfriend with her. He never wanted to do anything, whinged and clung onto her all the time and, worst of all, he was 'always sick'.

Apologies my husband. I do not mean to be your Spanish teacher's sickly ex boyfriend. But I will not cling, I promise.

Go forth, have fun. I'm OK, I have a book.

And a note to self...maybe the massive slice of chocolate cake should not be eaten quite the second there is a vague suggestion of being well enough to digest it. Perhaps just one more day of soup and herbal tea. Before starting on chocolate cake and pisco....
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