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You’re reading Home Truths, a newsletter from me, Susy Smith. I am many things: a parent of grown-up kids, a dog owner, a gardener and a compulsive mover of vases (I worked for years as a stylist). I am also a writer/editor and former Editor-in-Chief of British Country Living Magazine, for whom I still write a monthly column.
I write here on an eclectic mix of subjects about life, and a few of the lessons I’ve learned along the way. Subscribe now for free and join the community! You can also support me and my work by upgrading to a paid subscription at any time – for either just tap the button below.
I am not a happy traveller. There are those who look forward to holidays because they like the idea of discovery, of travelling to a place they have never visited before. For me, it is the complete opposite: I have no sense of adventure. I hate the idea of journeying into the unknown, arriving in a place of unfamiliar surroundings, curious customs, strange people, somewhere, I worry, that I will not feel comfortable or at ease.
I should say that this is nothing to do with getting older: I’ve always been like this. I have often quoted the line to friends “I don’t mind if I die, never having seen the Taj Mahal”. I realise this makes me sound rather feeble and my excuse is that these feelings probably come from my upbringing.
Once my parents had moved from England to live in Northern Ireland, they rarely left the place. For years, our summers and weekends were spent in a caravan near the coastal town of Ballywalter on the Ards Peninsula. It was a short drive from our home on the outskirts of Belfast and a safe and familiar destination where we always knew what to expect and had the same routines.
It seemed that, on the few occasions we ventured any further than this, and by that I don’t mean anywhere outside Britain – that would have been a step too far - things would always go awry in one way or another. My parents would be stressed before we left, while we travelled and when we arrived at our destination. By the time they had relaxed, it was time to come home again. At the end of the holiday, as we pulled into our driveway, my mother would let out a sigh of contentment and utter the immortal words, “Ahhhh, this is always the best part of a holiday, coming home. Let’s get the kettle on!”
So, I blame my parents for never taking us anywhere exotic (they couldn’t afford it and holidaying abroad was uncommon for ordinary families when I was growing up) and for not allowing us to see travel as something exciting and enjoyable. Mind you, none of my three siblings seem to feel the way I do, so maybe, after all, it’s just me that’s such a scaredy cat.
My anxiety begins with the packing: what clothes should I take? Will I be warm enough? Will I be cool enough? Will I need anything smart? How many pairs of shoes/sandals should I include? What type of travel plug is required? Etc. etc. etc. I know I should read the guidebook in advance to find the answers to all these questions, but because I block out the idea of going until the last minute, I then have no choice but to frantically look everything up online days before we leave. Then there are all the other things to plan for and remember: immunisation jabs, medication, travel insurance, airport security, car hire. It all seems such a palaver that I inevitably end up wishing I was staying at home.
One antidote to this was to create a home from home, which is exactly what I did in my early thirties. I went on holiday to the Dordogne area of France and, like many others, loved it. I could speak the language enough to make myself understood, the local customs were different enough to be interesting but not so baffling that I couldn’t work out what was going on and, most of all, and I’m not sure the French would agree with this, but, to me, the countryside felt so English.
We ended up buying a gite that we co-owned with my sister and her partner for around 15 years. We spent many happy holidays there with great friends and, eventually, once we all had children, with friends and their families. I loved knowing what to expect every time we went out there and, apart from, or indeed perhaps because of the fact that the same old patches of damp and the overgrown garden had to be dealt with on each visit, it definitely felt like a home from home. Ironically, I eventually got fed up with every ferry trip and drive there requiring a car-boot-full of tools and decorating materials and began to wish we could just go somewhere we could put our feet up and not have to do anything, so, in time, we sold it and it was back to vacationing in new places.
So, here we are again. My husband and I are about to leave grey and miserable Britain for a week in the sun. I liked the idea of this when we discussed it way before Christmas, but as the date of departure gets closer, all my old anxieties are reappearing. We are going somewhere we have never been before and, worse still, it’s not where we intended to go at all!
All I wanted was daytime temperatures of 21 to 23 degrees, a nice hotel, a sunbed, pool and/or beach, lots of books to read and good eateries nearby where we could enjoy a drink and a meal in the evening. We were thinking the Canary Islands. We’ve never been, but know many who have and it felt like it would fit all my requirements.
Then a friend recommended we visit the local travel agents, who, he said, he and his wife have used for years and have always found excellent. Following their advice, we found ourselves sitting with father and daughter team, Bruce and Shona, who asked what length of flight we were prepared to undertake, what we wanted to do while we were there and how much we had to spend. I had my say. They agreed the Canaries would be a good bet.
Then my husband mentioned star-gazing and snorkeling, Bruce’s eyes lit up and he changed tack completely, coming up with a suggestion I considered to be decidedly left-field, but where we could get both those experiences. “And I don’t’ know if you’re interested, he said, “but they also have great bird-watching and nature reserves they love to share with you. It’ll be the start of the migration to Europe while you’re there, so plenty to see.” That nailed it.
So now we’re going to Jordan. When I asked my husband where exactly it is, he pulled up a map and showed me. “You do realise” I responded, seeing its close proximity to Israel, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia, “that every country it’s surrounded by is, in one way or another, a warzone!” “Oh, stop worrying,” he said “it’ll be fine.” And apparently there are many who agree with him. Friends I’ve mentioned our holiday to, say that either they’ve been to Jordan and it’s marvellous or they’ve heard from others that it’s a great destination for a holiday.
I don’t doubt them, but, what with star-gazing in the desert, bird-watching on the nature reserves and snorkeling over coral in the Red Sea, I’m not sure there’s going to be much time for lying on a sun lounger. Add to this, a trip to the country’s must-see, astonishing archaeological site of Petra with its designation as one of the seven wonders of the world and we’re realising that a week just isn’t long enough. We may have to go back. Mind you, at least then, it won’t be a new and unfamiliar place………
Tell me, are you also a reluctant traveller or do you relish the idea of visiting somewhere new and unfamiliar, the more unusual, the better? Leave a comment by clicking below
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I'd say 6-7am and then back after sundown. Ramadan this year doesn't start till 23 March and I imagine you're going before then, so you should find plenty of food and drink (though alcohol might be an issue. Sometimes they serve it in teapots because they know foreigners will want it even though they are not meant to serve it. Does that give you another worry?!
Hi Susy,
I have to disagree with Lynne. I love your honesty. I don’t think you come across as not recognizing the privilege that you have in taking such a trip. I personally find that sometimes we can’t be honest in those situations because we are so aware of our privilege. I particularly worry that a trip won’t live up to our expectations, especially if it is an expensive one. I hate the idea that I might waste what I’ve been given. I wish I could be excited before the trip. Mostly, I think about the stress of the travel and all the readying that needs to happen at home. This was most intense when my kids were little but still continues to this day. The saving grace is that I usually have a wonderful time and have memories to savor forever. If not, I at least have a good story. Bon Voyage! Thanks for the post.