Cute foto by jek in the box
It is my belief that travellers are born and not bred. You either love it or you hate it - there is no grey area. I cut my first tooth on foreign soil, learnt to ride a bike on an island, became a Japanese foreign exchange student as a teenager and later kicked up my heels in many a bar in Europe as a twenty-something.
I even took a job in an airport while paying my way through uni. There is something about airports that I find intoxicating - the hum of those giant engines, the relief of tired passengers as they fall into the arms of waiting loved ones. If walls could speak just imagine the stories those walls would tell...
So it is thirty years almost the day since my first plane trip. The last 4 years of travel has been mostly for business, the other 26 years purely pleasure. If you think that this qualifies me as Packer Extraordinaire, you would be wrong. So, so wrong. In fact, my mother called this morning to ask me what I'm planning to take on the plane, if I've started packing yet and whether I have bought insurance. Slightly embarrassing, but much needed. Thanks Mum.
No, I have not started packing but yes, I am thinking about it. I don't think that my failing comes down to a lack of lists. I certainly write many a list before I take a sojourn anywhere (I just love that word, incase you haven't realised. Sojourn. Insert blissful sigh). So back to the business of writing lists. I always write one. I always pack everything on my list, carefully inserting pieces into my suitcase and checking them off. I also name my suitcases, in much the same way that men name their cars. I'm not sure whether Big Blue will be accompanying me this time. Big Blue is an old friend. Mostly because I can shove more than the manufacturer intended into the folds, squish down the lid, lay on top of it while hubby zips it up and take comfort knowing she won't fail me.
Once in Rome I had left Big Blue at the train station luggage hold while spending the weekend in Capri. Upon collection I was dismayed to find that some crazy Italian had decided to empty a cup of coffee over her, before using the lid of the case as an ashtray and setting her alight, albeit only for a moment. Being the calm, rational person that I am, I screamed "I love what you've done with my bag" hysterically, before kicking a metal locker door and almost breaking my big toe. Big Blue (and I) both lived to see another day and she has since wheeled her way across many an airport floor.
It's decided. All that reminiscing has made me a little sentimental. Big Blue it is.
I even took a job in an airport while paying my way through uni. There is something about airports that I find intoxicating - the hum of those giant engines, the relief of tired passengers as they fall into the arms of waiting loved ones. If walls could speak just imagine the stories those walls would tell...
So it is thirty years almost the day since my first plane trip. The last 4 years of travel has been mostly for business, the other 26 years purely pleasure. If you think that this qualifies me as Packer Extraordinaire, you would be wrong. So, so wrong. In fact, my mother called this morning to ask me what I'm planning to take on the plane, if I've started packing yet and whether I have bought insurance. Slightly embarrassing, but much needed. Thanks Mum.
No, I have not started packing but yes, I am thinking about it. I don't think that my failing comes down to a lack of lists. I certainly write many a list before I take a sojourn anywhere (I just love that word, incase you haven't realised. Sojourn. Insert blissful sigh). So back to the business of writing lists. I always write one. I always pack everything on my list, carefully inserting pieces into my suitcase and checking them off. I also name my suitcases, in much the same way that men name their cars. I'm not sure whether Big Blue will be accompanying me this time. Big Blue is an old friend. Mostly because I can shove more than the manufacturer intended into the folds, squish down the lid, lay on top of it while hubby zips it up and take comfort knowing she won't fail me.
Once in Rome I had left Big Blue at the train station luggage hold while spending the weekend in Capri. Upon collection I was dismayed to find that some crazy Italian had decided to empty a cup of coffee over her, before using the lid of the case as an ashtray and setting her alight, albeit only for a moment. Being the calm, rational person that I am, I screamed "I love what you've done with my bag" hysterically, before kicking a metal locker door and almost breaking my big toe. Big Blue (and I) both lived to see another day and she has since wheeled her way across many an airport floor.
It's decided. All that reminiscing has made me a little sentimental. Big Blue it is.
