Been getting quite excited today about mine and Andrews June holiday to Barcelona. Not one of my “places I have to visit before I die,” places, but after seeing pictures of the Sagrada Familia (type it into google image search!) I was sold. It looks fascinating, full of the interesting little historical and religious tidbits I love I’m sure. Also Barcelona has the honour of being oddly linked to Doctor Who, with the tenth Doctors opening lines actually being “Hello, I…..ooh, new teeth, that’s weird…..so where was I? Oh that’s right! Barcelona!”
Anyway, that in turn got me thinking about holidays in general. I love ’em. Holidays for me were never excuses to lay out in the sun with your earphones in 24/7 – they were little adventures. Whenever I went anywhere with my parents we were off looking for places of interest – trying to see as much as we could in the time we had. And in an odd way that was relaxing, and I still find doing that relaxing. We had a few huge holidays – new zealand, canada – but mostly we went to France or Austria, or round England. There was always that holiday feeling, the morning that you set off. Did anyone else have that? Mum would always have a big plastic box of holiday bits and bobs sitting at the bottom of the stairs, things like coffee and kitchen towels and a cheese grater for some odd reason. And there would be the holiday thermos, and the holiday travel mugs – retro plastic things in mustard yellow and terracotta orange. You could tell it was a holiday when they were out. And we would always set off ridiculously early, the boot piled high with cool boxes and coats and suitcases, me and my sister in the back seat. The back was always so organised when we set off. I remember she’d have all her little bits organised her side, and I’d have my teddy by my side and my bag of magazines and doodling books by my feet, my walkman tucked in the pocket on the back of the seat in front and my little pillow with the dinosaur pattern on it to rest my head on. And a sports bottle full of squash! Always that. Yet I always remember despite all of that organisation in the back seat, by the time we reached our destination 8 hours later, there were sweet wrappers all over the shop, empty bottles, the bags had been emptied everywhere – it was a mess! And the smell. Eugh. That car smell, after being in it 8 hours it was enough to make you vomit. It didn’t even smell of anything bad, just car smell. But it got into your lungs througout the day and was unbearable by the end.
Yet I still have very find memoies of it all. Yeah I love holidays. I suppose I love them because they give me an excuse to do what I love all the time. Just going about visiting places of interest and learning new things and experiencing new things. That’s what I’d love to do for a job I suppose, but alas I don’t think such a job exists. Travel writing I suppose. Maybe I should do what Jack Black did in Gullivers Travels (for pitys sake don’t go and see that film!) and just lie my way into a travel writing job – yeah that could work!
Or maybe not.