Years ago, I traveled; and I loved it. However, when I look around my house, I feel like it was somebody else who went and did those trips overseas. I have photo albums full of pictures, journals full of places I went in my handwriting and souvenirs from all over... however I feel as though all this travelling was done by somebody else in another life - in another parallel universe. It wasn't me. Sure, I'm in those photos and I wrote those postcards to everyone and gave those gifts... however, it's been so long and those memories like faded, yellowing photographs in my mind.
I long to get into the world and travel across the miles and into another country, another culture and enjoy them all again. It's something I've missed over the years and I wish I could just jump on a plane with my passport stamped, boarding pass in hand and take off anywhere I liked just because I felt like a break. Being low on cash is a problem. So, I travel in different ways - through watching films and reading books - to try and fix that travel itch. I even wrote a poem about having the itchy feet problem called 'The Itch' and it was a great success in my writers' guild (however, I'll put it in to another post soon).
Every time I see somebody off at the airport, I feel a stab of envy that they are about to enjoy a fabulous trip to another country that I may never see. Then there's the people who I don't know who are going overseas too... their friends are happy - yet sad - to see them off too.
I remember a few years back, a group of Y-Generations were seeing off a friend of theirs to America. He was going to live there because that's where his new job was. One girl next to me burst into tears saying she'd never see him again. I said that she's lucky it's not twenty years earlier. On asking why, I said that the postage systems are better, there's the internet, e-mail, texting and Skype. She considered what I said and smiled saying that before she knows it, he'd be back for a visit and it'll be like he never left.
When I visited the UK, it was 1997. I found the place amazing and beautiful. My visit was seven weeks long and I made the most of every moment there; photographing everything I saw and buying souvenirs and books I thought I'd never find here (and sure enough there were a few I couldn't find anywhere!). However, while I was there, Lady Diana and Dodi passed away and I witnessed a country in mourning. I watched as the lines grew long to write in the gorgeous leatherbound books that were delivered to each city around England by the Royal Family so the people could give their own person condolences. I traveled to Cambridge to write mine and waited for about an hour in line. I placed a Sunflower at a pretty church in St. Neots where I was staying and said a prayer. But I was in Chester for the funeral; where you could walk down the street and it was completely empty. However, you couldn't get into London because it was full to capacity. After the funeral, the family I was staying with - the Berry's - and I went into the city of Chester and walked around to see what everyone else was doing. Main attractions with Diana's name on them were closed, one man who did chalk drawings at The Cross had people lining up to give him money for his breath-taking drawings of Diana in her Princess days. He had massive coffee tins filling with money as he worked. I even got a few photos of flowers that had been placed here and there before going to Chester; however the people didn't appreciate it, calling me a paparatzi (all because I had a Pentax Z10 at the time; a rather chunky kind of film camera). I still got the shots and I'm glad I did - as it's history that I'll most probably never witness again.
When I arrived home, I told my family that this holiday was most probably going to be in my memory for a very long time due to who died while I was there. It's hard for me to talk about Diana; even now. She was an important person in the world as she touched everyone in some way.
Strangely enough, I find whenever anyone travels, something very important will occur. The last time my folks flew overseas, Peter Brock died. They hadn't been told on the plane and I had to tell them when they next phoned from Canada. It was big news here and I had kept all the newspapers for my parents so they could read them when they got home.
I would love to travel again... be it near or far; it's the thrill of taking off and landing in another country. I love visiting places that aren't home, eating the food and living the culture for that little while.
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