This is a special one because there is nothing in the world I love more than traveling. And writing. And tea. But let’s get to that later. My earliest travel experiences are all located deep within my mother’s desire to kidnap us during vacations regardless of college work/assignments/internships. Nothing was ever a good enough excuse to not travel. She was a stubborn woman alright but when it came to vacations or weekends – her enthusiasm to pack and take off with the family was simply villainous. It didn’t have to be vacations all the time, the woman would grab anything – a two day weekend even, to force us into uprooting ourselves from home to some godforsaken place on top of some hill that she ‘discovered’ in ‘Top vacation spots this season’ in Femina magazine.
Before I very humbly start giving credit to this woman who shaped in me a desire to travel, it must be said that back then I dreaded these trips. I would have a ton of school/college work that even if I hadn’t the faintest intention of doing I would still have liked the option of doing. Plus it cut into all my time of sitting at home all day in front of the TV. Also, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about sharing all that space with the family for 6, sometimes 8 hours in the nausea producing ambassador cars. It continues to smell stuffy and guilt-like, these ambassador cars.
The one good thing that seems to have come out of these forced travels is my resistance against travel related sickness. And that I love traveling, so there, two things. Also, traveling now as opposed to then just means time away from home and people and home-people. Just the anticipation of list making and packing makes even bad travel experiences seem worthwhile. I love packing. It makes me feel independent in some really sad way. I like looking for small plastic containers to put shampoos in. I like rolling my clothes instead of folding them because that means more space in the suitcase. Yay. I like that all the money that I need is with me, in my wallet. I feel responsible for myself. I like taking care of myself. I like that I only have to worry about my bags and my things. I like that the seat next to the driver’s seat will always be mine. I like that I can stay out as long as I want without having to worry about curfew and phone calls, I like that I don’t have to look for another person’s toothbrush because I know exactly where mine is, I like that I can stare at bookshops and booze shops and other shops for hours together because I don’t have to worry about anybody else getting bored.
In short, traveling is very liberating because all the time in my day is mine and I can spend this time wearing spaghetti tops and shorts and nobody will so much as glance in my direction. I can eat beef and bacon and drink like a pirate and nobody will ask me questions. Sadly, I have never traveled alone. More sadly, it is not because I can’t.