Tag: travelling on your own

Is Travel Worth the Trouble?

It’s been said that we travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us. As I faced my most recent travel trials, I had pause to reflect on this and wonder if it was true.

I enjoy my life at home. Fortunately, I have no reason to want to escape it. I’m retired; I live by the sea; my friends and family are nice; the climate is good and there’s little danger. But I’m often tempted by images of other beautiful landscapes and stories of different cultures and find myself hurtling towards another trip, just to experience more.

When we’re travelling, we’re learning, we’re adjusting, we’re seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling new things. That’s where the statement proves true. Life is bigger. And even when there’s challenges, as often there are, it’s worth it.

On my way to Croatia from Sydney, I hadn’t even left Australia before I faced my first one. A one hour stop in Perth grew into twenty-one hours due to a mechanical problem. Six hours waiting in Perth airport turned into a scramble at 10.45pm for one of the few taxis around, an online search for a hotel (thank technology for smart phones and Booking.com), a late night dinner order, a one hour phone call to Webjet to change my connecting flight Rome to Dubrovnik (I can’t praise Webjet more highly for sorting this out for me), an email to my travel agent to cancel my first day’s arrangements and another hotel booking for my midnight arrival in Rome. By Sydney’s clock, it was 2am by the time I was able to rest. I had achieved what I needed to, despite not normally functioning well at night, despite being afraid of failing somehow, despite not having anyone to share the stress with. I went to bed feeling it was all par for the course and proud of myself for managing. When my fellow travellers and I congregated at the gate for the flight the next day, we felt friendly and exchanged stories about the night, the connections, the reasons for our trips. We were unified and while waiting for our luggage in the almost deserted Rome airport, we helped one another activate our eSims and gathered in a group to make our way to the not-so-easy-to-find airport hotel. There was a feeling of camaraderie which somewhat compensated for the vexation. As a solo traveller I find myself magnetised to smiling middle-agers (usually women) when I need support. A one-minute connection often resolves a problem or boosts my resilience.

The next day, on hearing that an airport ground-staff strike in Rome (that followed the nationwide train strike) would mean my luggage might not get loaded, I stuffed essentials and two days’ worth of clothes into my carry-on daypack and headed back to the terminal. The check-in guy was reassuring – Don’t worry about it, he said in his thick Italian accent. So I chose not to. I had done everything I could to prepare for the worst and still felt optimistic about the best. When my luggage appeared on the Dubrovnik airport carousel, I was elated and excited again about my holiday. I had notched up my resilience level and learned I could cope. I was in a new land, and it was worth it. As I stepped into the sparkling Adriatic Sea and swam as the sun went down, I counted my blessings and acknowledged that life was indeed, not escaping me.

Next post, I’ll share my trip to Croatia and Slovenia, recommend some fabulous fun Must Do adventures and share my take on joining a small group hiking tour. It wasn’t all easy, but it was all worth it.

Arrival in Dubrovnik

The Joy of Facebook Groups

We all know that Facebook can be both friend and foe. It can be the most fabulous connector and tool for sharing, and it can be a dismal platform for self-aggrandisement and unkindness. But since I use it in a positive way and have great success with it, I want to share some of my joy. In the last few years, much of that joy has come from Groups.

Living in two areas, one in Sydney and one down the south coast, I’m lucky to be included in two area Facebook Groups. Both are full of locals spreading news, asking questions and helping each other out. Sure, there’s the occasional sarcastic comment or harsh judgement, but mostly, it’s a source of information and generosity. I’ve found a cleaner, a handyman, and a gardener by asking for recommendations. I’ve heard about the dangerous intersections and local dramas, lost dogs and found rings, where the pizza van is and when the markets are on. I’ve read stories and shared stories of my own. I feel a part of the community and would encourage anyone new to the area to join.

An inspirational Group I’ve joined is Solo in Style: Women over 50 Travelling Solo and Loving It! It’s a convoluted name but it’s a great support network. Women share their journeys, not their whole holidays as they might with their friends, but as situational sisters, offering tips and warnings, asking questions like how to pack super-light or how to handle being placed in a back corner by a disrespectful maître de. Travellers ask how to explore a place most efficiently and get given advice so good I find myself making notes. Emotional support is offered when someone is lonely, and fearful newbies are encouraged and congratulated. Experienced soloers share their knowledge and it’s much appreciated. It’s a community of well-wishers and every woman in it is evolving.

The latest addition to my Facebook Groups is Toyota HiAce Australia. I recently bought a HiAce I’m planning to fit out as a camper, so I’m finding this niche group so helpful and a real treasure trove of ideas.

I’m a member of writing groups too, of course, and even a photography group.

It would be easy to while away the time scrolling through them all, but I don’t. I join in when I’m interested, or when I need something.

Facebook Groups connect us with like-minded people and allow us access to knowledge, experience, and support that we wouldn’t have otherwise. I think they’re great. What about you?

Blending In or Standing Out

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Just because I feel like a local in Udaipur, India, doesn’t mean the locals think I’m one!

I’m at ease here, relaxed and bouncy as I walk the alleyways and say Namaste to shopkeepers. I smile and they return the grin. My head wobbles in reply to theirs, a conversation in itself. But I know I stand out. They’re looking, watching to see what I do, hoping I’ll stop to buy or give them a chance to talk about the cricket or tennis. They love us Aussies! They’ve all got a relative or an Australian story.

When I sight-see like a tourist, I mingle with the Indian tourists. They’re having a good time, always: couples, young families, extended families. Their language is soft. They chatter and laugh. We admire each other, for once again, I stand out. Sometimes I ask, may I take your photo? The girls pose, just like in any other part of the world. The men proudly hold their children – and the kids are so cute! But they often approach me first: can we have a selfie? I always oblige and grin at the camera. I’ve even been passed their toddlers for a special photo, as if I’m royalty.

I’ve been to two pujas, Hindu prayer ceremonies. I like to integrate and immerse myself in the culture and I’m rewarded for my efforts. I buy a garland for 50 rupees ($1), a tiny price for such an intricate floral work. I take it up the stairs, leaving earth behind, and barefoot, enter the temple. I sit on the floor, cross legged and try to get comfortable. I return the looks of worshippers and smile. They smile back. I copy their actions and stand when they do. I clap and line up to give my offering and accept the holy rosewater in my hand. I act like I sip it but I don’t. I do pour it over my head and run it through my hair. I enjoy the bells, the chanting, the drum and the finger-cymbals. And the people love that I’m there. I can see it on their curious faces. When I go outside, I get the rock-star treatment. Grown men are the most bold: can we have a selfie? What can I say but, of course!

Cows are sacred here and roam the streets. In some areas, there’s too many and I feel sorry for them. They’re thin and eat rubbish – literally; I saw a calf eating a cardboard box. People throw out food scraps for them but it can’t be enough. Here in Udaipur, though, they look okay. Today I saw a pile of chapatis in a feeding spot. I touch my fingers to my lips and pass the kiss to the cow, as I’ve seen locals do. I wish it well! It doesn’t look too sure!

It’s harder for me to cope with the dogs. There’s so many street dogs and hierarchy is everything. The tough ones, the intimidators, get the little food that there is. Small fights can be heard too often. Last night I was watching a dog from the steps of the temple. He was pressing forward onto the street, clearly terrified, with his tail wrapped firmly under his bottom. He started to bark at nothing in particular, but facing the traffic. I so wanted to comfort him but didn’t dare.

This morning I took the toast from my breakfast in the hope that he’d still be there and I could offer some kindness. He was curled up in the sun on a platform at the temple. I broke the toast and handed him a piece, moving and speaking as gently as I could. He was looking at me dubiously when a beggar-child approached. She looked at the toast and pointed, then touched her mouth. I understood this language and asked, do you want this? She looked back to her mother who was sitting on the steps. The mother nodded at me. I handed it over. A man came over and softly said to her, thank you. She turned to me and said it with a smile. I was glad to give her some coloured pencils and notepaper I carry for this purpose, as well. The vast difference between me and that child’s mother does not escape me.

Fortunately, beggars are greatly reduced in this country. The prime minister, Mr Modi, is doing a fine job. Education, including the removal of false teachers, health, including free care for those on the poverty line, jobs, including bringing in villagers to clean up the roadside rubbish, and free food from vans parked around the hospitals, are all a part of his programme. Let’s hope he gets voted in again, despite the corrupt forces gathering strength to get him out and renew their own power. See, I’m even interested in the politics! I really do feel like a local!

But my time here is temporary. I’m an observer and I’m observed. I’ll never know what effect I might have on someone’s day or path, just by the interaction. And vice versa!

Namaste.

Aussie Road Trip

My Blog covers four categories: Matters of the Heart, the Creative Well, the Writing Journey and Take a Trip. This Post is going to cover all four.

My most recent adventure was last weekend when I took four days to drive 1200km in regional NSW. I stopped in Goulburn, Gundagai, Leeton, Cowra, Bathurst and Lithgow before returning home to Coogee.

Firstly, I’m in love with Australia so my heart was feeling warm and full as I drove past bone coloured grasses, cereal crops, green-manure crops and woodlands. Iconic  gum trees, bark hanging off their trunks in long strips, lined the roads. When I was close enough, I watched the funny antics of the sheep, terrified, as my vehicle slowed, into a mass migration of a field, tiny lambs in tow. I felt sad that these sweet creatures have had to suffer so much on the live-export ships and glad that my voice has joined with so many to stop the barbaric practice. Obviously, I feel the same way about the cows; Black Angus’s dotted green hills, calm and still as a Gruner painting. Somewhere between Gundagai and Leeton I had to stop to let cattle cross the road: not in a frantic bunch but one by one, as they grazed by the side of the road, looked at me as if to say, ‘What are you doing?’ and casually stepped in front of my car.

All these images fill my creative well, giving me inspiration and recharging my delight in my surroundings. One of the three characters in my novel-in-the-making is an Aussie woman who derives great joy from exploring her Australian environment and captures it through the lens of a camera. I wonder who she takes after! I’ll be doing more of these trips – in the name of research – so that I can develop this character in full.

There was another reason for this trip: this same character loves the show McLeod’s Daughters. She’s watched every episode, laughed as the girls fell in muddy dams saving a calf, cheered as they sheered sheep through the night and cried at the breaking of their hearts. So, when I discovered that some of the actors were gathering for a reunion at the Roxy Theatre in Leeton, I felt I had to go and check it out. It had very little to do with Aaron Jeffery the man, and a lot to do with my character being in a fantasy romance with Alex Ryan, the character!

Following your heart and your curiosity, exploring outside your normal field, and going on a trip anywhere, opens your mind to look outwards, learn and expand your view of the world.

I learned on this trip that Gundagai has a whole lot more history than a bronze dog sitting on a tucker box. The sculptor, Rusconi, was gifted in masonry work, developed and promoted the marble industry in the area and made a model Italian Palace that stands 1.2m tall. It sits in a room in the Tourism Office and is an astonishing masterpiece. I also learned that the aboriginals, the Wiradjuri people, warned the early settlers not to build on the plains near the river as they were prone to flood. The settlers ignored the advice and in 1852, the town was swept away overnight by a huge torrent of water. A group of Aboriginal men in their canoes, saved about forty people from the branches of giant red rivergums and roof tops. I’d recommend Gundagai as a place to stop for a day.

I learned that Leeton, a place I’d never been to, has a wetland that is important to the Wiradjuri people and is an essential stop for birds that migrate all over the world. Leeton is also full of citrus orchards.

Driving from Leeton to Cowra I discovered that you can drive for hours in regional NSW without passing through a town big enough for a coffee shop. I was glad to have my emergency thermos full of hot water and my own tuckerbox, Aussie traveller essentials.

I learned that I’ve been to Goulburn so many times that when I arrived for lunch at my favourite café (Harvest – next to the park) it felt like home and I was reminded that I love staying in country motels and having breakfast in bed, something I did with friends’ families as a child.

In summary: I went on the trip because I LOVE regional Australia (and maybe Alex Ryan). Also, because to be more creative, I need to step outside normal life. To develop more ideas for writing I need to research, and to go on a trip is to wander and wonder, and that’s one of the most rewarding parts of life.

And then to write about it, is to add to the joy. Writing a Blog means I get to re-live my journey and think about some point to it all. The point is, to suck every skerrick out of the life you’ve been given. And to have a reason to keep going.

On Your Own

To anyone who claims, “I could never travel on my own!” I’d like to say, if you’ve got no-one to go with, just try. Travelling on your own is great. It may be scary, relying purely on your own judgement, decisions and actions. But assuming you survive, that’s a rewarding feeling. It may even be lonely, occasionally. Briefly connecting with friends and family through WhatsApp or social media will give you that loved, brave feeling again. We live in an age of easy communication and sharing. Use it.

But being on your own means your time is your own. You can leap out of bed at 6am or drink tea until 9am. You can stop to eat as many times as you like or as soon after breakfast as you can manage. You can walk quickly or sit leisurely. You can linger in the art gallery and skip the museum.

If you’re driving, there’s no one to blame you or get cranky when you take a wrong turn, take the shortcut that’s a big fail, or just get completely lost. There’s also no-one to navigate which means, especially in Ireland, that you need to ask a lot of directions from locals. (Their signage is so confusing you just have to ask.) Having a reason to talk to locals is always a plus. When walking, I’ve had people walk me to within sight of my destination. People are generally friendly and sociable. Just be careful not to ask the person who looks like they’re running late for a meeting.

You can people-watch as much as decency allows. This is great if you’re a writer, especially if you can hear their conversations as well. Watching people be happy makes me happy. Seeing people smile makes me smile. I’ve heard some great lines while sitting in café’s and occasionally I’ve heard a conversation that’s really made me appreciate being on my own. Lack of conversation between a couple can have the same effect.

People will talk to you as a single. There’s other singles (don’t be shy, just open with something obvious and you can quickly tell if you want to keep chatting or not) and a huge number of couples. Those that have run out of conversation delight in talking with the new person. One will usually make a comment or ask a question. And then it starts. I’ve had conversations with a farmer, business owners, English tourists, Irish locals and yesterday, a woman from Byron Bay, Australia, who also loves travelling alone. Some of these conversations even lead to email exchanges. An Irish woman, dining in a restaurant with her father, started talking to me as she sipped her after-dinner hot port. We were almost best friends by the end of it and I asked her to look me up if she ever got to Australia. She wrote her email address down with the description, “the mad kelpie lady.”

There are many more advantages, but sharing how I like my own space, own bathroom, own bed is probably too much personal information.

The highlights of travelling on your own are: you set the agenda, the timing, the place, the conversation, the solitude and the choices.

What’s not to like?