A Trip to England: From Londoner to Tourist

"Does it feel funny being back?" my friend asked.

I had been away from England for nearly seven months. Arriving at Euston station after a wedding in Manchester I was blown away by the amount of people. It wasn't just the quantity that was mind-boggling but their speed. Like a flock of birds they changed direction, miraculously not knocking into each other.

When I lived in London I was like that. I sped everywhere, dodging in between everyone without stopping. But after so long away, I felt like a tourist, unsure of where I was or where I was supposed to be going. I stood in the wrong place, I stepped the wrong way, mirroring on comers instead of letting them pass.

How could I have lived here for so long? I wondered. It seemed so overwhelming and stressful. It took me a few days to recover my old pace.

The other big difference was the cold. It was 10 (50F) degrees at night when I left Mallorca. Arriving in Manchester the pilot said it was 0 (32F) outside. I thought I wasn't going to cope. I thought I was going to step outside and freeze mid walk. However I had come equipped and between my sheepskin lined boots and feather puffer jacket, I was surprisingly cosy.

Did I feel like a tourist?  I took photos of the frost and crunched back and forward through the ice like a little kid. The cold seemed like a novelty. I suppose it's fun when you know it's only temporary!

It was great to see friends and family after so much time. There was so much catching up to do. But when someone clinked my glass and said,  'Welcome home!' it seemed quite odd. Was it still home? It didn't feel like it. Not quite.  

I arrived back in Mallorca last night. I've already been for a driving lesson, chatted with my local grocer and called on my neighbours for help with a sticky door. It's 19 degrees (66F) outside. There's not many people about. I like it. I feel at ease. Safe.  It's been less than two years, but it already feels like home.   

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A City Break: Things to Do in Madrid...

A while ago my lucky husband won some travel vouchers. Last month, realizing they were about to expire, we booked a trip to Madrid.  I had been once before as a teenager but my memory of it was hazy. 

We stayed at the handy central location  of Principe Pio, in an ancient hotel with green walls and bathroom tiles so old fashioned they had gone full circle and become stylishly vintage. 

We didn't spend much time in our hotel room and were locked out of it completely on day three because the booking agency had made a mistake and only booked two nights! 

Some heavy rain was the only other setback but I solved the crisis of wet feet (I had holes in my shoes!) by buying some very sparkly trainers. We wore rain ponchos after that and waved maps around in case there was any one left who hadn't realized we were tourists. 

Madrid overflows with culture. We began with an essential visit to El Prado and opted for the €4 audio guide to educate us on the masterpieces by Goya, Velazquez, El Greco and a gazillion others. I hope to come out with something knowledgeable at a dinner party one day, although right now I can't think of one fun fact! 

Erm... did you know that Goya painted his nightmarish Black Paintings directly on the wall of his house? ... I hope the rest of his decor was more cheerful. Oh dear, that's all I've got. Never mind. 

Getting Cultured at El Prado

Drunk on Art, we hopped on a tourist bus to get a sense of the city. I love a tourist bus although I think the audio guide could have done with more of a story line. It was basically date of building, architect, date, architect, date, architect... the views were fantastic though and we feasted our eyes on the cityscape.  

I loved Calle Alcala and in the evening we went up to the Azotea (rooftop) at the Circulo de Bellas Artes nearby for a glass of wine. I would recommend heading up there in the day though to take more advantage of the panorama.

                

View from La Azotea de Bellas Artes 

Our Madrid pass made our trip extra enjoyable as we didn't have to queue up anywhere. Lovers of opulent chandeliers, ornate clocks, frescoes, overwhelming wallpaper and mismatching carpet will love the Royal Palace. 

I recommend popping into the Cathedral next door too because it has the best ceiling ever. It's bright and colourful and if I had a kitchen with old wooden beams I would want to paint something in between them just like it!

                

Colourful Ceiling at Almudena Cathedral

I also have to add El Museu del Traje (Fashion and Costume Museum) to my list of recommendations. Opened in 2004 it has a fascinating collection of clothes from the 17th century through to the 90s. You get to see just how uncomfortable women's clothing have been through the ages. I'm talking about all those horrible corsets and crinolines! After months of wearing comfy shorts I can't even bear to wear jeans at the moment. Maybe I'll just line my rain poncho with some fleece and wear that this winter! 

                

As for food?

                

We hid from the rain at famous San Gines chocolateria for chocolate and churros. At San Miguel market we tried everything from fresh anchovies, to spicy sausage, to octopus, sardines, eel and weird barnacles which resemble dinosaur feet (Percebes). 

Percebes - barnacle or dinosaur foot? 

At San Miguel we also drank lots of sherry in the sherry corner: amontillados, olorosos, finos... (I began my sherry love affair in Jerez and Sevilla last year and it's still going strong.) 

I may not be a city girl any more or have any inclination to move to one but I do wholeheartedly recommend a visit to this vibrant capital for all those after a city break!

The Story of an African Adventure - Chance meeting with adventurous author Roxana Valea

It was obvious as soon as I arrived in the plush beach club that I wasn't supposed to be there. It appeared to be a networking event for Germans. Not any old German, but rich German business men.

Conversation dried up seconds after I shook each hand. It didn't take long for people to discern I wasn't a CEO of a huge company and move away to talk to someone who might be. 

It was supposed to be a social meet up, an event forwarded by a friend of my husband's. I may as well have stumbled into a board meeting.

We sipped our free champagne and did our best to engage the stiff audience. It was so awkward it was funny. A woman wearing a blazer complained of the heat. I could have suggested she took it off, but I don't think she wanted to upset her uniform. We hadn't got the memo about the uniform. Everyone was wearing the same: suit jacket, shirt, smart jeans and loafers with no socks. In 35 degrees heat. Rock on.

We might have gone if she hadn't arrived. Dressed in a pretty blue and white dress and sparkly earrings, the woman seemed brighter and bubblier than the whole party put together. Hearing she spoke English I headed over hoping for a bit of relief from the stilted small talk. I didn't know that this woman and I were about to become firm friends. That we would end up touring Mallorca together and sharing ideas for our future books.

From the very first conversation, my husband and I were gripped by Roxana's stories. She told us how she had given up a stable job in Switzerland to travel through Africa with two strangers she'd met over the internet. The eight month journey in 2002 had taken her from Morrocco to Nambia, travelling through war-torn countries and desert, surviving threats from corrupt official and enduring the most challenging modes of transport!

She must have told these stories a million times, and yet she delivered them with so much enthusiasm and humour. I was utterly hooked. We invited her to watch a football game in a much less posh tapas bar the next day. Being the sort of person who says Yes, she came.  

Roxana gave me her book a week ago. It's called Through Dust and Dreams, and recounts her journey through Africa. I was slightly concerned. There's nothing worse than someone you like giving you their book only for you to discover it's rubbish or badly written. You then either have to pretend to like it or tell them you haven't got around to reading it yet. I told myself that if her verbal storytelling was anything like her written, it couldn't be that bad!

I'm relieved to say, her book didn't disappoint. Her journey is epic. As a reader I thoroughly enjoyed being taken to places I doubt I will ever go in real life. Places I feel curious about, but am quite happy to learn about from the comfort of my sofa! Through deserts, down rivers, piled into boats and squeezed into trucks, there are moments of great exhaustion and great elation. 

It isn't just the story of a demanding physical voyage, it's also a story of an internal one. She describes the tensions between her travel mates and the struggles within herself. 

"Africa taught me that as soon as you give up trying to find a solution, it finds you," she writes. Many of the lessons she learns on her journey will make you pause to reflect. Some might even inspire you to start living a little differently!

When I find a book I love, it gives me great pleasure to share it. If you're in need of an adventure, if you want to escape to another world, if you want to switch off from the order of your life, go ahead and buy it. But let me warn you, this isn't the Africa of safari parks, this is far more gritty and uncomfortable! 

Enjoy!

Find out more about Through Dust and Dreams: The Story of an African Adventure 

1 Year in Mallorca - what I've learned so far...

1. Mallorca is the most beautiful place I've ever lived.

2. Which is why over 13 million guiris visit every year. Guiri means foreigner.  More specifically one who look like a lobster after a day in the sun. Mallorca is so full of foreigners people jokingly call it guirilandia.    

3. Mallorcans have a love / hate relationship with their tourism industry. They appreciate tourists are great for the local economy but the loud, messy, drunken tourism, they'd rather do without.  Magaluf is referred to as a British colony, or a jungle. Arenal is the German equivalent. Both places evoke disapproval from the locals.

4. Mallorcans are a rare species who keep themselves to themselves. Out of all the new friends I've made, from a group of thirty who are predominantly Spanish, only 2 are from the island. These 2 think their fellow Mallorcans are a closed bunch.  

5. I once asked a Mallorcan, "How long do I have to live here before I can call myself a Mallorcan?" He answered: "You will never be a Mallorcan." Apparently it takes at least three generations to produce a genuine Mallorcan.

6. People from the rest of Spain also feel foreign here. That said, it already feels like home to me. 

7. Most of the colonising of Mallorca was done by King Jaume. Either I, II, or II. Pretty much every important castle or church was founded on top of a Moorish equivalent.  

8. The only moors left on the island are white people in fancy dress who re enact the epic battles of the Christian Vs Moors. Spoiler alert! The Christians win every year. In every town.

9. Mallorcans love a medieval festival. In fact they love ALL festivals. At any given moment some village somewhere is celebrating something.

10. Everyone I've met here agrees that Mallorca is paradise and realise they're lucky to live here. 

11. Most of these residents aren't very good at picking up their dog poo however, even though their dogs are very small and produce very little poos.

12. The Balearics are more animal-friendly than some other parts of Spain. Bull fighting was banned here in February. Yay.

13. Cycling is huge here. Pro rider Bradley Wiggins described the roads of Mallorca as a 'scalextric set for cyclists'. 

14. In Winter many businesses close for as much as four months at a time, with some shops only opening on Tuesdays when the cruises come in. I thought these quiet months might be rubbish but it was actually wonderful to have the place to ourselves.   

15. Out of all the wonderful months I've enjoyed over this last year, one of my favourite months was October, when I expected it to grow cold but it didn't... and when the last of the tourists were flying home, but I knew I was staying!   

 For more pics follow me on Instagram @emilybenetauthor!

Writing books and riding bikes - April in Palma

Writing Process - Submitting the novel

It's been less than 24 hours since I sent my novel off to my agent. DUN DUN DUN! Let's hope it passes the test. 

It doesn't always. During the 8 long months it took to sell Spray Painted Bananas (published as The Temp), I wrote 70,000 words of a novel set in a storage facility. A few days after submitting it, my agent rung to say, "the thing is... we don't really like it."

That was that. Months of work gone up in smoke. Nothing's wasted though. Like anything, the more you practice, the better you get!

Travel  - Cycling Tour in Palma

While my novel waits to be clicked open in an inbox in London, I've got plenty to do for SeeMallorca magazine. Last week I joined a Palma On Bike Tour. If you're visiting Palma soon, I really recommend it. It takes the pressure off you having to prove your map reading skills. The tour involves a leisurely cycle ride around the historic centre with a friendly guide dishing out interesting facts.  

For instance: Did you know the island of Cabrera is nicknamed Cannibal Island? It's because during the Spanish War of Independence they used it as a prison for over 9,000 French prisoners, and due to storms and arguments, the Spanish didn't send over food for three months... you can guess the rest.  

Any historical horror writers out there looking for an idea? You're welcome! 

You can read my full review of the tour.

Entertainment - Time Travel TV show

I'm currently in love with a Spanish series called El Ministerio del Tiempo. It's about a secret department of the Spanish government whose job is to make sure the past doesn't get altered. There are three main characters from different centuries who go back and forth in time sorting out problems created by agents who make mistakes and by illegal time travelers not following the rules.

In one episode El Cid gets killed 20 years too early, when agents from the 60s distract him while filming him. The silly agents had been tasked with getting footage of the famous Spanish knight fighting, to help Charlton Heston prepare for his role as 'El Cid' the 1961 movie, starring himself and Sophia Loren. 

I love shows that remind me how many different ways you can tell a story and how many thousands of stories there are to be told! I'm getting excited about what my next novel will be about... although I'm afraid I doubt it will involve time travel!

My New Tuesday Blogging Habit

In my blog workshops I've always emphasised the importance of sticking to a theme and writing consistent and valuable content. If you want to grow a blog following, then that's what you've got to go! 

However after a fall out with blogging and a long break, I've decided to simply write what I feel like every Tuesday. Perhaps I should call it Diary of a Writer in Mallorca? I don't know. For now I'm just going to with the flow!

When Moving to Mallorca: Expect Visitors

We didn't have a leaving party when we moved to Mallorca. We didn't want to make a fuss. After all, what if it didn't work out? 

Instead, we just packed up our things and left quietly, promising  to stay in touch, wondering to ourselves how long before we saw our friends and family...

It turns out when you move to a place like Mallorca, people come to visit you!

In four month, we've had 16 visitors. Unlike in pricey old London, we've been able to offer them the spare bedroom, as oppose to the sofa in the living room. The extra space has meant each visit has gone very smoothly, because everyone has had privacy.  My advice on the visitor front is, only say YES if:

1. YOU LIKE THEM

When moving to a beautiful island,  people will inevitably want to take advantage and stay with you to avoid hotel costs.  Be firm. Or if not firm, inventive with your excuses. Only say yes to people you genuinely like, otherwise you'll feel resentful.

2. THEY ARE NOT FUSSY EATERS

You don't want to be traipsing around restaurants for hours because your guest only eats food cooked in avocado oil. If they are going to spend more time picking tomatoes out of their salad than talking to you, think twice about inviting them. The ideal visitor thinks everything is DELICIOSO, like my mother-in-law. Ten points to her.  

3. THEY'LL CHIP IN

Your home isn't a hotel, even though you jokingly call it one. You must pluck up the courage to tell your guest if they take the proverbial wee wee.

I'm not writing from experience, it just seems like common sense. All our visitors have been much-loved, easy-going and generous. 

                 

There have been so many highlights. Having my brother over for 9 whole days was amazing. Getting to know my husband's childhood friend from Colombia via Australia was also special.

                

Only yesterday my mother and father -in-law left after a month's stay in which we popped over to the mainland. In Jerez we breathed in air sweetened with sherry, in Seville we caught a rare glimpse of spontaneous street Flamenco. My own lovely parents, auntie and uncle, and incredibly, my 92 year old Gramma, also came over for a week on the island to coincide with my in-laws visit.    

                

To be honest, I find myself quite bewildered to be suddenly sitting alone in such a quiet flat, which is probably why I'm scribbling this down.   

                

Surely I must be relieved to have some alone time?

                 

Certainly for my writing's sake, I do need to close the hotel for a couple of months. It has been tricky trying to squeeze in a thousand words here and there and it's quite likely I take on the Nanowrimo challenge in November (50,000 words in one month) to make up for it.

It's also been wonderful to have so many visitors, and it makes us feel like we haven't left everyone far behind. In fact, every time I go to the airport to pick someone up or drop them off, and not be leaving myself, it makes Mallorca feel a little bit more like home. 

Fear of Flying? No. Fear of Missing the Plane? Always.

I'm not afraid of flying, I'm afraid of missing the plane. 

On the days I have to fly, my shoulders freeze level with my ears, my stomach turns to jelly and I relive all those near misses of my childhood. 

As a family, we've spent our lives going back and forth between Spain and England. Whatever the hour, we always had to stop off at our shop on the way to the airport. There was always a chandelier to dissemble / assemble/ pack or deliver. It was always a race against time. 

We would arrive at the airport at the skin of our teeth (except for that time we arrived a whole day late). My Mum would drop us off at the airport, then speed off to the car park which always seemed to be miles away. Her parting words were a variation on: "Save Yourselves! Hopefully we'll meet on the other side!" The thought of my Mum not making it to the other side filled me with dread. 

My prefered way to fly is alone. My husband is Colombian so customs is always stopping him, because, you know, obviously all Colombians are drug dealers. Oh wait, no they're not! ( That joke just isn't funny people!). So far, I'd say American customs are the most unwelcoming. In fact they should just give us foreigners all orange jump suits so at least we can get into character of the criminals they think we are. 

I like flying alone so I can be in control of my time. My tradition is to eat a BLT at the airport. My tradition is under threat because all the cafés insist on adding chicken to what is a perfectly good combo. Isn't one dead animal enough? 

At least on long haul flights I can watch all the soppy films my husband refuses to watch at home. On a recent flight to America, I kicked off my shoes, wrapped the fleecy blanket and selected The Fault in Our Stars. 

In the seat next to me was a little boy, about five years old. When I saw him, my heart sank. I thought he might spend half the flight crying. In the end, the only person wailing was me. 

Have you seen that film? It destroyed me. I sobbed the whole way through. Lucky for me I had noise cancelling head phones so I didn't have to put up with my racket. At one point I noticed my little neighbour, crayon frozen in the air, staring at me in alarm. 

My condition deteriorated after I ordered the wine and chocolate special. I arrived at my destination looking like I'd been stung in the face by a jelly fish. 

Having said all that, my family is all over the world, so thank goodness for planes!

Feel free to offload your flying-related traumas in the comments section... 

A Chicken goes to Copenhagen (and crosses the road with ease)

I'm ashamed to think I almost said no to my husband's invitation to go to Copenhagen for the weekend. He was there recording interviews for a documentary on Noma but said he would have free time to meet me in between. In fact, I did say no at first, my pathetic excuse being, won't it just be another cold city? Well, I'm writing this blog on the plane back, feeling utterly invigorated after my trip.

 

The truth is I've always been such a chicken. I have never travelled alone or have ever wanted to. I have never roamed across a foreign city by myself, at least not for very long. Half the reason I went travelling around South America with my friend in 2007 was because I knew if I got into any problems, at least I could speak Spanish.

 

My first approach of panic came after my first couple of hours alone. I'd been searching for the National Gallery, but my map reading skills were so poor I'd managed to walk in a huge circle and had ended up back at the Botanical Gardens. I didn't want to see plants, I wanted history and art. Mostly, I wanted to find the place I'd set out to find so I wouldn't feel this lump of failure in my chest. Not knowing what to do, I walked a little way into the gardens, but I didn't get far before a woman stopped me.

 

"Is that the exit up there?" she said, in an American accent. I said it was. I also said I was lost and did she know where the National Gallery was. It turned out she wanted to go there too. Both her map and map reading skills were superior to mine and five minutes later we'd found it. The woman was from Chicago and one of those open, friendly people who laugh easily. We had a great afternoon and ended up drinking wine together inside a lively foodie market. I met my husband later that evening, happy that I had not retreated to our apartment early.

 

 

On Day 2  my map reading was more successful. I walked until my legs ached and felt triumphant every time I found what I had been looking for. It was like a huge treasure hunt! I had never thought about visiting Denmark before and here I was alone with my map, in its beautiful clean capital city full of vibrant red brick, tiled roofs, pointed church spires and people riding about on bicycles.

 

 

I got lost again on Day 3 and felt the return of panic. A walk to the little mermaid, which should have taken twenty minutes, took me over an hour. At one point, I thought I might hit Sweden. I found her in the end. She's actually very small and doesn't really have a face, but the satisfaction for me, was in locating her.

 

The bonus of taking an hour instead of twenty minutes was that I arrived for the changing of the guards, where a band played some beautiful music. I felt a surge of positivity. It occurred to me I didn't have to spend my whole life being a bad map reader, that I could and was getting better!

 

This is the first time I've ever gone to a country where my husband has been working on a job. I'd always imagined it was going to be like that film, Lost in Translation, me hanging about in a hotel too intimidated to go out. What a boring chicken I've been!

 

After this weekend I feel really excited about life and all the countries there are to visit. Of course, Copenhagen is a great place to start if you're a scaredy cat like me. Everyone speaks brilliant English and there's a green man at every crossing. But with a bit more map reading practice, I'll soon be ready for the next difficulty level. I just wonder where he'll be called to next...

 

 

 

 

 

 

MY MONTHLY NEWSLETTER

Colombia: Mission Accomplished

The time has arrived for me to try to sum up what an incredible time we've just had in Colombia and persuade you to pack your bags and head off there soon.

 

I'm sitting here daydreaming about the country that ranks third in the world in biodiversity. It has every possible landscape, from glittering Caribbean beaches to lush green hills, deserts, and of course, the staggering Andes mountain range. It's a beautiful place with friendly people, delicious food, diverse music... so if the first thing you think of when I say Colombia is cocaine, then I urge you to think again.

 

To those who never fail to make idiotic drug-related jokes around me when I mention my husband is Colombian, please accept a firm but necessary slap on the cheek and let me redirect you to a suitable airline which will sort out a route to the country that has stolen a piece of my heart.

 

OPERATION COLOMBIA

 

Our Mission in 5 Steps:

 

Step 1 - Makeover

 

Mum showing off new nails!

Colombians are a glamorous people (none more so than my elegant mother-in-law) and looking good there is inexpensive. On arrival in the capital of Bogotá my Mum, Auntie and I headed straight for one of the many beauty salons for a makeover. A manicure and a blow dry will cost you as little as five pounds, and you'll feel so pleased with the result that you'll obviously tip all the lovely people involved.

I convinced my Mum (easily) and my Auntie (more resistant) to dye their hair and we all had our hands and feet done. It felt brilliant and my Auntie, who arrived grey, and left dyed and highlighted, looked at least ten years younger. Right now, I must share the feelings of the many Colombians living overseas... Seriously, how will I surive without the pampering?

Step 2 - Meat the Family

 

While on our travels, my family met a diverse range of relatives many of which we joined in the eating of meat presented in baskets, on plates and even wrapped up in plantain leaves. Other recurring delights were 'plátano' (sweet plantain) 'patacón' (fried plantain) 'frijoles' (beans) and I must mention the traditional Bogotano soup 'ajiaco', which my husband's grandmother insisted on cooking even though she was in great pain at the time and should have been in hospital being treated for a stomach infection - Thank you!

 

Step 3 -  Say Goodbye to your Comfort Zone

Sancho Panza and Don Quijote

My Dad and Uncle soon earned the nicknames Don Quijote and Sancho Panza respectively, though neither of them had ever ridden a horse or a donkey in their lives. The opportunity to change that came when we reached Valle de Corcora in the Quindío department, where wax palms, the symbol of Colombia, soar up into the skies.
 

 

Neither my Mum nor my Auntie could remember the last time they'd ridden a horse, or were entirely sure they ever had either. I'm proud of all of them for stepping out of their comfort zones! It was a picturesque journey through the valley and there was no trouble as the horses were on automatic and knew exactly where they were headed.

Of course, that wasn't the only time comfort zones were left behind! Did I tell you about the time we were on a raft sailing down a river and a thunder storm broke out?

Rafting down El Rio La Vieja, Quindio 

Step 4 - Shopping Made in Colombia

 

By all means go to Colombia with a half empty suitcase, but don't expect to fill it with clothes as clothes are far more expensive there than in Europe and North America. We mostly shopped at artisanal markets stocked with beautiful handicrafts.

 

These Coffee Pickers wouldn't last long!

We also bought lots of coffee after an interactive tour on a coffee farm, where we donned typical coffee picker outfits and demonstrated to the guide our lack of talent for the job in hand. Sad Fact: Coffee pickers earn less than ten pounds a day, and a third of that is subtracted for their lunch. Support them by buying fair trade Colombian coffee!

 

At one point we were followed by a man selling hats... is it obvious?

 

 Step 5 - Grow as tall as a Wax Palm Tree

 

There were tears at the airport. My in-laws had been the most generous and enthusiastic hosts and we all felt sad to be leaving them. In my last post I said the mission was to bond with our Colombian family and create happy memories, and in that the sense our mission was definitely accomplished.

 

But I think we went far beyond our mission and in our own different ways, personally and collectively, we've all grown through our experience. In fact a little bird tells me my parents have caught the travel bug and are considering visiting my cousin in Nepal next year... Don Quijote on an elephant? Well, I'm sure Cervantes mentioned it somewhere...

Operation Colombia (with ALL the family)

I've just handed in an edited draft of Spray Painted Bananas to my agent and I'm now leaving the country so she can't hand it back!

Destination: Colombia
Mission: To bond with Colombian family and make happy memories.
Participants: Just me. And my Mum. Dad. Auntie. Uncle. Oh and husband, although he's on another flight which will take him on the scenic route. Bad luck husband.

Profile and Travel History:

MUM: A keen walker, she is often found on the Camino de Santiago, Spain. She likes to recall her trip to Morrocco in the 70s. I like to tease her about it.

Hopes: To see a Capybara
Fears:  She has packed all the wrong clothes
 
DAD:  A keen walker, with exceptionally long legs, he is also often on the Camino de Santiago, where he is known to have once lost a shoe. He visited China on business during the 90s, bringing back gifts of faux designer t-shirts, and there is photographic evidence that he has also been to Mexico.  

Hopes: To see Cartagena de Las Indias
Fear: Altitude sickness


Mum, Dad, Auntie on the Camino de Santiago - photo by Uncle

 

AUNTIE: Another regular on the Camino de Santiago. She recently travelled to Nepal to visit her daughter where she did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel. On her return, she discovered she had contracted the travel bug.

Hopes: To Ride a Horse
Fears:  Riding a Horse

 



Adventurous Uncle and Auntie in Nepal

UNCLE: Ditto Camino de Santiago. He always boasts the best equipment for every climate and is the most likely to have researched our upcoming destination. He also journeyed to Nepal to visit said daughter, did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel.

Hopes: To see glorious countryside
Fears: Mosquitoes and getting kidnapped.

 



Amazing Backpacking Days with Rachel Surtees!

As for me, this will be my third trip to Colombia. The first time I went as a backpacker, the second time to meet my future parents-in-law and now as confirmed daughter-in-law bringing four member of the family! What could possibly go wrong?

Hopes: That everyone has a great time!
Fears: Being unable to say 'no' to street hawkers, my Dad talking proudly about the conquistadors... and anyone falling off a horse!