diversion...

I am going travelling so will be using my other blog address to share my wisdom for the next few months:

http://www.eleanor-round-the-world.blogspot.com/

ele x

Where don’t I want to go?

I have been doing lots of research on travel websites and blogs over the past couple of weeks, as I’m planning a 4 month trip around South-East Asia starting next month (which deserves a whole post to itself which I might get around to soon). In the course of my research today I came across an article entitled ‘Where don’t you want to go?’ I was astonished that so many people had dived straight in with a lot of negativity and bad-mouthing of places they had never been:

“I have never fancied Australia and there is nothing in the USA that I want to see”

“I have no interest in going to many places - Belarus, Albania, Saudi Arabia, large swathes of eastern Europe and Africa: it just doesn't really appeal.”

To me this kind of generalization of whole countries of even continents seems akin to racial stereotyping. I may be being a little bit harsh, but to judge a book by its cover or a country by its reputation goes against every natural instinct of a traveler. Almost by definition, if you travel you are open to new experiences, people and most importantly, places. If you didn’t want to see or experience anything different, you would never leave your own home!

Having said that, there are of course places that don’t inspire as much Wanderlust in me as much as others. That’s not to say I would refuse to go, but that there are many other places higher on my wish list. Topping my anti-travel wish list is India. For some reason just the thought of how crowded it is said to be in some city centres makes my heart beat fast (and not in the good way). But if I were to get over my fear and go I'm sure I would have an amazing experience and, if nothing else, overcome my fear.

I’m also not turned on by huge cities, and didn’t think I would enjoy Los Angeles. If I had listened to all the negative reviews I had heard about how superficial and vacuous it is I wouldn’t have gone and had the great time that I did. Yes, it was not the sort of place you would go to learn about Renaissance painting, but for a real cultural experience you cannot get any more authentic than a stroll along Venice beach or down Rodeo Drive.

So, while there are of course places that my not pull you in at first glance, my advice would be to not write them off without having been. Even if someone whose opinion you value highly tells you not to go somewhere, do not assume that you will have the same experience as they did. Give everywhere a chance and be open minded. Now where did I put that ‘visit India’ brochure..?

Money

As I get older, my relationship with money matures correspondingly. The more I travel, learn of different ways of life, and meet people to whom money represents different things, the more I have come to realise that I don’t like it. I’ll never be rich, and that’s just fine by me!

One of the biggest misconceptions of our time, which thankfully is now beginning to be disproved by many, is that money equates to happiness. I would almost go so far as to say that the inverse is true. Some of the happiest people I have ever met have been those who have very few material possessions but have a strong sense of community and family, and cope with the struggles of poverty supported by each other (a perfect example being Isaya, a ten year old Maasai with no toys who spends his days in the bush with a herd of cows who has the biggest smile I have ever known).

Conversely some of the most miserable, dissatisfied people I have ever seen are those where I am today: Monte Carlo. I am very fortunate (so some would say) to have a friend who lives in Monaco. As I write, I am in her apartment looking out over the harbour, with a view of the Grand Prix race track and the Palace of the Grimaldi royal family. I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, and I have enjoyed seeing my friend for the past few days. But if it weren’t for her I wouldn’t choose to come here for my holidays.

Beautiful as Monaco is; blue sea visible from almost everywhere in town, manicured gardens, elegant well-preserved buildings against a backdrop of towering cliffs, it’s just not for me. It is a country (or Principality to be pedantic) built on the cult of money. There’s no escaping it, and those who have it certainly don’t hide it. Perhaps it part of my Englishness, but I find talking about money and overt displays of wealth to be vulgar. People have no such scruples here. Every car parked in front of the Casino is a Ferrari, and each yacht in the marina is bigger than the last. Wealthy wives spend their days parading between designer shops dressed in furs, accompanied by the obligatory pint-sized dog.

Being the intrepid traveller that I am, I should try to see this experience and the people I have encountered as I would any other exotic tribe. The people of Monte Carlo really do live in a world that is completely alien to me. To each his own, so long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone else. But give me a week in an impoverished Sao Paoloan favela, Mongolian yurt, Inuit igloo or Bedouin tent over Monaco anyday…

APOLOGIES

Please forgive me for my terrible slackness over the past few weeks. I realise I haven’t written for a while but am working to rectify this as soon as possible. I have been on a rollercoaster ride lately. Not literally of course (I’m scared of heights..) but metaphorically and emotionally. So please bear with me a little while longer and you will be rewarded with something monumental. Well, maybe… but there will be a post. At some point.

Home is where the heart is

Since the day I left Africa I have dreamt of returning. I fell in love, but this was more than a holiday romance – for 3 months I had eaten, drunk, laughed and cried with the people of Longido. I’d had adventures, learnt a lot about the Maasai culture and also about myself. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my friends, honorary family and Issiah, the little cattle herder I learnt to love as if he were my own son.

Until now I had been too sensible for my own good, telling myself that I couldn’t justify the expense or time off. But still I kept checking the flight prices and dreaming. And then a couple of weeks ago, I threw all caution to the wind and booked a flight to Nairobi. So this time next week I will (if the snow clears for long enough for Gatwick to open its runway) be en route to where I left my heart over a year ago.

If you have been lucky enough to visit somewhere that evokes such an emotional pull, you will understand what I’m trying to say. Although my home is, and always will be Essex – where I was born and grew up – I also did a lot of growing up in Tanzania and know it will always be very special to me.

‘Tis the season to be jolly

Or, if the high street is to be believed, ‘tis the season to max out your credit card buying gifts for all and sundry; socks that Grandad will never wear, Baileys for a tee-total Mum and countless gifts that will be eagerly ripped open before being forgotten and left to gather dust in the corner until 25th December comes around once more. However, in the run up to the festive season this year the world and I seem to be in tune.

Newspapers are full of soft news stories explaining how to make your own mulled wine/Christmas stockings/mince pies etc. More and more people are cottoning onto the idea of Secret Santa, wherein each person gives and receives only one present. Hopefully the nation will learn that there's no need for all the stress we put on ourselves, and actually enjoy December.

I have always adhered to the idea of the ‘austerity Christmas.’ Partly down to my upbringing where we were taught that material things are, well… immaterial and partly due my poor student status and, some might say, general Scrooge-ness. So this year I am pleased that the whole country is with me. Hackneyed it may be, Christmas isn’t about how much we spend or how grand the gestures, it’s the fact that we all get time off work to spend with our loved ones, fight over what to watch on TV, hear tales of the baby Jesus (who is definitely real by the way) and finally realise there’s a reason we don’t get together more than once a year…

Merry Christmas!

Cloud gazing

I’m a sucker for a good view. I love a vista me. Give me a landscape of rolling hills, jagged mountain tops, or an unbroken horizon and I’m struck dumb – sometimes for several minutes. A bit of scenery is good for the soul. And I have discovered something; you don’t need to go to the other side of the world for some very special views.

On my morning commute I often see beautiful cloud formations, for it is in the morning light that the flatness of the Essex marshes really comes to life. As the sun peeks over the horizon we early commuters are treated to a fantastic show, each day different to the one before. The endless sky stretched out over the fields to the north sea provides the perfect canvas upon which nature can create works of art to make even the grumpiest early bird appreciate the sky; sweeping swathes of pink, delicate brush strokes of white on a deep blue background, ethereal haze and an almost limitless colour palette means that no two skies are ever the same.

So although I gripe and moan about catching the 07.30 train into London, each day I am rewarded with a fresh view to placate me. But not today… today the Essex skies are a blanket of pure white. It is November and already we have a thick blanket of snow on the ground. It doesn’t bode well for the months ahead. Luckily I can comfort myself with the thought of my upcoming visit to Tanzania, and equatorial temperatures. If I close my eyes I can feel the sun already…