I have never been in the position to have holidays, well not until now really. I can remember my last holiday very well as it was my honeymoon. Well, a honeymoon is used loosely as it was a hurricane hit Mexico that we went to and very quickly came home again from. It was warm, windy and grey. Looking back I can now giggle that the signs were there really with a hurricane hit honeymoon as we divorced a couple of years later. Previous to that I had only ever been to Spain. Hardly a globe trotter.
It wasn’t till 20 years later, and nearly to the day, that I got on a plane again to discover foreign shaws. And boy have I been catching up for the lost time. Menorca was the first, lovely, quiet and ideal for a newbie like me. Then Cyprus and then several more times. Cyprus has got under my skin. It’s friendly, they speak English and road signs are in English. Their pitta bread is to die for. The heat is wonderful and getting up at 7 am to get work out the way was a delight at 25c.
Now I love the actual holiday but one of the other things I do love too is getting there. Coming home I am less keen and just want to get home. But going is the start of the adventure. The going to bed knowing the next bed you will be in will be thousands of miles away. The creeping out the house in the small hours with a suitcase that suddenly has developed really noisy wheels. And the drive to the airport, living miles from everywhere is a bit of an event in itself. I love watching the light slowly change from pitch black through to early morning and then stopping for a treat of an early cooked breakfast at one of the service stations on the route. Its second-best place to people watch and guess their stories, the airport being the no 1 of course.
By the time I get on the plane, I am already in holiday mode and curl up with a good book and doze all the way dreaming of my holiday.