Getting There. (part one)

No.. its NOT in Paris....

Ok.  THIS post is being written back in my tiny flat in deepest, darkest UK, while I hack and cough my way through the crappy chest-cold I caught within days of getting back.. I still haven't completely unpacked my case:  I guess I'll get around to it in the next few days, but for now, its out of sight and mind in its place in the cupboard, and I'm thinking about the journey.

I travel alone. Regularly - not just on my trips to the US, but on occasional weekend jaunts here in the UK too...  (sometimes its fun to just get on a train and head for somewhere you've never been before.. spend a couple of days exploring: be a tourist. Sleep in a hotel for a night or two - try the contrast between a cheap and cheerful B&B and an upmarket hotel.. spoil yourself, Its worth doing, even just once....)    I love travelling, Mostly by train while I'm here ( I get terrible motion sickness on even mid-range coach trips, and sometimes in cars too) but flying is still a huge novelty and a treat for me too. I love the anticipation:  the preparation, and the actual journeying itself...  but I don't find it easy. I have a terrible tendency to over-pack (6 different outfits for 1 weekend stay) although I am toning that down more as I finally figure out what I actually need to take, and what I can pick up at my destination.  Mostly, my difficulties are due to issues that I don't usually admit to: and I'll come to that later.

I find people's reactions to finding that I take off alone on these trips interesting,  in some ways.  Mostly, the few friends I've talked to about it tell me they think I'm brave: that they couldn't head off to a strange place alone; and then ask whether I'm not scared.   When they asked, I answered straight away that of course not... but later, I sat down and really thought about both the question and my too-immediate response.  I hadn't really ever considered that there might be a reason for me to be afraid of travelling:  while I have a long-standing and intense anxiety when around large numbers of people, and am very uncomfortable and wary around strangers in general, I find travelling relaxing and exciting. Although I would struggle to explain to many people who know me, I actually feel freer and less self-conscious in new places... admittedly, the week I spent wandering in blissful ignorance around a bitterly cold and magical Budapest MIGHT have been a little easier at times if I'd been with a tour group and had a guide, or at least someone with me who spoke Magyar: but then I would never have been able to wander away from the usual tourist spots and find some of the gorgeous little corners and squares that I was able to explore without being rushed on to the next attraction.  The same with my brief and adventure packed 3 days in Paris. I planned as though for a military exercise: using a city map and the timetable for the metro to be able to squeeze in as many of the main sights as possible, while still being able to do some of my usual aimless rambling...I can honestly say that I wasn't, for a single moment, afraid. not even when I DID manage to get myself a little lost, and had to blunder my way back to a street that I recognised by pure luck.

I love exploring, I love dipping into the life of a new place; tasting and learning it. and I love the journey: the planning of it: the preparation, and the setting off:  long train journeys and flights are not boring to me. At least not so far:  perhaps there is still a degree of novelty to them that is still to wear off: but to me it is all a part of the joy of the thing.

My 'difficulties' are more prosaic.  I am, (and many might agree)  ridiculously stubborn and independent at times: often too much so for my own good: and since I started my long-distance trips, I have had to accept that there are times when I will have to swallow my pride, and allow myself to admit that I CAN'T always do everything myself.
I have what have been described as 'invisible disabilities'.  I look perfectly healthy and able: and mostly, that is the case.. or so I tell myself. However, one of the conditions that I find myself subject to causes severe pain, fatigue, and, during severe flareups, a degree of cognitive impairment that makes me look like an exaggerated stereotype of an absent-minded, eccentric Englishwoman. Generally, it is the pain and fatigue that manifest the most, and the more tired, stressed or anxious I am, the more frequently and strongly that will happen... and unfortunately, my mobility suffers. So. when I travel, I carry a folding walking stick, which I can open up to use if I have to, but fold up and hide away in my hand luggage if I want to try to struggle without it.  The first couple of trips I made to the US I stuck to my bloody-minded plan, and left the damned thing in my bag, and just gritted my teeth and battled through it: dragging my increasingly exhausted self on and off trains, through airport terminals, security, passport control, and more terminals, until I was so exhausted I could barely stand, and every muscle was screaming at me. The third time, I had to admit defeat before I even got on the train to the airport... and that was when I found that people's attitudes to disability are often far more accepting and helpful than I thought.. and that some companies make a point of looking for ways to make it easier to travel with them.
The guard/conductor on the train insisted on helping with my case. At the airport, I was offered wheelchair support: and ushered through the fast-track channels for passport control and security, so that I did not have to stand for long periods. I was encouraged to board the plane as a priority passenger, so that I had a little more time, and fewer people to contend with when finding my seat.... and at the terminal, I was firmly but politely escorted to a chauffeured electric buggy to be whisked to my gate, sparing me the 15 minute trek.  I was mortified and delighted at the same time:  delighted that the service was available; but mortified that I was using it...