“He’s got the wanderlust, that one.”
That’s something everyone used to say about my Dad. He could never sit still and was always out somewhere. I remember one day when I was very young, he and my mum had a few cross words and so he decided to go out on his bicycle. Until his accident, the bike was his life; much like a car or motorbike is to some. I think he felt free; it was his ‘me-time’, an escape from the trials and tribulations of a busy household.
This particular day, he went out and was gone for hours. I remember it was the height of Summer; one of the hottest days I can think of. In those days, we didn’t have mobile phones – I don’t even think we had a landline. We were worried that he’d had an accident and as the hours passed, we started to fear the worst.
Just before tea time, the back gate went. It was Dad; a very red, glowing version at that. The silly man had cycled all the way into central London which was more miles than I could probably count at that age. He was full of smiles and was oblivious to our concern. Mum was not best pleased but was thankful that he was OK (albeit sunburnt and probably suffering from heatstroke).
He told us all about his journey and that he’d stopped off in Covent Garden for a jug of cloudy lemonade. It sounded rather exciting to us children and I was slightly envious of his wanderlust. I still am, I suppose – I’ve never been that brave.
I see friends amazing photos on Facebook from their holidays. I read about backpacking, glamping and students taking a gap year to see the world. It must be marvelous to up sticks and travel all over with little care about anything other than the next pit stop. I’ve never been brave enough to venture much further afield than my own doorstep.
How about you? Are you an adventurous traveller, or do you rather stay close to home?
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