Martina and Eliska...

I believe these girls deserve a special mention. They gave me everything I wanted from travelling and more.

After waking up in Dalhousie I spent the day exploring the village, swimming in the river and watching monkeys dance through the trees. I began to feel more comfortable as I talked to travellers staying in my guesthouse. A Tamil woman cooked me roti straight from her stove and it was the most delicious thing I tasted in Sri Lanka. I ate dinner under a mango tree at a stunning guesthouse run by a Christian family. Dalhousie is so beautiful, tranquil and remote, and well worth the difficult journey to get there.

Dalhousie

I began my adventure climbing Adam’s Peak at two in the morning, setting out underneath the moonlight. This gave me a good four hours for a comfortable uphill climb to the summit. It was the strangest and most exhilarating climb. You could see the path of lights snaking around the mountain. Small groups were making their descent, tourists and locals alike. The tourists in full hiking gear, the locals in saris and flip-flops. It was very companionable, chatting to an English couple who had climbed Adam’s Peak twenty years ago, and seeing statues of Buddha along the way.

Adam's Peak at sunset

About halfway up, a man waved at me from the top of the steps. Him and his wife were sitting with two Czech girls, Martina and Eliska, whom they had met in Kandy. They shared their snacks and we talked about what had brought us to this place. I continued the climb up the mountain with them. You could feel the drop in temperature as we entered the sky. We stopped at shacks where there was hot sweet tea. I swear tea has never tasted so good. I remember that first conversation I had with Martina, the exclamation in her face as I told her my age ‘Twenty! Only twenty!’ Martina and Eliska are sisters, who moved to London from Czech when they were young adults. They are the most genuine, welcoming and caring people. I am very lucky to have met them.

Tea in the clouds

We reached the top of Adam’s Peak; at this point I got separated from Martina and Eliska as the crowds were growing. I stuck with the French couple. We climbed over the gated walkway and onto a rock that we had all to ourselves. There was not a more perfect spot to watch the sunrise. There was complete silence amongst the crowd of people. I am lost for words as how to describe how awestruck I was, how peaceful and momentous it was to be in the clouds, watching the black sky give way to pink, then orange and see that first chink of light. It blew my mind. See as many sunrises and sunsets in your life as possible, best advice I’ve ever received.

My favourite sunrise of all time

We descended down the mountain as the sun grew baking hot. I moved to the guesthouse where Martina, Eliska and the French couple were staying. It was called The Greenhouse, painted in the same hue with plants everywhere, run by a Tamil woman and her family.

The Greenhouse Garden

The French guy had a great knack for making friends and tremendous energy for adventure. He had befriended some locals and we drove in the back of their van, speeding down winding roads, watching the hill sweep behind us. Originally, the plan was to go to the lake, but the sun quickly vanished and rain fell hard and fast. We ended up in one of the group’s homes, drinking Arack – a coconut liqueur, and singing in loud drunk voices, banging away on makeshift instruments. Martina has a very dignified video of me singing Buffalo soldier, conducting my band with a lit cigarette. Think Bridget Jones in that scene in the Thai prison.

Eliska, Dalhousie

Martina, Dalhousie

The next day we left Dalhousie, I travelled with Martina and Eliska to Ella to see tea plantations and waved goodbye to the French couple as they went south. The best thing about travel is altering your plans depending where the wind takes you. After Ella I went to Arugam Bay with the girls, a place that is simply paradise, where I have never felt so happy. These girls are like magnets, Martina has the most incredible skill of making friends and connections with people that endure, and Eliska is so thoughtful and kind. Since meeting, the past two summers we have had our holiday in Devon. Which is how I’ve also met Ilona, a friend of Martina’s, who is so warm and charming. The four of us surf, eat, drink and talk and reminisce on that miraculous encounter that formed our friendship. Travel doesn't just open doors, it gives you doors. It opens your world up in a way you couldn't imagine and stays with you long after you come home.

Imogen

Martina, Eliska, Ilona and I in Devon

Safe Travels...

Following my post about my terrifying journey to Adam’s Peak, I’ve been thinking more about safety, especially as a lone female traveller. I am spending the first three weeks in Nicaragua with Helen, who is meeting me at a pre-booked hotel near the airport in Managua. Helen is currently travelling from Mexico to Guatemala. I will have two weeks on my own in Nicaragua when Helen flies to Washington. I met Helen whist working at Cripps Health Centre – the GP surgery at the University of Nottingham. She is a nurse, and I’ve found her to be incredibly funny, genuine and everything I would want in a travel companion. She left nursing briefly in her mid twenties to travel the world and we have both given each other a boost to begin another adventure, after both being dormant from travelling for a couple of years.

So I have the worry of travelling through Central America alone. A place where guns and drug crime are far more common than in Sri Lanka. I am aware Nicaraguans may not be as welcoming and friendly as Sri Lankans, yet I do not know what to expect. Most people in Sri Lanka spoke English as a second language, largely due to Sri Lanka once being part of the British Empire. This is not the case in Nicaragua, my Spanish is rudimentary, and my days of getting top marks in Mr O’Donoghue’s Spanish class are long gone.

Reflecting on that perilous journey in Sri Lanka, what could I have done to avoid it? Hindsight is a great thing. I was caught out. I had plenty of time to complete the journey, but I had not expected the train to be so unpredictable. I learnt after this experience only to use buses, which were much quicker and more direct. I only took one other train when travelling with Martina and Eliska through the hill country. I was not going to journey by train alone again. However I did not know this prior to the journey to Hatton.

It was bad luck that the first bus to Columbo dropped me by the train station. Everything was so confusing, busy and unknown so I kept moving with the crowd. I was scared of venturing away to find a bus station. The train was an obvious choice at the time. I could have got off the train in Kandy and spent the night there, as I had already completed a huge distance. But again I was scared of how busy and bustling everything was. It was Easter week, and I was worried all guesthouses would be full.  I could have paid for a taxi to Dalhousie but I thought it would be silly to have such an extravagant cost at the start of my travelling. I was also scared of being ripped off. Besides, up to that point, my journey had been plain sailing.

The journey was terrifying because it was dark, it was late and I was alone – I looked like a target. My greatest fear was that bandits would storm the train and kidnap me into the darkness, which increased as the train slowed towards each stop. Yet, how often does this really happen compared to, for example, the odds of a road traffic accident? I have done considerably risky things before, I have walked home alone in Leeds after a night out, and the recent brutal attacks there have proved this is not safe to do. Why was this situation any scarier?

It was not the first time I have been on a train at 9pm. The train was following its route, the train was well lit and had several passengers, I had enough food and water and I would have found somewhere to stay once I left the train. Once again it is fear of the unknown that is the greatest fear. In a new place that fear is justified because it keeps us alert and cautious.

In Nicaragua I am lucky to be with Helen at the start of my travels. During those three weeks we will be able to suss out transport routes together. We are attempting lesser known places together and when she leaves me I will stick to more popular traveller spots and I will not hesitate to spend money on taxis when necessary. As my mum says, better to come back poor than dead. I take care to be extremely vigilant. Here is a list of methods that can help your safety when travelling solo.

1.     Common sense. You would not actively seek out danger in a foreign place. Cross the street, sit on the other side of the train if you are near someone dodgy.

2.     Stay alert. Drink alcohol with caution and only when you know you can easily get back to a safe place.

3.     Drink from sealed bottles only.

4.     Strength in numbers. Seek out other backpackers and make long journeys in groups. Other backpackers are usually happy to take an extra person under their wing, or to split the cost of a taxi.

5.     Follow your instinct. If a situation feels unsafe, then leave. Do not stay with anyone who begins to make you feel uncomfortable.

6.     When using taxi’s, check the licence and registration, take a picture of both and the number plate. Fake a phone call on your phone to ‘friends who are meeting you at your next destination.’

7.     Book a taxi through your hotel where possible as you can pre-arrange a price and be more assured that it’s a legit taxi.

8.     Do not travel alone at night. Allow plenty of time for long journeys and consider options to stay in guesthouses en route.

9.     Avoid drawing attention to yourself. Dress modestly and be respectful of other people’s cultures.

10.  Learn a few phrases in the local language.

11.  Text family and friends your whereabouts on long, unpredictable journeys.

12.  Book a hotel in advanced for the first night in a new country.

13.  Strap all valuables to yourself. Hide money in different areas. I would have half my money, bankcard and ID in a small pouch strapped to my waist hidden under a loose T-shirt. I would keep most other money in my bra. My passport would be in a secret compartment in my bum bag where I also some money for purchasing food and bus tickets.

14.  Do not keep anything valuable in your main backpack. These always risk being slashed when on long journeys.

15.  Keep several photocopies of your passport and flight details.

16.  Always carry a map.

17.  Only use ATMs in daylight on a busy street. Shield your pin number.

18.  Lie about yourself if you feel it would gather fewer questions and make you seem less vulnerable. A 26 year old engaged doctor meeting friends after working at a hospital in Columbo invited less intimidating questions and shocked faces than a twenty year old female student travelling alone in Sri Lanka.

All guidebooks advise against females travelling independently, it is no doubt a momentous risk and only one you should take if you have the ability to deal with the discomfort it brings. The world is not safe, but it is not as unsafe as people make out. Those are usually people who do not have first hand experience of solo travel. The world is a dangerous place even close to home. It is only when we underestimate the reality of a situation, than when we overestimate its dangers, do we find ourselves in real trouble. Moreover, there are often factors that are beyond our control and all we can do is keep calm and carry on with our journey. I will take the risks, and I will choose the adventure every time. You only regret the things you didn't do.

Imogen

Galle, Sri Lanka

The Journey to Adam’s Peak…

Travelling alone was never going to be easy. But I did not imagine an experience that would be as unpredictable and fraught as my journey to Adam’s Peak. My first journey solo in Sri Lanka. Mum and I had said our goodbyes in Galle and I was on the express bus to Columbo. I would then catch a train or bus to Hatton, to get another bus to Dalhousie. In Dalhousie there was Adam’s Peak. It is a mountain, also known 'Sri Pada' or 'sacred foot'. The mark at the summit is believed to be Buddha’s footprint, or, in Christianity, Adam's footprint left when he first walked on the earth. Hence the name 'Adam's Peak'. Sri Lanka is predominantly Buddhist, with other religions including Christian and Hindu. Sri Lankans regularly make a pilgrimage to the sacred mountain, often during a full moon. The descent is made at night and the sunrise is watched from the summit.

Express bus from Galle to Columbo

It was a long way to Dalhousie and difficult to get to. I caught the first bus early and believed I had plenty of time to get there before nightfall. I was in Columbo quicker than expected, dropped off at the train station. The station felt unchanged from colonial times. The trains were ancient steel contraptions, with no doors, and no glass in the windows. It was chaotic and confusing. I was told there would be another train to Hatton at 1 o’ clock. I had asked the ticket officer and several other locals which platform and waited for a good hour. I thought the platform was unusually quiet when the rest of the train station was heaving.

A Sinhalese man suddenly came running up to me shouting ‘Hatton? Hatton?’ to which he pointed to the other side of the station and said ’that way!’ I don’t think he’s ever seen a person with an enormous backpack move so fast. The whistle was blowing and people were hanging out of the train from all angles. It was Easter week; every crevice of the train was full of Sri Lankan’s going home to see their families. I hurled my rucksack through the doorway knowing I was only going to get onto the train by force, and followed my rucksack. I was pulled into a thousand sweaty bodies pressing against me in 30-degree heat. I was grateful for the hands that would not let me fall backwards. I thought this has to be one of the worst parts of travelling and really it’s not so bad, this is nothing I can’t handle.

We remained cramped together for two hours; I was tightly holding my bum bag, I had all my valuables strapped to me, hidden in belts under my clothing. I was trying to keep an eye on my rucksack, which was tossed amongst a thousand people’s feet. Gradually the congestion on the train eased with every stop. I was able to sit on my rucksack near the doorway, thankful for the cool breeze now blowing through the train, as we climbed higher and higher into the hills. Vendors passed through the train selling mangos, water and samosas wrapped in their child’s homework - sheets of painstakingly written Sinhalese letters in blue biro. I listened to Kool and the Gang and watched in amazement at the changing landscape from dusty city to green hills.

My first view of the hill country in Dalhousie

The train arrived in Kandy and emptied bar a handful of people. It was late afternoon, the light was fading and I estimated it would be another two hours to get to Hatton. It would be dark, but still early evening and there would be several buses running to Dalhousie. Or there would at least be nearby guesthouse in Hatton where I could spend the night. I was the only white person left on the train. I moved into the main compartment thankful for a seat as my back was now aching. The train moved onwards, the landscape grew darker and I couldn’t help but notice that the train was moving at an alarmingly slow speed, clunking down the tracks. It stopped at every makeshift station possible, and more and more people were leaving the train. I was tracing my map and after two hours we were in total darkness and nowhere near Hatton. I felt panic rise in me as the landscape became sinister, the noises in the hills terrifying. There was not a single light outside. Fear and anxiety gripped me and I realised this was the first time in my life that my safety had ever been truly compromised. I was not invincible. I could be kidnapped or murdered and my family would not know for days, even weeks and they would not have a clue where I was. I texted my mum my guessed location (I struggled to see the signs at the stations in the pitch black) and told her the train was running late, as if it was a bad day for Northern Rail. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her panicked and powerless several thousand miles away.

I felt awfully helpless. I could get off at the next stop and continue my journey the following morning, but I had little idea where I was. I did not know if these train stations were near actual villages, if there would be somewhere to stay. I at least knew that Hatton would have guesthouses, taxis and tuk-tuks as it was more frequented by tourists en route to Adam’s Peak. My instinct told me to stay on the train, which was well lit with several passengers as witnesses.

Sri Lankans were always friendly and genuinely curious as to whom I was and where I was going, and I was not short of conversation on the train. I was constantly on guard. I would often lie and tell them I was 26, engaged, a qualified doctor and meeting friends at my next destination. They were precautions that probably made little difference in such a helpless situation, but it was the best I could do to avoid looking vulnerable. Throughout my whole time in Sri Lanka locals were never threatening, they were incredibly welcoming and respectful. They would call me ‘Miss’ and go out of their way to help me.

There was a group of young teenagers on the train who wanted to add me on Facebook and join their birthday party. A pastor befriended me and bought me a bottle squash from a train vendor. He explained how long it would take to reach Hatton and that the last bus to Dalhousie was 10pm, ‘we might just make it’ he said. He also said very unhelpful things about leeches and other disturbing creatures living in the hills. He gave me the name and phone number of a local church to contact if I could not find accommodation. Yet I sensed danger in every conversation. Too often there were enquiries about my fiancé back home ‘But why has he let you travel alone?’ and I was very aware that the men would be only too happy to find themselves an English wife. I relied heavily on my iPod to sooth me.

After 10 hours on this horrific train we arrived at Hatton. The last bus to Dalhousie was outside and I was drenched with relief. I was so tired I was half asleep as the bus hurtled around winding roads, deep into the hill country. Traffic lights in Sri Lanka are obsolete; going anywhere in a motor vehicle is like being in a small box in the back of a truck driven on Spaghetti Junction. At midnight we were in Dalhousie and a young girl came running out of a guesthouse saying ’Miss, your mother called ahead, she said you’d be late’. Overwhelmed with gratitude that my Mum had pre-booked somewhere for me to stay, I collapsed into bed, thoroughly drained. I was so thankful to have that last obstacle of finding a bed taken away.

I woke up the next morning to the sun rising between the hills, casting shadows on the mountains and warming tea plantations. The landscape that, just a few hours ago, was so menacing was now inviting, peaceful and undeniably beautiful. I woke up refreshed and unharmed, all my fear dissolved with sleep. I was very lucky. The journey had been a true reminder of my vulnerability and the risk of independent travel. I felt this experience give way to new resilience, and felt excitement and possibility spread through me once again. Now there was a new adventure as I caught sight of the summit of Adam’s Peak reaching into the sky.

Imogen

Adam's Peak

Copenhagen…

I’ve been looking back through some old photos and found myself recalling memories from Copenhagen. I went on a whim in June 2014 on a cheap Easyjet flight. I stayed in the Copenhagen Downtown, the cheapest I could find, which, adhearing to Copenhagen standards, meant it was clean, with excellent wi-fi, central and a perfect backpacker spot.

I fell in love with the city immediately. Everywhere is spotless, the trains run on time and I never underestimate the value of an efficient train. It is pricey, London prices, which attributes to the high standard of living. I had an excellent list of tips from a friend who lived there for one year and it was just as her photographs had suggested. Exceptionally cool and exciting, with bikes, fantastic food, gorgeous gardens, museums, shops and architecture. As always, photos don’t necessarily capture the best moments.

Amalienborg Square

Torvehallerne Glass Markets

I was continuing my quest of independent travel and, staying in an eight-bed dorm room, it was impossible not to meet people. On my first day I met two Swedish boys who lived in Germany. They put London hipsters to shame. They were so cool, both wearing black and one of them wearing what I can only describe as pirate pantaloons. What I loved about them was that they were unpretentious and just hilarious. ‘Fi-Fi’ and ‘Nay-Nay’ as we all struggled to pronounce each other’s names (mine became Gi-gi) and I had at once found new friends. ‘We like your humour’ they said to me. They also had a penchant for trainers and house music, which, coupled with their friendliness, I have found to be great qualities in people.

We set out with the intention of a raucous night in the meatpacking district, which began with us getting lost in Vesterbro and walking into a sex shop to ask for directions. The shop assistant conked on cocaine did not prove to be much help. But I am a firm believer in maps (as Laurie will know, with our eyeliner marked map of Milan) and eventually we found ourselves in what was quite literally meat shops intersected with bars. The evening began with some very pleasant drinks and a discussion of cultural differences – turns out us English do not have as bad of a rep in Europe as I thought, just that we sunburn easily. And I was set to learn a great deal about Frankfurt and Berlin. And trainers. The evening ended in a club called Jolene with Nay-Nay shaking his head at the appalling euro trash music and Fi-Fi ordering shots, and then racing outside on meatpacking trolleys. 

I spent the next day nursing my hangover on a street called Jægersborggade in Nørrebro, home to Grød. Grød in the most delicious porridge restaurant and I urge anyone in Copenhagen to pay a visit. I spent a whole day eating porridge for both breakfast and dinner and, interrupting my porridge gastronomy, exploring the surrounding shops and coffee houses. There is an incredible record shop on Jægersborggade where I spent well over an hour chatting to the shop assistant, with him allowing me to play a huge selection of records on the turntable - my first and last introduction to Scandi techno. They had a back room full of artwork and I was no rush to leave. Eventually I purchased Air’s Moon Safari, a safe bet, one of my favourite all time albums, and I was delighted to find it on record. The lovely shop assistant also gave me some wonderful tips on museums, clubs and bars to visit whilst in Copenhagen. I still have these scrawled in his handwriting on a record sleeve. I’ve always had this determination to find places off the beaten tourist track, to see where locals frequent and understand their culture far better than a guidebook can give. The best way to do this is always to talk to local people.

Record Shop, Jægersborggade

Record Shop, Jægersborggade

This was how I ended up in Bo-Bi bar. I’m afraid I cannot remember Mr Record Shop’s name, but he marked on my trusty map exactly where this amazing bar was. Sure enough, after a few twists and turns off a main road, was a bar that was like stepping back in time. The décor was deep red with dark wood, with dim lighting and soft music, and you could smoke inside! Even as a non-smoker, except occasionally on holiday, this excites me. And there was something incredibly atmospheric about the haze of cigarette smoke with the ambient lighting. The drinks were cheap, the place was so unassuming, and I was reminded once again why I love travelling.

Most people, even if they don’t ask, think ‘doesn’t it feel awkward or uncomfortable going places on your own’. And the truth is yes. Yes it does feel very awkward and uncomfortable. You are aware that people are looking at you and judging you, making assumptions that you must be sad, friendless, or ‘up for it’ – particularly if you are young and female. Just to be clear, I have not felt the need to gather air miles in order to find a romantic liaison, and I have never had a night of passion with someone I have met travelling. Safety first.

So why was I travelling on my own? There was a point in my life where I wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to explore at my own pace, and to push and challenge. It is remarkably freeing to not be concerned about someone else and to worry if they are enjoying themselves. I am aware that I would not have the patience to travel in big groups and that they would get impatient with me. I love sharing experiences with others; Milan is an example of such and I cannot wait to explore Nicaragua with Helen! However there is a time and place for travelling solo too and so much to be gained from the experience.

Independent travel forces you into uncomfortable situations, you become more open to talking to others, trying new things, you can join with a group when you want to and equally you can leave when you like. Personally, it is imperative not to let going alone stop me from travelling. Solo travel will build your confidence and resilience like nothing else. More importantly, you are only alone if you limit yourself, friends can be found in the most unlikely of places.

So yes, I did feel self-conscious and exposed, but I sat myself at the bar, drank gin and tonics, read my book  - a must for a solo traveller – and intermittently chatted to the barmaid. She was a university student herself, and we compared universities in England and Copenhagen. I talked to a guy from Luxembourg, who used to make violins in Newark, near my hometown. I walked back to the hostel that strange summer evening, feeling oddly familiar and at home in these unknown streets. As I admired the beauty of the cobbled stones and ancient architecture, I reminded myself that anything is possible.

Imogen

Bo-Bi Bar

Just the two of us…

Prior to going to Nicaragua I am having a couple of weeks of doing very little. After 7 months, I have finished work. I cannot believe how quickly the time has gone. The cards and gifts had me a little emotional!

A few days ago Mum and I went on a little holiday together. This was fantastic, as I have been working full time with long hours. I’ve often been away at the weekends, seeing Ben in Leeds or visiting friends. It is rare Mum and I get quality time together just the two of us, especially now I’m in my twenties, as we both like to keep ourselves busy. She really is wonderful company. Mum and I both share a love of the countryside, gardens, food and quintessential Englishness, and this holiday could not have been more perfect.

We drove to Daylesford Organics in Gloustershire last Sunday where we enjoyed a yoga day, massages and lots of moseying around the farm shop. We stayed at the Wild Rabbit in Kingham, the nearby village, which is an incredibly luxurious pub with rooms. The food at the Wild Rabbit was indescribable, with produce grown locally and in season. The first night we both had Lancashire hotpot with locally pressed cider. The following evening we had a three-course meal and a lot of prosecco (even the prosecco was made down the road!). I went to bed very full and very happy. Mornings were spent jogging through picturesque villages, bike rides, reading newspapers over long breakfasts and drinking cider in leather armchairs by the fire. The staff at Daylesford and the Wild Rabbit were so lovely, I couldn’t find a fault if I tried.

Mum is the best date; she is so funny and kind. It was a very memorable few days. Mum and I first went on holiday together to Sri Lanka. I told Mum I was going backpacking and she decided to come with me for the first week. My parent’s separation was still incredibly raw at this time so it was an opportunity for healing and bonding for the both of us. Moreover, we agreed she needed a holiday. I was very grateful for the bit of luxury at the start of my travels. I remember the worry on her face as she saw me onto the bus from Galle, making sure I’d packed tissues, with me thinking ‘for goodness sake I am twenty years old and I will not need tissues!’

In similar fashion, albeit the emotional farewell, Mum and I went separate ways from Gloustershire as I’m spending the next week in Devon whilst she’s in Nottingham. I have a feeling we will be returning to the Wild Rabbit. And there will definitely be another mother daughter holiday. We do them very well.

Imogen

Where to begin…

Around this time last year I decided to take a year out of medicine. Quite honestly, the decision surprised myself. I had always been determined to complete the course as quickly as possible. I was desperate to have a career, stability and independence. I didn’t take a gap year. I went straight from college to Leeds and I struggled with university. I struggled to find a sense of belonging anywhere. I’ve since come to realise that there is no quick route to adulthood. My personal life had immense challenges and after a period of difficult events at university, I decided I needed to put myself first. I needed to look after myself before I could look after other people.

With surprising support from the university and, at first, with some resistance from my parents, over a few months I processed the decision to suspend my studies for one year. It is the best decision I have ever made. I have never felt so mentally and physically well. This year has given me time and allowed me to pursue help I had previously pushed aside when putting my studies first. I have been working full time, which has increased my maturity and experience of the ‘real world’ hugely. I worked as a phlebotomist, which allowed me to keep up clinical skills and work alongside some fantastic nurses. I have also worked as a receptionist in two GP surgeries. Never should the work a receptionist go unappreciated, the patient demand and problem solving that comes with the job is exponential.  Overall I have learnt more about patient contact, roles within the NHS and professionalism than I have at medical school and I hope I will be a better doctor and patient because of it. Never again will I insist on a prescription for antibiotics for tonsillitis.

Rather than rushing through my years in desperation to achieve happiness, I have changed my stance to enjoy the journey and see where it takes you. I have learnt to enjoy being young and wide-eyed and inexperienced and to enjoy being passionate and surprised by life’s adventures. I have learnt to view hard times as learning opportunities and value their lessons, as those lessons will eventually provide empathy and understanding with others.

Two years ago I experienced my first taste of travelling. I backpacked solo through Sri Lanka. This was a breakthrough for me, as a few months prior I would not have had the confidence to do this. But I felt a strong urge to do something amazing and to make it happen. All I needed to do was buy my flights, a cash passport, a rucksack, a few packing essentials and a lonely planet. I was amazed at how simple it was! The hardest part of travelling were not what I initially imagined, getting from A to B was fairly straightforward, in Sri Lanka there were always buses and trains to my next destination, and always someone happy to help you if you were stuck. The hardest part was the anxiety and fear of the unknown. And I learnt very quickly to only travel in daylight and with fellow travellers where possible.

I was taken aback by how beautiful and colourful this world is, how warm and welcoming people are where there are no social constraints or masks to hide behind, how I could meet true friends halfway up a mountain at 3 in the morning several thousand miles away from home.

So this brings me to today. I have had a fairly tough few months, working several jobs and pulling money together to clear a stomach-dropping overdraft I occurred from 3 years of senseless spending at university, and to save to travel to somewhere new. Those two friends I met at Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka have inspired this next journey, with a shared love of backpacking, adventure and surfing. I will be flying to Nicaragua in a few days time. I have butterflies in my heart and stomach and fleeting worries of getting everything ready and hoping all my connections go to plan. I am trying not to think too hard how much I’m going to miss Ben and how terrible my Spanish is. I have a desperate yearning to feel the sun on my back and to have that complete sense of happiness where the world cannot touch you, where there is no need to fear loneliness, social pressure, insecurities, my bank balance or expectation because as long as you have a bed for the night and a good meal inside of you, you are blessed. To see a world where sunlight sparkles against the sea and is shielded by canopies of rainforest you are privileged. That despite language barriers you can connect to others with a simple smile. To know that the world is only as scary as the fear we attach to it.

Writing gives me a sense of healing, and is my antidote to anxiety. Without conscious effort memories fade faster than we anticipate, therefore I am disregarding my half-hearted resistance to social media and keeping a blog of my adventures. I am marvelling at the prospect of keeping a journal preserved in the internet, rather than on scrappy bits of paper that eventually die a death after one too many rickety bus rides. I am very excited to be putting my travels into words and keeping you all updated. Wish me luck!

Imogen

Sigiriya, Sri Lanka

Arugam Bay, Sri Lanka

Dalhousie, Sri Lanka