The fantastic thing about a three part trip is that it feels like three separate holidays, after two and a bit weeks away I’ve felt like I’ve managed to squeeze in a whole years worth of travel. Three places, three very different experiences have become stand-alone events in my mind that I remember as distinctly as though they were years apart.
Yet again, here I sit, back in London, a nice olive glow warming my skin as I tap away at my work computer and serving as a healthy reminder f the excitement I’ve had over the past few weeks. Strangely it doesn’t feel so bad being back, having experienced what I did during what was one of the better holidays of my life.
Iceland is beyond comprehension. I like to think of myself as being very imaginative. I like to create little worlds in my head, the wackier the better, on a pretty regular basis. The only type of dreaming I do is lucid, I write stories about my dreams and the fanciful places my head takes me to. My imagination even breaks into the real world at times in the form of my habit of greatly over exaggerating even the most mundane stories, though this probably isn't something to brag about.
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