Well how best to round off two weeks of outdoors adventure? Why, with a mini city break of course! The perfect way to ease ourselves back into the hectic London lifestyle after our fresh air overload. Portugal offers several exciting cities, however given that we had already been to Lisbon this year; Porto was clearly the obvious choice.
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.
A wonderful way to break in a New Year.
True wildernesses. Ish. Read about them here.
There’s not much to preface this with other than that this felt like where the real ‘travel’ began. Not to rain on Bali’s parade but it’s suffered from its own success in that it no longer feels like a true adventure destination. It’s been sanitised and watered down and designed to appeal to the westerners that tour there so much so it feels its lost a lot of the charm that had initially attracted them in the first place. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t fantastic, but it missed that alien spark that I had come searching for. This final section had more than just the spark.
Lyme disease is gonna getcha... read about it here
I think the pictures speak for themselves here. To read about the experience click here.
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.
I'm pining. Much like a certain not-dead parrot that famously pined for the Fjords, I too am now pining for the soft orange facades and knobbly cobbly streets of La Citta Bella. It's not surprising, you always want what you've had and lost, like an old watch, old school friends or not being an adult. So I've figured that the best way of dealing with this pining is to write down my progression through the couple of years spent in the eternal city, in order to enter a state of sweet nostalgia and suckle at the teat of sentimentality.
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