Holidays
Holidays, holibobs, getaways, whatever you like to call them, often get thought of and planned about this time of year don’t they?
When you are retired, as we are, and have been for the last seven years or so, it makes you wonder, what are we holidaying from? We are fortunate enough to live in an idyllic place with a sea view and within walking distance to a very pretty fishing village why would we want to leave? To be honest nowadays I feel slightly homesick even when we have to go shopping! Anyway who wants to add to their carbon footprint any more than necessary, but I didn’t always feel this way.
Remember when we nearly…
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| ‘Remember when we nearly went to Istambul’ This advert made a lasting impression |
When Martin and I visited London in the early 1990’s we saw this poster staring at us while we waiting in the underground. We looked at each other and vowed never to let things come to this. We always have tried never to have a regretful ‘remember when we nearly…’ moment.
Holidays do make and evoke memories though don’t they? You can’t buy memories, you can’t get them on Amazon or walk into a shop saying, “can I have two weeks of skiing holiday in the Alps with the kids memories please.”
I have never regretted taking the children on holiday and hope we have given them lovely memories from their childhood that they can look back on and say ‘remember when Mum and Dad took us to…’.
Memories
My earliest memory of holidays was when my father took me away to stay in a caravan on the Gower Peninsular. I had been living with my Grandmother ever since my mother left home with my Dads best friend, my two half-sisters and my brother Paul when I was around 18 months old. (Long story will tackle that later,) all I remember about my father up to that point were his occasional lunchtime visits. My father took me away on holiday probably for a ‘get-to-know-me better’ reason.
From what I can recall, after a journey from Bristol we arrived at an isolated Welsh farm the other side of Swansea with a large caravan in a nearby field. I’m not sure what time of year it was, it wasn’t hot though as I remember walking along a huge deserted beach, the seagull’s cry overhead and my father in wonderment saying, “look, we have the whole beach to ourselves!” Back at the caravan as dusk fell upon us, my father lit the gas lights on the wall with a flickering swan vesta match! This must have been 1963/64 no hook-up electricity back then. Suddenly there was a massive loud gunshot sound from outside and I leapt onto my father’s lap, shaking and scared out of my wits. My father laughed and said “that was probably the farmer shooting rabbits. Come on I’ll read you a bedtime story.” Then proceeded to read to me about Peter Rabbit.
On leaving Wales we bought a plastic unplayable-with doll in a Welsh costume and for Grandma a bottle of lavender water with a map of Wales stamped on it. Whenever I smell lavender now it reminds me of her and that holiday in Wales.
The rest of my childhood holiday memories were of Cornwall or Devon, with memories of camping, surfing, wind, rain and kite flying. Who knew that years later in 1984 I would move to Cornwall with my husband and raise a family in this idyllic duchy.
Booking
Doesn’t it annoy you that all the travel agents have now gone from the high street? Mainly thanks to the internet! Remember the days you could just walk in and come out with an armful of brochures to peruse and dream over of faraway places? All the while wistfully looking at your budget and settling for a weeks half-board in The Costa del Sol. My brother-in-law Robin before he retired had a travel agency in Wiltshire called Robins Travels and provided us with our most memorable family holiday back in 2001. We took a three venue trip to Egypt visiting Cairo, Sharm-el-Sheik and Luxor.
Excuse me sir, did you pack your own bag?
One of the outstanding memories of this holiday was of Martin nearly being arrested as we checked in at Sharm for having a knife in his hand luggage! It was 2001 and two years before had been 9/11. I had wanted to do some sketching on the plane and without thinking just slipped my pencil case into Martin’s carry-on bag as mine was full. I forgot the stanley knife that I used to sharpen my pencils was in there. “What knife?” Martin asked the two burley airport security guards who marched him over to the x-ray of his bag clearly showing my pencil case and stanley knife. Martin looked at me with a weird almost menacing look in his eye and I had to put on my best girly face and admit my guilt. Luckily they believed us and the pilot took the knife and wrapped it up in tape and held it for me until we got to Luxor where he kindly presented it back to me.
Follow me!
Another memory from that holiday that Martin loves to retell is the time we walked from Cairo Museum, across Tahir Square to walk to the Khan-el-kahilli market. “I know the way!” I confidently claimed and marched my family through the dusty noisy traffic. After all it was only a mere 20 odd years since I had been there with dad, it couldn’t have changed that much. This was before smart phones and I don’t remember what I was using as a location device but after half and hour of walking in the heat I was sure we were very close and exasperated Martin started to doubt I knew the way at all and secretly so did I! I had a feeling at a point we had to go right and Martin thought we had to go left. I asked some locals which way to the market and they sided with Martin and jokingly said “your husband is right, your husband is always right, you must always obey your husband!” Martin laughed and has never let me forget it. But we were actually at the market anyway, we had just come in the back way. I hate to think what would happen to us today if we tried that again. (Martin just previewed this and said they weren’t joking! Ha ha!)
We also nearly sold 9 year old Emma for three camels and gave a guide at Gizera head lice after he insisted he put his headdress on the children. Ahh, memories memories.
Speedy boarding,
Years ago I flew up to Newcastle with Emma when she was at uni for her to play a gig at her Uncle Stephens Blaydon Races Fayre. All went well on the flight up even though we were stuck among a rowdy hen party from Cardiff.
Martin surprised us and got some time off work and followed us up the next day and arranged to come back with us. All went well at the gig and the next day at the airport there was the same hen party looking slightly worse for wear but still quite loud and milling around the then closed check-in desk. When the desk finally opened they were blocking the speedy boarding aisle and I asked if they were speedy boarding to which I got the side-eye looks and mumbled at so I brushed past them with Emma and Martin in tow. I got to the desk, Martin checked in, I showed my ticket but horror of horrors I had forgotten I had allowed an extra day to relax and was a day early. I then had to do the walk of shame and wheel my bags back out past the smirking party of girls with a horrified young Emma in tow trying to hide her embarrassment. So not so speedy after all. But Martin looked quite happy as he disappeared among a group of the scantily clad young Welsh hen party women towards the departure lounge.
“Taxi!”
Incidentally the easyjet tickets if bought on site there and then were in the £100’s and not the £29.99 that I originally paid, which ruled out going back with Martin. Martin said the girls were really quite fun and the plane was half empty!
In conclusion
So, now we are getting ready for a week hiking in the Lake District at the end of January. Yes, it’s beautiful, yes it will probably be raining and yes it is good to get some exercise and I probably will enjoy it but I would still rather be lazing by a pool in some warm sunshine on the Costa del Sol with a good book dreaming of the time when I can get back home and sleep in my own bed.
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