I love to travel because it breaks life up, makes you different, forces you out of a mould. There’s nothing quite like stumbling on an impromptu opera performance in the city square or camel rides by the bay, nothing as infectious and the barely concealed delight of a child as a plane takes off or the spontenous comraderie that develops with strangers in planes. There’s something to be said for meeting a person in the lobby of your hotel and then running into them again three days later at an airport three thousand miles away. There’s nothing like being the one perosn taking photos of every landmark and asking for directions to places they’re minutes away from.
It’s beautiful, inspiring. Yes, sometimes it’s draining, demanding, scary. There is nothing more breath-taking that our global community – the places, experiences, food, landscapes, wildlife and most importantly the amazing people who good naturedly give directions without an understood word spoken between you or stop on the side of a bustling Vietnam street to help you pronounce the local language.
I love travel, and I always will. So naturally, I take any chance I can to do it even if it means saving all year and finding inventive ways to keep things student-budget friendly.
I went gallivanting on the weekend, which for me looks a bit like this:
I’m not joking, I actually did walk a good decent – we did a great effort to get from the airport to the hotel and the wheels on my (admittedly dodgy) suitcase have now passed from the realms of this world.
There was one moment of awesomeness though, one I felt the need to share. It was the weirdest thing: I got on a plane and the person beside my remarked, “that food smells good.” And it did, and it was! So good in fact I wanted to take some of the cookies home with me. It was delicious. Since when was plane food delicious? I mean – it’s made hours before you get it and kept warm in a giant oven thingy and then wheeled all around the cabin until it gets to you. Decent I expect, though I’m not generally surprised if it’s awful. But delicious is kinda a curve-ball isn’t it?
Fun aside: the reason plane food isn’t generally good isn’t because it sucks but because your tastebuds actually change during flights. Something to do with the altitude perhaps, I can’t remember.
Anyway, in my mind plane food and hospital foods are the two things one ought to avoid for a quality culinary experience – now this is a generalisation and for anyone who’s had some dodgy cooking by a friend or family member you’ll agree that it’s not an all-encompassing rule. Still I was pleasantly surprised, the world has made a change for the better and I whole-heartedly approve. It’s the little things that count.
As for the classy bars part of the title, I went to one over the weekend and had quite possibly the most delicious pizza followed by creme brulee ever. (Don’t ask about my menu selection techniques they are both sophisticated and logical – and not at all sarcastic).
Why is it the restaurants one falls in love with are always too far away?