Tag Archives: holiday

Andiamo il Palio!

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I remember the first time I went to the famous Palio horse race in Siena in Italy. I must have been about six years old, and was on holiday with my mum, my stepdad and my best friend and her family. Siena itself is a lovely place to behold, but when this race comes to town – as it does twice every year, once in July and once in August – it’s something else. Thousands of people line the streets, many waving flags in support of their horse –each of which represents a parish of Siena. The supporters walk through the city towards the central square (in reality more of a concave ‘shell’), filling it up to capacity before the race begins – which it does amidst much pomp and ceremony.

The race is over in seconds – it really is a blink and you’ll miss it affair – but whilst it’s a fantastic spectacle the thing that’s always captivated me has not been the race itself but the flurry of activity afterwards. For if you look up at the balconies – which pre-race are lined with mafia-types in suits and dark glasses – you’ll see them suddenly empty, as they go in search of the jockeys that have failed to bring their money in. Apparently some years the jockeys have been pulled off their horses and even killed (so the legend goes) after losing the race, which is why you’d be hard pressed to find any of the losers in the vicinity once the final whistle is blown.

It’s been a few years since my last trip to Siena, so I’m more than a little excited about attending this year’s first Palio on Tuesday. Dark glasses at the ready…

Don’t panic! It’s just a holiday

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On the topic of holidays, as has been the theme of my last two posts, when I think back to childhood breaks en famille I can’t help but be reminded of Mum’s phobia about packing. I’ve always wound her up about it but it must be so distressing to feel that level of anxiety in the run up to a holiday. Instead of feeling that delicious sense of anticipation about their time away, people like my mum with packing phobias actually experience dread, because the planning that’s required induces panic that can lead to both physical and mental paralysis.

Mum’s a list-maker like me, and you’d think that would help to keep things ordered and under control, but in reality (as I myself have experienced on the odd occasion, like when I’m overloaded at work and find myself surrounded by so many lists my brain ends up in a state of panic-induced inertia) that doesn’t always help. Lists can go so far to quell the panic of forgetting something, but what if you forget to put something on the list in the first place?

I don’t claim to understand this phobia, but I do sympathise with those who have it. I’m also very grateful I don’t have this particular affliction, because I’ve enough neuroses to cope with as it is…

Festival fever

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It’s 6.09pm as I type this and I’ve officially finished work. All that stands between me and Glastonbury 2013 is an evening of last minute packing, a few brief hours’ rest and a three and a half hour coach ride to the site in Pilton, Somerset.

My first experience of the festival in 2005 was somewhat traumatic. A festival (and indeed camping) virgin I’d arrived fresh-faced with my pink two-man tent and solar-powered shower, completely oblivious to the reality of what I was about to endure. Which was, in short, four days of torrential rain (and by torrential I mean on the first night it rained so hard peoples’ tents were washed away and police divers were called in to retrieve their passports and valuables).

When I returned in 2008 the weather gods were marginally kinder. As I recall it only rained for half of the festival, but when you’re trying to negotiate a site that big even the smallest amount of rain can play havoc with your enjoyment of the general experience.

Although this year the forecast predicts some light rain showers, it’s looking like we may avoid a total wash out (she says, crossing fingers, toes and everything in between). But nonetheless I shall be packing my wellies and my mac – I know too well the British forecast should never be trusted…Wish me luck!

Out with the old…

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After rising with the lark (well, at 8.30am, as it happens – but for a Saturday that’s as good as dawn) and completing a 5.2km run in an impressive 28 minutes I returned home to begin the mammoth task of clearing out my room and packing for my two forthcoming holidays. The long overdue clear out was in honour of my imminent (it’s five weeks away, but that feels imminent to me) move, which I’m enormously excited about. And the packing, well, the packing speaks for itself.

Six hours after beginning these tasks I’m typing this post feeling both satisfied and utterly exhausted. I managed to get through every cupboard, drawer, box and bag in my bedroom and whilst it was a huge undertaking I made it out the other side relatively unscathed. A sizeable amount of my belongings are now stuffed in various bags; some destined for the tip, others for recycling and more still for the charity shop. My holiday packing is almost all completed too – there’s a Glastonbury pile on one side of the room and a Florence pile on the other.

There’s something immensely satisfying about having a spring clean, especially in the run up to a life change such as moving house. It makes you feel that you’re throwing out the old and embracing the new and is, in essence, as much a spring clean of the soul as of material possessions. It’s also bloody knackering – if you’ll excuse my French – so for the rest of the day I plan to take it very easy indeed!

Bound for the Big Apple

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I’m just about to leave for the airport to catch my flight to New Jersey, and in the unlikely event of not being able to get online when I get there I’m writing today’s post before I go. The last few weeks have been such a whirlwind, I can hardly believe I’m sitting here now, my job and big race behind me and only a week until I start my new job and part time career as a freelance writer.

I never thought I’d say this but being told my job was at risk of becoming redundant was the most fantastic turning point in my life. Granted, at the time it was a bitter pill to swallow, but I’d been thinking of leaving for so long and never had the courage to take action. It just goes to show that opportunity can come out of even the bleakest of situations.

So here I am; suitcase packed and ready to board a plane to America, where I will be spending six days with a girl I met in an Indian ashram two years ago. Life is so wonderfully random. I know I’m going to sound like a raving hippy saying this but it does feel like there’s a reason for my going on this trip. I’ve felt a strong pull to New York and the friend whom I’m visiting ever since she moved there, and I can’t wait to find out what that reason is. And also to eat lots of pancakes with maple syrup, OBVIOUSLY.

Time flies

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I can hardly believe my final week at work is already upon me. It’s a cliché, I know, but time really does fly – not so sure about the ‘when you’re having fun’ bit, but hopefully that’s still to come. This time next week, quite possibly, as I recover from this weekend’s 16 mile Wholefoods run in style with a trip to the Big Apple to visit the girl I affectionately call my ‘spiritual twin’ (so named after the two weeks we spent helping each other  cling to our sanity in an ashram in southern India in 2011).

After the events of the past few weeks a holiday is just what the doctor ordered, and I’m very much looking forward to taking some time out to reflect on the imminent changes in my life (not to mention start tackling the enormous writing-related tomes I’ve purchased in preparation for going freelance). The plan, thus far, is to sip coffee, nibble (oh alright, scoff) cake, down wine and eat inordinately large amounts of CHEESE – with a bit of sightseeing and a LOT of nattering thrown into the mix to boot. In short, we’re going to set the world to rights one mouthful at a time and I cannot WAIT.

Because of all the recent changes in my own life it’s no surprise that I’ve been ruminating on the nature and importance of change as a life driver. Should we, I wonder, embrace it regularly as a way to rejuvenate ourselves, or should we rather seek out a more preferable state of equilibrium, in which we can be happy to see out the rest of our days?

At the moment I’m inclined to think the former, not least because of this article I remembered having read a few years back about how the brain perceives time. The article discusses the central concepts of a book, Making Time, written by Steve Taylor. In it, he claims that as we get older it seems as though time is speeding up, but that’s only because we fall into hum drum existences and get caught up in the same old cycle, day in, day out. If we seek out new experiences – for example by filling our weekends with trips to art galleries, coffee in kitsch new coffee houses and lunches and dinners in new locations with friends and family – then our perception of time actually changes and we view it as having passed more slowly than it actually did.

It could be argued that this is counter-intuitive, since the sensation of being bored often feel s as if it spans a lifetime, but if you stop to consider how fast the last five years have gone since you joined your current company you might begin to give credence to the idea.

As I’m no expert in how to live life, I’ll close with a quote from Steve Taylor’s book:

“Make sure your life is as full of new experiences as possible. If you live a life that’s full of routine, then time will always speed up but if you make an effort to travel to new environments and expose yourself to new situations, new challenges, even something simple like a new route to work, new interests, new hobbies, then this degree of newness slows down time.”

It seems a pretty compelling argument to me. Now where DID I put that passport….?

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I fell in love with this clock in the main square of Prague’s old town. It looks like a time machine!

I saw you

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I saw you today, as I do most days. I was sitting on the pavement watching my icy exhalation as it licked the air like a tongue when you careered straight past me, with barely seconds to spare before your train pulled into the platform. You always seem so flustered, as if the dawning of a new day has caught you completely unawares. Your cheeks betray the exertion of your rush to get ready, your skin shimmers with perspiration. You never seem at peace. Are you – ever?

I saw you today. I was standing near the entrance of the supermarket trying to get warm when you brushed past me. Your gym bag was slung over one shoulder, a sign that you like keeping fit (or at least that you try to). Your practical boots stated that comfort, not glamour, was your priority, as they often do on a work day. Not so at weekends, it would seem – once I bummed a cigarette from you on the high street after a night out with your friends when you were dressed to kill in a mini dress and heels that looked like skyscrapers. Do you remember?

I saw you today. I was begging for money (which I hate to do) but I was starving, what could I do? You were on the phone. Sometimes when you walk past I catch snippets of telephone conversations about bills, arguments with your boyfriend, work worries. Today you were bemoaning your lack of holiday allowance. Do you ever stop to think how lucky you are?

I saw you today. I was slumped down by the bins, drawing my last breath as you ran out of your cosy flat and climbed into a waiting car. You looked happy, for once, and as my own life ebbed away I was glad. You have a pretty face when you’re not frowning. Do you know that?

I saw you. But you didn’t see me.

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On the theme of looking but not seeing, I remembered this photo taken on the Mekong River whilst travelling in Cambodia. It was just after sunrise and the man was off to sell his wares to tourists like myself. It made me realise how lucky I was to lead such an easy and privileged life.