The Small Joys of Travel

I’ve loved exploring the UK the last two years. The embargo on foreign travel has given us the opportunity to explore some areas of the country that we may not have paid more than a passing glance to. Like our South East trip to Brighton, Rye and Whitstable. Or a getaway to the Shropshire Hills. Or waterfall-hunting in North Yorkshire. But our recent Greece trip to Samos has reminded me of what I’ve missed most about travelling. Readers, in no particular order, here are my small joys of travel.

An airport pint and a full English, Whatever the time of day. (Unless you’re flying from Gatwick, where you barely have time to pick up a pastry and a sausage roll from Warrens)

That blast of warm air as the plane doors open. And then being forced to queue outside the airport in blistering sunshine, feeling the skin peel from your face.

Applauding the captain for making a successful landing. Even though it is LITERALLY their job to do so, and no-one applauds me at the end of my working day.

Airport air conditioning. In fact, air conditioning everywhere. Except in the middle of the night when you’re shivering under a single white one-ply sheet.

The welcome drink in a hotel lobby. Particularly when they are generous with alcohol. No-one wants to be greeted with a fruit juice with a slice of pineapple on the side.

Afternoon naps. And mid-morning naps. And disco naps.

Uninterrupted reading time for hours

Picking the shadiest spot on the beach/by the pool in the morning, only to discover it’s in full sunlight by 2pm. Or vice versa.

Windswept, salt-filled hair with the texture of a toilet brush. And not caring.

Those uneven crazy patches of sunburn – despite the Factor 50 applied liberally every 15 minutes.

Perusing a cocktail list as long as your arm, knowing they will all be lurid in colour, strong in taste, and two for €10.

Finding out that two for €10 cocktails do not exist any more but not caring because holiday money is not real money.

Frozen margaritas and frappes.

Greeting all the locals enthusiastically with the three phrases in their language that you know, and praying they don’t try and engage you in conversation. At the same time, knowing that you look indubitably, unmistakably English.

My freckles joining up into one big freckle. Particularly the ones under my nose which look like I have a moustache in all holiday photos

The food. All the food. Picking a new taverna to eat in every night. Or going back to the same old favourite. Al fresco eating, with an endless bread basket, a vat of tzatziki, and the sound of waves crashing nearby.

Eating dinner on the beach, with a gale force wind blowing around you and being convinced by the waiter that it’s a gentle summer breeze. As you chase your napkin, menu and paper placemat into the sea.

Avoiding the people trying to drag you into their restaurants by telling them you’ve already eaten. Slinking back into their restaurant fifteen minutes later, hoping they don’t recognise you.

Cats. All the cats.

That first beer, in a frosted glass, tasting like a fine vintage wine.

Thinking it’s a great idea to drink ’til the wee small hours on your first night.

Thinking it’s a great idea to drink ’til the wee small hours on your last night.

Packing to your full luggage limit, and then wearing pretty much the same thing every day. Thinking you’ll need ten pairs of shoes, and then just switching between two pairs.

Opening the curtains in the morning and declaring “it’s sunny”. Every day.

Visiting the local supermarket and stocking up on essentials. Like Lays crisps. Fanta Limon. Local beer and cheap red wine. And in my case, bug repellent and bite-relief.

Scoffing above essentials on your balcony after a night in the hotel bar. Apart from the bug repellent or bite-relief.

Putting all your euro coins on the supermarket counter for the cashier to rifle through and select the right ones.

Critiquing the hotel entertainment. And wondering if their repertoire consists of any songs with cheery lyrics (and not two hours of “hello darkness my old friend…”)

Feeling the warm sand between your toes for the first time. That funny walk when you realise the warm sand between your toes is now bubbling lava.

Feeling the warm sand between your toes. Except, you’re in bed, and that warm sand has transferred onto your nice clean white (one-ply) sheet despite several showers.

Feeling the warm sand between your toes. Except, you’re at home and you’ve carried half the beach home with you in your suitcase.

What are your small joys of travel, those little moments that you just can’t get anywhere else? And which of these do you relate to the most? Let me know in the comments!