I love travelling.
The thrill and excitement of leaving the known stuff behind in order to see/smell/taste/feel new and different things. Photo opportunities! My collection of travel guides already fills more than two rows of my bookshelf and I can hardly ever resist watching a travel reportage when I come across it on tv. I dream about travelling the world one day, of being completely free and reckless. In my private bubble I´m the reincarnation of Marco Polo. So far so good...
In real life I´m a sluggish scaredy-cat...and what a big one!
I want to go somewhere. I´m quite keen on planning the whole thing (although that has significantly diminished since the death of my mum and the knowledge that life is just unpredictable and therefore unplannable). Then my online research starts...and gets mental. If the secret service ever needs somewhen for the internet - here I am.
I can waste WEEKS on tripadvisor and likewise. 500 raving reviews? I find the one disastrous one and believe it. Look on streetview, browse crime statistics of the area, to summarise: show some serious signs of OCD. After a long and tiring period I make the brave move of booking, normally after all the good deals have disappeared.
And then I try to ignore the fact I´m going away for as long as possible. The day before leaving I start to panic and get emotional. Why did I do this? I should be happy, excited! I´m privileged.
Instead I suddenly think how beautiful my hometown is, how cosy and inviting my bed is and that only at home I´m connected to my life via internet and phone. I feel sorry for myself and promise to myself to never ever do that again!
Until the next trip...because as soon as I´m out of the house Marco Polo normally takes over again.
Anyone out there feeling similar?
PS: Going to Munich tomorrow...and seriously wondering why right now lol