This is the story - or the bits of the story, the put together recollections - of a trip across Europe I took in July 2001. I was 20, naive, resourceful, terrified, full of hope and travelling alone. You can read part one here.
I'd never been on a plane
before. Growing up, our holidays were always to near-ish seaside towns never
more than 90 minutes drive away - Skegness, Mablethorpe, Bridlington – and we
didn’t have a car so we’d be dropped off by a relative who’d come back for us
the following Saturday. There’d be me, my mum, my Nana, my cousin, a couple of
aunties, and we’d stay in a flat for a week and have late 80s / early 90s fun (on
the beach with our buckets and spades, bingo, slot machines, talent
competitions…) Different trips and journeys to this one.
Two things stand
out about this going-on-a-plane thing. One, I was at an actual airport – a big and exciting place I’d only imagined
until now - and I was at the bit where I had to be x-rayed (customs? I still don’t
feel at one with the terminology). Anyways, the Security person, officer – she
was female, and she asked if anyone could have put something in my bag without
my knowledge. I still had it on my back – my huge big rucksack bought a month
or so before by my best friends in support of my journey. They sewed my name on
it too, ‘Tree’ (short for Teresa) next to a lovely big tree, rooted the ground
(ironically) ‘So you don’t forget who you are’. They may not have said that. It
just feels like they did.
So could anyone
have put something in this massive bag without me realising?
I glanced back
at it and said, ‘Um, well, I’ve been wearing it, so I can't really tell, so yeah,
someone could have put something in there.’ It just seemed best to be honest about it.
Security officer
customs lady sighed. ‘OK, I’m going to ask you again. Is there any chance
someone could have put something in your bag without you knowing about it?’
I scrunched my
face up. ‘Um…'
She gave me a look.
Eyebrows as high as they could go.
I was getting it
now. I had to say NO. So I said, ‘No?’
She nodded and let
me through.
The second standout memory of my
first-time-going-on-a-plane experience came as we took off. This was the moment where I suddenly realised what I was doing. As we speeded up along the runway, going faster than I had
ever gone before, at that miraculous moment of taking off, of soaring, I filled
with tears, and for the first time I asked myself why I wasn’t doing this with
a friend. But it was too late. I was on my way to Amsterdam, on my own as I had
insisted I wanted to be, with no booked accommodation, just a rough route I
wanted to take, and a plan that I’d be in the south of France about a week and
a half later.
… more soon …
4 comments:
You had more courage than I had at 20. I would have been frightened of going to other countries alone, where I didn't know the language. And probably even going with someone if they didn't know the language. Now, though, many, many years later, I've traveled a lot with my husband, and I simply love traveling.
Hi Elizabeth, thanks for stopping in. Yes it's a funny one 'courage' - you don't think about it when you have it. I'm pleased to hear you've picked up the travelling bug (not literally) now and are having some great experiences.
Ahaha, airport security is like the riddle of the sphynx the first time you fly! But you are not the only naive traveller. Just last year, I thought I had to declare tea from China, and accidentally joined the "narcotics to declare" queue. The chap who escorted me had a lovely uniform, less a sense of humour...
I'm loving your diary, even in reverse! Off to read part one now!
Ha, but you never know, do you?! Like soil, you can't move soil between countries, can you. Political correctness gone mad!
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