Flying low-cost to Geneva
I know I’ll have to wait
Can’t risk the earlier Alpine bus
In case the plane is late
A quiet corner, a book to read
Kill time without a care
Words transport me to other worlds
Much faster than by air
This is my guilty pleasure
For which I should atone
Since becoming a parent
I love travelling – alone.
The only disadvantage
As far as I can see:
Needing the bank to give me Swiss Francs
Just to buy a cup of tea.
I was with you there. Brings back a few memories. But
what's with the obsession with "travel" these days?
It is even brought into play as a reason to stay in the EU!!
(Err...terrorists like to travel unencumbered too!)
I loved the real thrill of my yesteryear adventures abroad:
the excitement of crossing the Channel ("on the way")
and the never quite knowing anticipation of what might
follow at the border posts and beyond, with each offering
a reason to venture even further into the unknown. One personal memory - being stopped at the Austria-Italy
border and the Carabinieri (Alfa-Romeos and sub-machine
guns) turning over the content of the camper van, and
grinning at attempts to repack everything after a
negative check (for drugs?). The Swinging 60s!!!
Great Becky. I love to travel alone. The quiet in my head is a tonic. Usually surrounded by children and grandchildren.. Spot on..XX
Nice Becky ?
<Deleted User> (19913)
Sat 18th Aug 2018 10:32
Oh yeah. And conversely the horror of travelling with toddlers....
"Words transport me to other worlds
Much faster than by air" So true!
Lovely! I share the same pleasure in travelling alone.
What happened to your credit card?!!!!
Jennifer
<Deleted User> (18980)
Sat 18th Aug 2018 08:52
Becky - an hour alone spells freedom to the slave.
(Not mine...Clive James)
<Deleted User> (19836)
Sat 18th Aug 2018 08:41
Really nice...I can relate...I love travelling alone!!?
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Becky Who
Sat 18th Aug 2018 21:02
Hi, thanks for the comments as always. M.C. Newberry, I had a similar experience travelling across France in the last great heatwave (2005?), at a time when "Europe" meant that customs controls were no longer at the border, but instead they could stop you anywhere in the country. At a service station they stopped us in our clapped-out soft-top English Ford, me in full festival-hippy gear, my boyfriend (long hair, dark-skinned and bearded) bare-chested in shorts, and basically told us they WOULD find the drugs. They then set the dog to search the car ("find!" "find the drugs"! "go on boy!") before eventually leaving us alone. When we got back in the car we found it was full of dog hairs: I distinctly remember my boyfriend's parting sotto voce comment "next time you bring your dog, shave him first!"