Holidays bring out the best in me. Everyone who has ever travelled with me says my mood gets lighter and I'm much more laid-back about plans, timekeeping and getting up early (things I'm always a stickler for in my everyday life). Even my physical self perks up; my skin becomes clearer, my colouring a less harsh shade of white (I looked in the mirror today at a flash of my midriff and honestly thought I'd pulled on an ugly beige vest in my haste to get dressed. Unfortunately, it was just my pasty flesh), my hair gets blonder and even my nails grow stronger and longer. But I suppose the same could be said of anybody. It's just that today I am appreciating it even more. I landed in Barcelona just hours ago after a nail-biting week of wondering if the ash cloud that's terrorising European travellers would scupper my plans altogether.
Thankfully, we flew out of the UK by the skin of our teeth, as Stansted was the only London airport not completely closed. I arrived at the airport at 4am to watch more and more flights on the departures board get cancelled but, miraculously, mine was unaffected. I worry that the fury and frustration a cancellation of my holiday may have caused would likely have been the catalyst for another natural disaster. Or, at the very least, it would have caused an embarrassing scene; nobody wants to see a grown woman stamp her feet, cry until her face goes red and throw herself on the floor until she gets escorted off the premises. After my Bangkok plans went wayward, it's the outcome I was expecting.
But, thankfully, no toddler tantrums were necessary, because here I am, in sunny Barcelona, typing from my window seat overlooking a pretty harbour (though the yachts in Dubai make these boats look like dinghies). I haven't explored yet, but by next week, I will be done with Barcelona and Valencia and be travelling down to the south coast to see my dad (whom I haven't caught up with in three years; mainly because he lives in Spain and I don't).
If you read my column last week, you'll know it's a bit of a cobbled-together holiday; the vague plan is that my ex (don't ask) and I will drive around Spain and have fun. I love being spontaneous but it has thrown up a few problems. First, I have very little money, so we are travelling on a budget. I didn't think that would be a problem — after all, my dad has a place here — we can just stay with him. Nope — he is making his annual trip to the UK two days after we arrive at his. Typical — the first time I manage to get to Spain in three years, he will be within minutes of my house in the UK. So, with nowhere to stay, we have to shell out for hotels. The budget is blown before we even begin. But it's difficult to feel too depressed about it when I take another peek at the ocean view from my bedroom. Money is meant to be enjoyed, right? At least, that's what I'll tell my bank manager. Gulp!
