Don't worry about a thing
Happy and healthy travels are what dreams are made of
I’m sat on a ship typing into my ageing MacBook Pro, overweight torso painfully wedged into what must be the most uncomfortable bucket faux leather chair I have had the misfortune of sitting in, during my entire life of 62 years and two days.
At least the cabaret singer has gone for a break…
Pain and travel; two favourite and oft-visited themes, so often intertwined bedfellows in the shady venn diagram of recreational exploits, therefore: deserving of some writings this week as I find myself jointly travelling and also, not for the first time, in considerable pain.
The chair is fastened to the floor for a reason; its one of many similar ones in the vast bar area on the 8th deck of DFDS King Seaways, bastion of the Newcastle to Amsterdam overnight ferry sailing; we are three pints in and barely off the coast of Whitby; Holland is 12 hours away and the North Sea awaits.
Getting the correct angle to put my feet up and balance my device on my lap thus enabling writing, takes some effort; I have to half twist to the left and extend my legs to the wooden ledge beneath the panoramic windows out to sea on port side; while the chair bites further into my back and my right hip vibrates with pain in time with the throbbing engines 5 decks below; I’ve had a hip issue since new year but I’m not getting to the physio for two weeks, so another beer is probably a good idea.
To make things worse, the Cat Stephens murdering singer/performer (Henrique)has sadly returned to his microphone and electric pick-up acoustic guitar, he’s telling us that everything is going to be alright, as part of a Bob Marley medley that seemingly started hours aao back on the Tyne; I’m not sure it would have been officially endorsed by the great man himself, even if we are all sailing to the world of coffee house pot smoking in the morning….
Don’t worry about a thing; it’s all going to be all right.
But is it?
I do worry about things - the big things, and the little things, and I am sure you do too; that’s why we are all here (I mean as the unconventional flock reading along and hanging on my every word, not the other 356 passengers singing along to American Pie with Henrique)
While I sit in a crowded floating bar as the dark outlines of the North east UK coast slips by silently outside, on the other side of the Atlantic, Donald Trump is being officially inaugurated indoors in Washington DC as the 47th president of the United States of America; thankfully, this DFDS King of the Seas is (un)equipped with a refreshing lack of television screens, internet access and media streaming seeming on all 12 decks; perhaps I am better off here for a few hours, heading out to sea, numb with the beer and the writing, floating with my fellow singer songwriters whilst vibrating in pain a small amount of hip pain and thinking of the European travelling fun ahead.
A few days in Holland, what could possibly go wrong?
Last year I started a travel journal and made a great effort to look back through thousands of photos and notes to piece together a chronological record of favourite and oft repeated trips since we got together thirty five years ago
That was something in itself that no doubt will form the central part of a future piece of writing;
95,000+ Images since the first digital camera in 2008
27 countries and over 150 trips with or without family and friends (excluding UK)
Of course, looking back fondly remembering each and every one being a happy excursion from these shores is pure folly; as I sit here now, writhing in pain, its sobering to remember that this is not my first rodeo.
In fact, a large portion of those travels would require further verification; on reflection, just how many of them were entirely wholesome, healthy and without incident?
Very, very, few.
Because as Kay reminded me earlier, just how many times whilst travelling, have I actually had a bodily malfunction, mishap or health related incident?
Certainly more times than I would want to admit to myself - and to you; because what we remember are the brilliant times and experiences; we all think of ourselves as invincible modern day Christopher Columbus types, who, without being prompted would rather too quickly selectively forget the uncomfortable but retrospectively amusing truths of unhealthy travels.
What, you were Ill or more likely injured yourself (self induced), AGAIN on holiday?
You could ask why is this; is it because you are Jacques Cousteau or Bear Grylls; or more likely think you are?
Is it because you are so run down/exhausted/old, by the time you ever eventually take some time-off, that whatever was going to get you has finally caught up with you and gleefully attacked just when you first sit back and relax?
Or is it because you are not a super fit superhero but more likely a sickly type who does not acclimatise well to foreign food, water and climate; indeed if you admit it, despite your best efforts, perhaps anything further afield than Scotland or friends down south could realistically be a challenge…
Maybe it’s a bit of all of these; or any number of other reasons; that don’t matter.
Whatever the reason, hindsight is a wonderful thing; and in the case of unhealthy travel, a worthless after-sight; because, despite your health related issues; your mishaps and misfortunes, your conditions and your co-dependants and coughing; you were there; you travelled and you experienced that trip.
Forget your misfortunes and the pain and grief and expense and heartache.
Making the trip is what matters, whatever the health issues - its bloody funny to look back and realise that over the years there is an accumulation of irrefutable evidence to suggest that travel can indeed be a painful escape from the relatively healthy practice of staying in one place.
The time you thought you had a stomach ulcer in Dublin or a bad injury wearing crocs cycling over the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito, calling the emergency dentist with a nasty tooth problem in Whistler, Canada , maybe succumbing to horrible covid in Vienna, Austria or being bed-bound with a tummy bug on a Dubrovnik ferry back to Venice?
Even, god forbid, waking up hung-over like never before under canvas at chateau chanteloupe, Le Mans for the umpteenth time - the list is endless.
So take care, it’s a jungle out there; happy, healthy travels - you can go anywhere, you can do anything when you get there, even if you are 62.
Hang on, Henrique is playing John Denver, country roads, that takes me back to where I belong; In my haste to get back to the cabin, I’ve stumbled over my new Samsonite and dislocated the smallest of toes on my right foot; ouch.
A quick crack back into place and a smile on my face; that’s going to smart a little in the morning; but never in all those trips was a late night North Sea antic so in tune with a substack stream of consciousness.
Now it’s time for some unconsciousness
Sleep tight, ship ahoy!
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Great words as always I do love the musings! Safe travels!