Maximising our time whilst travelling has become the norm and while there’s nothing wrong with that per say: you’ve saved your pennies, you’ve planned and pre-booked. There’s a lot left to be desired.
The realisation that I needed to re-think my travel style hit hard when my dear friend blurted that she’d “done Spain” after spending a week with me through Madrid and Barcelona. The issue was that we were trying to cram every sight imaginable in that seven day window that we’d felt like we’d ‘seen it all’ when in reality the surface was unscathed.
I hadn’t considered that my holiday choices were wearing me down, not until I spent a week in Bali. That dreaded week. What with the beachside Nasi Goreng hosting just enough chilli to sting the lips but not enough that an ice cold Bintang couldn’t relieve. The sun kissed skin, tender to the touch but oozing a glow only make-up could fabricate back home, the lapping ocean shores that demanded your attention before bed and upon waking. Horrible.
Well that was the holiday I wanted you to think I had, in truth I’d rushed here and there to see as much as possible. I pushed myself to surf when all I wanted to do was relax but couldn’t because; you’re in Bali you need to surf.
I hired a scooter and rode to Padang Padang, speeding through traffic; dodging cars, chicken’s and unwashed backpackers just to get that photo of the beach before turning around and racing back to my room for solace. I’d ordered an iced coffee in a hip cafe in Uluwatu and wizzed over to my friends villa to ‘chill by the pool’ only to hashtag #relaxed moments later. It goes on, I won’t bore you.