Britannia 2007 - Afterthoughts

This trip’s been a pretty serious thrashing. My first 5 days home I had to spend on just sleeping. My batteries had run out, I was completely depleted of energy. For much of the trip I ran on willpower alone. Twenty days of just running from place to place, walking, climbing up and down, eating on £2 a day, catching up on lost sleep in trains, all the while dragging my bulky backpack behind. I can’t complain; I chose it myself. But I’ve learned a bit of a lesson for next time.

Even so, I’ve had some the most fun I can remember. I’ve loved every day, cherished every moment. (Okay, make that every day but two. If you’ve read the previous posts, you know why.)

Traveling on my own has been an incredible, wonderful experience. I can hardly wait to do it again. It sure does get lonely at times, but I say it’s a small price to pay for the freedom you get. Important decisions take seconds. Plans can be made on passing whims and instant curiosity. No discussions, no quarrels, no need for agreement, no resentment, no getting tired of your company, no feeling tied to anyone.

Just Express Tourism, the way I like it. Hop off the train, walk about, visit the local landmarks, take your pictures, hop on again. Conjugate that with the hostel experience: meeting some new, very interesting people in every new place you get to. Occasionally, add a few beers and shake, don’t stir. I know, that doesn’t make for a very comprehensive experience, but it’s just what I wanted to do on this trip. Getting the complete feeling of a place, really mixing with the locals, requires you to spend much, much more time there. This I don’t feel like doing right now. For now, it suffices that I have Been There, I have Done That.

And now for something completely different.

Britannia 2007 - Route map

Britannia 2007 - Photos

Rejoice! Here comes what you were waiting for: the Britannia 2007 "best-of" photo compilation.

Day 20 - Coming Home

After a hastened farewell to Quim, I run, buy another 6€ bus ticket, hop on one just as it arrives, and spend 20 nervous minutes in a traffic jam. Still, I get to the airport on time, where I check in and very superficially read my boarding card.

On it, big bold capitals urgently announce that "BOARDING GATE CLOSES AT", but I just grasp the time. I understand that it "opens at" 13:55.

At the aforementioned time, I start gravitating towards the boarding gates, pass the security control, and then discover I have a winding 15 minute walk ahead of me to get to gate A63 (so it says on the signs). That's also when I read the ticket correctly. Consequently, I leave my silhouette in the air and start running like mad.

Luckily, the flight was quite delayed, and when I finally arrived at the gate, the boarding had just started.

It is no surprise that I didn't read what was written on the boarding card. My mind was constantly focused on quite different matters. Well, actually, it was quite unfocused, because of quite different matters. The main one being that I was Coming Home.

And I didn't want to. Or not that much. And yet, I was tired of running like mad from place to place, and thinking of my own comfy bed, a bit of sunshine, nothing to do all day but smile, and seeing my parents again, made it quite an attractive perspective.

But then again, I yearned to see more. To do more, feel more, experience more, burn more kilometres. Coming Home felt like giving up when I was winning. I felt I still had so much to do, so many places to go, so many people to meet, so much to live.

In this frame of mind I arrived in scorching Madrid after an uneventful but long flight. Thirty-seven degrees Celsius greeted me on my arrival, all the throng of them. Some more hot uneventfulness later, I was Home.

Physically.

I was still somewhere else. When I closed my eyes, landscapes of green still rolled past me, the laughs of recent friends still echoed in my ears, my hair still danced in the wild wind.

Day 0: Farewell

After a restless two-hour night, I get my stuff and set off. The ghost town bides me farewell in the distance with its trembling lights. I walk the road in long strides with a light heart and a heavy sack.

I walk an empty road, in the company of a smirking moon and the occasional cricket song. I walk alone.

And thus it was that in the middle of the night I made my way to Barajas Airport.