Unravelling of travels

MY first summer holiday was a family trip to Cornwall for a week in a battered caravan. We set off before dawn to avoid the traffic, crammed into Dad’s old Morris Oxford.

I was only seven but I can recall the journey in vivid detail and the mounting excitement as we neared our destination.

Because holidays are about adventure and discovery – a kaleidoscope of different sights and sounds that settle into lifelong memories.

I didn’t go abroad until I was 20. But after flying to Greece I developed a real wanderlust and since then I’ve been around the world.

I also came to understand the Robert Louis Stevenson quote: “To travel hopefully is better than to arrive.”

Because while the destinations have been truly amazing – like Costa Rica where I’m pictured here – it’s often the journey and the people you meet on the way that make holidays special.

I love the anticipation of a trip – the booking, and planning, shopping and packing, the 3am alarm and the passport panic in the taxi.

I love the buzz of an airport, the bustle of a railway station and even a pit stop at the motorway services. And when I’m back home on a dull, rainy day I love scrolling through the photo memories and dreaming of the next trip. Or rather I did.

Now the thought of planning a foreign holiday simply leaves me cold and anxious.

And even a caravan break in Cornwall feels rather like mission impossible. Millions of us put all holiday plans on hold during the pandemic.

But a break in Scotland and a trip to Paris got me craving more exotic climes.

Until Britain careered into a travel farce that is making Steve Martin’s tortuous Planes, Trains and Automobiles ordeal look like a simple journey.

Airport chaos and industrial action, train and tube strikes causing deadlock and cars being driven off the roads by rising fuel costs.

I hope my wanderlust returns one day.

But for now a summer holiday abroad is simply too much hassle.

Because even the idea of travelling is hopeless when you can’t bet you’ll arrive.