Finally...

Finally.... (30th November 2008)

Seven years ago when I went on the first of my big travels, people thought I was mad. Traveling solo from Southern India to Singapore, overland, I was met with sighs of exasperation and amazement from friends and family who thought I was nuts to up sticks and leave, straight after graduating, with just myself for company. Would I be safe? Would I enjoy being alone? Would I come back? I of course thought it was the only sane thing to do. Traveling alone meant that I had none of the hassles of worrying about staying where I wanted to stay, worrying about whether my partner could stomach the street food or if he/she wanted to sleep in or get up early. I had only myself to answer to and to be accountable to. Sheer bliss.

Seven years and a lot of talk later, I am finally heading off with my husband, Stuart. This time round, ironically, people think it is great that we are up sticks and leaving the rat race (the rat race being the careers that we both thoroughly enjoy and have worked hard to get to where we are). They think it is a great idea to travel together (together being 24 hours a day, no time off from each other for work or any other reason) and they feel that we will be perfectly safe as we can look after each other (I on the other hand am not sure how useful I will be when a big Russian Serf wrestles Stuart to the ground, after we drop his bottle of vodka) And in general, contrary to last time, I of course think it is somewhat slightly insane to go traveling together (though this might be a shock to Stu). What if he doesn’t want to stay where I do, or his stomach can’t handle the street food or what if he wants to get up early when I am tired and sleep in late when I am raring to go? This time round we absolutely have each other to answer to and each other to account for. But I think we will be ok though. It’s healthy to bicker after all. Right? Hmm, well we will see...

The start wasn’t the smoothest that either one of us could have hoped for. After a night of relaxing in sheer bliss with my mom at the glorious Berkely Hotel, I headed home, with just hours to go before our big trip and was welcomed by an empty house (Stu was scoffing a full English down the road) and cupboards full of paper work he had promised me he would go through! The flat was still a state with plenty to be packed and Stu had stuffed enough underwear in his bag to last the entire trip! My bag wouldn’t stand up for the weight it was carrying and I had a check list as long as my arm of admin things still to be done. We had promised ourselves we would be organised - we weren’t (and yes Stuart, I am admitting I wasn’t fully on top of things, but I’ll caveat that by saying I was at least far more sorted out than you!) Mom and Jim were legends, that is when mom wasn’t crying in the living room! The tears started to well and truly roll with the first of the day’s goodbyes to Rachel and Stuart. I had mom in the corner sobbing, and Rachel and I were crying and laughing at the same time!

Mom and Jim drove us to Liverpool Street, though Mr Sat-nav was having a bit of an off day. We hugged goodbye and with tears still sitting in the corners of my eyes we trudged in to the station to be met by more engineering works than we hope to encounter on our entire travels. First we had to detour by tube to Stratford (we thought our London Underground days were over) and then jump on an overly crowded train to Manningtree where a grumpy old ex naval rail attendant would tell us his life story. He reckons he’s moving to New Zealand but is still “working on the wife”. Well, he says he’s been working on her for 34 years so I reckon he’s sitting tight in little old Manningtree for a good while yet!

There were no taxis in the village (the local service did have one working that day but it was busy) and the replacement bus service we had been promised was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately we were ok and the trains to Harwich were, contrary to what we had been told, actually running and we made it to the port dead on time to board the ship. Checking in was smooth, security was lax and we were given our tickets which included, to our surprise, dinner and drinks. First things first, after getting to our room we scoffed the salad mom bought us (wev’e eaten like pigs of late so I was determined to get some fruit and veg down us) and then headed to the dining room, after a little walk outside to say goodbye to the UK! The food was actually lovely and back in the room we relaxed and watched TV - a smooth and happy transition from home owner and resident to lowly traveller.

After a perfect night’s sleep we woke to a drizzly seascape but delicious breakfast, before a non productive search for the front (or is that the port, or starboard) of the ferry. Next thing we knew we had pulled into the dock and were in the rather decent town of Esberj. Dragging our bags behind us (loving the wheels we have) we walked in to town, exchanged some money and set out for the station. With a minute to spare before the train departed we bought our tickets and jumped on (we were originally getting a later train, so this was a bonus, more time in Copenhagen - perfect).

Tucking in to the rest of Mom’s dinner we relaxed in comfort, admiring the passing scenery and marvelling at the abundance of non intrusive wind turbines. We had certainly taken our rose tinted glasses from our bags and slipped them on but even without them Denmark appears immediately great. Within minutes we were talking about how we had found our new ‘home’ and that’s three hours before Stuart even steps on to Copenhagen’s pavement for the very first time.