I’ve not posted in while, because work. Bits and pieces of encouraging, though no concrete, theatre things going on. As such, I decided I needed a vacation. For the first time in two years, I’m going AWAY. Yes, I know one shouldn’t post on the web that one is going to be away from home – but I have a reliable cat-sitter who’ll be dropping in and making certain my place doesn’t explode. So: I’ll soon be taking advantage of the new direct flight from Edmonton, and spending a week in Iceland.
And so the self-sabatoge kicks in.
When I went to the UK, for what would be four years, I did not get my traveller’s cheques sorted out until two days before I left. There was no reason. I just didn’t get around to it. My current co-workers would probably be shocked to hear I’m a natural procrastinator.
I had quit my job, given up my spot in the house I was living in, given away or sold practically everything I owned, to move to a new country…and nearly shot myself in the foot right before getting on the plane. A friend, and much more savvy traveller, had the foresight to ask me: “so…what about money?” And I had to take out from the bank ALL the money I had, in money orders, and find a bureau de change that would make up cheques for me with two days’ notice. Thank God my friends had thought to give me some Sterling in cash as a going-away present.
This past week, history began repeating itself. I got to my bank after work and braved a half-hour lineup to order some kronur – just in time, it’ll be here a matter of days before I leave. And last night, after dropping yet more money on new hiking shoes (the better to walk across caldera), I wanted to make certain my rather small money-pouch would hold my passport…which I couldn’t find. I did in the end, after ransacking my bedroom drawers.
I need to go on this trip. I WANT to go on this trip. So why in the hell am I leaving this rather important stuff – like making sure I know where my passport is? – so late?
Once I’m at a new place, I’m absolutely fine. I have a great sense of direction, and the worry of not knowing where or what anything is disappears – I just go walking and happen on things, which I love. Maybe I subconsciously feel going on a vacation shouldn’t be so much work. There’s a part of me that resents planning to tramp freely around geysers and soak in a hut tub. I need to relax, not think about measuring how much mouthwash I can bring on a plane, how much dinner will cost, or how heavy my bag is.
Such is travelling today. I can’t believe it was simpler 10 years ago. Once I’m in Reykjavik, I’ll remember the hassle is worth it.