Setting forth

9th of January 2024, London Heathrow

I never was much of a traveller. Traveller in the post-education, early naughties, gap-year image. Which I guess is the last time I seriously considered it, and therefore that image appears so clearly in my mind’s eye – all long board shorts; Havaianas; frosted tips; vests and straightened, ironic mullets.

Latter holidays have rarely felt much like travelling, more temporary relocation; and business travel doesn’t count. I did have a couple of goes at inter-railing around Europe in between University terms, and caught glandular fever on the Côte d’Azur for my troubles, which was nice. Anyway, the cricket was on, so I was more than happy to fly home and convalesce to the soothing sounds of Richie Benaud and more or less every single ball of the – now fabled – 2005 Ashes. Talk about silver linings.

I guess what I’m trying to set out here is that I have always been very happy to not leave my base, or indeed take any excuse to come back to base. To miss out on the full moon parties, down-under-chunder, Inca trail, bungee-banter, Erasmus euro-shagging exploits of many of my friends. I was genuinely indifferent to all of that. While all this was going on, I went to Chamonix to learn to drink, ski and cook (in that order). To me this was ideal – I was doing something enhancing, interesting and useful. But crucially, I had a base. And so I wouldn’t feel untethered.

And that’s the word. Un-tethered. It makes me feel uneasy just writing it. I instinctively don’t like not knowing what the plan is, where my stuff goes or why I’m here. How else do I distract my self from myself?

Thankfully, I am a long way from the cocksure arch-pragmatist self of my late teens. I know now that these uncomfortable feelings are trying to teach me something, and so to go towards them might ultimately provide the richest of all experiences.

And so, in spite of being the weirdo who used to hate the idea of going travelling, and at times even on holiday… I’m off.

First stop – Buenos Aires.