The more I love the idea of going away on an adventure.
In my life as much as I have dreamed of being a gypsy I have actually been fairly grounded. The older I get the more of a homebody I am. There is nothing better than being at home with someone I love, engaging them in conversation or even quietly reading in the same room. Makes me happy to be home. But at the same time I wish I had travelled more. That I had done crazy things and been to crazy places. The kind of travelling that makes others jealous - or perhaps what I mean is the kind of travel that I hear about and get jealous myself. Perhaps not living a life of regret means doing all of the things that when you hear about you wish you were doing.
When I was 19 and just out of business college I went on my first international trip ever with a group of young people from my Diocese of the Anglican Church to tour the Philippines and look at the works that were supported by the church. The church supports a lot of projects that to me seemed so strange. We saw a lot of concrete slabs whose purpose was to be a place to try rice, seems simple enough but when you think that in the past for these towns the only place to dry rice was the road. Crops were ruined and people hurt all the time because of drivers. When a community depends on a trade/crop like these groups did, the simple concrete slab means a whole lot.
The 14 day trip was crazy, we slept on the floor in peoples homes (usually the best home in the village though I didn't think so when I had to pee in a hole in the ground in the freezing cold). One our first day in Manila, as we got into a jeepney one of the guys had his wallet stolen! Such brash crime was a huge shock to a girl from a little town. Oh, and because I was white and blonde with blue eyes I was a constant culture shock to people. Either that or people thought I looked like the Virgin Mary (slight aside, the Philippines is a Catholic country and in their churches their pictures of Mary did indeed have a similar look to me).
At one point we went to this little village in the mountain province called Uma. It used to be a big mining town, but the mine had closed and the road that led into the village had been destroyed. Seriously, to get in you had to walk along this really narrow path. It was terrifying because you knew that if you slipped you were a goner. Although it was horrible to get into, I remember it as being one of the most amazing places I had ever seen. So different to home, the people had so much less than I do but they seemed happier. We were some of the first white folks they had seen but they still welcomed us into their homes. You would never have an experience like that in a major city or with a standard tour group but I feel so blessed to have been given that chance.
One thing I do remember whilst I was away though was how much I missed the man I loved (oh and that my mum spent the entire time sick with worry) so I look forward to travelling with Richard. Being able to share the adventure with him is perfect, since I look forward to being able to retell the story to my grandchildren.
So here's to the living the gypsy life that has tempted me all my life - even if only for a little while
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