Putting on Your Own Sunscreen: Part 7

The challenge provides the growth (despite the vomit)

Sunshine yellow and baby blue Patagonia jumper tucked into royal blue ocean flares.

I’m wearing my white waterproof birks aka. the plastic ones. And in the chilly London air, my toes colour purple as I head towards Stansted airport via a bus, a tube and a train.

A couple at the train station ask me for directions. Do I look like a natural traveller or a London local or what 😂 I never have any clue what I’m doing really, rather months of roaming cities, towns and villages in the middle of nowhere have taught me that “fake it til you make it” is the best way forward.

The instant embrace of hot air that reunites with my body as I step off the plane in Santander, Spain makes me feel grateful for my birks now letting my toes breathe.

Sweat beads on my forehead. Sticky bliss.

A quick bathroom change and as much skin as I can decently reveal now happily greets the Spanish air.

I am very happy to be back in Mainland Europe.

England is a loyal friend. Someone who will always be there. Comfortable. Easy. Bloody expensive (I mean it costs more for a 1hr train from London to Southampton compared to a 2.5hr flight from London to Bilbao).

But mainland Europe, oh wowza. This place gives you fanny flutters. It’s a life-long love affair.

Being surrounded by another language you can’t quite understand is thrilling. It’s even more exciting when you can pick up on a word or two, maybe understand a sentence.

And there’s so much joy in embarrassing yourself as you attempt to speak in a foreign tongue. I think my sentences are usually 92% giggling and 8% actual content.

Santander is called the Bride of the Sea. The city lights at night are threaded together in a delicate veil.

In 1941, a great fire that burned for two days destroyed most of the old medieval city. Today, any surviving buildings live nestled between modern palatial architecture.

I walk for a few hours along the Port town’s waterfront.

Childish giddy after I dip my feet into the absolutely freezing sea, a defibrillator shock to my heart.

I share an understanding with the waves, the way they ceaselessly and effortlessly return back to caress the shore. A feeling of longing.

I look through the Rip Curl store. It’s stocked with lambswool scarves, thick beanies and rainbow racks of jumpers. It’s hard to imagine wrapping up so warmly when it’s still 28 degrees outside.

A concerning temperature for Autumn.

My belly rumbles keep me company.

Time for my favourite part of travelling - an adventure to find something tasty to eat.

I end up in a delicatessen down a side street, having made for me a fresh pastrami and cheese sandwich.

Over the course of the next week, my diet will mostly consist of bread and cheese, with a daily bag of chips chucked in because this girl is addicted to potatoes (Oh how I long for Salt and Vinegar Snackachangis 🥺🤤).

It’s 3pm and the bars are full of people drinking beer from wine glasses.

A woman sits alone with a bloody Mary and a plate of oysters. Mood for the last two months of the year.

Bilbao is my final destination.

My Kiwi friend moved there this year to teach English. There’s such joy in seeing a familiar face, sharing a laugh, a tear, and handfuls/bowlfuls of homemade popcorn as I finally finish off the final episode of Stranger Things.

On Friday night, joined by a German/Austrian goddess, we roam Bilbao’s streets, eating ice cream, and drinking cerveza until 3am.

People-watching has become one of my new favourite hobbies this year.

The goddess and I make crazy plans to make world-changing documentaries together - !! watch !! this !! space !!

On Saturday, the day drifts along a cliffside walk, finished off with a nude swim on a crowded beach. I’m trying not to make eye contact with the hunky Spanish surfers nearby//or the old wizened grandads on the beach 🥴

The nips are OUT…turns out the Atlantic Ocean is freezing.

Later, we dance until 6am, reggaeton music wrapping its arms around my waist, pop melodies swaying next to my hips.

The next day, I think of my architecture best friend while getting dizzy in this indoor sculpture maze in the Guggenheim art museum.

The best hot chips all year are eaten on the riverfront in the last of Spain’s autumn sunshine.

My Kiwi friend and I spend hours yarning and talking and chatting.

In the local art gallery, there’s a study of nine landscape paintings, all of the same view but painted at different times of the day. The mist rolls in, the sun dries the paint, the trees darken to mirror the night sky. The stars come out.

For most of this trip, my friend navigates and so I leave my phone at home. Screen time descends to less than two hours a day. The BLISS of being in the moment.

Reflecting on my parent’s OE together when they travelled pre-internet has got me wondering how I can steer my own travels with less technological input…

My camera becomes the only valuable possession I need to keep coordinates on.

At 5am, at the end of the week, I sit in Bilbao airport on the phone with my Mum.

I feel alone. It’s such a strange feeling. This feeling of being so surrounded by love and friendship, near and far but still so alone. Maybe this is just a part of being human though. I think the important lesson is learning to be happy and content in one’s own company.

…And of course, being grateful for those who choose to share in your adventure along the way, the ones who love you at your best and at your worst. Who love the unlovable loveable parts of you. Who don’t give up. Those people are important. Hold them close.

I’m feeling a little scared. My heart is on another cliff edge.

I’m flying back to London and getting ready for the next adventure…

Good god, I long for familiarity. But I still choose the unknown.

Change is constant when the only consistent home you have is your own body. This year has been a mad adventure that’s for sure, living in so many different places, from couches to hostels, to spare bedrooms, to airport floors, and night ferries under a blanket of stars.

It really brings me back to earth when I’m talking to some friends back home, maybe despairing, likely crying, and they just laugh at the ridiculousness of the situations I seem to find myself in.

It’s a reality check and a consistent call for MORE BIG-BELLY LAUGHS.

There’s no way I’m not jumping off the cliff edge. A big “fuck it, why not” attitude. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the scariest challenges are what provide the most growth. Even if they sometimes make you feel like vomming.

I think the thing I’m scared of the most though is packing my life into two bags again. How the farkkk does one travel light ahah.

A best friend and I like to remind each other there’s no rush on this big fat life journey. The best part I’ve found is waking up and having a chuckle to myself - like how the heck did I find myself here? And ohhhhh the excitement of wondering where in the world (literally) I’m going to end up next.

Someone once called me insatiable…

Well, yes. It’s true. I am. And absolutely, unashamedly so.

I have an insatiable lust for life. Both the agony and the ecstasy (a great Drum & Bass song by the way for those interested). What’s that cheesy saying? You can’t have rainbows without the rain. True pleasure in life means nothing without pain, otherwise, you just take all the good for granted.

Life’s all about taking chances. Having a little faith. It’s all just one big trust fall into the universe… And you choose the outcome. Whatever happens, you either despair and throw a tantrum, or accept, take the lessons and laugh it off (thanks Stoicism).

A challenge? It’s a good thing. Put on Levels by Avicii and level up ;)

We are lucky. We are alive. Let’s use our time on earth to do a little good. To have a lot of fun.

To turn up to the grave still lusting for more, a little tipsy, laughing, very much drunk in love.