Only nine more sleeps

Only nine more sleeps and I will be on my way. So much to do, so much to think about. Shall I take this, shall I take that, will I need this?

I’ve picked up my tickets and all the information for the cycling part of the holiday – maps and guide books – well I thought, I will study these before I go so I have a fair idea where I will be and where I’m going. But no, the guide books are written in – yep you guessed it – Italian. My language lessons didn’t quite prepare me for that. The maps – well it looks a long way – and will I recognise all those strange names. So many of them look similar . Wow this really is taking me out of my comfort zone.

“But my bags are packed, I’m ready to go” I think there was a song with those words – yes – “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again” I remember singing that as I went to the airport in the taxi when I left NZ for the very first time way back in the 70’s. But that time I was only going to Australia so I didn’t feel as nervous as I do this time. They speak English over there – well sort of.

On that trip I just had my suitcase – we didn’t even need a passport to go to Australia in those days. But this trip I have my passport, my travelcard already loaded with Euros, my fancy phone-cum-camera-cum-video-cum-GPS and navigation tool. I’ve go myself a new tiny little laptop so I can write my blog page and load my photos every night and I’ve read every piece of information about travelling I can get hold of.

I know all the safety things – don’t talk to strangers (how am I going to meet my rich Count if I don’t talk to strangers – and how the hell will I know where I am if I can’t ask someone the way – dumb piece of advice that one is). I have my maps all folded so I don’t have to open them out while I’m walking down some foreign street – apparently that’s a dead give-away that you are a tourist and you are probably lost and therefore an easy target for unscrupulous people who prey on vunerable old tourists. Well that’s another great piece of advice, but how many shops can you go into just to open your map and find out where you are. Even here at home I have to actually see the name of the street and then locate it on the map and those are words I recognise and can say, so that’s another piece of advice that sounds a bit sus, and that’s before I even get there.

Look confident, don’t look lost, blend in and look like a local. Well heck, I could buy myself the classiest Italian outfit and some of those expensive to-die-for Italian leather (yep Roxy will kill me if I come home with a pair of those) shoes and a ponsy handbag and guess what – I would still look like a tourist. Bit hard to look and act like a local when you can’t speak the language.

So I think – so much for the safety advice. I’ve read it, I’ve remembered it, I’ve even written it down in my journal, but will I stick to it – well I’ll keep you posted on that one.

Now back to my packing - I’ve got my fancy padded bike pants and gel seat (everyone tells me I am going to need them even though the brochure tells me it is a gentle ride with a modern bike and a soft seat) my crash helmet, my whizzy dynamo torch which hopefully will also work as my personal protector (it’s got a very bright light and carries a warning not to shine directly into a persons eyes – so I figure I can use that if I get hassled, but then that will only work at night!!!

I’ve packed my ‘posh frock’ for the Summer Ball in London, I’ve remembered my dancing shoes, and I’ve got my liquids in little 100ml bottles and they are in the plastic bag already to prove that I’m not a terrorist. I’ve even practiced with a 100ml bottle of shampoo and 100ml of shower gel to see how long they will last me. It’s amazing how little of the stuff you actually need to use and so far I’m less that ½ through the bottles and I’ve been using them for 13 days now. I’ve even filled out my boarding pass. So I think I’m organised.

All I need to do now is figure out how to get this page in a word document into my blog page easily, and I have to practice loading photos from my cell phone, and then I will be ready to go.

This is proving to be a mission - I'm not all that computer savvy - here's hoping it works.

Welcome to my blogspot

I thought about this page of my book as I was cycling alone on Day 8 of the first trip through the Veneto.

Having read the book "It's Not About The Tapas" about a girl riding solo through Spain, which almost put me off my dream "The Italian Adventure" my dear friend Chris gave me another travel book to read - "Rule 6 - No Sex On The Bus" - Confessions of a Bus Driver" which is about a driver doing the bus trips through Europe for the 18-35 year olds. This brought back many memories of my honeymoon trip with JAG in 1974 and it reminded me of all the reasons why I wanted, and needed, to do this trip, 35 years later.

Different places, different expectations, a different dream, but the same excitement, anticipation and challenge as on that trip so long ago. And riding along, going solo, I'm not at all disappointed. Lonely sometimes yes, but I talk to JAG and Dad as I ride along and I don't feel alone for too long.

The trip is everything I hoped it would be - a challenge, a personal victory, and the realisation of my dream.

I hope my daily diary inspires some other women out there to just "go and do it" and if Italy is not their dream place, then certainly just go wherever their dream takes them. It is safe, it is fun and it is achievable.

On occasions I have felt a wee bit anxious, sometimes a little self conscious or conspicuous - but don't we feel like that at home too. Don't we sometimes feel alone. Lonely and vulnerable walking into a place on our own in our own country, or more so in our own home town. Well, it's no different here, but the great thing is no-one knows me here.

All I know is now that I've done this trip I will be able to conquer anything. I'm not the failure I thought I was, and as RDD has said many times in the last two years "you are just you Heather" and now I know "I Am Me" and now I am just fine with that. Maybe it took a trip to Italy to find the real me, who knows. Maybe I could have found me at home, but really I can't think of a better place to go looking for the real me, can you. And you know what - I quite like what I found.