Crossing the language barrier

I didn't think that much about language issues when planning our trip to Spain until a friend asked me a few days before we left 'So, do either of you actually speak any Spanish?' 'No' I replied, still not giving it much thought. I'd been to Spain twice before, and to the Canary Islands several times and had always got by with a meagre Ola and the odd Por Favor. And Mr Traveller can speak near on fluent French, and can do a wicked Spanish impersonation. And, well, Spain shares a border with France, and they sound kind of similar, so um, we should be fine. Then she reminded me of the story another friend had told us, about her time travelling in South America when she tried to buy a torch, and became the spectacle of the store when it turned out that she was asking, repeatedly, for the Olympic flame. And she too was fluent in French, in fact her husband, who she was travelling with at the time, is half French, so that whole close proximity and sounding similar to my naive ear thing, well, clearly it doesn't stand the test. But still, for some unknown and slightly odd reason, I heard what she was saying, but the alarm bells did not ring.

Maybe my mind was still relatively absorbed with my Gran. Maybe I had been assuming that terribly ignorant and unattractive trait that the British are famous for, believing that everyone should speak English. Maybe it's been way too long since I visited a non-English speaking country, after years of living in Australia and America, and using up our major holidays on trips to visit friends and family back in England, or else exploring said countries (plus the odd trip to New Zealand, where lo and behold, they speak English) and I had just forgotten what it feels like to be a stranger in a strange land. 

We were in Korea only 4 months ago; we weren't just the only non-Korean speakers, but also the only Caucasians, to the point that the Littlest Hobo became a novelty spectacle wherever we went. But I didn't feel so much of a fish out of water as I did yesterday morning, when I wandered around San Sebastian desperately seeking contact lens fluid, clutching my trusty iPhone with google translate app all set up and ready to go. I didn't feel as embarrassed as I did when i pulled open the lift door today and nearly knocked my neighbour flat, but I couldn't think of the Spanish word for sorry. We actually gave up on having dinner out tonight, and headed back to the apartment to reheat left-overs from yesterday, despite the fact that it's my birthday today, because it all seemed a bit too difficult trying to order allergy friendly food for the littlest Hobo when we couldn't read the menu and would have to rely on good old google translate to tell the waiter/waitress what our constraints were.  

We're considering ditching Spain and taking a slower meander through France, mainly because we've learnt from earlier trips that less is more and taking it at toddler pace is an absolute must, but also because we can speak the language. 

At least sorbet is sorbet everywhere... I think.

It's not that we're having a terrible time - we're having a fantastic time actually; we're revelling in each others company, doing everything we want to do (with the exception of dinner tonight, which, in fairness probably also had a lot to do with having been out for hours and hours and feeling ready to flop in our pj's), stuffing our faces with delectable tapas, and San Sebastian is an amazing city - it's romantic, full of history, a gastronomic delight, superbly toddler friendly, and moderately warm for mid November in the Northern hemisphere. I was delighted this evening, when we walked into the bakery and the Littlest Hobo chanted Ola with the rest of us without a second thought, but that's only one very small step. But I think, if I'm truly honest, we are a little embarrassed by our naivety, by our lack of preparation and ignorance that makes me feel somewhat green around the gills at this travel business, when in reality it's something that we've been doing for years, just by a different name, because it wasn't a permanent, everyday state. I feel that we should have known better, and now it's too late to do much about it. Our best option is to tuck it under our wings as a lesson learnt for next time, and go and drown our embarrassment and celebrate our next challenge, whatever it may be, in a glass or two of Spain's finest Rioja. Ole!

Any port in a storm - 24 hours on the Cap Finistere ferry

Brittany Ferries Cap Finistere

When we first planned to head to Spain from the UK our trip was going to be 7-9 weeks long so it made sense to take the car. Being a bit cautious of sea-faring vessels, I initially assumed that we would take the short ferry crossing across the English channel to France and then drive, but after our 4 hour ferry crossing from Roslare to Pembroke in September I admitted that Mr Traveller might actually be on to a winning idea. Primarily, the Littlest Hobo would have the freedom to roam around and explore in a way that appeals to any toddler and makes far more sense than having them strapped in a seat for hours and hours on end. .

Cost wise, it was probably about even - to drive we would’ve had the shorter ferry crossing, fuel costs for 14 hours driving (not cheap with European prices) and probably two overnight stops with that length of journey, possibly three if the thought of 3 days of constant travel just seemed too ridiculous. Flying and then hiring a car would’ve taken us way out the ballpark. The ferry to Spain took 24 hours, and cost approx £400 give or take £50 depending on the date we crossed and the cabin we chose.

Our Outside 2/4 birth en-suite cabin

Now that P&O have discontinued this route, Brittany Ferries offer the only option from the UK to Spain - they run two ferries - Cap Finistere and Pont-Aven, and a couple of different routes. We opted for a Portsmouth to Bilbao crossing on the Cap Finistere, which is the smaller of the two ferries. Initially we booked a luxury cabin, the top one offered, which came with a double bed, a tv and a lot more space than any of the others, and planned for the Littlest Hobo to sleep on a fantastic kids air bed that friends lent us. After a bit of a stuff up on my behalf though, (and for those who know us, yes honestly, it was all my fault and nothing to do with Mr Traveller!), we ended up with a 4 birth outside cabin and a refund of £40! I was pleasantly surprised by the cabin, which was on the 8th deck, although there wasn’t a lot of floor space, there was enough room to move about, the beds were a decent size, and Mr Traveller only felt marginally claustrophobic up there on the top bunk. The Littlest Hobo’s bed side even fitted, which was a big plus once it got a bit choppy! The room was en suite, with a surprisingly good shower. The room was well lit, with two plug sockets and piped music available. There was a thermostat to adjust the temperature as you wished, and a large port hole with great black-out curtains.

Dinky-di shower

En-suite bathroom

I couldn’t find much about our ferry online, apart from what Brittany Ferries had on their own site, and a single review on trip advisor which was pretty negative, so I didn’t have high expectations. The food in particular had received bad press, and if our experience on Brittany Ferries was anything to go on, I wasn‘t expecting any sort of gastronomic sensation, I was just hoping it wouldn‘t lead to any gastroenteritis either! The first evening we ate at the Salad Bar which was up on the 10th (top) deck, as the main restaurant couldn’t serve food until 6.30, which proved to be too long a wait for the Littlest Hobo. It was actually surprisingly tasty, if simple, fare. For breakfast, the Littlest Hobo and I had a full cooked brekkie in the main restaurant which was great value given that under 5’s eat free, then took Mr Traveller some breakfast bits and pieces that we’d bought in the Bon Marche café shop. All in all, I thought the food was okay, given we were, after all, on a ferry not a cruise.

The other thing I’d been unsure of was the children’s facilities on board - I knew there would be something but not sure what. We quickly discovered the children’s play area on the top deck, which claimed to be for supervised 5-12 year olds, but was perfectly suited to our two-and-a-bit year old and I can’t imagine any twelve year old comfortably using it. The area is covered, but it was a bit too chilly when we were leaving the UK to stay out there for any length of time, although it was great in the warm sunshine the next day. I had been hoping to see an indoor soft play area for small kids like we’d experienced with Irish Ferries, but there wasn’t one. As the Littlest Hobo appeared to be the only child on our crossing (really, I’m not exaggerating for dramatic effect, she really was the only one) she was able to choose which movies we watched in the children’s area, although a few adults gathered around to watch with us once Toy Story 3 was rolling. They also gave her a kids toy box with any food ordered, which contained plasticy, easy to break toys aimed at kids who were a few years older than the Littlest Hobo, but they kept her so happily amused that we barely broke into her backpack of toys that accompanies us on our travels.

Childrens play area on the top deck

Somebody was enjoying it

Mr Traveller has been known to get a bit queasy when out on anything more than a millpond, and the Littlest Hobo had projectile vomited on our last ferry journey (which we suspected to be for reasons other than the ferry, especially given she’d known ferries as a regular form of local public transport for the first 20 months of her life in Sydney, but weren’t sure), so I was curious to see how we would get on going  across the notorious Bay of Biscay, especially as we’d ended up travelling in mid November as opposed to our initially planned early October departure. When we first left Portsmouth all was well, and by the time we went to bed some 3 or 4 hours into the journey, things were getting a little bit rocky, and we’d identified that bending over forward was definitely best avoided, but we all went off to sleep without too much hassle. As far as I recall, the horrendous rocking started at around 11pm - 6 hours into our trip, and reached it’s peak around 2-3am when we were all awake and feeling the brunt of the extreme rocking and rolling. At that point I was thinking never again, but in hindsight now it seems less dramatic, although I am glad we’re driving up through France on our way back, and I won’t be rushing to suggest another 24 hour ferry in the near future. We got off the boat about 4 hours ago and I still feel like I’m bobbing about as I lie stretched out in my wisely booked room on my comfortable bed in Bilbao.

Is it time for the next chapter?

My beautiful, inspirational Gran

Gran's funeral is over. I've said my final goodbye. I delivered my eulogy, not without shedding quite a few tears, but I've been reliably informed that I was coherent, and for me that was enough - I don't mind that my emotion showed through, as long as they could hear me at the back. I've hugged my family, chatted with old friends, and taken a final walk around Gran's little house, which still feels like she's there. We drove back down the motorway, analysing what happened, allowing anger and sadness to pour from our aching souls as the words tumbled from our mouths and the wheels whizzed over the tarmac, putting the miles between us and the heartache, and somehow the combination of these actions soothes a little.

My Gran has filled my thoughts for the last few weeks, rightly so. But now it's time to move on. I'm painfully aware that this travel blog hasn't really been that for my last few posts. But I also think that one of the best things about our current lifestyle choice is the flexibility that we have given ourselves - the ability to change plans as and when required, which gave me the opportunity to be in the UK when I needed and wanted to be, so ultimately that has become part of our journey.

Now we're back at my parent's house. We've unpacked the bags and put an exhausted Littlest Hobo into bed, we've taken a little time to decompress, staring wordlessly at the television and computer screens. Now it's time to find some accommodation in Spain, start thinking about the route we might take when we drive back up through France, look at the weather forecasts and decide which clothes we need to take. And I think I can feel just a little bit, just the very tiniest bit, excited. What a relief; I was beginning to think I had lost my wanderlust, but no, it's there, it's just been hanging out under a heap of family baggage for a little while. Watch this space... the planning is underway.

I thought it was Saturday when I woke up

...then I got that sinking feeling you get when you realise it's actually Friday, and you've still got another whole day until the weekend.

Then, as I began to shake off that obligatory bleariness that comes with being woken too early by a 2 year old a few days after the clocks have changed, I remembered that it didn't really matter that it was Friday after all. I got up with the Littlest Hobo and set ourselves up in the lounge with a bit of kids telly and my laptop while we waited for true morning to arrive, and Mr Traveller pulled the pillow over his head and drifted back into the land of nod which was fair enough, seeing as it's his turn for a lie in today. And so our day began, in the way that many of our days begin these days.

I spent the day doing washing, taking the car to the tyre place (again...) and going to the supermarket, and Mr Traveller and the Littlest Hobo talked to his mum in Brisbane on the webcam before making profiteroles ready for our friends to come over and go to the local fireworks display tomorrow. We had a nice day, doing nothing extraordinary.

After the upheaval and sadness of the last couple of weeks, it's nice to return to our strange kind of normal. But I do feel like I'm in a slightly weird place at the moment. Before all this happened, I was desperate to get going, wishing the weeks away until we could go somewhere new and getting slightly frustrated with down time, because it meant that time when we could be travelling and making the most of this opportunity was being wasted. Right now, I could give or take our trip down to Spain, and our flights back down to the Southern hemisphere in January seem like something someone else told me they are doing, rather than our plans. We've decided to go to a different area in Spain, so that we can spend less time driving, and more time experiencing the country, and I know nothing about that area - normally I'd be researching like crazy now, trying to work out what I wanted to see, where we should stay etc, but I just gave it a ten minute glance last night, and now I really can't be bothered.

I'm sure that my mind is quite occupied with the upcoming funeral, in fact, as I am typing this I realise that I am probably trying to numb myself down so that I can get up in front of everyone and deliver a eulogy - I want to do it, but it's certainly throwing me a new challenge - although that's probably no bad thing.

But this mornings start to the day, getting up at our own pace, spending time with the Littlest Hobo, having the time to thrill her by involving her in our mundane tasks, and yesterday's visit with friends, Wednesdays trip to Bath, it's all reminding me why I love what we're doing. Right now I'm glad that it was so easy to be here, with my family, when I needed to be, and next week, when the hard bit is over, I will be able to appreciate once again that Mr Traveller has the opportunity to cook to his hearts content (and us to eat!) and I have the chance to write again, and to develop my photography, all while spending more time being a family and enjoying each others company, to run on beaches and splash in puddles, and to see so many things that we've never seen before, or never had the time to stop and really appreciate before, all while the Littlest Hobo is still little.

Enjoying the vast expanses of Newquay beach

This was one of those posts where you start writing something, and somehow you start wandering on the way and it turns into something completely different. I just pointed it in a direction, and let it change route undirected on the way. That is, after all, one of the things we tend to enjoy when we're on an adventure, so I guess I'll just let it be.

Filling in some of the blanks...

Thought it was about time I added a bit of background info to this blog, so I've just pulled together an about me section:

Charles Fort, Cornwall

After a series of unfortunate events meant that we had to put our 'regular'life on hold, we took the opportunity to fulfil a dream and travel for a year or two.

Myself, my husband, and our 2 year old toddler are spending some time with family in the UK, and seeing a few snippets of Europe on the way, before heading back down to the southern hemisphere in early 2012 when we'll travel Australia and New Zealand in a motor home. We'll also be travelling across the US and Canada in 2012... and who knows where else!

We're Brits who were living in Sydney, Australia immediately prior to our departure in June 2011. We are also Aussie citizens, and our daughter, having been born in Sydney, also holds dual nationality.

We're using our travels as an opportunity to search our souls about where we want to settle after this - England or Australia. With family in both countries and a different set of benefits with each choice, the jury is still out.    

The end of the road

Last night I said goodbye to one amazing lady. My gran was such a vibrant, independent person, who did what she wanted, how she wanted, and always encouraged me to do the same.

She was ahead of her peers in so many of her attitudes, it was a breath of fresh air. When we talked about moving to America, she was right behind us. When we moved to Sydney she actively encouraged us to go, casting aside her own desires to have us nearby, then flew all that way, twice, aged 86 and then 87, with somewhat limited mobility, to visit us, and follow her natural wanderlust.

While the last two weeks, sitting vigil by her bedside as she slowly slipped from us has been possibly the hardest thing I've ever done, I am so grateful that I could be there to give a little back to the lady who has given me so much. I'm relieved that I was in the UK to rush to her on that Sunday night, when she could still talk a little, thankful that the path we have chosen in the last few months put me close by, and afforded me the time to sit with her, and hold her hand, and remember and remember and remember - I think it must be fate.

And while that gave me the time to wonder what we are doing, swanning around so far from our loved ones, it afforded me yet more hours to remember how important it is to follow our dreams, because life is precious, and every experience is there for the taking, but you need to grab it by the hands and run with it to make it happen.

So now, when we continue on our travels, after all the official business has been taken care of, I know that your adventurous spirit can come with us gran, instead of being bound by a body that got weary before that amazing mind was ready to.

Thanks for all the inspiration, and the memories gran - it's been fantastic. And I won't say rest in peace gran, because while I hope you're at peace, I also hope you're kicking your heals up with all those you held so dear, having new adventures and making memories in a beautiful hotel in the sky.

The best laid plans are those that you can change

The way I see it, you get two types of people in life; the ones who like to plan, and the ones who don't. Often it seems that the ones who like to plan and the ones who don't have any desire to struggle to function within the same space. Our little family of three are definitely down to the wire last minute decision makers. We don't like to plan, and doing so often causes us more drama than just kicking back and deciding on the day.

But with this new travelling lark we've come to accept that at times it makes more sense to plan a bit, here and there. We booked flights to Singapore for next year while they were on sale, meaning that we can afford to sit in the slightly comfier (premium economy) seats. And we booked our ferry to Spain for this coming Friday a few weeks ago, so that we could have a comfy and spacious cabin rather than spending 25 hours in a reclining seat with a grumpy toddler climbing all over us.

My beloved Gran is still very sick. Every day we are told that the next 24 hours are critical, and we wait with baited breath and hang onto every tiniest glimmer of hope. When it comes down to it, as excited as I am about our new travelling life, right now I can't imagine anything worse than hopping on a ferry and going away from here. I want to be in the UK, more so than I have wanted in years and years, I want to be here for whatever the next few days/weeks may bring, to support my parents, to encourage my gran, to do whatever needs to be done.

So I called up Brittany Ferries and pushed our booking back. And I have to say I was super impressed with how fantastically easy and low cost it was, so hurrah to Brittany Ferries. And of course, being the wonderful person that he is, Mr Traveller is taking it all in his stride too, and we are taking our travel plans one day at a time. So watch this space...

I'd love to hear from anyone else following a travelling lifestyle who has changed their plans at the last minute. How did it work out? Did you blog about it? If you did, please share a link to your post in the comments below.