12 days to go
Brighton Travel Blog› entry 1 of 16 › view all entries
4 days until I leave work and 6 until I have to leave my beloved Brighton and move back to Gillingham in Medway; the cesspit of England. Mind you, I should not be talking like this, as if this is something thrust upon me. I made the decision to do this back in October, and started the ball rolling in February. Now the ball is spinning out of control and lo and behold, I am leaving in 12 days time. On a one way ticket. Goodbye Brighton Pier, friends, family, PG Tips and en-suite shower.
Back in October I suddenly woke up with the idea of going travelling in Spain. I had been contemplating making a big change in my life, having recently split up from my boyfriend and moved into a houseshare of strangers. My job - though it has been great and I have a wonderful network of friends there - was in truth, becoming frustrating and not what I wanted to do in the long run. Easy to stick with at the rip old age of 23, but it would have been 3 years of being there this year, and I decided that if I didn't take action soon, then I never would. Australia was too expensive and the idea of volunteering in a poor country never appealed to me - I guess I'm not exactly a people person - and I've never been comfortable with the idea of drifiting over from a privileged background and paying for the experience of helping those less fortunate. Then I remembered a friend who I knew from an after work Spanish class I took last year, who had quit her job and spent a month in Valencia doing a language course. Bingo! It just felt right. I booked a month long course in Seville (a place that just appealed to me), I prepared my letter of resignation, booked my one-way flight and got back into my old Michel Thomas CDs.
Well that was then and now, as I sit in a half empty/half yet to be packed room and listen to the seagulls shriek at each other I feel a genuine sadness. I will miss what I created here. I will miss the sea and the unpredictable weather and the normality of everyday life, but I don't feel an an ounce of regret and that is all that matters.
Besides, I will probably end my great adventure prematurely when I blow all my money on Sangria and come back to Kent with my tail between my legs. Still, a month in Seville is better than another month of staring out of the window, wanting to scratch the travelling itch.
Bring it on...