Long goodbyes, 20 minutes' sleep and we’re off. My parents look incredulous at my ability to rise after such little rest, yet I’m equally as questioning of their getting up at 1am when we aren’t supposed to leave the house for another two and a half hours. I've barely been back in England for five minutes and I’m already back on the road – holiday number three in just five weeks. Not that I’m complaining, as a (hopefully) relaxing trip to one of my favourite places is desperately needed after a fast-paced and exhausting week in the inexhaustible Magaluf.
Stay at home
This has also been the most anticipated holiday. For months. We’ve been fired at with enthusiasm from parents about an unmissable two-day drive down to Portugal that contrasts greatly with their insistence that our attendance is not compulsory if we feel we'd 'rather stay at home'. Regardless, who would choose to remain in England? Firstly, for fear of breaking the hearts of parents who, despite their insistence that 'we understand completely if you don’t want to come' actually really, really want you with them and secondly. the chance to see places so old and so beautiful it would be foolish to miss out.
Stay at home
This has also been the most anticipated holiday. For months. We’ve been fired at with enthusiasm from parents about an unmissable two-day drive down to Portugal that contrasts greatly with their insistence that our attendance is not compulsory if we feel we'd 'rather stay at home'. Regardless, who would choose to remain in England? Firstly, for fear of breaking the hearts of parents who, despite their insistence that 'we understand completely if you don’t want to come' actually really, really want you with them and secondly. the chance to see places so old and so beautiful it would be foolish to miss out.
At 18, the idea of travelling a distance of more than 1,500 miles with parents in a large, although still slightly cramped, car, is often one of horror yet it doesn’t particularly faze me. This may be unusual, yet I see our ability to stand each other (most of the time) as a happy bonus and I pity other families for not having something I hope will stay with us for a very long time. As we travel on the unattractive motorways of the north of France, with Dad pinching his nose, horribly imitating the muffled voice of a pilot and the car filled with the monotonous, yet slightly aggressive instructions of the SatNav as we head into Salamanca, I still can’t help thinking how lucky I am.
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