Holiday withdrawal

I haven’t blogged since September. Four months – probably a record. There are two main reasons for this. The first is work – I have been working pretty much full-time for the last few months, on top of kids, house and all the usual things that take up hours, and I just haven’t found – or been able to justify – the time to sit down and write a blog entry. The second reason – and this is more depressing –  is a distinct lack of holidays to blog about.

The last time I blogged, we’d not long got back from France. Granted, it was only two weeks and not the five weeks of old, but it did inspire me to write Magic municipals. We didn’t go away again until the end of October, our now-regular half-term trip to the Bitacora in Tenerife. Given that I’ve already blogged about it at least four times (Four star favourite, If you can’t beat them…, Same old, same old and Spring Hotel Bitacora, Tenerife), I didn’t really have much more to add. It’s not an adventurous holiday. It’s not about seeing new places or trying new things. It’s about going to a familiar hotel – which we really like – and relaxing. Chilling on the beach or by the pool, eating lots and the children being entertained. To be fair, this year we did have the novelty of an amazing upgrade to a Level 8 Terrace room – that’s definitely worth a few pictures but maybe not a whole blog post!

Our Level 8 Terrace – probably bigger than my house…

Some of the amazing views from our balcony
Breakfast delivered to our balcony on our last morning

We planned on a weekend visit to Bruges in December to see the Christmas markets but we left it too late – reasonably priced family rooms are few and far between on the continent, or so we’ve found, and there was nothing available that would accommodate all of us and still leave us enough money to actually eat. Needless to say, we didn’t go, and another blogging opportunity slipped through the net.

So here I am, heading towards the end of January, not having been on holiday for nearly three months. Okay, okay, I know that’s nothing for a lot of people but this time of year is the longest I ever go between holidays. And on one level I don’t mind, as Christmas is the one time of year I’d prefer to be at home with family than to be on holiday (Christmas (no) holidays…). But I do start to get itchy feet around now. Christmas is over, the weather is cold, the nights are long and the best way to cheer myself up is a holiday. We’d already booked Corfu for the summer and Tenerife (again!) for October, but they’re forever away. So we’ve now booked Center Parcs in the Netherlands for Easter and I feel a bit better. But that’s still three months away. And I’m getting serious holiday withdrawal symptoms…

Clearly, this is easily fixed: I need another holiday and I need it as soon as possible. So we’re currently looking at a couple of nights in London during February half-term. Money, weather and work limit how long we can go away for and how far we can go, but I’ll be happy just to get away for a bit. I wish I didn’t still have a month to go, but at least I can spend the next few weeks planning things to do. And I’ll finally have something new to blog about!

Magical municipals

Over the last 12 years, I’ve stayed at an awful lot of French campsites. I’d hate to hazard a guess at how many but, given that we used to spend up to five weeks travelling from campsite to campsite, often only staying a night or two before moving on, I can guarantee the number is well into the double figures. With number comes diversity – we’ve stayed in a lot of different types of campsite. We’ve stayed in all-singing, all-dancing campsites, like Le Soleil in Argeles-sur-Mer, with 800+ pitches, a pool, kids club, restaurant and a host of other facilities. At the other end of the scale, we’ve also stayed in small, quiet campsites, such as Les Portes du Trièves near Grenoble, where the toilet/washing block and reception are the only facilities. Of course, we’ve also stayed at lots somewhere in between, and the truth is that we like all types. They all serve a purpose – sometimes it’s good to have somewhere quiet, where you’re guaranteed to get a pitch and a good night’s sleep. Sometimes it’s nice to stay somewhere buzzy, where you can swim or eat out without leaving the campsite and the kids are always entertained.

The swimming pool at Le Soleil in the south of France

With diversity in size and facilities, of course, also comes diversity in price – and we have found a huge range of prices throughout our campsite experiences. On the whole, we’ve found camping to be cheaper in France than in the UK, paying over 50 euros a night for some of the bigger campsites but as little as 10 euros in some of the smaller ones. The cheapest campsites, we’ve discovered, tend to be municipals. For those who have never come across these before, municipal campsites are owned by the local authority and you can find them in most towns and large villages. They tend to be on the outskirts, but it is usually walkable to the town/village and thus to any facilities you may need. The campsites themselves tend to be low on facilities, as you would expect for a low price: you should find decent sanitary and washing up facilities, probably a couple of washing machines and maybe a children’s playground – and that’s probably it. However, you will often find that you are given free or reduced access to the local swimming pool and occasionally other local facilities (we’ve been offered free mini-golf and reduced cinema tickets in the past). Unless you have a desperate need for bells and whistles on site, municipal campsites make the perfect base for exploring France. You’re likely to find one near most major sites and attractions, and you can usually walk into the town for dinner if you don’t fancy campsite cooking.

Municipal campsite in Autun
Free municipal swimming pool in La Roche-Chalais
Municipal campsite in Gignac

Having just said that municipal campsites are low on facilities, there are exceptions. We had stayed at La Hallerais, just outside Dinan in Brittany, at least three times before we realised it was a municipal campsite. It has a small heated pool, tennis courts, a playground, table tennis and mini-golf, all free of charge. It also has a restaurant, a games room and a small shop, plus a large, well-staffed reception area. We returned (and still do) for several reasons: we really like the location, with its beautiful riverside walk into Dinan; it has good facilities and plenty to keep the children occupied; and the toilets and showers are some of the biggest and cleanest we’ve come across! But another huge draw has always been the price: a pitch for a tent and a family of four is just over 20 euros per night at the time of writing – and that’s including all the facilities mentioned above! We had always wondered why it was so cheap compared to other similar campsites, until all was explained when we noticed the word ‘municipal’ on its website. So while you won’t get anything on the Eurocamp level at a municipal campsite (or at a Eurocamp price!), there are bigger, more facilitied (is that a word?!) municipals out there if you look, so don’t assume they’re only for those who like a basic campsite!

One of our many pitches at La Hallerais over the years
Kids’ swimming pool at La Hallerais
Wildflowers at La Hallerais
The riverside path from the campsite into Dinan

Even if you’re not keen on spending the night under canvas, you don’t have to rule out municipal campsites. Just like Eurocamp, municipal campsites do mobile homes too – and at a fraction of the cost! As a general rule, you can expect your mobile home to have a fully equipped kitchen, with a fridge, hobs and microwave (but no oven or dishwasher – sorry!), a toilet and shower, indoor and outdoor table and seating, and separate bedrooms for you and the kids (if travelling with a family). They cover all your needs – you have all the facilities you need in the home itself, plus you get to use the campsite facilities too – laundry, playground and whatever else you need. Hey, you can even use the campsite toilets and showers if yours are being used! You’ll need to bring your own towels and sheets (although they can often be provided at a cost) but otherwise you have everything you need right there. It’s drier than a tent, more private than a hostel and cheaper than Airbnb – what’s not to love?! Just as an example, we recently spent a week in a mobile home in a municipal campsite at La Roche-Chalais in the Dordogne – it cost 190 euros for the four of us. A Eurocamp mobile home in the Dordogne over the same period would normally cost around £1,000. Yes, you’d get more facilities – but are they really worth £800 a week?! As with the price of camping, you can expect to pay more for a mobile home in those campsites with more facilities or in particularly desirable locations. Either way, it’s an extremely cheap way to holiday if you don’t like tents!

Our mobile home in the Dordogne

A few final tips: firstly, the Michelin guide to camping in France is particularly helpful for finding campsites, municipal or not. Secondly, you won’t always find a website – or at least, not a very good one! – for municipal campsites; be prepared to do a bit of digging, emailing or even phoning. Thirdly, as municipal campsites don’t tend to be frequented much by British tourists, the staff often speak no or limited English. If you speak a little French, it does come in very handy – if not, make Google Translate your friend! Finally, if travelling with children during the summer holidays, the middle to end of August is the cheapest time to go. What’s classified as high season varies in France, but the middle of August onwards is apparently mid-season in the Dordogne, with Brittany following suit a week later – travelling at the beginning of August would have meant paying high-season prices, so it’s a potential saving of £100-200 a week to travel a bit later!

Sadly, I’ve not come across municipal campsites anywhere other than France, although I hear that Portugal has a similar system. But if you fancy a cheap French adventure, give them a go – after all, money saved on your accommodation means more money for eating, days out and, of course, your next holiday!

Traveller or tourist?

Earlier this year, I joined Twitter and discovered a whole community of travel bloggers. It’s great – they’re supportive of each other, they share tips, advice and photos, they have some great discussions and they inspire me to go and visit even more places than I wanted to before. But the thing is, I’m not sure I quite fit in. These are travellers – they go to far-flung places, off the beaten track, often for months at a time, and they stay in hostels with all their belongings carried round in a backpack. Even those with full-time jobs, who can’t practically spend six months exploring Asia, seem to disappear to places I’ve never heard of every other weekend. Before joining Twitter, I’d considered myself relatively well travelled. It’s a long-standing joke among those who know me that I’m always on holiday. But suddenly, in comparison to all these ‘proper’ travellers, I’ve realised I’m small fry. They have three months backpacking in Tanzania, and I’m getting excited for my week in a hotel in Tenerife.

So what sets me apart from the real travellers? Well, for starters, I’m struggling to think of any exotic or unusual destinations I’ve visited. I’ve never set foot in South America, and my North America experience consists of Florida and Jamaica – so far, so mainstream. My African experience so far is just an organised mini-cruise to Egypt from Cyprus. My visits to Asia consist of Turkey (geographically), Hong Kong and a few hours in Singapore airport (which, believe me, I counted as having visited Asia before I’d done the others!). Hong Kong was pretty adventurous for me – but, as anyone who’s been there knows, its British influence is still highly visible. I’ve been to Australia – far-flung but not unusual. As for Europe, I’ve been to a fair few countries, but none of the less obvious ones. Spain, Greece, Italy? Check. Albania, Latvia, Slovenia? Er, no.

The beach in Jamaica – not as deserted as it looks in the picture!

Up Victoria Peak in Hong Kong

I’ve also never stayed in a hostel in my life. I have no particular need for five star hotels (although I wouldn’t complain!) but the thought of sleeping in a room with strangers holds no appeal whatsoever. I also have no desire to share a bathroom with other people (although I don’t mind when camping – strange, eh?). We’re not exactly spontaneous either. We stayed for five weeks in Australia, in eleven different locations – and each hotel/apartment/motel/mobile home (I do at least manage variety) was booked in advance, and only after thorough research on Trip Advisor. My holidays are generally organised long in advance of when we actually go (over a year ahead is not unusual) – there’s no ‘Shall we go to XXX next weekend?’ or going to the airport and jumping on the first plane available (although I’ve ALWAYS wanted to do that!). Another thing that sets me apart from ‘travellers’ is the amount of time I spend away. Back when my husband was still teaching and I had less work, we’d spend almost the entire six-week summer holiday travelling around France (or, once, Australia). Now, we don’t manage more than a fortnight at a time, which isn’t really long enough to travel around or fully explore new places – and if you try, it’s exhausting.

View from our apartment in Scarborough near Perth

Balcony in our hotel room in Alice Springs

View from our motel in Townsville

Holiday park in Airlie Beach

The house where we stayed in Sydney

One of the Instagram accounts I follow recently posed the question ‘Are you a traveller or a tourist?’ I realised I wasn’t sure. Do I consider myself a traveller? No. Would I like to be? Maybe. So what’s stopping me?

Well, one major factor is my children. I love taking them on holiday and helping them to explore the world, but having them does affect the sort of holidays we choose. Safety and comfort are naturally more of a concern when you travel with children. I’m less keen to visit anywhere that could be considered unsafe or where poverty is a problem. I’m less keen to visit anywhere where the culture is vastly different, and I find myself choosing to visit Westernised destinations. I want to have the accommodation booked in advance – I don’t want to risk not having anywhere to stay for the night when I’m with the kids. The type of accommodation is also an issue – are there enough beds for the kids to sleep in our room? Are children welcome? Are there any kids’ facilities? These things need researching. Spontaneity isn’t easy with children – if I’m spending out on a holiday, I need to know it’s going to tick all the boxes, and I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Safety and practicalities aside, will there be enough at the destination to entertain and occupy the kids? I never let a holiday revolve around the children but it absolutely has to involve a compromise. They will happily (well, sometimes) follow us around a museum or castle, wander around a pretty village or go for a five-mile hike. But these more ‘adult’ activities need to be interspersed with things that are more family-orientated – is there a theme park? Can we go tree-trekking or play crazy golf? Can we at least stop for half an hour while they play in a playground? Happy kids equals happy parents!

Tree-trekking

More kids’ entertainment – note the inflatables in the background too…

Another issue, unsurprisingly – and not unconnected to children – is money. Holidays cost money. Travelling costs money. And however much you shop around for cheap accommodation and travel hacks, the further you travel, the more your flights cost. Much as I might like to visit Sri Lanka or Senegal, Spain is a lot closer and a lot cheaper. Travel also costs more with children – if you’re lucky, you can find hotels with family rooms, but they usually cost more, and it doesn’t exactly aid spontaneity. As for flights, it doesn’t matter how old the child is – if they take up a seat, they cost the full price. It’s fair enough, but it doesn’t make travel cheap. Taking two kids basically doubles the cost of your holiday. This is all not to mention school holiday prices either: if you keep your kids in school and only go away during school holidays, be prepared for a massive hike in prices – which, again, limits where you can go. Many a time we have gone away in October half term simply to wherever we can afford, rather than somewhere we’d specifically like to go – and this means that we’re more likely to end up in the ‘typical’ resorts like the Spanish costas. And still on the subject of money, to pay for holidays, you have to work – and having a job means you are limited to how much time you can take off (both altogether in a year and at any one time). I’m self-employed, so I have a little more flexibility – but then I don’t get paid for my holidays, so I too can’t afford to go away too often or for too long, as I’m losing the opportunity to actually pay for those holidays!

Of course, I could always solve money and work problems by becoming a digital nomad. What’s one of these, you ask. Well, as far as I can tell, it appears to be someone who travels around and works remotely. If you follow any travel accounts on Instagram, you’re likely to have been inundated with adverts and DMs about how you too could follow their example and become a digital nomad (just pay $10 for an exclusive guide on how to do so). You too could live The Life they do. You too could give it all up and live the dream – the dream being, as far as I can tell, living in a variety of hotels and spending your days blogging about how to fund the hotels (or charging $10 to tell other people how to live in a variety of hotels). Firstly, I suspect it’s not as easy as all that. Secondly, do you know what? I wouldn’t want to. Some people may be very happy spending their entire lives travelling, without a base, but I’m not one of them. Much as I like my holidays, I also like coming home. I like my house and I like where I live. I like my job (most of the time). I like meeting up with my friends and I like going to our weekly quiz night. I like seeing family and watching my children form that bond with them. I like curling up on the sofa watching telly and I like sleeping in my own bed. I like my routine and I like the familiarity. I also like the novelty of escaping it to go on holiday – I suspect much of the excitement of travel would start to fade if I was doing it all the time.

So I guess I’m not really a traveller. But am I just a typical tourist? I like to think not. For a start, I go on holiday every opportunity I get – every school holiday if possible, with the odd weekend break thrown in. Money and practicality dictates that it may be just a night in a London hotel or camping in the next county, but I do go away more than most people I know. I also love to see new places; if I go on holiday, I don’t want to spend the time trapped in the hotel – I want to get out and see what the area has to offer. I love going to all the obvious tourist sites, but I also love exploring and finding places that the average tourist doesn’t know about. Even on a package holiday, we hire a car and go and explore. Some of my favourite holiday moments have been exploring troglodyte caves in Menorca and ancient Greek ruins in Turkey without another soul around. I also like to integrate a little – I want to try the local food and attempt the local language, and I certainly don’t want to stay in a hotel where all the clientele are British.

Priene in Turkey all to ourselves

Priene
Exploring the necropolis at Calas Covas in Menorca

Calas Covas

I’m not reliant on a tour operator for holidays either – although we have done package deals, I usually prefer to organise my own holidays and book direct. I don’t mind where I stay – luxury hotel, tent, apartment, wherever (but not hostel!). I like all kinds of holidays too – past holidays have included a city break in a budget hotel; all-inclusive in the Caribbean; Butlins; a walking holiday in the Cotswolds, staying in B&Bs; a family hotel in Benidorm; and, of course, camping in France. This is one example of when we were spontaneous – when we had the time, we would drive around France (and Spain, Andorra, Luxembourg and Belgium on one holiday) with a tent, staying for a couple of nights before moving on. We didn’t book anything, we didn’t plan ahead very much and we saw beach, mountains, countryside and cities all in the one holiday. It was brilliant (but I was also quite glad to come home!).

Prague, many years ago!

Guess where!

Early morning view from our hotel room in Jamaica

Benidorm, of course

Our tent, somewhere in France

This all sounds like I’m saying it’s a bad thing to be a ‘tourist’ – and of course it’s not. There’s no right or wrong way to travel – and I’m no holiday snob. In five weeks’ time I’ll be in a family hotel in Tenerife, spending most of my time by the pool or on the beach. Some people prefer one type of holiday; others like to change it up. Some people like the safety net of a package deal; others prefer to organise things themselves. Some people like to plan in advance; others are more spur of the moment. Some people like luxury on holiday; others are happy to rough it. Me? I’m somewhere in between. And that’s okay. I don’t have to pigeonhole myself as any one thing. I don’t have to have visited 73 countries or trekked the length of the Great Wall of China to have something to offer. I have my own niche – I’m a 40-something, self-employed mother of two, who loves to go on all sorts of holidays whenever she gets the chance, and who blogs about it occasionally when she gets a break in work. I may have more in common with other family travellers or part-time workers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t share tips with the 20-something backpacker, the retired couple on a round-the-world cruise or the full-time travel blogger. I’m not a traveller and I’m not a tourist – I’m just a holiday obsessive and proud of it!

My view in a few weeks…

And if you fancy joining me and the rest of the travel community (if you haven’t already), give me a follow on Twitter or Instagram!

Overnight at the Treehouse Hotel, Port Lympne Hotel and Reserve

I have somewhat mixed feelings about animals in captivity. I am an animal lover so, while I love the opportunity to see animals up close, it goes without saying that I abhor seeing animals kept in cramped or cruel conditions. I am more torn in situations where they are kept in large enclosures with plenty of space and stimulation – a lot is said about how animals are better off in the wild, but who’s to say they wouldn’t prefer living somewhere safe, with plenty of food, shelter and medical attention if necessary, and without the threat of predators or poachers? Ethical dilemmas aside, Port Lympne Reserve in Kent, along with its sister park Howletts, is not your average ‘zoo’. While it offers plenty for the paying visitor, its purpose is not to provide entertainment – rather, it focuses on conservation, with the ultimate aim of releasing animals back into the wild. Working in conjunction with the animal conservation charity the Aspinall Foundation, their ‘mission is to halt the extinction of rare and endangered species and return them to the wild where possible’. You can read more on their website.

Although as a local girl I have visited both Port Lympne and Howletts many times over the years, this year we decided to splash out and go for one of the overnight packages that Port Lympne have started offering over recent years. The reason was for my mum’s 70th birthday – my sister and I decided to treat her as she’s mad about animals. I will preface this whole post by saying that, unless you have lots of money to spare, you really need a good reason or a special celebration to book one of the Port Lympne short breaks. I won’t detail prices, as my mum might read this, but suffice to say they are not cheap! They are, however, pretty special and make for a very unique night or few days away. Port Lympne offer a range of different types (and prices) of accommodation. We chose the Treehouse Hotel, but if you visit the website you can find more details on the other types of accommodation available.

What was the accommodation like?

We opted for the Treehouse Hotel because we figured it was the best option for our group of three (and couldn’t really imagine my mum glamping!), but it would also work particularly well for families. Although called a ‘hotel’, the Treehouse Hotel actually consists of several individual self-catering units, each accessed up a steep flight of stairs (although there is also an accessible option). The units comprise a twin bedroom, a double bedroom, a bathroom, an open-plan kitchen and lounge, and a large balcony, with views over a rhino and cheetah enclosure and the Hythe bay. The bedrooms were very comfortable, with robes and slippers included, and the swish bathroom – with bath and integral shower – included a selection of Bamford toiletries.

Double bedroom

Twin bedroom

Twin bedroom

Bathroom

The lounge had air conditioning, several comfy sofas and a huge TV, and the kitchen was well stocked with plenty of crockery and cutlery, a dishwasher, oven, toaster and Nespresso machine. There was milk in the fridge and a selection of hot drinks, all complimentary – there was also a basket of goodies you could pay for, although they were appropriately priced for their captive consumers, and you would be much better advised to bring your own snacks.

Lounge

Dining table

Kitchen

The balcony was huge, with a large table and chairs, plus a comfy sofa. The only downside was that we had a downpour shortly before checking into the hotel – and with no canopy over the furniture, the cushions on the sofa and the chairs were completely soaked, rendering them unusable.

Dining table on the balcony

View from the balcony
View from the balcony

Overall, the accommodation was very comfortable and felt luxurious – our only real complaint (apart from the rain) was that we didn’t have enough time in it to fully enjoy it!

What’s included?

It goes without saying that your park entrance, from opening time on the day you arrive until closing time on the day you leave, is included in the cost. Entrance to Howletts, around half an hour’s drive away, is also included – although if you are only staying for one night, like we were, you won’t be able to fit this in without missing out on some of Port Lympne. If you choose to book an animal enounter (more on this below), you get a discount on the cost equalling the price of the entry fee. If you are staying at the Treehouse Hotel, there is a clubhouse next to the rhino encounter, where you receive a free welcome drink and can toast marshmallows over the fire. It has a bar and I believe that it is open into the evening, if you want to relax there with a drink instead of in your treehouse, but I think this depends on the day and season (it seemed to close quite early when were there). One of the best things about staying is the use of a golf buggy – quite apart from being good fun to drive (if rather difficult to get used to – who knew it was easier to drive a car?!), it is also invaluable in getting around the park, which is huge and very hilly.

My mum and sister by our golf buggy

Another advantage to booking an overnight stay is that you get exclusive access to Port Lympne after the day visitors have gone home (and before they arrive the next day). Not only is it quite nice having the zoo to yourselves (well, apart from the other overnighters zipping around on their golf buggies), but you also get to see some of the animals who only tend to come out at night or at quieter/cooler times.

Where can you eat?

There are a number of eating places in Port Lympne, at varying prices. At lunchtime on the first day, we ate at a cafe that I can’t find a name for, near Base Camp (where you check in on arrival and where you queue for the safari truck – more below). It has a variety of pasties, ready-made sandwiches, cakes, snacks and drinks and is an easy lunch option. On the second day, we hoped to have lunch in the Pinewood Cafe near the entrance, where they also do a variety of hot lunches – something with pulled pork jumped out – but we were in the wrong part of the park. They had a small ‘kiosk’ near Babydoll’s (more later) also selling hot food, but sadly this was closed while we were there. We ended up grabbing a sandwich at the kiosk near the meerkats, which was disappointing if I’m honest, but it was late and it was literally the last one left. Luckily, the gelato from the ice cream van next door made up for it! The aforementioned Babydoll’s was our choice for dinner. Named after the last surviving original Howlett’s gorillas, it’s Italian themed and serves a mix of pasta and pizzas. There wasn’t a huge choice but everything we ate was delicious. You can eat outside if the weather’s good, although we chose to eat indoors – it was relatively quiet when we were there, although I’d imagine it’s a different story at peak times. There were plenty of children there and the prices were mid-range, so this would be a good choice for dinner if you were there on a family trip.

Outside Babydoll’s

The other dinner choices were the Pinewood Cafe – reasonably priced but I would suspect that it lacks the ambience you’d want for an evening meal – and the restaurant inside the Port Lympne Hotel itself, the original Grade 2 listed mansion house. The Port Lympne Hotel also serves up afternoon tea; unfortunately, the prices for both this and the evening meals were a little over our budget after paying for the stay in the first place!

What animals will you see?

There are a whole host of animals at Port Lympne, although that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll see all of them! The nature of the park means that the enclosures are generally very large, with lots of places for animals to hide away – so if they don’t want to show themselves, they won’t! As I mentioned earlier, accessing the park in the evening or early morning can increase your chances of seeing some of the harder-to-spot animals – for example, there was no sign of the wolves during the day but in the evening they were out playing (and we heard them howling from our balcony later on!). There are plenty of primates – lemurs, langurs, gibbons, drills, howler monkeys and, my personal favourite, gorillas. These are usually the highlight of my trip to Port Lympne or Howletts but most of them sadly seemed to be hiding this time.

There are lots of cats – lions, tigers, cheetahs and smaller cats such as the fishing cat or the Scottish wildcat. You can also expect to see rhinos, meerkats, tapirs, red pandas and a whole host of other animals while you wander round the park (or scoot around in your golf buggy).

In addition to those animals you can see independently, all visitors to the park get to go on a safari truck to see some more animals in as natural a habitat as possible – and believe me, there were plenty of moments on the safari when you could quite believe you were on the plains of Africa. The safari ride takes around an hour, with the guide providing information as you go and stopping to get a better look at those animals that are nearby – or to wait for a rhino to get out of the way! As well as rhinos, you can expect to see giraffes (they have recently had several babies born), zebras, camels, water buffalo, ostriches and more species of deer and antelope than I have a hope of recalling. I think the procedure for booking onto the safari varies depending on the time of year – this time, we were able to book a convenient time and were given a ticket to get on, but on my previous visit (during the school holidays), we simply had to queue (for some time) for the next available truck.

What else is there to see?

Slightly incongruously, there is also a fairly newly opened Dinosaur Forest in Port Lympne – this is a (long) walk along a wooded track filled with life-sized models of dinosaurs, along with corresponding information. Along with the obvious T-Rex, stegosaurus, triceratops and so on, there are also plenty of lesser-known (and rather unusual looking) specimens. It’s great fun for children, but still interesting for adults.

It is also well worth a wander around the grounds of the mansion house (now the Port Lympne Hotel). Beautifully landscaped, expect to see ponds, a maze, statues, steps with a view and lots of colourful flowers. If there’s no wedding going on, you can also have a wander through the mansion house itself. From the amazing murals on the walls to the picturesque Moroccan courtyard, you can see why it’s a popular wedding venue.

Can I get up close to the animals?

As mentioned previously, the animals are free to come and go as they please within their enclosures, so how close you get depends on whether they want to show themselves! However, Port Lympne do offer a number of experiences to allow you to get a more ‘personal’ view of the animals. As well as smaller and one-to-one safaris, you can also book animal encounters with select animals (at a price similarly eye-watering to the hotel but, again, well worth it if you like animals). My mum chose to have a tapir encounter in the hope that it might be more ‘hands-on’ than some of the other encounters (I certainly had no desire to get up close and personal with the big cats!). The encounters are usually in small groups but we were lucky that it was just the three of us. We got to spend time with the keeper behind the scenes in the tapir house, learning all about tapirs and getting very close indeed. Turns out tapirs love having their tummies rubbed, and they also have quite a liking for sweat, given how much my mum was licked! (I should probably add here that it was a very hot day!) We got to meet Kingut, who, at 40, is the world’s oldest  Malayan tapir – apparently, he can get quite over-excited and nip sometimes, but we caught him in a lazy mood, where he wanted nothing more than to lie on his side while we rubbed his tummy. For anyone concerned that the encounter is intrusive for the tapirs, I will say that it was very evident that the animals also enjoyed and benefited from the human contact. The keeper was very knowledgeable and had clearly built up relationships with the tapirs, and I have no doubt that all encounters are handled very sensitively and put the needs of the animals as paramount. While I can only speak for the tapir experience, it really was an amazing opportunity to get face to face with an animal you would never expect to encounter!

You taste nice!

Kingut – the oldest Malayan tapir in the world!

Tapirs love a tummy rub!

Is there anything else I need to know?

Firstly, as mentioned above, the park is very large and full of steep hills. Wear comfy shoes because you’ll be doing a lot of walking!

Although there are plenty of places to eat, you’re quite welcome to bring your own food for a picnic. The Treehouse Hotel is set up for self-catering, so you can bring your own food to cook if you so wish. We brought croissants, bread, jam and cereal so that we could have breakfast on our balcony (and save ourselves the cost of breakfast in one of the restaurants!).

Breakfast with a view

Who needs a selfie stick when you have a reflection in a window?!

Although you can get to the park as soon as it opens (9.30 am), you can’t check in to the treehouse until 3.00 pm (this could be an issue if you have any food that needs refrigeration!). There is a centrally positioned car park reserved for hotel guests, so you can leave your stuff in the car until you check in. You’re taken to the clubhouse along with your luggage in a little truck (the treehouses aren’t accessible on foot), where you receive your golf buggy (along with instructions on how to drive it) and your key. You have to check out at 11.00 am the morning you leave, although you get to keep the golf buggy until 1.00 pm. You can either take your luggage back to the car in the golf buggy or the staff will transport it for you in a truck. You can still stay at the park until closing time – 6.30 pm in summer and 5.30 pm in winter.


Where it all began

Once upon a time, I was not a traveller. I was not obsessed with holidays, mainly because I hadn’t had many. By the age of 16, I’d been to Sussex for a couple of holidays and I’d been to the Isle of Wight twice – that felt really exciting, as it involved a ferry, so it was almost like going to another country. I had vague memories of camping in Suffolk and Norfolk as a toddler, and apparently I went to Cornwall as a baby, although obviously I had no recollection of that. I’d been on a day trip to Boulogne at the age of seven or eight – the beauty of living close to Dover – but that was the extent of my travel.
So when I travelled to Mykonos at 16, I ticked off quite a few ‘firsts’ all in one go. It was the first time I’d been on an aeroplane. It was the first time I’d been to Greece (or, let’s be honest, any country other than England or France). It was the first time I’d been away for more than a fortnight – we were going for three weeks. And it was the first time I’d been away without an adult – I was going with my best friend to stay with her sister, who lived on the island. If I was going to lose my travel virginity, I was sure going to do it in style…

The beautiful streets of Mykonos

 My friend’s dad drove us to the airport, and that was the end of any adult involvement for the rest of our journey. We checked in and then went through security, an experience totally alien to me. And right from the start, things got funny. Bear in mind that this was 25 years ago – long before liquids had been banned on planes. Long before, or so it turned out, anyone was that bothered about security full stop. Because my friend had a pair of kitchen scissors in her hand luggage. She had them because she sometimes used them to cut her hair. Over a three-week period, with a fringe, there was a reasonable chance she’d want to cut her hair – and so she packed the scissors. It didn’t dawn on her that her hand luggage wasn’t the place for them. It didn’t dawn on me either – I dread to think what was in my hand luggage. It was only when the security guard pulled them out of the bag, having spotted them on the x-ray machine, and asked, ‘What do you intend to use these for?’ that we realised maybe it hadn’t been a good idea. Maybe it was a little strange having scissors in your hand luggage. Maybe they could be considered an offensive weapon. But the thing is, faced with this rather obvious conclusion, both our minds went blank. Neither of us could think of an answer that made sense. But instead of giving the real reason, panicked, my friend answered, ‘To cut my nails?’ Now you’d think this would have rung major alarm bells. Clearly, you couldn’t cut nails with those scissors unless you were a giant (which we weren’t). Clearly, there was no good reason for us to have scissors in our hand luggage. At the very least, the scissors should have been confiscated. It wouldn’t have been unfair for security guards to take us off for questioning. Instead, they put the scissors back in the bag and said ‘Okay, just make sure they’re in your suitcase on the way back.’ True story.

We went through into the airport lounge and sat down, unsure of what to do next. There was a screen up with a list of flights – next to ours, it said ‘wait in lounge’, so that seemed like a pretty good idea. We weren’t really sure what to do with ourselves though. Nowadays, normal procedure would be to go and get a drink somewhere, and maybe some food. Back then, as poor schoolgirls, we had limited money, and we wouldn’t have dreamt of wasting any of it when we were going to get a free meal – yes, free, just imagine! – on the plane. So we wandered, and we sat down again, and then we suddenly heard an announcement. ‘Would passengers Castle and Hammer please come to the information desk!’ I would say that those were our maiden names, but they couldn’t even pronounce my friend’s properly, which is why it took until the announcement was repeated before we realised they were talking about us. We looked at each other in panic – what did they want us for? Had something happened? Were we in trouble? We eventually found the information desk and announced ourselves. ‘Are you Castle?’ they asked me. I nodded. ‘How old are you?’ ’16,’ I answered. They looked at my passport. ‘You need to be travelling with someone 17 or over,’ they said. ‘I’m 17,’ said my friend. They looked at her passport. ‘Okay,’ they said. ‘You can go.’ And that was it. We went and sat back down, feeling somewhat bemused. I’m still not really sure what was about. If they knew my age, surely they also knew my friend’s? And if they were concerned, surely it should have been discussed at check-in? Odd. But it added to the drama of our journey.

Platis Gialos beach, where we spent the majority of our time

The flight itself was fairly uneventful in comparison. Obviously, I was pretty excited when we took off, but the fact that it was a night flight limited any view from the windows. I was shocked by the pain in my ears and sinuses on landing – this was a new experience I didn’t enjoy. I was vaguely interested in the fact that there were TVs on the plane, but they were the ones that came down from the ceiling and I didn’t want to pay for headphones. The most exciting thing by a mile was my first experience of aeroplane food. How exciting? A whole meal, all packaged up in a little tray, and actually FREE! I was easily impressed back then. I can’t remember exactly what it was – some sort of minced beef in a sauce, I think, maybe with pasta. There was a little pot of boiled potatoes on the side, which we both emptied into our mince. Unfortunately, the potatoes turned out to be melon balls – guess that was our starter. I ate them anyway – and I don’t even like melon. They were FREE!
We arrived at Athens airport in the early hours, collecting our suitcases without any drama. We’d been told we needed to get a taxi to the port at Piraeus, where we then had a six-hour ferry journey ahead of us. Unfortunately, we had to wait several hours before morning, when we’d be able to get the taxi, so we settled ourselves down to wait. Luckily, at this time of night/morning, the airport was quiet, so we had no problem finding a seat. However, we were tired and the excitement of the journey was wearing off by this point, so the prospect of sitting in an airport for several hours was not exactly one to look forward to. Luckily, I brightened things up for everyone by falling over when walking back from the toilet. It was quite spectacular – I might as well have trodden on a banana skin, as my feet flew up in from of me and I fell flat on my back. The entire airport went silent – this is no exaggeration. It was like some sort of respectful silence, broken only by me and my friend killing ourselves laughing. It would honestly have been so much better if everyone else had laughed with us or, even better, carried on as if nothing had happened. Instead, I had to pick myself up, still laughing alone, and walk back to my seat with all eyes on me. Not my finest moment.

Paradise Beach – a rare departure from our usual haunt

Once the sun came up, we ventured outside to get a taxi. We found one, told him we wanted to go to the port, and in we climbed. We didn’t agree a price beforehand, as my friend’s sister had told us how much it would be. We finally arrived at Piraeus, having glimpsed the Acropolis in the distance on the way, and the taxi driver told us it would be 9,000 drachma*. We were confused – this worked out at around £30, and we thought we’d been told it should be 3,000 drachma (£10). We argued with the taxi driver. He argued back. Then we realised we must have made a mistake – it must have been 3,000 pence (i.e. £30) and not 3,000 drachma. Whoops! We paid and out we got, the driver graciously unloading our cases for us. We found out later that it should not have been 3,000 pence at all. We had been right royally conned.
At the port, we found a ticket office, bought tickets and got on the ferry. I have no idea how we knew where to go or what ferry to get on – I’m sure we must have been given instructions but in my memory we were just winging it. We found ourselves some seats and settled down for a loooong journey – six hours, to be precise. Now bear in mind that these ferries were pretty basic – no bars, restaurants, shops or variety of lounges to choose from. This ferry had little to offer except seats – and there weren’t that many of them to choose from. We sat down, with our suitcases as close to us as possible. The cases had become the bane of our lives by this point. Stuffed full, making the most of our 23kg luggage allowance, they had to come everywhere with us – which was quite a feat, given their size and weight. Had I known that I would spend almost the whole three weeks in the same swimming-costume-and-denim-shorts combo, I would have packed a lot lighter and made my life a lot easier. As it was, I’d packed everything but the kitchen sink, and I was very reluctant to let the suitcase out of my sight. So imagine our horror when some middle-aged Greek women decided our cases were in the way and moved them so that they could sit down. Fair enough in hindsight but at the time we were outraged. We tried to explain that we NEEDED to be able to keep our eyes on our suitcases. Sadly, our Greek was about as good as their English, and a lot of gesturing followed, without a whole lot of understanding on either side. Finally, we gave up. We had no desire to stay sitting where we were next to the suitcase-stealers, so we searched the ferry for somewhere else to sit, trailing our cases behind us as we went. However, by making some kind of stand against the Greek women, we were cutting off our noses to spite our faces, because the only available seats were where we’d just been sitting (can’t really blame them for thinking they deserved seats more than our cases did). Eventually, we realised the only place left to sit was out on deck (and I mean ON the deck, not on seats on the deck), so we lugged the suitcases upstairs and found a spot to sit down and enjoy the sun, if not the comfort, for the remainder of the SIX-HOUR journey. It was hot. It was sunny. I was wearing a T-shirt and leggings (back when they were fashionable first time round). Although I did have swimwear in The Suitcase, I didn’t know where to start in terms of searching through the plethora of mostly-useless stuff I’d packed, so I decided to roll up my leggings instead. Let’s just say that five and a half hours in the Greek sun with no sun lotion (also in the depths of The Suitcase) left me with some very ‘interesting’ tan lines, which sadly took most of my three weeks in Mykonos to blend in…

The outfit that saw us through 3 weeks in Mykonos!

At the end of our very long ferry journey, we were met at the port by my friend’s sister and taken back to their house for the rest of the three weeks. It turned out that the journey really was just the beginning… but that’s for another blog!

View of Mykonos Town as we arrived

When we finally got home and my dad picked us up from Gatwick, I told him about the journey, and I remember him proudly telling me that if I could do that, I could do anything. Okay, so it was only getting a plane, taxi and a ferry on our own – nothing to all those hardcore backpackers out there. But I was only 16 and still naive to the joys of travel (and independence), and for me it felt like a hell of an adventure. And it certainly sowed the seeds, because over the next year I went to Paris, Amsterdam and Tenerife with my friend, paid for with my part-time waitressing job. I’d clearly found what I wanted to spend my money on, and nothing’s changed since. It’s got to be said, though, that the organised coach tour to Amsterdam and the package holiday to Tenerife (complete with tour rep) were a whole lot less eventful! Paris is another story…
*Figures are guesstimates, based on 25-year-old memories and the 1993 exchange rate according to Google.

London: How to spend a penny without spending a penny!

One of my pet hates when travelling in any city is paying to use the toilet. I know – it’s very petty. But going to the toilet is a necessity rather than a luxury. I resent having to pay for taking care of a basic need. And principles aside, I don’t always have the money – or at least the change – to pay to use a toilet. And just think what that 50p could buy! (Okay, not much, but I’m thinking chocolate…)

It seems to be becoming more widespread now, but the first time I encountered having to pay for the toilet was in London, back when it only cost 20p. I was 16, I was at Victoria Station, I was desperate and I didn’t have any change. My friend had change but I refused to take it on principle and tried to duck under the barrier. Needless to say, I got caught, pleaded lack of money and had to take my friend’s 20p after all.

I don’t duck under barriers these days – I don’t think my back would let me. But I do try to avoid paying wherever possible, and am making it my mission to find as many free public toilets as I can. It goes without saying that using toilets in restaurants, pubs and cafes is one option, but that isn’t always practical or convenient (nor fair if you’re not actually a customer). But there are other options, and here are the ones I’ve found in London. I’m sure some of you have found other examples, and I’d love to hear about them. I’m hoping to keep updating this post, so if you know of any free public toilets in London that I’ve not mentioned, please comment at the bottom or let me know on Twitter @holidayobsessi1 (that’s a ‘one’ and not an ‘L’ at the end!) and I’ll add them to the list!

St Pancras International
These are my favourite. There may be others elsewhere in the station but there are free toilets behind the escalators going to the Southeastern trains (platforms 10-13 I think). Look for the Starbucks, Yo Sushi and M&S. I can’t speak for the mens’, but there are around 10 cubicles, all of which generally lock and have toilet paper. There is usually a toilet attendant about so they are pretty clean. Best of all, you feel smug, because you have to pay for the toilets in Kings Cross just across the road.

North Greenwich tube station
Sticking with stations, this is another option I use fairly regularly. On the Jubilee line, a few stops away from London Bridge, it’s not somewhere you’d go from central London, but it’s still handy if you’re heading to the O2, the Emirates or the Thames Clippers. We often park here if driving into London, as it’s reasonably cheap (especially on Sundays), so we always take the opportunity to use the toilets before heading into the city. There are plenty of cubicles, usually with locks and paper (though not quite as clean as St Pancras), and you don’t often have to queue for long.

Museums and art galleries
Obviously, you’d expect to have free use of toilets at any paying attraction you visit, but the beauty of museums in London is that they’re free – and they still have toilets! I won’t use this blog to write an exhaustive list of free museums in London but just a few I’ve been to include: the Natural History Museum, the Science Museum, the V&A, Tate Modern, Tate Britain, the Museum of London, the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery. There are museums spread across all of London, so they can prove a convenient option when you need the toilet. Extra benefits include the fact that they’re usually very clean and pleasant (for toilets) with no queues, and you get to look at some interesting stuff while you’re in the building!

Little Venice
I discovered these recently. For those who don’t know, Little Venice is an area five minutes from Warwick Avenue and Maida Vale tube stations, where the Grand Union Canal and Regents Canal meet. It’s picturesque, with little gardens, lots of water (obviously) and copious amounts of pretty canal boats/barges. You can take a trip on a narrowboat from Little Venice to London Zoo or Camden Lock. There are some free toilets here in the little gardens – only a couple of cubicles, and not the nicest of toilets but hey, they’re free. I visited during a festival when the area was packed, so the queue was pretty awful, but I’d guess it isn’t too bad the rest of the time.

Hyde Park
I spotted these while wandering through Hyde Park last week – they’re south of the the Serpentine, just by the lido. I didn’t use these myself, so can’t make any further comment. It is vaguely possible that there was a pay point hidden inside, but they certainly looked like they were free. Maybe one of my readers can confirm!

Well, that’s it – a pretty short list currently. I’m not sure if this is representative of how few public toilets there are in London or just because I haven’t found many yet. So if you know of any free conveniences in London, let me know and I’ll add them to the list!

Swapsies!

A couple of years ago, I wrote about one of the real reasons behind my holiday obsession (What’s really important). Much as I love sun, exploring, doing new things and seeing new places, a major reason for my love of holidays was the quality time I got to spend with my family. Up until a couple of years ago, my husband had been a teacher (as was I, pre-kids). Anyone who has been or known a teacher will understand that the ‘long holidays’ thing is a bit of a myth. My husband spent evenings and weekends working. He spent much of the ‘holiday’ time working. And when he wasn’t working, he was thinking about work. It was only when we went away on holiday and he physically couldn’t work that he would actually start to relax. He would spend the first day or so visibly uncomfortable, clearly thinking about the things he should/could have been doing, and feeling frustrated that he couldn’t do any of them. But after that, once it was clear that he couldn’t do anything about it, he would relax and start to enjoy the holiday, and we would actually get quality time together without the spectre of work hanging over us. Since he gave up teaching, things have been so much better. We get evenings and weekends together. And much as I still love my holidays, they have become less ‘necessary’ in terms of ensuring family time.

My last blog was all about going on too many holidays (Too many holidays? Okay, I concede). At least, that’s what it looks like at first glance. Dig a bit deeper, and you’ll realise that I’m moaning about two things: too many short holidays and too much work. And it’s just started to dawn on me that in many ways I’ve swapped places with my husband.

First things first, let’s make it clear: I haven’t actually got too much work. I only work part-time, and this year was the first time in years that I’ve earned enough to pay tax, so I’m clearly not working ‘too much’. However, because I ‘only’ work part-time, I’m also responsible for the children and for the house, and this means that only a little bit of work can feel like a lot when it’s on top of everything else. You see, as well as the obvious jobs, like the washing, cooking, cleaning, school run and cooking, there are all those niggly little things that also need doing – things like paying bills; making sure that birthday cards and presents are bought, written, wrapped and sent; filling in school forms; making sure that homework is done; and a whole host of other things that don’t sound like much but actually take up a lot of time. I could spend an hour a day doing things that don’t ‘show’ and don’t feel productive but without which things would start to quietly fall apart. For example, in the last couple of days, I’ve filled in a whole bunch of forms for Cubs and Scouts; logged into online banking to pay a credit card bill; organised a costume for my son’s French day at school; remembered to feed my son’s triops (look it up!); and ordered and collected a prescription for the cat’s flea and worm medication – among other things, and on top of work and the usual chores. Ask most working parents and they’ll tell you that it’s staying on top of these ‘little’ things that often pushes them over the edge.

The other reason why work can often feel too much is due to the nature of being self-employed – I work as a freelance copy-editor and proofreader. And while there are many advantages to working from home and being in charge of your own time, there are disadvantages too. Work is like buses – you can go some time without much or any work and then all of a sudden loads comes at once. And the trouble is, because you’ve spent time without work – or you know that you might do again in the future – you don’t feel like you can turn work down when you get it, and so you agree to everything. The trouble is, if you turn down a job, you’re not necessarily losing just that job – the client will have to go elsewhere, and there’s a risk that they may return to that ‘elsewhere’ for their next job too, so you may be turning down future work as well. And because you don’t get paid sick pay or holidays, you feel extra pressure to take on work when you get it. As you can imagine, holidays can be a particular issue, as no one covers for you while you’re away – I often end up working all hours before I go away and as soon as I come back so that I don’t have to turn anything down. The end result is that although sometimes I have very little work, and can comfortably fit in a little ‘me time’ as well as housework and childcare, other times I end up taking on more that I can comfortably manage, and have to work evenings and weekends just to get it completed. And when I’m not working, I’m thinking about work and all the things that I should be doing. Yup, I sound just like my husband.

So why did my last blog post complain about having too many holidays? At the beginning of this post, I said that holidays were the only time when my husband managed to relax, so why isn’t it the same for me? The key is in the word ‘short’. At the beginning of this post, I also mentioned that my husband would spend the first day or two worrying about not being able to work, and it would take him a couple of days before he could relax. And because the majority of my ‘holidays’ this year have been short breaks, I’ve not really had the time to chill out and forget about work. I have spent the first couple of days or so worrying about the work I should be doing and then, just as I should be able to start relaxing, I have had to come home again. Add the extra work needed to accommodate the holiday in the first place, not to mention the usual holiday organisation, and the holidays have actually ended up adding to the stress rather than relieving it. We end up with a vicious circle where I’m working all hours and in desperate need of a holiday, and then said holiday results in me working all hours to make up (and pay) for it. And as my husband takes the kids out at the weekend so that I can get some work done, and as I say no to watching a film together or going out for lunch because I can’t spare the time, I realise: I have become my husband.

For once, there’s no real conclusion to this post. I still stand by everything I said at the end of my last post. I need to practise saying ‘no’ more – no to more work than I can comfortably manage, no to badly timed days/nights out or short breaks, and no to those little mundane things that shouldn’t stress you out but somehow impact so much on your time. I need to switch off from work when I’m not actually working, making use of my auto-reply, not checking my emails and making a concerted effort not to think about work during my spare time. I need to schedule in time to enjoy the simple things like reading, exercising, getting out in nature – even just watching Netflix with my husband and sharing a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. I had already realised the importance of these things, but it’s only since noticing the parallels between my behaviour and my husband’s that I have realised just how important it is to achieve that work-life balance. I don’t want to spend my life living for my two-week summer holiday or my week in October – that’s just wishing life away. I want to live the rest of it, to enjoy my evenings and weekends and my short breaks – hell, to enjoy my work (which I actually kinda do, when I’m not feeling pressured). I don’t know a magic answer, but I’m working on achieving this. It’s hard to change your habits or your mindset, but I’m well aware of the trap that I’m falling into, and I’m determined to drag myself out of it rather than fall in deeper. Things are slowly changing for the better. Despite being super-busy with work the week before, I made sure that I didn’t think about work when I was away for my sister’s wedding recently. I refused to check my email and we made time to catch up with friends, go for a walk and have fun with the kids. I can’t say that I was physically relaxed when we got home (I was shattered!) but I certainly felt better mentally. Work was very busy in the week after I got back, due to an unavoidable deadline, but I made sure that I took time off at the weekend (even though it was tempting not to) to enjoy the sun and spend time with my family. This week, work has calmed down. Instead of using the spare time to do all those other jobs I keep putting off, I have fitted in some exercise, activities with the kids and some good old time in front of the TV. Tomorrow I’m catching up with some friends for brunch, and I won’t feel guilty about it. I have spent enough of my spare time working recently that I shouldn’t feel guilty about enjoying the spare time I have this week. I confess I still really can’t wait until my two weeks in France this August, when it will be impossible to do any work and I really will be able to relax and forget about it. But until then, I am going to enjoy the other things in life: the bigger things, like the two other weddings I have coming up, the night away to celebrate my mum’s birthday and the concert in London with my husband, but also the ‘smaller’ things, like just spending time with those people who matter to me. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, life really is short and we shouldn’t waste it worrying about work. Much as I generally enjoy my job, I work to live rather than the other way around – and if that’s you too, make sure that you get out and live that life you’re working so hard to have!

Taking the time to appreciate the beauty of Corbridge on my recent trip to Northumberland

Too many holidays? Okay, I concede

I’m just coming to the end of what has probably been the busiest spring of my life. Over a period of 12 weeks, I will only have been at home for four full weekends. This might not seem like a big deal to ‘proper’ travellers, but when you have two school-aged children and you are trying to keep on top of a job, the housework and other commitments in the meantime, it becomes pretty difficult. The sad thing is that I have discovered there really is such a thing as too many holidays. All but one of these weekends away have been for ‘leisure’ rather than ‘business’, yet I’ve found I haven’t been able to enjoy them as much as I should because I am too busy thinking about all the other things I need to be doing and haven’t had a chance to just sit back and breathe.

It started with a short break near Chichester with friends (see How to holiday for free). It was lovely – we walked, we ate lots and we generally chilled out. Even better, we didn’t have to worry about money. At this point, I was still relaxed. Even so, there was lots to sort out to enable us to go away in the first place. Because we went without the children, we had to sort out who was looking after them while we were away. Who would pick them up from school on Friday and take them on Monday? Would they do their homework? Did they need to take anything in on Monday? Who would make their packed lunches? Was their uniform clean and ironed? Being self-employed also makes things more difficult in many ways. I can’t walk out of the door and come back from my holiday just to pick up where I left off. There’s no one to cover me in my absence. I don’t get paid for my holidays, so I have to work stupid hours before I go and when I come back to make up for the time I’m away. I have to justify to clients why I’m not replying or why I can’t meet a perfectly reasonable deadline because I’m simply not there. All of this meant that going away and coming back were just slightly more stressful than they should have been.

The next two weekends were at home. They weren’t exactly relaxing, though – we had various activities planned, including a bridesmaid dress fitting and a day out at Dover Castle, plus I was working a lot at the weekends as well as during the week, having agreed to more work than I probably should have done (another downside of self-employment – you can’t often afford to turn down work!). Still, the exhaustion wasn’t kicking in quite yet.

The following two weekends were either end of our family holiday to the Isle of Wight. We had a great – if busy and rather cold – time. BUT it was the first holiday where I hadn’t really been able to relax and forget about the rest of life. Niggling in the back of my head was all the work and other stuff I had to do when I came back. I’d also been working pretty solidly right up until we went away. In fact, the day before we left, I’d had to stop work mid-afternoon to go to London for a concert. I got home at 1.00am, set the alarm for 6.30am and got up early to finish some work and meet a deadline before we left to catch the ferry. Okay, maybe the exhaustion was starting to kick in at this point. I was also well aware of what I was coming back to. Having told a client I’d be back working on the Sunday to pick up anything I’d not done during the last week, I realised it was my son’s birthday party that day. Add to that unpacking, washing and shopping, after getting back late the night before, and it didn’t leave a lot of time for work. Worse (well, not worse – it was lovely, just not in terms of timing), it was my mum’s 70th birthday the following day – a family day out followed by an evening meal – which meant working stupid hours on the Sunday (around party, unpacking, etc.) to try to get on top of everything. I knew all this was coming while we were on holiday. I also knew it would still be the Easter holidays when we got back, so I would have the kids at home while I was trying to work, and I knew that I would be going away again the following weekend. I tried really hard to relax and forget everything while we were away, but I just couldn’t stop worrying about how much I had to do when I got back and how I was going to fit everything in. I was also starting to realise just how few weekends I would have to recharge over the next couple of months.

The following weekend, I went to Champneys. Yes, I know, how awful – a spa break. Any ounce of sympathy you may have had has swiftly evaporated. I think this kind of made things worse – I was off for a lovely, relaxing pamper weekend and I didn’t feel like I had any right to be stressed about it. Of course, I was working right up until we went went, including all day Saturday (we went on a Sunday) and I was pretty tired. I also had to get everything ready for the kids on Monday as I wouldn’t be there for the school run. Still, I got up to date (as far as I could) with work, had a lovely long chat with my friend on the way and resolved to try to chill out and forget everything. I did a pretty good job. We swam, we ate, we exercised (yes, really), we had massages and we spent a lot of time doing very little. It was bliss. Even if my brain didn’t quite switch off, my body certainly needed the downtime. And actually, by the time we left, I was feeling fairly chilled mentally. Maybe the timing was better than I thought. Then I got home on the Monday night to find I had a whole pile of new work and everything had gone tits-up with an event I was supposed to be organising the following weekend (another reason behind my stress over the previous few weeks). I felt like all the good of the spa had been undone in one fell swoop.

The following weekend should have been the afore-mentioned event, but it was cancelled in the end. On the one hand, this took away a lot of my stress; on the other hand, cancelling brought a whole host of other things to do. Regardless, it was lovely to have a weekend sleeping in my own bed – I can’t really say ‘at home’, because I was at the hairdresser’s, a fun run (for the kids, not me!) and a St George’s Day parade (kids again) – plus working, of course. But at least I had a reasonable chance of getting some sleep.

The same couldn’t be said of the weekend afterwards, which was my sister’s hen do. It was a weekend of fun in Nottingham – fancy dress, quiz, soft play, laser quest and crazy golf. Basically, it was a chance to pretend to be a child for the weekend, and it was great. I had by now got used to not being home for the weekend. I duly did as much work as I could beforehand, left Lee a shopping list and made sure everything was ready and organised for Monday, as I’d be back late on the Sunday. Fully prepared, I resolved to forget about work and take some me-time on the train. The latter wasn’t quite as successful as it could have been, as I didn’t go more than an hour without having to change trains. Still, I was having so much fun (at the hen do and not on the train) that I did manage to put everything else to the back of my mind. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to sleep very much (if at all – hard to say!) on the Saturday night. I also left home early on the Saturday and got home late on the Sunday. And despite the fact that I spent a lot of time sitting down (on the train this time), I always find travelling really tiring. The end result was feeling absolutely shattered by the time I got home.

The following weekend, we had tickets for a show in London with the kids, so we’d booked a hotel to make a weekend of it. I can’t say it was entirely relaxing, as it was with the kids – cue constant sniping at each other and whinging about being hungry/thirsty/tired/hot. (On the plus side, we didn’t have to sort out childcare.) Still, I was finally managing to concentrate on the ‘here and now’ and enjoy myself, rather than worrying about all the things I should have been doing. Work was at a manageable level and I’d had a little time off the week before to begin to recharge. The weather was glorious (hottest early May bank holiday on record!), which really raised my spirits. And we didn’t have too many expectations of what we were going to do, which allowed us to wander at our own pace without rushing to fit everything in. Although part of me would probably have liked to stay at home, the rest of me really enjoyed being away without too many constraints on my time. Plus it also helped that I knew I was going to spend the following weekend at home.

Yup, the next weekend (last weekend, in fact) was spent at home. It was great. Other than a trip to the theatre on the Sunday night, we had nothing planned. We caught up with chores, did some shopping, visited family and watched a lot of TV. I lay in both days. I didn’t do any work. It was a much-needed weekend of normality, and never have I been so grateful not to be on holiday.

This weekend I will be back in London, and this time it’s not for a holiday. I’ll spend Friday night in a hotel and then all of Saturday will be spent training, before getting home on Saturday night. Sunday through to Thursday will be spent on heaps of post-training work on top of my usual work. I will be putting in extra hours to get as much done as humanly possible, because on Friday I will be going away again. This time it’s my sister’s wedding in Newcastle. The wedding is just one day, of course, but as it’s at the other end of the country we’ll be spending all day Friday travelling there. And seeing as how we’ll have travelled all that way, we feel it’s only right that we catch up with a few friends who live in the area, so we won’t be home until Tuesday night. Needless to say, the rest of the week (and no doubt the following weekend) will be spent catching up with work again. It’s also half-term. Plus point: I don’t have to have everything prepared for school when we get back. Downside: I’ll have the children at home while I’m trying to work. I’ve been here before…

But I’m going to try my hardest to put work and everything else out of my mind while we’re away. Although the rest of the year is pretty busy, I know things will start to calm down after that week, and I should have more time to keep on top of work and actually relax too. It’s the last of my 12-week marathon. More importantly, it’s my sister’s wedding – it’s a one-off, joyful, amazing event and one that I want to enjoy every moment of. I want to be there for it mentally as well as physically and not have the back of my mind filled with thoughts of all the things I should be doing. That has happened too many times this year; trips away have certainly not been spoilt – God, no, I’ll always love holidays! – but they have definitely been marred by taking too much on. I’ve learnt my lesson in that respect.

So what am I going to do to make sure I don’t burn myself out again? Mostly, I have to learn to say ‘no’ – no to work and no to fitting too much in. This spring has been unusual in that I’ve had no say in the timing of a lot of events, but I need to make an effort in the future not to plan too many things too close together. I need to make sure I have some weekends at home that aren’t spent working. I need to try not to work evenings and weekends unless I really have to. I need to not take on more work than I can comfortably manage. I need to switch my email to ‘out of office’ during weekends and holidays so that I don’t take work with me. And I need to enjoy what I’m doing and make the most of every moment – work and chores can wait. As I’ve read so many times, no one gets to the end of their life and wishes they’d spent more time at work.

Trouble is, if I don’t keep on agreeing to extra work, how can I afford the holidays? And is it wrong that after a few weekends at home, I know I’ll really be looking forward to going away in the summer? Yup, don’t worry, it’s only a temporary blip in the holiday obsession. Normal service will be resumed shortly…

How to holiday for free (if you know the year of the Battle of Culloden)

I’ve not long got back from a long weekend in West Sussex. There were six of us altogether; we shared a huge and rather luxurious converted barn (The Granary at Pitlands Barns), with three en-suite bedrooms and all mod cons. We had two pub lunches, two pub dinners, a takeaway Indian, coffee and cake, and copious amounts of alcohol. And the best bit? It didn’t cost any of us a penny. 

Lounge at The Granary

Hallway at The Granary – you could hold a party here!

Chichester Cathedral

So how did we do it? Well, it’s all down to my second love – quizzes. Lee and I have been regularly quizzing with two of the group that came away with us for nearly 20 years, and the other two joined us over ten years ago. We do a regular pub quiz together every Wednesday; we also take part in regional ‘Big Quizzes’ organised by our local newspaper, along with occasional wine and wisdom events and other quizzes in other pubs. As you can imagine, the more quizzes you go to, the more you learn (and, admittedly, the more you also forget). Over the years, our knowledge bank has grown, and we make a pretty good team. Our success also lies in our range – we have an equal match of genders, we have differing interests, and our ages span from forties to seventies, so we cover a range of different eras and specialist subjects. (When we first started, Lee and I were the ‘young ones’, able to answer questions on up-to-date music. Sadly, our music knowledge hasn’t progressed along with our advancing years…) The result of this is that we win quizzes fairly often, and our wins paid for our holiday – and it wasn’t the first one. 

Over the years, we’ve won a variety of things – mostly bottles of wine and the occasional box of chocolates. One of my favourite prizes came when four of us won a national quiz organised by the CSMA – we won a large Fortnum & Mason hamper and a £250 leisure break voucher. We travelled up to Ghyll Manor hotel in Sussex for the formal presentation of our prize, and snagged ourselves a free three-course lunch. We then returned for a night’s B&B and a three-course dinner, courtesy of our leisure voucher. 
Another favourite prize, which we have won several times, is P&O ferry vouchers. The Big Quiz I mentioned earlier takes part in four locations across the county each year (we usually attend two or three but have been known to go to all four), followed by a county final. In the early days, there would be around 80 teams, and you would win a 5-day return crossing for each member of the team (that’s one each for me and Lee) for coming as ‘low’ as sixth. Over the years, as the number of teams reduced, the prize became restricted to first place winners, and was ‘demoted’ to a day-trip. (Eventually, a year or so ago, P&O withdrew their sponsorship, but the Big Quiz has recently snared DFDS as sponsors, so I have high hopes again!) Regardless, we have come first or been high-enough placed over the years to have won a fair few ferry vouchers. And even when they were only day trips, we were able to swap two of them for a longer-duration return. We’ve used them to pay for our travel for numerous summer camping trips to France, a couple of day trips, a few Easter breaks and a long weekend in Bruges at Christmas. If I’m honest, using up a ferry voucher has actually been the reason behind (read ‘excuse for’) several of our shorter holidays…

A day trip to Boulogne many years ago!

Anyway, back to our long weekend. It dawned on us years ago that it was a bit of a waste putting our cash winnings at the end of a pub quiz back into our pockets. Anything we won would get swallowed back into everyday life and not really ‘enjoyed’. And if you’re going to win something, you should really enjoy the prize. So one of us came up with the genius idea of pooling our winnings and saving them each week, rather than splitting them up and taking them home. The idea was that when we’d saved enough, we would use them to do something special and treat ourselves, so that we felt like we’d really got the benefit of our prize money. In the meantime, we’d put the money into premium bonds in the optimistic hope that we might win a little extra to help us on our way (we haven’t yet, sadly).


Our first trip was back in February 2013 – a visit to Ypres. I believe we paid for our own travel (although we probably used one of our ferry vouchers…), but our winnings paid for our hotel (the rather lovely Ariane) and all food and drinks. It was absolutely freezing but we had a lovely weekend, exploring Ypres, visiting the WW1 Passchendaele battlefield and cemetery (extremely moving), wandering around Lille on the way back and eating lots of lovely food. It gave us a taste of what we could do with our winnings (not to mention a much-needed ‘adult’ break from our lovely but exhausting children), and we were soon planning what we’d do when we’d saved up enough money to go away again. 

Menin Gate Memorial

Passchendaele
Freezing in Lille

It was October 2014 by the time we’d saved up enough. This time we decided to stay in the UK to avoid wasting our kitty money (or spending our own money) on travel. We plumped for the Cotswolds and booked a couple of nights in the lovely Falcon Inn in Painswick. We went for a long walk in the countryside and visited Gloucester (beautiful) and Cheltenham (disappointing), as well as drinking and eating out lots – all paid for again, of course.

Our room at The Falcon

View of Painswick from our room

Gloucester Cathedral

In April 2016, we went to Redditch with our winnings. Okay, that might seem like an odd destination, but we found a bargain break at the Southcrest Manor Hotel through Travelzoo. The hotel (and its food) turned out to be very nice. We also went out for a curry, had a pub lunch or two, went for a walk around Arrow Valley lake, explored Worcester and its cathedral, and visited Kenilworth Castle. Again, all paid for.

Our room at Southcrest Manor

Arrow Valley Lake

Kenilworth Castle

As you’ve no doubt gathered, our recent trip to Chichester was our fourth paid-for holiday: another much-needed break, where we came back no poorer than when we went away – always a bonus. Even better, we still have £500 in the kitty ready to put towards our next break. We’re thinking possibly the Norfolk Broads. And, of course, first we will have to have the obligatory ‘planning meeting’, which involves dinner, drink, much discussion of where to go and when to go there, and no actual decision – followed by another planning meeting to continue the process. Not to mention lots of pub quizzes in the meantime to try to win the money. Life is tough…!



Cards in the bathroom

Some of you may have noticed my frequent references to ‘cards in the bathroom’ and wondered what I’m talking about. Read on…


Picture the scene. It’s August and you’re staying in a hotel in Spain. You’ve had dinner, maybe gone for a walk or a drink or watched the hotel entertainment, and it’s now 10.00pm* (*replace with an appropriate bedtime for your children). The children are tired, it’s past the time they’d normally go to bed, you know they’ll wake up early regardless and you’d really like them to get some sleep. However, you’re not tired yourself yet and you feel you’re due some child-free time. So you put the children to bed, turn out the lights and relax outside on the balcony with a drink and a game of cards* (*replace with your game of choice). After an hour or so, you creep back in the room. The kids are already asleep and you retire for the night yourself. 
Now picture this scene. It’s November and you’re staying in a hotel in the UK. You’ve had dinner and probably not gone for a walk as it’s too cold. It’s past the children’s bedtimes and you’re looking forward to child-free time, so you put the children to bed, turn out the lights and… ah. Herein lies the problem. You haven’t got a balcony. And even if you had, there’s no way you’d want to go and sit outside on it in the UK in winter (or, let’s be honest, in the UK on many nights except unusually warm summer ones). 
So where do you go? What do you do? A couple of friends have jokingly asked just how loudly we play cards. All I can say is their children must be a whole lot more tolerant than ours if they could sit and play cards in the same room as their sleeping children! Our kids are pretty good at going to sleep, but they wouldn’t be able to get to sleep if the light was on (even dimly), they could hear us talking (even quietly) and/or they basically knew we were awake and still in the same room as them. To be fair, neither would I. I need dark and I need quiet. How can I expect the kids to sleep in conditions I wouldn’t be able to sleep in myself? 
I also find it really hard to sleep myself if I know the kids are still awake. If I tried to go to bed at the same time as the kids, it would not be a success. There’s something about knowing they’re awake that keeps me awake. I hear them sighing and fidgeting as they try to get to sleep, struggling themselves because they know we’re awake in the same room. The end result is a pretty bad night’s sleep all round. (Except for Lee. He can fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow regardless. Lucky sod.)
So what can you do? When you want your children to go to bed but you don’t want to go to bed yourself, where can you go? The answer, of course, is the bathroom. Yes, I know. It’s not comfortable, it’s not pleasant, it’s really not where you want to spend your evenings on holiday. But it is somewhere you can sit, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and chat – yes, or play cards – with a drink until the kids are asleep and you’re ready to turn in yourselves. If the bathroom’s big enough, we bring in a chair from the bedroom and sometimes, if we’re really lucky, a small table. We take it in turns to be the (un)lucky one who gets to sit on the toilet. If we’re unlucky and there’s no room for a chair, one or both of us will sit in the bath. It’s not ideal but, for us, it solves a problem and works as a compromise. 
This is one reason I like going abroad on holiday – sunnier climes = balconies = much more pleasant evenings. Camping is fine, even in the UK – if we’re in a tent, there’s a reasonable chance the weather’s also warm enough for us to sit outside in the evenings. Even if not, the children have separate ‘bedrooms’ from us inside the tent, which isn’t brilliant but is better than the hotel room scenario. Hiring a cottage, chalet or apartment is usually our choice for this country – who needs a bathroom or a balcony when you have a whole lounge or another bedroom to relax in? But on short breaks or as a stopover on a longer journey, hotels are generally unavoidable – and locating a family room that has a separate bedroom for the children is either impossible or far too expensive. So bathroom cards it is!
Of course, now the children are getting older, a whole new world is starting to open up for us. With Finn now being at secondary school and having a phone, we felt confident enough to leave the boys in the hotel room on our recent break in London, while we sat less than 50m away in the hotel bar. It felt very liberating. We still played cards though.