My first great travel experience was a 3-weeks Inter-Railing trip across Italy, South of France, Greece and Turkey after my final year year in university. Those were the heady days of sleeping in train stations, eating biscotti with jam for lunch, taking sleepers from one city to another, sunflower fields, sparkling Mediterranean sea, plucking grapes from the vines, dirty hostels (that was Istanbul), gladiators and gondolas, and generally not caring that you had collected the dust and grime from 3 different cities in one day.
Since then, I was hooked on independent travels, and more so when I found myself back in the UK 6 years later, this time with a permanent travelling companion. I derive great pleasure in planning our own itinerary, securing the best value accommodation and beating prices quoted by travel agencies. And then Snufkin came. I was told by well-meaning friends that it would be difficult to travel with a baby and even if I did, the baby would not remember. Sure, I don't think he remembers his first long-haul flight when he was barely 2 months, or his first proper holiday to Berlin at the age of 8 months, or even his first foray into camping a month after that. But I hold dear to the phrase that "the world is your classroom" and the belief that the accummulation of experiences helps to aid his development and broaden his horizon.
We still travel indepedently, but we have to say goodbye to nights at the train stations, very long bus rides and long leisurely trips to museums. And dirty hostels.
Here's our story...
