I Went Ice Skating and It Was Terrifying

Picture the scene. The aromas of mulled wine fill the December evening air as families, friends and lovers gather by Winchester Cathedral to pore over local arts and crafts on sale for Christmas, to feast on seasonal food, to bask under the glow of the twinkling lights and decorations, to glide elegantly on an ice rink.
Elegant? Oh please, I could not say the same for myself and it was raining.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the Christmas spirit of the night and appreciated the atmosphere. I just don't think I added to the ambience, because as soon as I stepped onto the ice, I was terrified and internally screaming.

"Yes I'll go Ice Skating" I said.
"I haven't been ice skating in years and the first time I tried it, I broke my wrist"... I also yelped before I tumbled towards my fate.

After my first step onto wet ice, I gripped the side until my hands turned blue. I giggled manically and considered that I may be on the verge of a near-death experience. I pictured my fingers being sliced off by a more skilled skater than I, unaware that I had just sent myself sprawling across the slippery surface due to sheer lack of skill or perhaps just clumsiness.

Still, my behind never touched the freezing surface, though my heart never ceased to beat as though I was on the set of Jaws. *DA-DUM DA-DUM*

Each time I felt myself begin to lose balance, my gut tightened and my arms were flailing as though I was doing a drunken version of the Macarena. I was lifted to safety by the hands of an Angel in a high-vis jacket. The Jaws theme began again in my head as I gaped at other skaters, amazed they couldn't hear it too - all the while manically giggling.

I'd like to say I eventually found my feet, but I used the pouring rain as an excuse to make a swift exit, or rather a clumsy and tentative exit. Due to the cold, I'd have made a better Rudolph than a Snow Queen. How do some people make it look so effortless? I secretly hoped that no-one really knew what they were doing. Some people are just better at making it look like they know than others.

If my plummeting confidence had, instead, sky-rocketed, perhaps my skating technique would not be so comical as it would be impressive. Is this a metaphor for life or a simple anecdote displaying my attitude to extreme sport? Take from this what you will.

Expect The Unexpected

Dressed in a Pikachu onesie, at a service station, asking for money and a lift, for the second time this year, I erase all expectations. This time I am making my way out of Southampton rather than into the city for charity and once again I try to leave myself open to all kinds of possibilities. If I expect anything at all, it should be the unexpected.

This is why my team, Jailbreak Journos, got into a car with an IT consultant who blasted out Christian Rock from an internet radio station. This is why we got into a car with three girls from Leeds who liked to play 'the market game'. We were impressed. 

"I went to market and I bought a yoga mat, a tub of white paint, a lawnmower, a foxtrot, David Beckham's autobiography, Adele's new album, a cabbage, a rabbit hutch...."

Sleeping overnight in a travel lodge and meeting some fascinating personalities on the way, we found ourselves in Edinburgh with a few measly layers and our enthusiasm to keep us warm. The icy breeze numbed our legs enough for us to make it to the top of Calton Hill and, despite missing the fireworks we had a beautiful view of the city skyline in the 7pm darkness. The view from Edinburgh castle was magnificent. Having only ever been to Edinburgh during the Fringe festival, the city's atmosphere contrasted to my previous experience. It still filled my very veins with a surge of excitement. After 30 hours of travelling, the city rewarded me. I didn't care about the cold. I cared about the adventure.

Realistically we would not have made it to the Scottish capital without the help of those who drove us and especially the last couple: A Dutch man and a German-Mexican woman who were driving from Leeds to Edinburgh. We had no luck with lorry drivers, so I had no idea where we were going or when. Little did I know three days beforehand that I'd take a tour around London at 5am on Monday morning and find myself back in Southampton by midday. I've never needed the toilet so much in my life, speed walking down Pall Mall with near frostbite and a full bladder.

I think part of what made the trip was how spontaneous each new event was. It was as though I was in a novel and each time we got into a new car or made a decision, it was another plot twist. You don't know who's car you're getting into. Using my gut instinct to guide me in the right direction, I was able to feel the thrill without putting myself in any danger. Free coffees and chocolate helped too - basic human kindness.

Last May I took part in Lost 99. Our challenge was to hitchhike back from Rugby to Southampton (99 Miles) within in a day whilst completing challenges along the way. A mere few hours landed us proposing to a middle aged woman at a service station, and at the top of a ferris wheel by 3pm. Expecting the unexpected we managed to win the competition, reducing our time to under an hour by completing the challenges.

I learned to appreciate change of scenery and plot twists. I let the current of adventure carry me out into the blue. I knew everything would be okay.

How To Lose Control

Finger tapping on the desktop. Tap, tap, tap. It feels as though each tap wastes a little more time, a little more life, a little more buzz. I picture myself as one of the sisters from The Virgin Suicides - a kind of entrapment. I have only been in my house, on my own, for a few hours. I haven't got plans for the rest of the day. The clock ticks and I picture blank space, blank time. One of the most exciting things in the world is a blank page. Or it should be.

A gust of wind picks up a few autumn leaves and I try to grab every one. I grab opportunities, plant seeds, find roots. Deep breath.

I realised I am energised by opportunities and interactions, motivated more by doing things, seeing people. In a way, perhaps I should feel less guilty for doing nothing. People don't do nothing enough. I find it hard enough to sit down with a book for too long without feeling the need to check my phone for notifications. The world can wait.

I find it hard enough to watch a film all the way through without being tempted by the flashing light of a notification from my handset. Sitting my way through a lecture, a conversation with a friend, reading a magazine, doing one thing at a time; why is that so hard? It becomes the pinnacle of multitasking. Always doing.

I repeat, the world can wait.

I admit, I use social media too much. I wait at the keyboard, scroll down the feed/timeline/dashboard in wait of the next notification, the next distraction, the next thing I can add to my to do list. Scrolling time could be used for reading, working, relaxing. Yet, as I do one thing, my thoughts turn to another.
I want to relax but I should work. I stress so I should relax - nothing gets done. If I never relax, if I multi task constantly, if I remain on the ball all the time then everything will get done, surely.
So I wait for that notification, the next thing on my to do list that will take priority before my essay. Filling up my to do list to avoid the last thing I prioritised.

Blank spaces should not limit me. I should not be discouraged by them but enthralled, fascinated. Let's just get lost and see where life takes me. Let the current guide me, because where I end up could be better than where I had planned to go. And because it's okay to do nothing.

Naked and Foreign in Istanbul

'My body is a temple'... I whisper to myself as I undress and slip on a pair of elasticated, barely there knickers I was given upon entry to the Hamam.

I mutter it under my breath lying in a pool of soapy bubbles as a semi naked Turkish woman presses her hands into knots in my back. I am being observed by another naked customer. 

I stare at the dome ceiling and count the coloured lights as my limbs are scrubbed raw and I am subjected to luxury. This is the life?

The whole experience was absurd. The main reason why it was so absurd, to me at least, was the nakedness of everyone in the room and the sheer lack of decency. Yet, no one batted an eyelid at the infinite nudity, or the tastefully lacy underwear my masseur paraded around. 

In Istanbul, it is relatively westernised and the average tourist can expect to comfortably wear semi revealing clothing. Of course, there are inevitably women who wear full coverings. In fact, there is a whole spectrum of lengths to which women cover up their bodies in Istanbul. Reasons may be religious. Reasons may be because the woman feels self-conscious or perhaps she is wary of the male gaze. On my first day here I opted to wear long trousers and a long sleeved top. Other women around me were comfortably wearing shorts and vest tops. I know I would feel slightly uncomfortable in shorts and a vest top. That is nothing in comparison to how I felt in the Hamam.
But, I think about how unperturbed I was by the other semi-naked women in the Hamam apart from my astonishment by how at ease they were. I think about how women should not be self conscious of their bodies in public because other women do not judge as much as they think. Nor is the male gaze the fault of the woman being stared at. So, we shouldn't be so afraid to wear what we like.

I have come to realise how ridiculous self-consciousness can be sometimes. Why should I be uncomfortable in the situation I was in?  The naked body is natural, and, especially in the presence of other woman with similar bodies and concerns, I should feel completely at ease. But, it's different in public and in the Hamam, even though I felt as though I was counting the minutes until I didn't have to be almost naked in a public sauna.

I suppose I am writing this in order to try and work out why it seemed to be such a surreal experience. I suppose it was a culture shock. This is part of travelling.
I felt the need to share this experience with others. I'm very glad that I simply decided to just go and do it. I was very far from my comfort zone but that's where life begins: the moment you step out of your comfort zone. Despite my discomfort, I would do it again.

When you visit another country where the culture is significantly different, you have to be mentally naked. You have to be open minded, like a sponge, ready to adapt and soak in the culture and customs and atmosphere. That may include getting naked and being washed or wearing a chador so I can enter a mosque. It's pointless getting a McDonald's when you can authentically try one of the best cuisines in the world. I urge everyone to embrace the culture wherever they go. If you don't like it, you never have to do it again.

Why I Don't Mind Looking Like a Tourist

One thing that resonated in my journal over my inter-railing trip was the way in which the people make a city; not only the locals but the tourists, not only the permanent residents but the visitors make the city. I am predominantly interested in the culture, in the way that I am almost invading someone else's home. I am fascinated by the way that I could be standing or sitting in the spot that someone had their first kiss, got engaged or found out they were a grandparent. I arrived in each city knowing only about the iconic views and the famous sights. Sightseeing is by no means the be all and end all of travelling.

On the way back to London from Paris, my fellow travellers and I read each other's recordings of the trip. I noticed that I was the only one who noted down our encounters with people.

Of course, my fascination with people watching is evident from previous blog posts and perhaps this is an extension of that thought process.

Our only unfortunate encounters were a little too frequent. As a group of three girls we had more than our fair share of catcalls or unwanted male attention. However, we were also approached by friendly male travellers. We met two Canadian boys on the way from Vienna to Prague and two slightly more than friendly Australian boys in Amsterdam (see below). I enjoyed the unity that formed when we, fellow traveller, Callum from Manchester and a German student were forced to fit into a six seater compartment where eight resided.

I was astounded at the friendliness of one traveller to another. In Vienna, we were caught in a group photo when a party of Turkish tourists lined up next to us. After meekly edging away we were invited to join the group photo and even take selfies with them. One man kissed our hands before departing. 

In Prague, a man offered to give us a free segway trial run: kindness in a different form.

Sometimes, overhearing English tourists relieved home sickness for a little time. Whilst bizarre, they made me laugh. In Budapest, walking past a violinist, a tourist behind me chirped 'do you think he knows any Dizzee Rascal?'.
A man in Berlin took a look at the Brandenburg gate and asked 'Is this where Hitler what done his speech?'.

I admired how much music brought people together. At the station in Amsterdam there was a piano open to the public to be played. Every time I walked past, someone was playing their heart out, singing at the top of their voice. A piano also rested on the top floor of Shakespeare and Company in Paris. No one was playing but the sentiment was there. I was still charmed by the knowledge of the piano's musical past.
Dancing was prominent in Paris. At the Sacre Coeur, a man with headphones was dancing on his own in the middle of the steps facing the magnificent view of the city skyline. Whilst he was gyrating his hips with added occasional thrusting, I was just glad he was enjoying himself.
On the evening of our second night in Paris, a group of dancers were tangoing at sunset opposite the Eiffel Tower. Two men in matching anoraks joined in, or at least attempted to copy the dancers. Their intoxicated bodies tripping over themselves created a new dance in itself.

Of course there are the places where the presence of others makes little difference. There are places, that I believe, have innate charm. Whilst affected by the people, they are beautiful in solitude or bustling with tourists. Shakespeare and Company held innate charm for me. I especially adored Prague Beer Garden. We sat at sunset by the river drinking Czech beer whilst music played behind us. I feel as though I would have enjoyed this in solitude or in company.