The Journey Out

So we set off.

The journey out starts here, but rewind three months and I am working three jobs and Haydn two.
The trip still seemed like a distant dream that we were constructing together through conversations and accumulating equipment, jabs and route planning.

Rewind one month from now and all of our time was being sucked into the last stretch of an ongoing and dedicated search – for hours, days even – scrolling endlessly on the internet, page after page – turning into frowning, cross eyed slouchers – decision after decision to be made. How should I know which water purification device to choose? I’ve never cycled across the world before! So much time investigating the perfect (as high quality and as compact and as weightless and as cheap as possible) pieces of kit to keep us alive and happy on the road. What an achievement this process in itself was – I would like two high quality, medals that are the size and cost of 20 pence please. Compiling our survival components and fitting them into 8 small bags that we ourselves would carry, like snails or hermit crabs across the land and sea.

Packages delivered to the house in droves. The lovely local postie giving a questioning brow raise more than once, while handing over an armful of neat carboard boxes – with our names printed on them – day after day.

Goodbyes at sunrise and lunchtimes and under starlit skies.
Long hugs that were somehow holding onto that expected distance and earnest words of advice from well travelled adults and tears of love pressing into each others clothes. Who knows who we will come back as, perhaps we won’t return the same as the ‘us’ that left. So many beautiful people to miss but so grateful to know them.

All this hugeness distilled and condensed into two squawks of pure joy and apprehension, cycling down a country lane, away from home and out and onwards and forwards – into the unknown.

May the revolutions begin.

the-journey-out

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