I rarely dream about travelling. It’s not something that occupies my sleeping mind and yet, when I’m awake, I day dream about it, and think about it almost constantly.
The moment the sun casts its golden glow over the rooftops, my mind is racing to recapture that magic moment when I was in India or Sri Lanka or somewhere where the sun shines and it’s hot and I can put aside, even for a fortnight, the dullness of home.
It’s holiday brochure time. The time when I feast on images of exotic lands and then hear my wallet complaining at how much everything has gone up. And it has. The cost of living crisis has impacted heavily on fuel costs and now that’s an additional % you need to add into the equation. And, whilst prices go up, you can guarantee that they won’t be coming down.
As I feast my eyes I find myself pondering on the thought processes that these large travel companies go through when deciding how long their tours should be or what sights they should include. I find myself wondering why they didn’t go to A or B or how they expect you to see everything in 11 days.
And why 11? Why not 12 or 14? Why has 7 days become 6 or 8? I recall the ‘good old days’ of 14 day tours (and longer) but now you are expected to pay more for less and I read through itineraries wondering why they feel the need to squeeze that in but not that, or go there but not there.
I suppose that I dream that I could do better. Perhaps I fool myself there, but it would be fun to try. It frustrates me when I see a holiday I’m enthusiastic about, only to find it’s truncated or they don’t go to that one place I had my heart set on visiting, despite it only being ten minutes down the road.
Still, I have brochures. I have brochures and I will peruse them and dream a little. I will dream there’s still a chance to travel again, to put these last few years behind us and see something of the world, before age and health rule it out completely.
Holidays, travel, airports, sunshine. Sweet dreams are made of those.