Holiday For One: Snapshots

Two days before I went away, I had a wobble. Quite a big one. There was an "oh no why am I going on my own?" panic, with an element of "why am I not excited? Why am I not counting down the hours like I usually do?" thrown in. 

Of course - I was fine. I was more than fine. At one point I found myself walking around Florence at 7.30am, having got up early to avoid the heat and the crowds, thinking - "this is amazing". And it was. There is something very liberating about being able to go at your own pace. For once, I wasn't bothered that tickets to the museums had sold out weeks before I had even realised I should book - I was happy to wander around, enjoy the scenery, stop for a cool drink or a gelato, or to take a photo when I wanted to. 

And when I wanted to chat to people, I could. I suspect that solo travellers give off a "vibe" - a little like traffic lights.

Red - no I don't want to chat, I'm happy with my beer and my book. Amber - I'll think about it, but don't be offended if I make my excuses. Green - I am open to conversation.

I discussed the price of Florentine leather, and got haggling tips from a Swiss couple who were staying in the same hotel as me. 

I laughed with an older Australian woman while we nervously descended the steep, dark, steps of a bell tower. "You'd never get away with this back home", she said. "It'd all be ruined by neon signs telling you not to hit your head". 

I shared dinner with an American mother, travelling with her teenage daughter. She told me that she had worked abroad after graduating, and how she had wanted to bring her daughter to Europe in the hope that it would encourage her to plan her own adventures. 

48 hours in Florence didn't quite give me enough time but it was a good introduction, both to the city, and to travelling on my own. I couldn't decide whether I was quite ready to move on to my Pilates retreat, which I think is a good sign. I'm already making plans to revisit. The art, the castles, the hilltop views... there's so much that I want to see. And I'll probably go on my own, because now I know I can. 

Holiday For One

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl in possession of a spare room must be in want of a flatmate. Except, I'm not. It was one of the many things that surprised me about becoming newly single, the frequency with which I was asked whether I was looking to live with a friend. Generally speaking, I've found that living on my own is ok. I'm used to spending time on my own, I like my space, the peace and quiet is lovely, and I'm happy pottering around entertaining myself. When you've got tea, books, the cat, and box sets on demand, what more could you want?

There is a limit to my introversion though. I am really lucky in that it is largely a choice - if I'm teetering on the border of lonely then I can take myself out for a coffee, go to the gym, or give a friend a call.

The only thing that is bothering me? Holidays.

I never used to think of myself as a beach holiday person. As a child I'd hide inside during the summer, playing on the computer or reading. It'd never crossed my mind to go away with a group of friends while I was a student - we spent our summer holidays working, with music festivals as our equivalent of a week in Ibiza. It wasn't until I found myself desperate to escape to the drudgery of work and the constant Scottish summer rain that I really began to see the appeal. Four years on Greek islands... and I'm hooked.

The thing is that I'm not the kind of person who finds it easy to relax. My weekends usually involve one day of cleaning, tidying, cooking and going to the supermarket, and one day of seeing friends. I feel guilty when I lie on the sofa watching a film or reading - I can't enjoy it if I've got housework to do. No offense to my lovely family - who between them have some of the most beautiful parts of the UK covered - but I want warmth. and to be able to crack open a beer at 11am because it's cheaper than a can of Coke.

So, where does the single woman go on holiday?

I've been thinking about a Yoga retreat somewhere sunny and beautiful. There's something very appealing about the thought of a week spent relaxing both my body and mind, with the backup of company or solitude, depending on what I fancy. But the thought of sharing a room with a stranger terrifies me, and I'd be worried I'd pull a muscle on the second day.

Or then there's a city break - Barcelona perhaps - exploring and adventuring, visiting museums and wandering, eating picnics in parks. But is there a limit to how much you can enjoy an experience if there's no one to share it with, and is it wise to travel somewhere alone without speaking the language?

To follow the old cliché of finishing a blog post with a question - has anyone had experience of holidaying alone, and what wisdom would you share with me?

Exploring: East Lothian

When there is a rare day of sunshine among the wintery white skies, I always get the urge to adventure - or at least to get out of the flat and into the fresh air. I wrote a list of places to go and things to do back at the beginning of January when the year was beginning, and along with my monthly resolutions I'm aiming to work my way through a fair few of them over the coming months. 

One of the reasons I love Edinburgh is that it's so close to both the coast and the hills. When the grey clouds gave way to glorious sunshine this weekend, it was the perfect opportunity to start ticking off my list with a walk along the coast and woodland at Gullane. It was beautiful, with clear skies allowing for views of the hills of Fife were visible to the right, and the Edinburgh skyline to the left. A re-fuelling stop at a bakery on the way back, followed by a happy half hour spent chomping cake and sipping hot tea while watching the birds swooping at Aberlady, and a perfect Sunday was spent. 

Somerset: Winter

Very few people that know me will be surprised to hear that I dislike January. Like many folk, I struggle with dark mornings, dark evenings, and the weather. I am a cool blooded creature - I need sunshine to thrive.

I think part of the 'problem' is how much it contrasts with December. We're all looking forward to Christmas, holidays, time off with family and friends. There's lights and music and mulled wine and mince pies. There's novelty knitwear and glittery nail varnish. January? Not so much. Spring feels like a very long way away when it's so stormy outside that you can't sleep.

Part of my December was spent down in Somerset with family. I've been thinking about how lovely it was quite a bit recently, now that I'm back in the city and the rain is lashing against the windows (alas, no snow in Edinburgh). The more time I spend in the country, the more I realise how much I want to live in a little town, complete with its own book shop, cosy pubs and weekend walking group. Somewhere with a lovely walk along a canal towpath into town. 
One day, one day.

Exploring: Lisbon

I've just spent 4 days in Lisbon. I didn't really know what to expect - if I'm honest, it wasn't really on my radar as a place to visit before the chance popped up. I think that made exploring enjoyable though. No preconceptions or assumptions about what I would see or where I would go, just a couple of days of wandering and exploring. 

There were things I was expecting - plazas with fountains and pavement cafes. Narrow streets and old buildings. North African and Indian influences. Seafood. Pastries. All the pastries. There were also things I was surprised by - how varied the architecture is, going from faded grandeur to brutalist to modern in a single street. The warm temperature. The beggars and homeless, mostly men, almost all disabled. A city of contrasts.

It's a photogenic place, if unusual buildings and small details are your cup of tea. I may have got a bit overexcited with my camera. In the mean time - a few pictures from my phone.

Edinburgh: St Bernard's Well

There's a quote somewhere about a weekend well spent means a week of content. I agree with that one - I am a rather big fan of getting out, seeing some greenery, or feeling like I've achieved something (even if that achievement is the entire box set of Broadchurch in one weekend. Ahem).

Doors Open Day is the last weekend of September in Edinburgh. It's such a good opportunity to have a nosey around some of the most stunning buildings in the city - most of which are not usually open to the public. I decided on the Sunday morning that I'd drag myself out the house before the rain started, and potter over to Stockbridge to see the newly renovated St Bernard's Well.

St Bernard's Well lies between Stockbridge and Dean Village - two affluent city centre suburbs joined by the Water of Leith walkway. It's such a lovely short stroll, dipping down a side street, under the bridge, and onto the path that runs between the two. The Well was discovered by two boys fishing in the 1750s back when the area was part of the land belonging to the St Bernard's Estate, far outside of the city limits. The current well house, built in 1789, tapped in to the reputation of the well as a healing source and encouraged wealthy tourists to come, sit, drink the waters and rest for a while. The Well, combined with the beautiful statue of Hygieia, was part of Edinburgh's Twelve Monuments project. It was so lovely to sneak in and see it restored and working.

Somerset: The Start of Autumn

I'm pretty lucky in that I have family dotted around some of the most beautiful parts of the UK. My brother chose Bath for University, and never left. Every time I visit, it strikes me how similar it is to Edinburgh, while being so different at the same time. The views are grander, the crescents are on a larger scale and the houses are the colour of pale honey rather than grey - but it still has that wonderful sense of history and the buzz of excited visitors.

A couple of years ago, he moved to a village on the outskirts, having lived in the midst of the hubbub for a long time. It is completely the best of both worlds. Beautiful city – beautiful Somerset countryside.

I went down to visit for my niece’s first birthday. It was the first weekend of September, one of those transitional weekends where you can see the season changing while you watch. We spent a couple of hours walking along country lanes, catching up and swapping stories, before heading to a pub for a roast dinner. Such a lovely way of spending the last Sunday of summer.