Crossing Borders

I never travelled as a child but I have always been fascinated by borders. Perhaps all youngsters are the same. On our last overseas holiday my children insisted that we stopped in Liechtenstein on the way home simply to cross another country off the list of places we had visited.

I never had such opportunities but vividly remember walking to a neighbouring town and feeling such a thrill as I passed the sign Wallasey Village. In my young mind I was going places! It felt exhilarating, like entering an alien world, a place I shouldn’t be perhaps, yet there I was.

I spent much of my young adult life after that tramping around Europe and Asia whenever I had a few spare quid in my pocket. There were no budget airlines back then so it usually involved long coach rides or, if affordable, trains. Sometimes I even hitch-hiked. It seemed like a romantic and adventurous thing to do at the time but the reality is that for long periods I was hungry, lonely and bored.

So, I have a confession and it took a long time for me to admit this to myself. I don’t actually like travel. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of places I would love to live (British Columbia, Tuscany, Okinawa, etc, etc) but not too many places I want to visit. Why? I am not sure but these days the exhilaration of crossing borders quickly gives way to the realisation that this land is not my land and, despite what the welcoming signs on the road say in their various languages, unwelcome feelings of trespassing, transgressing, guilt, voyeurism and even jealousy creep in. This land is your land and I don’t belong here.

Life changes when you have children. When you have four children and a dog travelling long distances in particular becomes economically and logistically challenging. We therefore started to explore what was local. Holidays became weeks in Scotland and weekends Wales. I quickly realised that I had been so keen to see the world that I had failed to see what was on my doorstep. What treasures we have found, what fun we have had. All without setting foot on a plane or train or even coach.

Like that destitute child in the 1970s I still get a thrill when crossing borders but I had forgotten that I don’t have to travel far to do it. Welcome to England! Croeso i Gymru! Wallasey Village! Sir y Fflint! I’m going nowhere and I couldn’t be happier. This land is my land.

Still, I wouldn’t say no to a couple of weeks in Saint-Tropez if you’re offering.