BLOG
It was England, 2014, just as the new flower buds were beginning to come in. I was immersed in my study abroad program (the London Dramatic Academy, a semester-long conservatory) and the days were long and hard. Soon, though, we had the promise of a short reprieve—spring break. For a week, we would be free. Now, while my fellow actors quickly planned trips to the big cities of Europe—Rome, Paris, Copenhagen, and more—I felt myself pulled towards a different route. I wanted to get out of the metropolitan hustle and bustle, to see the English countryside, experience English country culture, and just stop moving for a while. My focus on the English countryside didn’t last long, to be honest. I chose an Anglocentric break and then promptly looked at Scotland. The motivation remained the same, though. I checked out some hostels in Edinburgh, but they were all rather financially intimidating, and I began to think about alternatives. Soon it hit me, without a doubt one of the best/worst ideas I’ve ever had. I’ll leave it to you to decide which one. Camping. This gave me new energy. I researched Scottish backpacking and camping with fresh fervor, and based on my own findings and the recommendation of a friend, I landed on the Isle of Skye, a small island off the western coast. I checked their camping laws to see where I could drop a tent (pretty much anywhere) and studied their wildlife to see if there were any bears (there weren’t), planned a potential route, and before I knew it I had ordered a tent and backpack and holy crap I was doing this! And before I knew it I got on a bus to Luton Airport, a plane to Inverness, and a train to Kyle of Localsh, the town with the only bridge to the island. A couple hours there and I boarded another bus to Portree, the town where I’d start my journey. And this is where the adventure begins. One thing I hadn’t really prepared for was rain. I had a rain jacket, sure, and my backpack was water resistant, but I certainly wasn’t mentally prepared for the bone-chilling drizzle that awaited me in Portree. After some internal debate about what to do, I finally just found some trees by a soccer field, pitched my tent, and prayed that I wouldn’t get arrested. The next morning I awoke a free man, packed my things, and set off on my grand journey. I walked and camped, then walked and camped again for the whole week, taking in the incredible majesty of the island as I did. I won’t go into the nitty gritty details of my entire trip here. That would take forever. Highlights included taking lunch on the bluffs of the Quiraing, the surreal Faerie Glen, and the wonderful owner of Skye’s Oldest Bakery, but the entire trip was amazing. If you’re interested in reading about the whole thing, details can be found here: http://sightsandsoundsoflondontown.blogspot.com/2014_03_01_archive.html After it was over and I was back in London, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. For the first time in my life, I just up and took a rather large risk because I wanted to. There were so many ways it could have gone wrong, and I’m very fortunate that it turned out as well as it did, but the trip ended up changing my life. I had jumped without a safety net, done something for me, and damn if it didn’t pay off.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
About My BlogStories. Archives
May 2020
Categories
All
|