Holiday Blues

Holiday Blues

I crave adventure and seeing the world, so finding the perfect holiday is something I look forward to anytime I’m lucky enough to get the chance to do so. This year it was a family holiday, a in-law family holiday.
A mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbled up throughout me the second I knew it was really happening and I had to mentally prepare myself for the struggle of keeping myself together for ten whole days. Ten days without an anxiety attack, ten days with out drunkenly making a fool out of myself. I was no where near ready. Even though I say I crave adventure and holidays are the best part of my year, I can honestly say I go through the same prep every time.
My usual holiday preparation is procrastination, my favourite trick is not even looking at my holiday clothes until a solid three days before so my panic can sore as I rush to find replacement shorts and tops that don’t have stains down the front. I know what you’re thinking, this isn’t a 20 year old girl we’re talking about. I would imagine typically you’d spend the double digit countdown finding the perfect outfits for everyday. If only I could wear my black leggings and oversized jumpers in 35 degree heat.
This year was the same as the years before, when I’d finally pulled myself around to looking at the clothes I had in the mirror, I decided I wasn’t going, especially wearing bikinis which of course you spend 90% of your time in on holiday. I’d look at myself and be bitterly disappointed in the results. No matter what style I bought the image in my head didn’t match the reality and my ego of perfection would shrivel leading me in to a pit of self hatred and determination that I wouldn’t be getting on that plane. Yet my protection of money pushed me into thoughts of waste and disappointment If I didn’t.
So I did, when we finally got there and my worries of bikini ready sunk into the back of my head for a short period of time I took in the smell of holiday and bathed in the sudden feeling of peace that absorbed me as soon as I stepped on to Gran Canadian soil well tarmac to be specific. This is the feeling I strive to achieve in my life, the simple relaxation that another country brings to me. I discovered a place I’d never heard of and did things during these ten days that I’d never done before.
The tapping of two toed hooves smack the sand as we push in to the air, all I can feel is my belly flopping to the floor an earth shattering seven ft and one inch to the golden sand below. We fly forward and slump back as this one humped beast gains its full stature taking me back with the strength, power and determination. I gripped into the metal seat out of fear from both the height, uneasy legs and a nibbling mouth just centimetres from my bum.During this ride we stepped towards the nature reserve sand dunes that just about shield us from the nudist beach, where sun worshipers spend most of their time soaking up every second of the Maspalomas sun.
A moment of panic flew over me as I remember we have to try and get down from these views, once we started our decent we not only flew almost out of our chairs. The old ropes being the only thing stopping us from having a mouth full of sand. Once we finally hit the ground I’d never thought I’d miss so much we one by one got untied from our seats, unfortunately for me I was forgotten left standard and tied to this beautiful creature I was no scared of, how long for I thought, desperately trying to think of any Spanish words that could bring this man back to my aid. The problem, my own educational fall-back was I only knew gracias and I’m almost certain shouting that wouldn’t get me untied.

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