Category: travel tales

Travelling (on a budget) tips

A week ago I took my 12th and final flight for September. T-W-E-L-V-E flights in less than a month.

I love travelling and I’m experienced enough to know how to deal with most situations, but Oh.My.God the last month was exhausting, and challenging, to say the least ( in case you are wondering, it wasn’t by choice, I had to do it for work, so I was on a budget and I definitely did not select the flights myself).

I wish and hope I don’t have to go through something similar ever again, but in case someone else does, (or I need to do it again) here’s some tips from my experience and from lovely friends sharing theirs. Here we go:

–Take as fewer flights as possible! Ok, it’s pretty self explanatory but the less time you spend on a plane the better. Sitting for hours and hours on a tight seat can affect your blod flow, which can cause swelling on your feet and ankles, the air on the plane is very dry, which can dehydrate you (see tip no2!) and dehydration combined with the lowered pressure of cabin air can cause fatigue, not to mention your ears popping and the increase of gas in your bowel. That’s why we get off the plane exhausted! These are just some of the negative effects of flying on the body, so the less time on air, the better.

–Check roaming and call charges of your country destination/stop. I had no idea that mobile internet depending on the provider varied from 9 to 16 euros in Serbia and now I have to pay a 50 euros phone bill for the 10 minutes I used my phone, to let my family know I arrived safely, and that I manage to catch my connecting flight!

– Hydrate! It’s surely not easy to stay hydrated when you run from plane to plane, having to throw away any liquids every time you go through security, but it’s probably the No1 thing to do to keep you going. Also, as we all know, airports are really expensive, so always keep an empty ,re-usable water bottle on you as some airports have water fountains where you can fill up your bottle for free e.g. in Vienna airport, they are located near the F and C Gates. I discovered a website that lists water fountains at airports, you can check it out before your flight! https://www.wateratairports.com/

– Eat healthy. It’s tough, the majority of airports I’ve been don’t have a great selection of salads, soups or anything healthy, and the healthy snacks they might have are ridulously expensive (I paid 3 euros for a Kellogs bar, which is what it costs to buy a whole box of them from Lidl, and 2 euros for a banana!) so take as many healthy snacks and fruits as you can with you.

– Always have painkillers and imodium on you. No need to expand on this one!

– A travel pillow works miracles. It can help you nap more comfortable, especially if you struggle to fall asleep on a plane, like I do, and as a friend mentioned, you can also use it as luggage, filling it up with clothes!

– If stuck at an airport for a few hours go for long walks (you can check out the shops around, or move from cafe to cafe), don’t stay sitting for too long, your blood needs to circulate!

– Get good quality, comfy, modular backpack. If you travel on a budget you will quite possibly have to carry a backpack for your essentials, and you will likely carry that backpack for hours on end, therefore it has to be big enough but also comfortable to wear, with additional cushioning on the back and the straps.

– If you book the tickets yourself and not booked through a travel agency, sign up for travel miles, they will come in handy at some point.

– Look up the cost of food, transport, and living at your travel destination in advance. I had no idea Oslo was so expensive (5 euros for a small water bottle, the average price of a meal was 20-25 euros and most museum entrance fees were about 15 euros).

– When carrying luggage, find spots at train stations or bus stations where you can safely leave your bags and have a relaxed walk in the city.

– Some info points at airports provide city maps that have discount coupons.

– Finally, in between trips and when you are done travelling, take some time off to recover physically and mentally. The negative effects of flying time and sitting at airports on the body is just one aspect. The stress of getting from and to the airport (which sometimes it’s a bumpy bus or car ride or a long train ride), catching your connecting flight (especially when you only have 30 mins transit time to get to the next plane and you have to run like a mad person to the next gate), not having any time for yourself, missing your friends and loved ones, all this takes its toll on your mental health. So, spend as much time as you need to recover.

This is it from me and my friends, if you have any tips you’d like to share, leave a comment!

Eleni

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True love in the time of (modern) cholera

Do you believe in true love?

Do you believe there’s a person out there that can make you happi-er, (not happy, your happiness shouldn’t solely depend on someone else, but ha-ppi-er), do you believe there’s that special person who would love you for who you are, who would see you in your worst, darkest, most insane moments but would still choose to be with you? Do you believe there’s someone you can live with for years and years and still adore them?

Sometimes I do. Sometimes I’m a hopeless romantic and most of the time I’m a cynical b***h.

I was in a miserable relationship myself for the best part of 7 years and I’ve only dated a couple of times after that and none of them was a pleasant experience which put me off since, so my cynicism is justified.

But every now and then I come across an old couple who I can tell by just looking at them that they’ve been together for years and years and still love each other to the bones, thinking that maybe it is possible to experience that true love (hopeless romantic), but then wonder if it’s even feasible in the era of fast, disposable love, where people are too selfish and break up too easily or for the sake of not being along they stay together but are miserable (cynical b***h).

Last summer whilst visiting Oxford, I came across one of those couples. They were both dressed immaculately as they were to attend a wedding at the Trinity College chapel and I don’t remember their exact conversation but I remember they were incredibly sweet to each other and to us.

At some point the gentleman asked his lady to pose for a photo, I could see the love in their eyes, it was such a beautiful moment so I tried to take a picture of them to capture that but somehow they both turned and looked at me.

So here they are. True love, in the time of (modern) cholera.

Eleni

Non parlo Italiano!

About two months ago…

I desperately needed a haircut. I couldn’t even look at my hair. Everything happened so fast I didn’t get the chance to have my hair cut before I moved to Italy and the last one I had was early in the summer in Southampton (I miss the UK so much more I dare to admit sometimes).

Of course it wasn’t about the hair. It was all about self care and I’d started neglecting myself, pretty dangerous for me, it lets the depression and severe anxiety demons creep in and slowly take over without me realising until is too late, so I had to get my hair cut. Urgently.

I’m not sure if you remember where I live now, it’s a small city where very few people you come across speak English, so even the thought of attempting to book an appointment I found intimidating.

But self-preservation prevailed and I wouldn’t let my very poor Italian get in the way. (My Italian hasn’t improved much since, in case you are wondering.)

If you asked me what the most common expression I’ve used so far during my first three months in Italy was, it’s not ‘scusi’, or ‘per favore’ but..

‘Non parlo Italiano’.

It’s my opening line most of the time. Oh no, I actually first speak in English, as I often forget they won’t understand me, then I notice the baffled expression on their face and I explain.

So here’s how I managed to get a (decent) haircut with minimal communication but plenty of awkwardness.

Eleni- ‘Hi, I’d like too…, oh sh**. Non parlo Italiano, parle Inglese?

Hairdresser- Mmmm, no… (waves at one of the other hairdressers who knows a bit of English apparently).

El- Taglio (cut). Pointing at my hair. ‘Un po’ (How the hell do you say ‘trim’ in Italian?)

H-Si. Quando? (Yes! Finally a word I know!)

El-Sabato, matina (morning)?

H– (After checking their appointment book). Mm, tredici? (1pm, Italians tend to follow the 24hr format).

E– Si, si, grazie!

Pheew. First step done. I managed to book an appointment!

Saturday (haircut day)

11pm

I couldn’t remember if the appointment was at 11am or 1pm. In my head numbers were mixed up the minute I left the hairdressers two day ago. Full time teaching does that to you, messing up your brain. So I went at 11am, just to check. The hairdressers burst into laughing. I thought I’d attempt to go food shopping since I got up anyway, but the supermarket was way too busy for my liking (Damn, I could have stayed in bed a little longer).

1pm

I walked in. I had no idea what to say or do. The place was full of customers chatting away. I felt paralysed, mute. I couldn’t let any words out. I didn’t know how to. I could understand some of the conversations but I couldn’t take part. A horrible feeling.

That’s how my students must feel… I kept thinking.

After about half an hour wait (which I was ‘lucky’ as quite often you wait way longer, I was told), I was summoned on the chair.

The stylist asked me how I wanted my hair. I managed to explain (thanks to Antonella, Elena and Google translate) that I just wanted a trim and layers but not too short.

I was terrified. What if she gives me a horrible haircut, what if I end up looking like a pencil?

Image result for fleabag i look like a pencil meme

We didn’t speak much after that. She couldn’t speak English, I couldn’t speak Italian. She made an effort, which I appreciated, she asked me if I was a student, thankfully I knew how to say ‘I’m an English teacher’. My second most used expression (‘insegnante di Inglese’).

An hour later and after a lot of miming and gesturing (and a few word exhanges partially thanks to similarities between Greek and Italian), I left the hairdressers relieved I didn’t look like a pencil, it was actually a decent haircut and cheap compared to UK prices (12 euros).

But it was the most awkward hairdresser’s experience I ever had. And kind of funny at the same time. I had a little giggle afterwards. It’s fascinating how we humans manage to communicate even when we don’t speak the same language, although sometimes we can’t communicate even if we do speak the same language. The irony.

A month later and I’m none the wiser when it comes to Italian. My timetable doesn’t allow me to attend Italian lessons anymore, though I’m still learning from my students, who feel incredibly proud judging by the huge smile on their face every time they teach me an Italian word.

I’m not sure I’d like to stay in (Southern) Italy after my contract ends, but one thing I discovered is that I love living somewhere I’ve never lived before, being thrown into the deep, learning how to… well how to adopt and survive in another country, another culture, another life. That’s something I definitely want more of.

For now, I’ll enjoy the rest of my stay at this little, odd town that is Reggio Calabria.

Namaste

Eleni

Following my dreams (just need to find out what they are) Chapter 1: Cambridge

Saturday morning, 27th of July.

I’m sitting at an old, antique desk in my room in Cambridge. It’s cloudy and raining but I don’t mind for once. I needed the break from the heat. This country was not built for any temperature higher than 25 degrees.

Can I sleep in Your Brain comes up on my little Bluetooth speaker. I just finished my notes for my first teaching exercise on Monday and finally have some free time to sit down and write about all of this. It’s been too long.

A million and one thoughts in my mind I’m not quite sure where to begin.

Today is my grandpa’s birthday. He turned 83. But this time I can’t call him like I do every year. He is at a nursing home. Now my uncle’s recovering from a major operation, my auntie can’t look after both of them.

“He won’t even recognise you”, my mum messaged when I asked how I can contact him. “His dementia is taking over more day by day”. She sent me a picture I took of him and myself a few years ago. A classic mum habit. I told her off not because I was annoyed this time but because it makes me sad. I remember everything about that picture, his excitement when I asked for a selfie, laughing whilst taking it, asking me where to look and afterwards chatting about me splitting with my ex of 7 years.

“Are you happy? That’s all that matters” pappou Costas said then and smiled.

Tears came streaming down my face thinking of that day. (A few hours later my mum messaged me to give my aunt a call. She was with my grandpa. I called and wished him happy birthday. He recognised me at the beginning but not for the whole duration of the two minute phone call. I could feel his confusion every time he went quiet. At some point he asked me when I’ll go back to Cyprus like he always does and then the next minute he forgot what he was talking about. I promised I go see him as soon as I’m in Cyprus. He said he might leave by then. I choked up. I hope he meant the nursing home. He is slipping away from us…)

I tried hard not to cry last week saying goodbye to my Southampton friends and life, it didn’t feel like goodbye, my brain still struggles to understand what is happening. It feels I’m on a break and I’ll return back to Southampton any minute now.

I don’t think I’ll realise any time soon. One thing is for sure, I will miss so many people, friends I’ve known for years and friends I’ve only just met, because that’s life. It never stops, you meet people and make friends all the time. Thank you to everyone who came to my leaving celebrations (and they were MANY) or made the time to see me before I left.

I will miss every single one of you and all the little special connections I have with each.

Now I’m crying about everything. But I feel good. These are not sad tears. These are cathartic tears, letting everything out and finally hitting the reset button.

Last month feels like a blur. Friends’ birthday celebrations, after work drinks, Graduation week, the stress of dealing with removal companies, getting rid of furniture, cleaning, throwing out things. It was fun, bittersweet, exhausting.

I’ve been living in Cambridge for about three days now and I’m surprised how well I adjusted from living on my own to living with a house full of people (minus a few sleepless nights because of the strong anxiety and heat cocktail mix).

My hostess Mary is wonderfully weird. Though she’s lived in the UK for 28 years, her accent is so strong I struggle to understand her at times but she is adorable. Her cooking is amazing. She won’t let me do my own washing, it’s been years since someone else washed my clothes.

She wears a plastic bag on her head when she makes fish to keep the smell away (I chuckled when I walked into the kitchen for some water and saw her wearing the bag, she then told me to rush so I don’t smell like fish either), she hangs the bed sheets off the staircase to dry faster, unintentionally creating a little fort I found too amusing, and she randomly knocks on my door to ask for help with translation or to give me treats. I haven’t tasted melon that sweet since the last time I was in Cyprus.

My room is small but perfectly formed. Clean with all the essentials. The bathroom is sparkling clean and I only share it with one other. There are two kitchens, both huge, especially the guests one. I’m glad I opted for the host family option (though it’s just Mary, her adult children don’t live here, so thankfully no toddlers are running around screaming off their head), though I worry I’ll soon miss living on my own. It will happen eventually.

On Thursday, when the temperature outside hit 38 degrees, I decided I’d go out to explore Cambridge a little bit, since my course was to start the following day and I may not get the chance to do much wandering when I have homework. ‘I lived in Cyprus for 22 years after all, I can take some heat, if I get to live in a hot country from January, this could be my daily reality’ I told myself.

I’m glad I did (though I can’t remember the last time I sweat that much it felt like peeing myself). Cambridge is gorgeous, there is so much to see and do and a couple of friends already suggested places I’d love to go before I leave the city at the end of August.

Yesterday I had my first day of CELTA teacher training class. It was intense, exhausting but incredibly fun. Going to college, buying stationery, finally using my brain again, felt rejuvenating, even just after a day.

Most of the studying I did throughout my life (and I’ve done a lot, from degrees, to qualifications, diplomas etc), in only few occasions I cared enough to actively participate in the classroom. With this one I wouldn’t shut up. The perks of being a mature student or maybe in my case, finally being confident comfortable enough with myself to not worry too much about what others think.

Fiona, our tutor who ran the session on the day, is amazing (I hope Jonny is as good, though it will be tough to beat Fiona).

My classmates are all very beautifully different and unique, a wonderfully diverse bunch. Some travelled from their home countries, Bangladesh, India, Azerbaijan, Spain just to do this course, others are semi-retired and doing it for fun or to follow their partner to Colombia (ah young love). I’ll write about the course separately when I get the time.

I oddly felt more British even than the British in the group. I guess I’ve lived here for too long. And to think I worried I might find it hard with my accent and everything doing this course.

I worry I’ll struggle in Cyprus. And I worry about so many other things,- Will my stuff make it Cyprus? Will I get my deposit back? Will I manage to keep up with the amount of studying required? Will I make it to Chris’s wedding? What if my uncle or grandpa die and I don’t get to see them again? What if I’m not good enough for anything else and this is a huge mistake? – But I need to stop worrying. There’s nothing I can do about any of this and choosing to leave the comfortable but dull 9 to 5 life means there will be a lot more to worry about.

For now I’ll work hard to get my qualification and enjoy every moment in Cambridge.

Here’s to new beginnings.

Eleni

Travel tales- When I met Helen, the Fairy Godmother

Saturday morning. A gorgeous, warm, sunny, summery day, one of those I almost forgot I live in this country.

9:50am and I’m on the train. The lack of sleep and a few drinks the night before have taken their toll and I am exhausted but so happy I’m about to spend the day with my best friend exploring Oxford.

The train is packed (glad I decided to reserve a seat). I’m trying and failing miserably to take a selfie so I just put my music on and enjoy the sun lightly burning my skin. I don’t mind. I’ll the take the sunshine any day.

Just after the Winchester stop, a sweet, elder lady gets on the train and sits next to me. White curly short hair, glasses, a floral dress and a huge smile. She seemed so kind and lovely, sometimes I can tell straight away, I got a strong urge to start a conversation, though I was painfully aware that it might backfire, people are not always that friendly at this neck of the woods.

I’m so happy I did. We ended up chatting until she got off the train. It felt so easy and natural, as if we’ve known each other for years. I straight away explained why I was tired, where I was going and why and ended up telling her about my plans and dreams and hopes for the immediate future and she told me about her life (she was heading to her mother in law to look after her for the day and relieve her husband), her travels in America back in the 80s and she reassured me without realising that I’m doing the right thing.

She told me: “Go, travel, see the world. I didn’t meet my husband until I was 36 and had my children in my late thirties. Enjoy life whilst you can.“

Just before she got off, I asked her what her name was.

‘Helen’ she said.

‘Eleni, which is Helen in Greek. So lovely to meet you.’ I replied.

‘Lovely to meet you too dear’, she replied. She wished me the very best for the future and I felt she meant every word. She wasn’t just being polite. She actually meant it.

How often does it happen to meet a stranger you connect straight away, who as a Deus Ex Machina (απο μηχανής Θεός), a fairy Godmother re-assured me I’m actually doing the right thing, leaving my job and taking a leap of faith?

After she left I couldn’t stop thinking how many amazing, incredible humans, everyday heroes like her I’ll meet on my travels.

I’ll always remember Helen as a fairy Godmother who decided to pay me a visit to cheer me on and remind me to always believe that something wonderful is about to happen.

Eleni