Sometimes, travel inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places. On a not-so-intrepid trip to the local salon, I hoped to gain a fresh new ‘do. But I left with so much more.
I shift in my seat, let out a yawn and catch a glimpse of my washed-out face in the mirror. There’s a smear of crusty Weetabix on my shoulder. At least I hope it’s Weetabix. As I rub my bleary eyes and try to wake up, a young woman arrives to swoosh a hairdresser’s cape around my neck. Good – that’ll cover a multitude of sins. Now to deal with the bird’s nest on my head.
‘So… You sure you want to stick with the side part?’, she asks with what I swear is a hint of a wince.
I suddenly feel conspicuously millennial. The cape may be hiding the detritus of my toddler’s breakfast, but it’s not long enough to cover the skinny jeans. Or the fact that I’m wearing no-show socks.
I nod defiantly and tug at the tufty postpartum regrowth around my temples, which has decided to do me a solid and emerge almost entirely white. God, I feel old.
Bridging the generation gap
I never used to worry too much about ageing – it’s a privilege, after all. But recently, the process has felt palpable. Painful, even. There’s something about spending every minute of every hour of every day with a baby that makes you feel ancient. The physical, mental and emotional toll of keeping a brand-new person alive has left me exhausted. At this point, I am a husk of a human.
And now my youthful stylist Millie, with her glowy complexion and unscuppered sleep hygiene, is here to rub salt into the wound. Chatting while she scrubs my scalp over the sink, she divulges that she has just turned 19.
‘What?! Oh… Happy birthday! Wow…’, I tail off, plunging us into awkward silence. It takes a beat for my tired brain to process the fact that I’m leaving my hair at the mercy of someone born in the MID-NOUGHTIES. How is that possible? There are almost two decades between us, but here we are, both grown adults. God, I AM old.
She tries to salvage the conversation with some small talk.
‘Erm… any holidays planned?’
She’s in the right ballpark with this one, but unfortunately, these days the answer is even more depressing than my drab outfit and outdated hairstyle.
‘Not at the moment,’ I offer, weakly.
I like to think of myself as a traveller but saying it out loud feels fraudulent. The pandemic, IVF treatment and new motherhood mean I’ve barely been anywhere for five years. Still – the subject matter stirs something within me. Millie has unwittingly tapped into a dormant passion of mine. One that, until that moment, I had put firmly on the back burner.
Clockwise from top left: Emma in Budapest, Hungary; K’gari/Fraser Island, Australia; Fiji; Hawaii, USA; Bangkok, Thailand; Florence, Italy; Colorado, USA
A shared love of travel
In my mind, I’m 23. Travel is my true love, my preoccupation, my purpose. I could set out from my home in Wales to go interrailing across Europe at a moment’s notice, or zip to South East Asia for a journey of self-discovery without a second thought. All I need is my backpack, passport and a healthy-ish bank account. I’m young and carefree, with – and this one’s crucial – a spine that can handle overnight buses and unfamiliar pillows.
I feel a twinge of envy – at her plans, her youth and the endless possibilities that lay before her. But it’s quickly subsumed by an urge to cheer her on.
In reality, I’m frighteningly close to 40. I have a child, a long-term partner, a hefty mortgage and two cats – and a long list of physio exercises I (should) do daily to prevent debilitating neck spasms. Spur-of-the-moment trips feel impossible. I don’t recognise who I am anymore, but I certainly have no time to ‘find myself’ on a beach in Bali.
I return the question, and Millie tells me she’s off to Morocco on her first solo adventure soon and spending Christmas alone in the Nordics. She has ambitions to see Vietnam and floats the idea of living in Australia for a year or two. I feel a twinge of envy – at her plans, her youth and the endless possibilities that lay before her. But it’s quickly subsumed by an urge to cheer her on. To tell her, yes – you are making the right decision. Go now. Go far. You absolutely will not regret it.
A serendipitous encounter
Generational style wars swiftly forgotten, we spend the next hour exchanging travel tips and stories as she snips off my split ends. I tell her about the time I walked across Bangkok to find the visa office with no smartphone and only a hand-drawn map to guide me (revealing that I am in fact a dinosaur) and how I still dream of going to India.
Millie reveals that she is newly single and feels lighter, freer – and that’s partly why she’s dedicating herself to fulfilling her travel goals. ‘He never wanted to do anything, or go anywhere,’ she says with a sigh. Her determination doubled when a friend flaked out on a girls’ trip after getting back together with an ex.
I eyeroll hard in solidarity. Maybe it’s my maternal instincts going into overdrive, but I feel weirdly protective and proud of her for not giving in to peer pressure or cancelling plans because others let her down. I’m tempted to dismiss these dramas and tell her they’re simply not worth stressing over, because, well, been there, done that. But I’ve never subscribed to that lazy phrase. Millie’s clearly at a different point in her journey than I am. It’s not for me to tell her which route to take. She seems to be on the right track anyway.
She tells me about her unconventional childhood, hopping across Europe with her bohemian parents and ragtag crew of siblings. When she shares that her adventurous, fun-loving father died unexpectedly only a few years ago, I gasp. The same happened to me when I was just 17. In disbelief, Millie shows me the goosebumps on her arms – it’s shocking us both how much we have in common.
A moment passes. ‘People say it will get easier,’ she says, holding my gaze in the mirror. ‘Does it?’
The hairdryer roars in my ears.
‘It does…’ I affirm. ‘But it never goes away. My dad’s actually a big reason I’ve travelled so much,’ I continue. ‘Because when you lose someone too young, like we have, you fully understand the phrase, “life’s too short”. And I feel a duty to live mine to the full.’
More nods and knowing smiles from Millie. The silence that follows more comfortable this time.
A different kind of journey
A strange feeling hits me as I watch us both in the mirror. It’s like I’m talking to myself 20 years ago. I was once just like her – young and hopeful, with the world at my feet and a bravery in the face of grief that few people could fathom. Again, this makes me feel old, but not unhappily so. Because Millie has shown me that I’m wise too, in a way. Yes, my dress sense may be mocked on TikTok, but when it comes to travel – and having the guts to get out there, no matter what life throws your way – I know my stuff.
I bounce out of the salon with a fresh new trim, side part intact, and a spring in my step. I feel a new sense of acceptance. The old – or should I say young and carefree – version of me is gone. But my deep love of travel and connecting with new people and places lives on. I only temporarily misplaced it. It got lost somewhere on my journey to motherhood – like a piece of luggage at JFK, tangled and buried under all sorts of other baggage. I’ve been too busy to even realise it was missing. Today, I’ve experienced the conversational equivalent of retrieving a case full of treasured possessions, against all the odds.
One day, I’ll take these rediscovered parts of my identity – my curiosity, my insatiable wanderlust, my intrepidness – out on the road again. And with any luck, I’ll pass these traits on to my boy as he grows. For now, it’s enough to simply remember that they still exist. To reminisce about the experiences that have shaped me and share them with other inquisitive souls – like Millie, who is clearly on the cusp of so many enriching adventures. To pass on the message to anyone who needs to hear it – that if there’s a little voice inside you telling you to see the world, listen to it. You absolutely will not regret it.
Whatever life stage you’re at, Intrepid has an adventure for you. Choose from 18 to 35s trips, family holidays, women’s expeditions, active adventures and more.
