I’ve visited England 5 times – once on a backpacking trek with my bessie-mate several, several years ago; then 4 subsequent times on my own, to visit my British boyfriend. And now I’m in the UK for a substantially longer period of 2 years. Finally! This time, it’s not a holiday; this time I don’t have to leave after a few weeks; this time, it’s more real.
I acquired a Tier 5 Youth Mobility Visa (“youth” – ha!) back in September and a couple months later I packed my worldly belongings into 3 suitcases and jetted off across the pond. Back to my “motherland,” as I like to say.
I’ve always been a traveller, enjoyed visiting and exploring new places. England has, for as long as I can remember, held an obsessive fascination for me. When I’m posed the question “what do you like about it?”, my only answer (super lame) is “everything.” I just can’t seem to put into words what it is exactly that has captured my heart about this country. The accents? The history? The traditions? The beautiful landscapes and villages? The diversity? The…everything.
As excited as I was to be shifting homes, I still felt an underlying sense of nervousness. I would have fleeting moments of an oh-my-god-what-am-I-doing? feeling, where it would just really sink in that I was disappearing for a long time. I would best describe my emotions as that of fevered anticipation: an unease for the unknown, yet a far more urgent sense of predestination.
Being away from home has never bothered me; I don’t get homesick. And with technology at its finest, staying in touch has never been easier. Within the first week I’d received surprising bits of snail-mail from friends and family (most notably the gift my sister had thought she’d brought along to the airport, but in the early hours of the morning had grabbed not the leather bound journal, but her leather belt…no comment.)
A few days before leaving it had come to my attention that my dad had once travelled to England on a WorkVisa back in the 70’s (a rather harrowing experience as dictated from his old diary that he managed to dig out of a box from the basement). Some uncles had done the same, as had a couple aunts, travelling around Europe shortly after high-school (a similar adventure that I had done as well). I see a pattern emerging here…It must be something in the gene pool, an inherited wanderlust.
Listen To: Bat For Lashes – Travelling Woman