Planted between two nippers and experiencing the painful sound of what used to be cheesy puffs, here I am enjoying my second solo flight. I’ve been told that being a singleton increases the odds of being sat in the crèche department of the plane tenfold. I’ve been told this. And I’m now experiencing this for the second time. They were right. There’s enough leg room for a baby ant and that’s about it.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. The flight’s a short one. But it doesn’t mean the temptation to grab one of the nippers’ cheesy puffs has lessened in any way, shape or form.
I’m about an hour away from Auckland now and two hours away from the Gold Coast. I’m anxious. Not only do I score flying a five out of 10, this will also be the first time I hit up a hostel solo. I think most novice travellers experience the jitters before rocking up to a hostel.
The constant replay of turning up to either ends of the spectrum. The first: a bunch of loose westerners, some running around half naked, some vomiting on the floor. The other end is of course the tumble-weed situation: where is everyone? Did I book into a hostel for ghosts? Why is this so eerie? For the anxious everything from the ridiculous to the totally possible, swirls viciously in the concious a cyclone. And the scenes are nerve-wracking to replay.
I’ve been travelling for three months now. And after three months going solo to a hostel is out of my comfort zone. But I think that’s a good thing. I think we should challenge ourselves…even if it’s only a small step at a time.
So here’s to breaking the boundaries and challenging myself. And by that I simply mean hoping that neither scenarios above are true.