Tuesday, January 06, 2004

Later this year we are packing our bags for a trip to South America. Pretty exiting, I know.

We haven’t really decided exactly where yet, so Mr R has spent the last few weeks reading travel guides and brochures and trying to convince me that Bolivia is safe.

I fully admit to being a bit of a wuss when it comes to certain international destinations. The idea of being kidnapped by Colombian drug lords isn’t all that appealing to me funnily enough. So he writes the country on the list, and then I cross the country off the list. The trick is to get the right balance between adventure and safety, so lets hope for the best. The other problem is that I am not all that adventurous really, and Mr R is somewhat more so, which can cause problems in planning holiday itineraries. The ideal solution usually is to rope in friends that match our level of adventure, so I have someone to lie by the side of the pool with reading, and Mr R has somebody to wrestle alligators with. But given this holiday is going to cost the equivalent of a small nations’ GDP, and isn’t exactly child friendly, we may struggle to find any takers. I don’t think the Inca trail handles prams.

So that means I have to up my level of adventure for this holiday, and to get in training I am starting to take more risks in my day to day life. You know what I mean, like not planning which train I’ll take, just rocking up to the station and hoping for the best, knowing one will come along eventually. And driving in the outside lane over the Westgate bridge, even though I might get blown off at any second. I was thinking I might even try a flat white rather than the latte for morning tea. At this rate, in six months when we go I’ll be parachuting out of the plane.

Oh who am I trying to kid? I think I’d better encourage Mr R to find some more adventurous company.


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