I feel it’s about time I try to be more of a grown-up.  I don’t think I’ll ever really be one, not properly, but it’s probably about time I put a bit of effort in – I am in my fifth decade after all.  

This resolution came about after meeting a friend for breakfast one day recently.  I confessed to her my great fear at the thought of travelling overseas by myself. Clive has done a lot of overseas travelling for work over the years, so he is totally nonplussed at the idea of booking flights and accommodation, of navigating airport terminals and using foreign transport systems.  I, on the other hand, have never had to organise any travel for myself.  Clive’s always been my travel agent extraordinaire.  Even on trips away with friends, someone else has always done the organising.  But being a grown-up involves facing our fears.  Could I face this one?

My breakfasting friend thoughtfully suggested I start with a smaller challenge; somewhere within New Zealand – Wellington maybe.  I do have an uncle in Wellington – the very same uncle who knows a lot about my mother’s side of our family tree.  So it would be great to visit him and his lovely wife.

But instead I decided my first do-it-alone travel venture would be to Christchurch.  An ex-colleague and now special friend has moved to Christchurch recently so I contacted her about the possibility of me coming to visit.  She very graciously welcomed the idea.  And so I went about the grown-up process of investigating flight prices and accommodation.  (Why is it, may I ask, that flights to a particular destination always seem to be a lot cheaper than the return flights?  Hmmm, sneaky.)  With flights booked and a very cheap AirBnB agreed upon – her flat not being available to extra guests – I proudly declared that arrangements had been made.

Although assuring my husband that I would indeed be fine to drive myself to the airport and use the Park and Ride system, I was secretly quite relieved to find that it was actually fully booked, and gladly accepted his offer of a lift in to the airport on his way to work – albeit two hours earlier than he would normally leave.  I did have a wee bit of a panicky moment just as we were driving into the domestic terminal car park, when I suddenly realised I hadn’t packed my passport.  Clive quickly allayed my fears by informing me (whilst trying to keep a straight face) that passports weren’t required for New Zealanders flying within New Zealand.  Good to know.

Another awkward moment occurred when, at the boarding gate, I attempted to nonchalantly scan in the online boarding pass that was saved on my mobile phone, trying to act as though I did such things every second day.  Look at me being all so grown up and sophisticated, using my phone instead of those old-school printed ticket thingies.  Until I couldn’t get it to scan.  So I tried again.  And again.  And then the airline officer manning (or do we say humaning now?) the machine asked if I would like her to do it for me.  “Yes please” I humbly replied.  My guise was blown.  I was plainly a novice.

Apart from having a bit of a struggle to get my on-flight suitcase up into the luggage compartment (note to self: must get back into doing those pushups!) the flight down to Christchurch went smoothly.  I love flying, particularly if I have a window seat, and despite having forgotten to take my Sealeg tablets and to wear my anti-motion sickness wrist bands, I arrived in good form.  I managed to successfully exit the aircraft and find my way out to the arrivals/departure area (Christchurch airport is very small) where my friend was waiting for me.  

We had a wonderful time together over the weekend, exploring the city centre, paying our respects to the Cathedral – both the damaged and the cardboard, visiting the botanical gardens, and even attending the first night of the French Festival in nearby Akaroa (goodness me, there’s that F word again!).  I was very grateful to her.  Her itinerary for our weekend was fabulous and we had so much fun.

I was still nervous leading up to my return flight, but this time I managed to scan in my online boarding pass first time.  I did whoop-whoop, but thankfully only inwardly.

So, my first personally arranged solo trip – done and dusted.  Wellington, here I come.  Or maybe I could just go to a cafe by myself.  That’s still a grown-up sort of thing to do, isn’t it?  And it would be a whole lot cheaper!

Thank you my darling, creative tour guide. Tu es si belle. xxxx