1 Week in Lanzarote…


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Nostalgia seeps into my groggy morning brain almost instantly as we enter Newcastle International Airport. The last time I departed this place was on my way to New Zealand, my last memory of the three of us there together took place at the same time, outside security, clutching onto one another, surging through the desperate emotions of a goodbye. Now we check in, all three of us, together. My passport is out of my charge for the first time in years as my Dad takes on the role as head of the family. Just like old times.


Sun greets us on the other side of the flight. The signs in English and Spanish are familiar from years of travelling through similar layouts on other Spanish Islands. I vaguely recall my curiosity as a kid, the new language and trying to pick up snatches from the locals as we walked through. Our resort is equally as memory jolting. Balding middle aged English men, sitting outside of tacky English style pubs, torso’s pale in the wake of a T-shirt, contrasting to burnt arms, lager in hand. It’s always been the same on tourist resorts and I smile. It’s an old, new, way of travel for me.

There is some culture in the local dishes on the western menu’s. Their authenticity I daren’t guess at but it peaks my interest, even if I won’t eat them. On the grey days, where even paradise caves to misery, I hope for car hire so we can explore Lanzarote some more. It doesn’t happen. My parents holiday to unwind and enjoy the sun. On longer, fortnight holidays back when I was a kid, the car hire was always my favourite part. Winding through mountains, ocean view after ocean view. My innocent mind would real with secret daydreams, the landscape my setting whilst my pink iPod nano created a soundtrack.

Despite the itchy feet feeling of being stranded on the same street, by the same windy beach and too cold hotel pool I thrive in the simplicity of being taken care of. I’m not alone, I’m not responsible and in the middle of the week somewhere I find the easy rhythm of the place and learn to just be.

It shouldn’t be a task but it always manages to be, just sitting and noticing and breathing. Simplicity makes me anxious and I realised how much my rampant mind had been craving it on that holiday. I knew I set out travelling to run from something, I just never accepted that something was my own thoughts.

Love and happy energy, N x

Author: nikki

In a constant existential crisis, dipping me toe in everything, trying me best.

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