Today’s subject on the 500 words challenge is one that is close to my heart: Travel. I love traveling! When I was a child growing up in Wales, my father always ensured that we went away every year for two weeks. I can’t remember ever missing a year.
Growing up in the late sixties/seventies, traveling abroad was an exciting prospect. I remember the girl at the end of our street going to Spain for a holiday with her family. The other kids were so envious of her – Spain seemed such an exotic place, far removed from camping or a day at the seaside!
We didn’t go aboard as a family, however but my dad ensured that we went on our annual trip! He had bought a VW campervan, and we spent the summers travelling up and down the coasts of Britain in it. I remember a trip to Wales, in which it rained a lot and we spent a lot of time playing cards! We did get to travel all of north Wales and the highlight for me was Port Meirion.
In the summer of 1976 Britain had a heatwave, and my family and I were touring around Cornwall and Devon. I remember the sparkling blue seas and coves that made up the coastline, and the little towns that were originally fishing villages, but had expanded with the amount of people that enjoyed the area. The cottages were nestled on the edges of the coast, with crooked cobble stoned roads running down into the sea. I loved the names of the villages too: Polperro, Mousehole, St Ives, Saltash and my favourites, Torquay and Babbacombe in Devon. I remember spending a day on the beach at St Ives and watching dolphins frolicking in the clear blue shallow waters! It was a gorgeous time and a lovely memory of my childhood. In Devon, Babbacombe has a miniature village which I loved to visit, with its little houses, towns and people. Glorious!
The following year, we made our way up to Scotland. By this time I was a self-conscious 13 year old, a newly acquired teenager who had a crush on John Travolta (in Grease) and had discovered boys! We toured all around Scotland, and my dad booked us into a lovely campsite at the base of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Scotland at the time (oh, and still is!). His intention was to climb it, but not by himself – we had to go along too! I managed the first part of the climb, and then gave up and went ‘boy watching.’ Ah, I remember it well!
It was in the wilds of Scotland in the summer of 1977, that Elvis Presley died. Little did I know at the time, but Elvis would become a big part of my life (even after death) as my husband is a massive fan of his – I barely gave him a thought at the time of his death, but since then we have visited his grave in Memphis, and have many records by him. I was more of a fan of the Bay City Rollers and Donny Osmond!Polperro_CornwallPolperro Cornwall

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