When the wheels came off

The wheels came off on the last leg of my trip. I don’t, as you might imagine, mean that I went into a carb-crazed face-feast or behaved in a way injures to my health (JP might argue this point about my shopping) but what I mean is that just moments from our final London destination, I lost a wheel. I’m not surprised. Years ago I abused the same hard-back American Tourista (read invincible luggage) on a trip to Venice when I was so infuriated by how far we had to walk to our hotel launch that I forced my through the throngs, up and down Venice’s bridges bashing my case on each step which sounded like a mafia shootout in slow motion.  Last week, having shopped for more items than I had space to carry, I was bashing my poor bag up and down the steps of The Underground – much later did I think to rather change trains at wheel-chair friendly stations.

I should not be allowed to own luggage. The best news, aside from the wonderful gear I purchased at half-price sales, is that the nice people at The Luggage Warehouse in Willowbridge replaced the wheel in the time I had the cheapest coffee in the last month and sent me on my way just with a bill for the replacement wheel. How Fabulous Is That?

I mentioned my anxiety about coping with my eating plan while abroad. Eating on the ship could have been easy as there were many perfect options but I struggled as it was so tempting to have wall-to-wall food, every minute, of every waking hour, and then free room service.

Eating right in London was very easy as I resolved I would rather spend money on shopping than eating out. I bought a Giorgio Armani vintage (okay, second hand) jacket from the Trinity Hospice Shop for 18 Pounds (R270) –  the same price I paid for a chicken Caesar salad and cappuccino at Spaghetti House – not a Michelin-star restaurant. I found a vintage leather jacket at Camden Lock Market for 10 Pounds. At five pounds for a 1.5kg chicken and 2 pounds for broccoli, I was happily eating chicken and broccoli for less than I can buy it here.

I did have a crisis while I was away and very nearly comfort-ate directly from a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter when I realised that I had left my brand-new Olympus TG 2 camera on the train from Edinburgh. It felt like I’d been punched in the chest and was flushed with rage but I found just speaking (okay, I was shouting) the way I felt was enough – I didn’t have to burry my emotions with food.

As much as I love being at home, I learn so much more about myself when I travel. I think we all do.