ANNA HART upgrades her travel daydreams
as she turns her back on the days of fast travel.The art of...
slowing down
W
hen I scan my mental archives for my most
illustrious flights of fancy, my truly show-stopping
fantasies, and my most cinematic daydreams, they
have one thing in common: they revolve around
travel. I was never the sort of school kid who dreamed about
a big wedding, or a Prince Charming, or a huge house, or a fast
car, or a pony. I grew up devouring Indiana Jones and the James
Bond films, convinced that travelling was the loftiest aspiration
a young lady of means could have.
To my young mind, travel meant glamour, it meant
adventure, it meant escape, it meant romance, it meant
decadence, it meant glory – and it meant success. I fantasised
about visiting every single country by the age of 30. I dreamed
of being one of those swishy-haired business people striding
purposefully through the airport destined for a meeting in
Dallas or Helsinki. I imagined jetting from one party island
to the next, from Ibiza to Mykonos to Rio to Koh Phangan,
changing destinations as often as I changed party dresses.