Frequently, in those idle moments that journeys throw at me, I ponder what is better, Arrivals or Departures?
I know, the old Dookes grey matter wanders in mysterious ways, but bear with me and I’ll explain where I’m coming from.
As I type this our ferry is making it’s final approach to Arrive in the Port of Roscoff. On-board there is a palpable air of excitement, stoked in no small part by a number of French school groups. The children are chattering in the animated carefree way that only the young can indulge in. They don’t worry if everything is packed, passport and documents ready, someone else takes care of that!
For my part, I sit in the lounge watching busy activity on the quayside as dockers secure the mooring ropes and make fast the ship against the dock. The strong Solstice morning sun glares through the windows, it’s certainly looking like its going to be a lovely day. It’s early, too early for everything except strong coffee and a moment to let the day come to me; let it Arrive if you like.
Last night we took the short ride from Dookes H.Q. to the port of Plymouth, so often the beginning of various adventures. It was the moment of Departure and in many ways I hate it; yet at the same time I love it too… weird eh?
I hate leaving behind everything that is precious and closest to me, Mrs Dookes, our home, comfort in the familiar; yet there’s an adventure and exploration lying ahead of us.
As I get older that wrench of separation gets harder and the excitement of the unknown diminishes.
Then we hit the road and the focus switches, time to concentrate.
Arrival or Departure?
It kind of depends on which one you are doing…
Catch you later.