The art of anti-competitive travel
A spreadsheet-obsessed forward planner lets go
The mini-break. The first time I heard that phrase was while watching Bridget Jones’s Diary, and being a Sydneysider, it felt like a foreign concept (no pun intended) because back then, there was nothing mini about travelling anywhere in Oz. Fast forward 20 years and my London life is filled with mini-breaks, which can also be described as short, sharp bursts of competitive travelling.
An example of competitive travelling is when you rise at 4am to make the 7am flight from Luton, sweating bullets while queuing to board, wondering if your cabin bag is indeed the correct measurements, only to land at your destination and immediately say, “the trip is going too fast”, before you eat, see, and walk as much as possible before landing at Gatwick at 10pm on a Sunday night, cursing the coach to London which will have you in bed by midnight, if you’re lucky.
When packing for this mini-break, I took a duffle bag with two books, a journal, wellies, activewear, my water bottle and too much skincare. I did this at 6.30am because I knew that once coffee was ingested and my laptop was open, there’d be no going back; I’d be in email/meeting land until the competitive travelling began. Except that it didn’t feel like competitive travelling this time.
Red raincoat on and the overground, tube and a train later, and my work face was still on, battling the London crowds and thinking about web copy, reporting and RACIs. Ben looked concerned as I came out of the turnstiles at Clapham Junction, approaching me carefully like one would a rabid dog. I picked up one of his many shopping bags with our weekend supplies and we boarded a train, looking out of the windows and staring as the view changed from industrial textures to green pastures.
An hour later and we left the station, hopped into a taxi and marvelled at the way light was streaming through the trees, hedges and canopied roads in the Surrey countryside. My soul exhaled and the taxi driver dropped us off at a small clearing in the woods, where we quickly spotted a torch and wheelbarrow before following the signs to our cabin.
We need more rest than we realise, and it takes being ruled by nature to fully understand and inhabit this universal truth.
Squelch, squelch, squelch. The muddy ground was completely covered in reddish-brown leaves, almost all of them perfectly star-shaped. There’s something about the combination of boots, wet ground and a carpet of leaves that will transport 95% of adults into five-year-olds again; kicking leaves into the air and putting down an exaggerated stomp every few steps. This playful saunter continued until we saw our pristine cabin, which we unlocked and entered, before we unpacked and scurried back outside, determined to make a fire before dinner and bedtime.
The kindling crackled, the sky turned indigo, we drank red wine out of mugs, and sat on wooden stumps, naturally ignoring our phones and instead turning our attention to the stars, the smoky smell, and the fact that we were far away from city-stress when in fact, we weren’t geographically that far away at all. We were proud of our orange flame but also joked that we wouldn't have survived the Victoria era. Laughter turned to deep conversation, as is the natural pathway when you’re confronted with nothing but nature and a mind that starts to unfurl away from screens. The next morning, I was amazed at the sound, or lack thereof; I could hear nothing but birdsong — a far cry from ambulance sirens and the man on my doorstep who enjoys having animated conversations with a mango at 5am. After staring into the misty distance, from the comfort of the linen-covered bed, Ben got to grinding the coffee beans before we set off on our walk.
Down the stream, right at the tree (you know the one) and eventually you hit a narrow country road with a woven wooden fence on one side and hilly shrubbery on the other. A yellow container caught our attention and we spotted an honesty box for eggs; we rambled on and eventually hit the Buddhist monastery with manicured grounds and a series of benches arranged in a circle. Some of them were affixed with plaques and one was dedicated to “Mudita” complete with a message about light.
The weather governs you when you’re without transport, and with the sky turning grey, we realised it wouldn’t be long before dark, and so we trundled back towards the cabin, Ben with a Gandalf-type staff in one hand and me squelching the ground as we followed our footsteps in the opposite direction.
The rains came that night and the soundscape beat any white noise app I’ve ever used. I set an alarm for 9.45am and it was shocking to be shocked by it the following morning — we need more rest than we realise, and it takes being ruled by nature to fully understand and inhabit this universal truth.
The exit is bittersweet; I look forward to washing the smoke smell out of my hair but already miss the fire, the fresh air on my cheeks, and the simplicity of cabin life. The next unyoking is being planned…
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