It all started the day I picked up my first book and read about Mt Vesuvius. The words on the pages about the events that unfolded as the volcano erupted with anger and its flowing lava consumed the town below grasped a hold onto the curiosity corner of my mind and in that moment I started to ask questions; Who were they, did they know what was going on, what happened in the after math. It started me thinking about the rest of the world, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, what things were like in the middle ages in the castles of Scotland and Ireland. I needed answers. In that moment I felt the little travel bug on my shoulder start nibbling away, it was in that moment I knew I was hooked.
The addiction was slow to start with. I didn’t even notice it really at first, a shrugged off thought in the back of my mind. I would be out in public and hear a foreign accent, turn to see what was most obviously a tourist running around with their camera pointing and the feelings would start. I could describe it almost like a twitch in my feet, as if they wanted to join in and pretend I was one of them. At parties it would flourish, there would be so many opportunities to find like minded people and find a quiet place to hear their experiences. People would try and tell me horror stories but I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t care. I wanted to hear more. I would walk into travel agencies and take all the brochures I could, ask questions about destinations to feed the curiosity, but it wasn’t enough.
I remember having a lot of late nights, researching different options, what each one involved to make sure what I was getting was what I wanted. After a lot of back and forth with myself about if I should do it, I was ready to give it a go, ready to dive into my addiction and let it consume me. And so it did. I can still remember how it felt taking that first step, just this wave of adrenaline rushing over you, and every time I explored something new it spread. Coming back was like going through the stages of grief. The first few days are the worst. I didn’t want to be home, I would get angry at the fact I couldn’t be somewhere else. After a while I was overcome with sadness as I accepted the fact that its over and I couldn’t travel anymore.
As the days went by I would start to get the urges again, it would start with something someone would say to me or a day dream on my lunch break. Home would start feeling unfamiliar, and the faces around me seemed to blur. Not long after my first trip, I was broken… I could no longer work where I was… that life, that idea, that feeling had taken over my life. I was a travel junkie. So I did what any normal junkie would do, surround myself with the one thing that was giving me that rush of adrenaline I so dearly desired. I became a travel agent.
My name is Caitlin Larkworthy and I am addicted to travel.