Wanderlust; A great desire or impulse to travel and rove about.
I had just hit my teen years when I first discovered this term. I decided I had caught it: a terminal case of the ‘wanderlust’ bug.
As a child my mother had always made it a key priority to educate me not only in the safety of school classroom walls, but also out in the world, meeting new people and being faced first hand with different cultures and ways of living. I’ll always be thankful for this. By the time I was a teenager I had lived for two months in a village on a remote Fijian island where we witnessed rituals, sipped ‘Kava (a traditional herbal drink) with the locals and visited a school that had around fifteen students who’s classes often took place on benches in the dust outside. I had also stood at the top of an Australian mountain looking out over the peculiar ‘Blue Mountains’, scorched my feet on the burning sand of Dubai’s sand dunes and much more.
There are days when I’m stuck in dreary England, looking out of the window through the drizzle and will catch a glimpse of a plane flashing between a huddle of several grey clouds. All I want in the whole world right then is to be sat on that exact plane, and I don’t even care where it takes me – anywhere new with a different climate, different birds (it’s always something I notice when I’m in a new country for some reason) and a different culture. I want to sit on the plane and see where it takes me and then just explore and breathe in fresh air.