OMG....

By Bea
​So how on earth did I get to this point in my life!?? 
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I toppled off the treadmill of sensible adulthood and landed in this new, faintly terrifying reality—but I suspect it had something to do with turning fifty. One day, I’m managing a bustling recruitment company in Bangkok, with an office brimming with over 50 staff and the next, Pete is casually suggesting we chuck everything and go gallivanting around the globe… without flying.
“Think about it,” he said, waving his phone, probably fresh from scrolling through inspirational Instagram quotes, “life’s too short for this.”   
​Initially, I laughed, but the idea settled somewhere deep. After a strong cup of tea (fine, perhaps it was a very large glass of wine), the absurdity of it started melting away. My life had become predictable, comfortable, and distinctly beige. The truth was I felt bored, frazzled, and undeniably restless. We had no real commitments—no kids, no goldfish with separation anxiety— we had nothing holding us back. Besides, if this grand experiment ended in disaster, we could always slink back to Bangkok, tails tucked firmly between our legs, and start over.
So, here we stand, about to jet to off on a 12-month odyssey across vast swathes of the planet. Except… we’re not actually jetting anywhere, our plan was to travel from Bangkok to Cape Town entirely overland: trains, buses, boats, maybe even a donkey or two. I was young enough to scramble into canoes and old enough to buy proper travel insurance. After all, who wants to wait until official retirement age, when your knees might creak louder than a rusty Hills Hoist?
The final days before departure unfolded in a chaotic blur of lists and last-minute errands. We cleaned out the pantry, fridge and bar and conjured what we found into a farewell dinner.  Nothing says bon voyage like canned tuna Laab and Thai ‘green fish-finger curry’.
Then came the administrative whirlwind: endless phone calls to banks about direct debits, unsubscribing from persistent furniture-store emails, and meticulously switching paper statements to digital, all so I wouldn’t receive notifications about Bangkok’s biggest sofa sale while trying to find a café in Budapest. 
And, of course, there was my hair—the unruly reminder that vanity has no borders. One last salon visit awaited me, an appointment that felt vaguely ceremonial. I stared into the mirror, instructing the hairdresser to dye my hair as close to natural as possible, bracing myself emotionally for a year of the real me shining through.  It’s a toss-up whether I’m more terrified of crossing continents by bus or letting nature have its way with my hair.

.... I think I need to book a massage ;-)