First pancake is always the dodgy one…

 Day 1:

This is where the journey begins, sandwiched between two strangers at 2:30 pm on a random Tuesday afternoon. Prior to packing my life into a backpack I would have called myself a bit of a minimalistic person, not sure the backpack would agree (having been squeezed and stretched to fit my near explosive packing cubes in) . 

Half of me is remaining vigilante and the other is calm; there’s something still in sitting in the present whilst others rush to the future in front of you. Like a wise person once said “ the anxiety is just excitement” ;) 

The only way I can describe how I feel is that it’s like listening to ‘Welcome to New York’ by Taylor Swift for the first time. Your heart rate begins to increase. You know it’s going to be upbeat and soon you will be singing aloud, but you’re waiting for that one beat to hit and until then the tension just builds… in my case, that tension was slightly cracked by the displeased look of a parent, when their child slid across the train station floor on her suitcase before coming to a loud crash! 

France:

The days after arriving in Paris provided many ups and downs. The first night I stayed in my clothes from the day before and gripped tightly onto my rucksack due to my “just in case” mindset. I had a whole climbing gym to myself at the hostel in the first morning and racked up 26000 steps in a hope to visit all the main attractions in one day, which I achieved. Whilst my highs were nearly as tall as the Eiffel Tower, you have to always come down and my decline in mood occurred when I stepped on the wrong bus back to the hostel and returned safely, but flustered, a mere four hours later.  

Lots has happened: I have finally met some backpackers that were up for going on day trips once the awkward meeting phase was over, I side stepped to an electric DJ sesh, dipped my toes in the sea at St Malo’s beach,  hiked up the stairs of Mont St Michel, tried the acquired taste of a far Breton cake, felt like I was on a special mission after getting lost and having my Mum and Auntie feed me directions in my ear bud, had my ice cream splatted on by an unknown substance, misunderstood the ticket person who was saying ID instead of what I thought was the word hygiene, and so much more. 

The hostels require some adaption. I didn’t gain much sleep when a man dropped his phone on me from the bunk above and being disrupted every night at 2AM is tiring. Thankfully earbuds and eye masks exist, and are very much necessary, but it’s all part of the adventure. Whilst the hostels may be to blame for my unsustainable sleeping pattern, France is at fault for my current eating pattern. The pastries have been phenomenal (Sainsbury’s bakery croissants are a distant memory when fresh Pan au Raisins enter the tastebuds). However, in France they seem to have a pastry in the morning, lunch at 11AM and then dinner at 8:30 PM. My English stomach is incredibly confused and is yearning for a little of my 5 a day that’s been absent from all the ham and cheese baguettes. Although, if I’m going to go all out on baguettes and desserts, there is no other country I would rather do it, than in France. 

In just 6 days I already feel like I have experienced a lifetime of laughs, loneliness and lessons learnt. Whilst I’ve gained confidence from overcoming each situation that backpacking has to offer, I’m very much thankful for the people who have been supporting and guiding me from hundreds of miles away.

Rosie over and out :)