We all present these glossy lives to the world; coffee cups presented to dewy sunrises, champagne in airport lounges, luxurious restaurants that cost more than they should and share the blue skies days of exploration. I’m as guilty as anyone.
But, what about behind those scenes? Those days where the wind is so strong you can’t instastory for talking (I’m looking at you Cornwall), when travel mistakes happen (like in Vienna where I accidentally booked our trip a day short) or when everyone asks you what your next trip will be and you sheepishly have to answer ‘er, not sure’.
So I thought I’d get a few things off my chest, and confess a few of the reasons why I probably shouldn’t be calling myself a travel blogger. And yes, these are all very much first world problems.
1. I hate photographs of myself.
Ironic, no? Especially when one of the first rules of blogging is all about the cult of personality. I just don’t like them. I wish I did, but there are few times that I fancy a photo and even less when I like the result.
2. We nip into a MacDonalds at least once every trip.
It has now become a tradition between nicer restaurants to nip in and order a Big Mac and fries at some point of our trip – but especially in Europe for some reason. Why do their MacDonalds meals taste better?
3. Pastels aren’t really my shade.
Again, I wish I could be super girly, twirling in gossamer skirts painted in spring shades but I’m just not. My colour palette is decidedly autumnal/jewel hued and usually sticks to a scarf draped around my neck in a hopefully fashionable manner. And I’m totally ok with that.
4. I once travelled all the way to New Zealand and back (stopping in 3 countries enroute) without a lens cap on my brand new, fairly expensive camera.
This is in no way a #humblebrag about the trip, but a comment on how impractical I can be – and how careful I also am. I lovingly wrapped my camera in a soft scarf every day for 3 weeks, growled under my breath at anyone who looked like they might jostle me and at one point found myself accidentally at the top of a dormant volcano with it. As you do.
5. Aside from English (Kiwi and British derivations), the only other language I undersatnd is Typoese.
Though, I can say ‘I am from New Zealand’ in 12 languages including Czech with a bit of practice. I’m a little ashamed about this to be honest – as a teenager I half-heartedly studied Japanese (one of the options at my High School) but can only remember a few numbers and how to count to 10.
Just call my skin tone Kermit and call me petal.
7. I can mess up a hotel room in 3 seconds flat.
In normal life I’m super organised but not very tidy, but it seems to be magnified to the power of 10 when we are on holiday. Even one small suitcase seems to explode clothes – and the bigger the room or suite the further my stuff seems to spread.
8. I once lost my camera lens cap before a stunning seaplane flight around Vancouver and spent more of the trip worrying about said lens cap before discovering it on the disembarkation ramp.
9. I will do things just for the ‘gram.
And occasionally I’ll send my Instagram husband out to cross a swing bridge that leads to bear-frequenting forest glades just to take photos of it for me (though I’ll always admit to his bravery.)
Best of all, this isn’t just me. I asked a few people over Twitter to spill their own confessions, and it was eye opening… (make sure you click the below link to open the entire thread.)
What is the worst confession you have as a #travel blogger? I’m writing a post & want to embed tweets of fellow miscreants 😉 Reply below.
— Emma 🥂🥝✈️ (@LondonKiwiEmma) October 12, 2017
Do you have anything to ‘fess up about? Go on, you know you want to…