Tourism: Teenage trips: that first parent-free holiday
Read the text carefully before you answer the questions. Five writers recount the adventures – and mishaps – of their first holiday without mum and dad:
A Hilary Bradt: Staying with a German pen pal
When I was 15 I went to stay with my pen friend in north Germany. It was my first trip abroad and the first without my parents and I hated every minute of it. From the moment we met, Christina and I disliked each other and, in hindsight, I can only feel sorry for this normal teenager who liked boys and pop music. I only liked horses and was shamefully retarded on the emotional front. It’s hard to pick out the low point from a trough of tearful gloom but it was probably when I was alone in the house and there was a persistent ringing at the bell which I ignored. Then, to my alarm, I could see the visitor walking around the house looking through the windows. I hid under the dining room table. That afternoon Dr Schmidt, Christina’s very frightening mother, came home from work and told me she’d left her key behind and had needed to pick up some papers from the house. „But you didn’t hear me,“ she said. „Oh, I must have been in my room. Sorry!“ I said, blushing crimson, with the awful knowledge that she’d seen me.
B Sam Wollaston: Hiking to the Lakes
I come from a strange family whose approach to parenting was that we should learn to fend for ourselves from an early age. That included holidays. I remember my poor brother being sent off to canoe down the entire length of the Thames with a friend, when they were both just 12 years old. They had a miserable time, were almost murdered by some hooligans from Maidenhead, and neither has ever really recovered from the experience. I was allowed to wait until I was 15 for my first adventure. What are your plans for half term, I was asked. Dunno, I’ll probably sit around watching TV and picking my spots, I said. Oh no, you’re not, you’re going to hitchhike to the Lake District with a tent, you’re going to camp, up in the mountains, for a week; and then – if you’re still alive – you’re going to hitchhike back again. The only consolation was that I too was allowed to take a friend with me. And that’s what we did. We hitchhiked the length of England, we camped, we got cold and wet and scared, and couldn’t afford to buy enough food. But, against the odds, we survived. I don’t recommend it at all. If your parents try it, make sure you steal some money from them and at least stay in a Travellodge.
C Emma Kennedy: Campsite
In fact, my first holiday without my parents was a school trip when I was seven to Cuffley Camp Outdoor Centre, near Potters Bar. I was stuck in a tent with four other girls, one of whom wet herself with anxiety within the first 10 minutes. I was unable to opened my suitcase and decided that, rather than ask for help, I would spend the week in the clothes I was standing in. It was pure hell and I even earned the nickname „Emma, the skunk“.
D Kevin Rushby: Walking the South West Coast Path
Although my parents were quite worried, I hitched sown to Cornwall with a friend and walked the path at the age of 16. I’m surprised that no one asked if we were runaways since neither of us looked more than 12. One night we slept rough in Plymouth, but apart from that it was straightforward camping and walking. The weather was superb, the sea aquamarine. We had almost no money and lived on sandwiches and tea. In fact, one of the first things I learned was that a fire and a mug of tea can make the world seem right. Second thing: the amount of money spent does not alter the amount of fun to be had. What really counted was talking to people. I had to do lots of chatting, negotiating, entertaining, discussing and questioning. Travelling forced me to engage with strangers in a way that I had never done before, and I learnt to be far more self-reliant. Strangers, I discovered, could be very helpful and endlessly fascinating. They could also be dangerous, boring and stupid, or any combination of those three – it was up to me to evaluate and decide. I wrote it all down, which was a very good idea, but subsequently lost the notebook – which was not so clever. My advice is simple: avoid travel agents, tour groups and rabid animals, embrace the unexpected and enjoy the unplanned.
E Marcus Sedgewick: Camping in the Ardennes
Having an older brother that I was really close to meant we could drive somewhere when I was about 16. We took a cross-channel ferry and went camping in the Ardennes: a beautiful wooded part of Europe. We cooked badly, but it was then I realised that everything tastes wonderful under canvas, thanks to the fresh air … and starvation. We walked a bit, but what we mainly did was drive around in circles playing music loudly. We didn’t even mind that we were in deeply unexciting Belgium.
Adapted from an article in The Guardian, June 12, 2010