Solo in Cyprus

A couple of weeks ago, I took myself on holiday to Cyprus and the whole thing was full of firsts.

The trip itself was my first time going to a different country (other than the few hours I spent in Scotland, which apparently doesn't count). It was my first time in an airport, my first time using my passport, my first time on a plane, my first ever flight.

And I did it solo.

Whenever I told anyone about that, they would say, or imply, that it was brave, but I waved it off as no big deal. I've seen plenty of videos of people having solo holidays abroad, and I'm so used to doing things on my own anyway, how different could this be?

But, do you know what? It was bloody scary.

I couldn't count how many nerves I had in the six months between booking it and going, and so many of them were centred around what to expect in the airport, going through security, all the things that would be so new to me.

Friends gave me a full step-by-step of everything that would happen, from the terminal at Gatwick, all the way through to landing in Cyprus, even the different noises aeroplanes make, which was a help. I also spent so much time watching vlogs of people checking in for their flights, boarding the plane, getting their baggage. No matter what I did, though, I knew the nerves were never going to subside completely until I'd experienced it myself.

As I was sat on that plane, in the window seat I'd chosen, it felt silly that I was crapping myself, while everyone around me was acting like it was as normal as popping to the shops on the bus.

I have to say, though, being above the clouds, looking down at the world below... that was incredible. I don't think I could ever get bored of that, even with the realisation of how tiny we all are. Honestly, just... wow.

I was, however, glad to be safely back on solid ground and once I'd checked into the hotel (and my right ear had finally un-popped), there was a big sigh of relief, but it was quickly followed by a... now what?

All of my focus had been on the lead up, the shopping, the packing, the travel, but not on much beyond that.

So when that was all done and I was there, it was a little... I don't know what. I've been trying to find the word. 'Anticlimactic' springs to mind, but I'm not sure it's that.

All I know is that I kind of wanted to come straight home. That was a feeling that carried on through the whole week.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like I had a horrendous time.

I did enjoy lying in the sunshine, by the pool, reading.

I got my nails done for the first time at the spa in the hotel, and had dinner at the 'fine dining' restaurant.

I experienced what public transport is like in Cyprus (most eventful bus journey ever) and went to the Magic Dancing Waters Show in Protaras.

I indulged in a cocktail, or ten, and I sat and watched some of the evening entertainment at the hotel. I even joined in with some Bingo. 

I saw some lovely views. One of my favourite parts of the holiday was walking the coastal path to Ayia Napa Harbour and back. Watching the sun set over the Mediterranean Sea was beautiful, so peaceful. I even had a little paddle, something else that was a tiptoe out of my comfort zone.

I tried to take chances like that to do things I wouldn't usually. I had the occasional dip in the pool, pretending I could swim. I tried not to worry about the clothes I wore because no one around me would be bothered. Honestly, though. Me? In a bikini? Me? Walking around in sandals with my toes out? Unheard of.

I took lots of photos (including on a disposable camera I bought at the airport) and shared lots on my Instagram.

But the whole time, in the back of my mind, I was just looking forward to home time. And it's something I've been trying to get my head around and I've not been able to put my finger on it. It's almost like I just never felt completely at ease, and I don't remember feeling like that during any of my staycations.

I've been honest about that feeling with anyone who has asked about my holiday, and although I've never been able to give an answer as to why, there are a couple of thoughts going around in my head.

Maybe it was the pressure of feeling like I should be having an amazing time, because that's what I've seen from so many other people.

Maybe it was the all-inclusive element, feeling like I should be making the most of it, so I was almost drinking for the sake of it.

Maybe it was the fact that I was in a new place, so surely I should have wanted to go out and explore more than I did. So, in turn, it felt like a waste to spend 'too much time' on a sun lounger.

Maybe I was just hyper-aware that I was in an unfamiliar environment and that there were so many opportunities for me to feel self-conscious, even though I was trying so hard not to, and even though no one probably cared.

Maybe all the cats in Cyprus just made me miss Francis even more.

Maybe, it was a mixture of all of those things.

Or, maybe I'm just overthinking it. That's always a possibility.

Either way, I was very glad to get home (and to see my boy, of course).

I'm a little proud of myself for giving it a go, and I'm not saying I'll never go on that kind of holiday again, but I definitely haven't got 'the bug' that people have spoken about. Maybe a city break is worth a try next, but that could be some way off, yet.

Perhaps a lodge stay in Sussex, first.

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