The Long Way There
A love letter to journeys and a yearning for the in-between, by Emma Lavelle
The journey, for me, isn’t just a means of getting from A to B. Flights aside (who actually enjoys being crammed in an oversized tin can rubbing thighs with strangers?) I relish the time I spend travelling between places: on ferries, aboard trains and in the passenger seat of cars or camper vans on long road trips. My most treasured travel memories are captured in moments of watching the world go by from the window: voyaging between Greek islands, driving a camper van between California’s national parks, getting lost on dirt roads in the middle of Sweden. I even love the ten-hour train journey from my Yorkshire home to Penzance (where I occasionally head for work), for that long stretch where the sea feels within touching distance.
I’ve long been an enthusiast of slow travel; for treasuring the small moments and embracing a sense of quality over quantity. One way that I’ve learned to slow down the pace of my travels while also getting close to the hearts of the places I visit is by making the journey part of the holiday. I don’t want to ‘fly and flop’. I want to relish those in-between moments of getting there.
I have constant itchy feet, always yearning for something new. I love nothing better than plotting out a long road trip, where the scenery is ever-changing. Yet I’m perfectly content settling down for a six-hour ferry journey or train ride with a good book and my laptop for company. There’s always somewhere new to explore at the end of the road/route/line. It’s not just about the destination; I look forward to the journeys themselves.
Each mode of transport has its own allure. The past two years, I’ve taken solo trips to Greece where I’ve flitted between islands courtesy of a labyrinth of ferry journeys. I almost always opt for the long ferries, largely because they’re cheaper but also for the romance of the journeys. Greek ferries are not, in design, at all romantic – but there is something idyllic about setting off on a long voyage, drawing memories of trans-Atlantic passages from films or books. I use those in-between times to reflect on where I’ve been and plan where I’m heading to next. But I’ll also stand on the wind-swept deck with a glass of wine in hand, watching islands fly by while my hair is whipped into a nest. I even enjoyed the adventure of an overnight ferry from Athens to Patmos, crammed into a tiny window-less cell, sharing a bunk bed with an elderly Greek woman who had a very aggressive snore: it was a story to tell.
Travel is all about the stories for me. I write and shoot stories for a living, for travel companies, hotels and magazines. Many of my most-told stories are from road trips: stumbling upon a secluded misty lake surrounded by towering peaks and flowing waterfalls in Switzerland, where we were the sole people exploring by canoe; pulling over to allow a herd of moose to gallop past our hired camper as we left the Grand Canyon; parking up every time I spotted a body of water where I could swim while driving around Sweden. On a road trip, those in-between moments matter more than ever; they are the reason why you’re embarking on those long, long drives (I say this as a passenger princess, whose job it is to recite directions and document the journeys).
Journeys are a precious liminal time, following the end of one chapter but before the start of the next. They’re ambiguous in nature; anything can happen. In a world where our time is often so rigidly carved out for us into work, play, sleep and eat, they offer a respite from routine. ‘Raw dogging’ entered our lexicon a couple of years ago, referring to an individual sitting for a long-haul flight with zero distractions or forms of entertainment – basically the extreme version of staring out of the open window of a car, allowing your mind to wander. When I’m on a train or in the passenger seat of a car, I’m always happy to let my gaze glaze over and retreat to that frame of mind I otherwise only enjoy as I’m trying to fall asleep at night, pondering everything from the colour of my new kitchen to planning out the minute details of my next holiday. I relish the reverie I experience on these long journeys, becoming completely lost in my own thoughts.
When I’m gazing out of that car window at the landscapes flying by, I’m content in that exact moment without rushing ahead to my final destination. That doesn’t happen often in life; we’re usually always pondering what’s next. This is why I yearn for the in-between that these long journeys offer. There’s a tickling sense of pure freedom and elation.
Writing this, I’m dreaming of the journeys I have yet to take, this year and beyond. I’m longing for camper van trips through the Norwegian mountains, a once-in-a-lifetime adventure on the Andean Explorer, countless more Greek island odysseys, and probably one too many road trips. In the end, I hope this devotion to the in-between ensures that the act of getting there remains as meaningful, and as memorable, as wherever I arrive.