So much world, so little time...

Some time ago, I contracted a terrible disease. It’s not life-threatening, but it does seem to be lifelong, causing persistent, aching discomfort and inconvenience. There is no known cure, and treatment can be very expensive.

I was bitten by the harmful and highly infectious Travel Bug.

For many years, I was oblivious to the misery of this condition, as being just a poor girl from a poor family, I never left the tiny cluster of islands I call home until I was 21 years old. Until that point, I’d rarely even left the minuscule corner of England I grew up in.

My first trip away was a two-week holiday to southern Italy, and I cried at the shock and strangeness of it all on the day I arrived, but never wasted a moment after that. I was determined that my short break wouldn’t be wasted on beaches and bars, and it turned into such a jam-packed opportunity for exploration and discovery that I was exhausted when I left, and cried far more on the journey to the airport that brought me home. I’ve never been quite the same since.

Subsequent but sadly sporadic expeditions eventually took me outside Europe and into parts of the third world for increasingly longer visits and unprecedented experiences of personal growth. While these temporarily eased the symptoms, they ultimately stretched my mind out of shape so badly that it could never return to its original proportions and now barely fits in my head, which only worsens the long-term, skull-splitting effects of my ailment. This is not helped by the fact that I made a fantastic bunch of free-spirited, globe-trotting friends who regularly make me jealous of their amazing exploits, stories and photos.

I try to remind myself that travelling does have its downsides – it takes a lot of courage to leave for another country or continent alone, and it’s often hard to be away from the people you love and the familiarity of home comforts. I’ve seen some traumatic things, understood what poverty really means, been disturbed by alien cultures, felt lonely, endured some terrifying modes of transport, been robbed, got sick, got lost, slept in some painful places. As a vegetarian, I’ve had difficulty finding food, and as a redhead, I’ve suffered sunburn, reverence and ridicule, but none of that is enough to stop me yearning to suffer it all again in new places.

Because the truth is, the tough times are more than balanced out by absorbing every bit of spectacular scenery, seeing proper wildlife in its natural habitat, meeting interesting and like-minded people, engaging in cultural exchange, conquering fears, challenging limitations, appreciating the simple life and its simple pleasures, and learning more in a few short chapters of my life than I ever did in years of formal education. Then there’s the untold bliss of being completely off the oppressive media, telecommunications and internet radar for substantial lengths of time.

My return from three months volunteering in South Africa at the end of 2009 marked the point when the virus really took hold, and I became totally unable to settle back into ‘ordinary life’. I'd quit my flat and job before I left, and have never replaced them. Ever since then, I’ve wanted nothing more than to pack a bag and dedicate myself to similar endeavours for the foreseeable future. They might sound like lofty ambitions, but I want to do my bit to conserve endangered species and environments, teach underprivileged kids, improve disadvantaged communities and learn valuable lessons and new perspectives from everyone I meet along the way. It’s more worthwhile, fulfilling, rewarding and character-building than any career I’ve come across, restores a sense of childlike wonder, and inspires my writing more than any classroom-based workshop ever has.

In an ideal world, my therapy would involve voyaging to different places and volunteering on different projects, with occasional visits home in between. Alternatively, I sometimes wonder if I set aside a year or two to get around a few or all of the places and things I want to see, I might get the pesky germs out of my system once and for all and finally be healed. Unfortunately, the lottery win required to make either dream possible is not forthcoming.

It’s now been a whole year since I travelled outside the north-west of England, so my feet are infuriatingly itchy, my muscles jittery, and my restless mind is either going insane, becoming catatonic, or swinging violently between the two. Adventure doesn’t so much beckon as pester like an over-excited child in a toy shop, and the call of the wild is deafening. My underlying disorder of chronic neophilia only heightens this desire for new experience, and it’s a constant struggle to find a way to reintroduce that into real life, with all its obstacles, attachments, commitments and financial responsibilities.

So this blog is an appeal for the cure, or at least some extensive scientific research for which I would happily offer myself as guinea pig. Even if it doesn’t come in time to help me, then it may spare the poor, afflicted bohemians of the future.

Failing that, a generous donor willing to sponsor my ongoing treatment would also be most welcome.

Until then, I will just have to do my best to accept that the rest of the world will be there for the rest of my life, and believe that I’ll get to explore it when the time, circumstance, and preferably companion, are right. Oh, but it hurts so bad...

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Superhumans

After my tribute to the Olympians, it seems only fair to honour the Paralympians for providing a fortnight of excitement, entertainment and inspiration that equalled if not excelled the previous games, or the ‘warm-up’, as it was billed in the adverts.

It was officially the biggest and best Paralympics in history, with record numbers of countries, competitors, ticket sales and TV viewing figures so high that coverage was increased after the initial events. Once again, I was sucked in from the beginning and got so involved in the days that followed that the final event moved me to tears.

The opening ceremony literally brought us the moon on a stick, with Stephen Hawking speaking typically wise, moving and inspirational words from the stage beneath it. I had noted his absence during the celebration of our nation’s greatest achievers at the Olympic opening, and was so glad to see the Einstein of our times given such a big part in his rightful place – as a paradigm of triumph against adversity, mind over matter and living, awesome proof that disability definitely doesn’t equate to debility. As he said himself:

“We are all different. There is no such thing as a standard or run-of-the-mill human being, but we share the same human spirit....However difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.”

We were then treated to a celebration of enlightenment and empowerment, scientific discovery, books, and a spectacular amateur production of The Tempest starring a very non-amateur Shakespearian actor in Sir Ian McKellen, whose Prospero encouraged the wheelchair-bound Miranda to rise and break through a glass ceiling. It was all tied together with the outstanding music and circus skills of disabled performers and the unofficial British mascot that is the umbrella, which symbolised everything from the Big Bang to a sailboat and from the globe to the newly discovered ‘God’ particle.

Though the Channel 4 coverage lacked the slick professionalism of the BBC, the games themselves were every bit as emotive as their able-bodied counterparts and perhaps even more inspiring and motivational for all the extra effort and determination required to compete in them. Films and interviews about the athletes’ experiences put the self-pitying, sympathy-seeking sob stories of the X-Factor to shame and again redefined and set higher standards for role model status. Just as importantly, they educated the world about various physical conditions and allowed everyone to see the incredible ability behind the disability.

Team GB did us proud with valiant efforts, records and medals across the board, and gave us new heroes in the shape of David Weir, Jonnie Peacock, Sarah Storey and Ellie Simmonds amongst many others. It was also great to watch Brazilian gold medallists such as runner Alan Oliveira and the fantastically colourful blind sprinter Terezinha Guilhermina emerging ahead of the Rio games in 2016.

And the moment that made me cry? South African  ‘bladerunner’ Oscar Pistorius’ extraordinary defence of his 400m title on the final night, after a week that had seen him lose his titles in both the 200m and 100m and lose his head in displaying some uncharacteristically diva-ish behaviour (for which he later apologised) following his first defeat. His victory was thoroughly deserved, not only for his astonishing performance in the race, but also for the years he has spent fighting the corner and raising the profile of disabled athletes worldwide. He has personally shattered the glass ceiling between the Paralympics and Olympics for all those who follow him and is a true champion of the games in more than one sense of the word. He may not be 'the fastest man on no legs' any more, but wherever his career goes from here, his past successes and wider accomplishments should never be forgotten.

Again, the only disappointment was the closing ceremony. Although it brought us a gothic ‘festival of fire’ which was admittedly visually spectacular, it ultimately turned into a Coldplay concert. Am I the only person who just finds them overrated, bland, whiny and dull?! But even that didn’t detract from the much greater performances seen in that stadium over the last two weeks, or a ceremony that paid tribute to the athletes and volunteers who truly made it possible. Head of the IPC, Sir Philip Craven’s impassioned, down-to-earth, humorous, endearingly northern-accented and above all uniting speeches came as a delight after all the stiff-upper-lipped formality, excessive patriotism and occasional thunder-stealing of certain British politicians and public figures. After the handover, Rio did a great job of generating excitement for their sporting carnival in 2016. Hopefully by then, further developments in medicine, technology and humanity will make it possible for even more nations to provide the training, equipment and support necessary to compete and advance the Paralympics even further.

If we had a lot to learn from the Olympic games, then surely the Paralympics had even more to teach us. Though the flame has now died out for the foreseeable future, the fire lit by these games will hopefully burn on. There is much more progress to be made, plenty more ceilings to be smashed, attitudes to be changed and spirited Paralympians to make it happen. It can all be summed up with some more great advice from Professor Hawking:

“There ought to be something very special about the boundary conditions of the universe, and what can be more special than that is there is no boundary… And there should be no boundary to human endeavour…Look up at the stars, not down at your feet.”

Regardless of mental or physical ability, we could all take something from that.

If you like this blog, please feel free to comment, or become a follower over here à

If you’d like to learn more about me, and read more samples of my writing, visit http://www.shelleyirving.com

Like my Facebook page for regular musings and updates, or just if you want to be a full-on stalker: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shelley-Irving-Writer/227455587342847