We need to start pre-packing soon, as we leave in three weeks from this morning. Whenever I go on big holidays, involving lots of walking and exploration of other continents, I tend to come unstuck with my footwear. Come to think of it, my shoes have come unstuck many times, in actual fact. What is it with me?
I have a history of taking shoes overseas that are near the end of their life, and finding myself in a predicament, as a result. I tend to walk countless kilometres while away, to the point that my shoes simply fall apart, and I find myself in awkward situations. I did OK in 2013 in Hong Kong, mainly because I bought some chunky Nike boots soon after arriving there, but...
In 2009, we walked up and down, side to side and zig-zagged all over Manhattan Island, as well as taking in Dumbo in Brooklyn. Ten days of exertion were followed by four days of burning rubber in Paris, including getting lost on our first days there, for four long hours in the heart of old Paris (channelling Bonnie Tyler). We then walked for many cumulative hours, over ten days, throughout various medina's across Morocco. By the time we got to Madrid, my shoes completely fell apart. I didn't know where to go, but as fortune had it I chanced upon an outlet of Camper. I emerged with some gorgeous hazelnut coloured rubber thongs, which looked great, and seemed suited to the sultry Summer climate, but proved to be utterly impractical and painful to roam around the cobblestoned streets of Madrid in, so I limped about a lot of the time.
In 2001, I took my sturdiest boots away on our Honeymoon. However, following immense walking around East Berlin, and a week of intense walking around Havana, they were losing their mojo. By the time we'd done some hiking along the hilltops of Monteverde in Costa Rica, my boots were not so sturdy anymore. I remember walking an absolute marathon along rugged dirt tracks for eight or nine hours on one particular day. I'm sure I lost several kilos - It certainly felt like it. You know that feeling when you think your buttocks and thighs might just give way and collapse at any moment?
After that we spent a couple of nights in a volcanic township called Arenal. There was a situation in which we'd been merrily hiking over warm stones and boulders, immediately beneath Mount Arenal, bubbling and gurgling with fiery orange lava, as a live volcano does. We were having a great time, until my shoes literally disassembled and fell apart like soggy cardboard boxes, when the sides flop down. We had no clue what to do, at that moment. The only thing we could think of was to put our thumbs out to passing utility trucks. There were not many of those in the vicinity, I must say. Thankfully one kind-hearted driver gestured to us to jump on board the back, so we did. We bumped our way back to our rustic resort, sliding about in the tray. I can't exactly recall what I did for shoes after that, but I suspect bought I some local craft style creations at the downtown market-place.
In 1994, I had similar problems during my first three months of living in Sydney, when I only had a few casual shifts at a small cafe to pay the rent with and keep myself afloat. I was keen to use my spare time to explore every crevice of Paddington. I spent so many weeks traipsing around the terraced heritage streets, that I wound up with gaping holes where there should have been inner lining and tread. I was so poor at the time. When the Autumn rain started my feet became soaking wet, a few too many times. Eventually, I had to swallow my rather sizeable pride and ask my Mum to transfer some money over, so I could buy some new shoes.
In 1986, I travelled to Europe on my own, as I have many places, and had a fascinating time backpacking from place to place. I have recollections of being in Austria, and actually sliding back down the rain drizzled stone path, when I was meant to be heading upwards toward the main castle in Salzburg. I lacked suitable tread on my boots. A kind young Cockney extended his hand and physically ushered me up the slippery pathway to the castle, hauling at least a percentage of my (then very light) body weight, in order to do so. We formed a brief friendship and shared some good conversation. I remember that after we'd enjoyed the city views at the top, he held my hand again and helped escort me coming down, sparing me the indignity of having to spend too much time gripping onto the fortress walls.
By the time I reached Rome my new best walking shoes were at the premature end of their short lifespan. One particular day I was wandering around the Colosseum on my own, of course, when the soles of both my shoes began flapping, one more so than the other. I had to walk in a rather ridiculous way simply in order to just move forward. I remember being determined not to let this inconvenience ruin my once in a lifetime chance to explore the Colosseum, so I kept on investigating all the nooks and crannies and perspectives that I wanted to enjoy at this amazing world heritage site. I recall feeling glad I didn't know anyone around me, because I felt rather conscious that I looked conspicuous and people might think me strange. I had no choice thereafter but to leave the neighbouring Forum, earlier than I would have liked, to search out the nearest shopping strip, enter the first shoe store I could find, and buy the best looking pair of casual walking shoes I could find.
So, there's a bit about me and my shoes... It hasn't all been disastrous. I think I did OK in Egypt, Israel, India, Thailand, Fiji, Jamaica and Japan. But overall, I'm clearly not the best with organising new pairs of shoes that suit my destinations or intentions. I tend to carry this Great Depression mentality, that my paternal Grandmother instilled in me. Something to do with making the best of what you've got, and making everything last. It can be hard to kick some of those values learned early in life.
This time, however, I'm onto it! I'm going into Melbourne this Thursday night, especially to buy myself a new pair of eight hole Doc Martens. That should do the trick. I'll then have over two weeks to wear them in, and get through the blistered ankle and toe phase. Let's hope that at mid-life, I may have finally got my act together in the shoe department... This remains to be seen. Best I take lots of band-aids, just in case.
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