Never going back again

My holiday bucket list is ticked. I’ve been to some wonderful places. But I’m not going back. Here’s why.

In August we travelled to Canada to walk in the Rockies. It was idyllic ­­– perfect weather, a choice of routes so that Robin could be more adventurous, great food. Bison lasagne – who knew? If you ever find yourself in Alberta, be sure to book at least a day with Dave Honeyman.

The guy is a legend – what he doesn’t know about the geology, flora and fauna and the people of the Canadian Rockies could be written on the back of a very small postage stamp. As a ski instructor and experienced mountain guide, he knows how to tailor activities for different levels of ability. I always felt completely safe, that he wouldn’t push me to climb up anything I couldn’t get down again, and that I wouldn’t be attacked by bears if I sang loudly and out of tune, which is easy for me.

But I could not work my tuneless magic on a young male spruce grouse that was strutting around looking for a mate. It didn’t like us on its patch and made it known with a very threatening noise. It started nipping at Dave’s ankles, and Dave had to borrow one of my trekking poles to fend it off. It held on doggedly to the pole as Dave lifted it in the air.  This went on for 10 minutes or so. The terrifying creature is the size of a large chicken!

Dave’s assistant guide Pam Doyle is also a fantastic outdoor leader who knows when to push forward and when to hold back.  I’d say: “I didn’t think I was going to get up there!”  But got up there I did – 16 trails, 63km of walking, 1813 metres of climbing. Pam’s quiet sense of humour was more subtle than Dave’s slightly risqué jokes, and her ability to spot wildlife was incredible.

When she’s not guiding walking parties, Pam’s a professional wedding photographer who makes the most of the fabulous Rockies backdrop. She helped the enthusiastic amateurs in our party get the most out of their shots.

That’s the Trip Advisor bit done. It was all lovely. But I’m not going back. Why?

The ice is melting. I love Frozen Planet. I get it. But there is nothing like getting up close to receding glaciers to really slam home the climate message. The irony is that it takes so much fossil fuel to get to the Icefields. At least we didn’t board the giant gas-guzzling tourist bus that drives onto the glacier and lets people out to trample all over the ice. That’s just so wrong!

I have seen some beautiful places. Canada’s Rockies, New Zealand’s Fjordland and Zambia’s Luangwa Valley are all saved indelibly on my Great Video Camera of Life. They are my Three Wonders of the World. For the rest of the world, there’s always National Geographic, with views unhindered by selfie sticks and people waving small cuddly toys. Guilty as charged on the latter.

I hate flying. Correction: I don’t mind being in the air, carving through leathery chicken with a blunt wooden knife and no elbow room. I love to catch up on recent movies I’ve missed. (I particularly enjoyed Mark Rylance in The Outfit and Michael Caine in Best Sellers). It’s airports I hate. I’m a whizz on my own computer, but put me in front of automated check-in or face recognition and I go to pieces completely. I am guaranteed to press the wrong button or put my passport in the wrong way round.

The mad dash. On our Africa trip, plane A arrived late in Addis Ababa and we had to leg it across the terminal to only-just-make the connection with plane B (Cape Town). Everyone was shouting different information and we wasted valuable seconds in a line for plane C (Windhoek).  Still, a mad dash is better than a long wait where there’s the danger of dozing off and missing your connection.

The hypochondria! Parkinson’s has turned me into a real worrybucket on health issues. Every lump and bump in my leg is going to be a pulmonary embolism tomorrow. Every poorly-swallowed tablet that triggers heartburn – where’s the defibrillator? Every sniffle is the worst possible flavour of COVID, which will kill me in a fortnight.

The leaky plumbing. As soon as the pilot announces “We are beginning our descent into…” my recently empty bladder irrationally goes into panic mode until we reach the arrivals hall. Which may be some time. I don’t understand why, immediately after touchdown, people feel the need to stand up, sometimes for 20 minutes or so, before they disembark. I can’t do this or gravity will win.

The anxiety. It wasn’t till I got home and the all this worrying stopped that I realised how much of an impact all this anxiety has on my Parkinson’s symptoms. And how relaxed I feel once those worries are over. I started sleeping through the night again, and that has made a huge difference to my energy levels.

There’s an awful lot of Europe we haven’t seen yet. So that’s the next plan.

At the end of our Zambia holiday, I said: “Oh well, back to the real world tomorrow.” Our guide gently reminded me: “No, Ali, this is the real world.” And he is right – I can go back there any time in my head.

Play>Never going back again>Fleetwood Mac

Apart from Herdy at the Columbia Icefield, all photos thanks to our lovely travelling companions – grizzlies by Sara Güven, everything else by Damon Meyer