Flying solo at the World Travel Market

While I relish the freedom of travel alone, I can't shake the feeling something's missing 

Travelling is an activity we do a lot. But it's an activity we do together. Always have, since they were born. I am used to counting out multiple passports and pushing washing lines full of laundry into already stuffed panniers and suitcases. At the start of every trip my handbag is loaded with hard boiled eggs and cheese triangles. I generally take enough dairy to feed a calcium deficient army. It's how I like it on the whole.

But today I am travelling light. So light I'm helium filled. Because this week I am going solo. I can have a latte without anyone trying to spill it. I can have a conversation without anyone trying to spoil it. I can read the headline in my Sunday newspaper without anyone trying to spell it. I am off to the World Travel Market in London; a global meeting of those who travel without sickness pills. And I’m already dreaming about swapping bike, panniers and tent for a private jet, my very own International Air Charter to an island in the sun.

“I'll need to give you five kisses. And five good nights. And five good mornings.” Hannah showers me with vaguely slobbery pecks on the cheek as well as squeezy hugs. “Is five enough?”

“I think that should just about cover it. I'll be back on Friday. See you then.” I shut the car door. Three faces stare back at me through the windows. I put my bag down onto the bus stop bench and grin. Then I check myself. I'm supposed to be looking sad and wistful at the thought of almost a week without them.

I rearrange my face and turn back but they've moved on already. The children are interested in my trip, but not that interested, because it doesn't involve them. Matthew decides World Travel Market is an actual market, like the ones we've seen across Eastern Europe, involving identikit stalls full of fish or flowers. I tell him there will be some big fish there, but not the flapping marine variety. Cameron latches on to the London location and wonders if I could bring him back one of the pooping dog toys he's heard Hamley's are stocking. Meanwhile Hannah concludes I am going on a week long sleepover. And as she's aware sleepovers are reciprocal, she wonders if my new acquaintances are coming to stay in return. Hmm, not sure we could find beds for the 50,000 people tramping through London's Excel this week, and I'm certainly not sleeping with the world's press.

As the bus winds through the Lancashire villages, I wonder if the dress I've chosen for tomorrow makes my bum look big. And does orange suit me? I have another look at it and snag my ring on the material. Then I realise I've forgotten my camera and root through my bag, scattering hair products across the floor of the bus. The tiny Lune Valley shuttle bumps up and down over the local traffic calming humps and I start to feel sick. I open a bottle of water and it spills all over my dress. The bus is held up by a tractor and I need the toilet. I want to laugh at all this with someone but the bus is empty.

Maybe I haven't left the kids behind as easily as I thought. Perhaps it's my punishment for not bringing them with me. We could have cycled into Excel on a tandem and triplet.

My bum never looked big on a triplet.

World Travel Market 2011: Triplets, trailers and family bloggers welcome?

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