The urge to splurge

The first question people inevitably ask when they hear I’m going travelling is where I’ll be visiting. And then, somewhere between the ten day road trip around California, the layover in London and Paris, the train ride to Capri and the boat-ride around the Greek Islands, their eyes start to glaze over and so follows: Geez, how much is that all going to cost?

Personally, I think the cost of travel is negligible. It’s like renewing your vehicle registration, or buying groceries, or paying for medical care. Sometimes you just don’t have a choice.

Picture sun-tanning off the Amalfi Coast in Italy- no job (or more importantly, no more 12-hour shifts), no relationship troubles, no responsibilities. Throw in a glass of red wine and some authentic Italian food and I'll bet you're not worried about the cost now are you? Well, I’m not anyway. As you’re not the one going to be sun-tanning, you probably still care.

It’s true however, that as my departure becomes increasingly closer my budget has become whittled down to a fine toothpick. Not just for tripping around sun-drenched spots, but for my New Life in London. Or my attempt at a New Life in London. If my money runs out it will be re-labeled a Brief Flirtation with London which ended with an Embarrassing Plane-ride Home.

According to my trusted 1000-page Lonely Planet guide, London is the most expensive city in the world. Sure, rent is high ($300 New Zealand dollars a week for a shared flat), but after perusing a list of basic British living expenses I’ve decided Londoners must either be a pack of whingers or really bad with money. One pound for a newspaper? Cheap. 10 pounds for a pub meal? Reasonable. 100 pounds to catch the Eurostar to Paris? Fricken bargain.

Which brings me to the reason why I’m starving myself of material goods. Not because I’m afraid London might really bleed my bank account dry. But because I’m worried that London might bleed my bank account so dry that I won’t even be able to afford a Paris guide book, let alone a romantic jaunt to Paris for the weekend. And there are other jaunts planned too. Ireland, Amsterdam, Florence, Provence and even New York City are all on the itinerary.

So you see we mustn’t dwell on the cost. We mustn’t dwell on the fact that my shoes have holes in them, or that I haven’t had a hair-cut in six months, or even that I’ve taken to borrowing travel guides from the local library rather then buying my own. Because if all of that saves me $100, then that’s 100 euro (oh alright, 50 euro), that will be spent on prosciutto and camembert baguettes by the Seine, the glass of red in Italy (oh okay, bottle), and maybe even bangers and mash in London.