My first trip abroad was to the Algarve in Portugal when I was eight years old

It was also my very first time on a plane

Back then, passengers were handed a boiled sweet for take-off and landing, to stop our ears from “popping”

Whether it was my parents’ inexperience or simply the naivety of 1973, I ended up with badly sunburned legs

That made swimming a challenge, and I had to wear shirts in the pool to protect my skin

Despite that, I remember the joy of wandering through the village

I set myself little goals, first to find the villa numbered 8, (as I was 8 years old) and then to track down villa number 1

My parents never worried, as long as I was back in time for meals

One lasting memory from that holiday was when a teapot was accidentally broken

My mum’s sister Val and her husband Brian were with us, though they didn’t like being called “aunty” or “uncle” as it made them feel old

The grown-ups worried about losing the deposit, but Brian confidently asked for an egg

To everyone’s surprise, he used the egg white to glue the teapot back together, leaving it looking as good as new

I still shudder to think what happened when the next family poured boiling water into it

At eight years old, I never found out whether the deposit was returned and truthfully, I didn’t care

I was too busy exploring, discovering, and enjoying the adventure

Conclusion

Looking back, that first trip abroad wasn’t just about sunshine and swimming, it was about freedom, curiosity, and the small stories that become lifelong memories

The Algarve taught me that even the simplest adventures can leave the biggest mark