It's funny how things stick in your memory. For no reason I can fathom I remember one particular school assembly in which Mr Heavisides, a name that at the time raised no titters but now seems eminently chuckle-worthy, talked about anticipation. His thesis was that the pleasure of anticipation is often better than the reality of the event you're anticipating. His example was a bar of chocolate. He believed that the thought of eating a Mars Bar was sweeter than the actual bar itself. Mr Heavisides was an idiot.
Whatever your view on chocolate snacks, I think his argument works better when related to Christmas. Some people go nuts for Christmas; they drool for Yule. Some even count down Christmas from the day they fly home from their summer holidays. I have at least one Facebook friend who temporarily changed her middle name to "Christmas" especially for the festive period. But then the day comes and all that happens is you get some socks (2011), a naff jumper (2012) or thrown down a snowy banking into a bush by your Stella-addled brother losing your phone in the process (2009). It never lives up to the hype. How could it? Christmas is one little day that is, if you believe the ads on television, at least three months in the making. It would have to be amazing to be as great as its reputation. It would have to imbue twenty-four hour orgasms on all who encounter it. A twenty-four hour hangover is about as close as you get.
I'm writing this now because I'm in the sweet anticipation stage of 2013's bike ride. Now is the time to sort visas for the strange countries that still require them, work out my route, ensure I don't bypass an amazing sight simply through ignorance and make contacts with some of the people I might be meeting on the way. This year sees some particular highlights. I'm very much looking forward to Bucharest and its Parliament, one of the largest buildings in the world, constructed by Nicolae Ceaușescu at his most insane. Then there's Moldova, the poorest country in Europe and the only one living within its ecological limits. Life in Moldova might give a glimpse of what life could be like in the rest of Europe in the not too distant future. And I can't forget St Petersburg, the city brought to life by Dostoevsky. Oh yes, and there are Warsaw, the Baltic states, the whole of Scandinavia and, at the end, a massive tour of the UK and Ireland. And when it comes to meeting people, 2013 has scored highly already. It looks like I'll be cycling in and out of Minsk with the UK ambassador to Belarus. I've promised myself I won't mention Ferrero Rocher.
There will always be places that aren't as great as anticipated. I had no preconceptions about Liechtenstein and yet it was still a huge disappointment. I was expecting Pristina to be a moody, war torn city complete with gun-toting militia but instead it was a reasonably ugly, medium-sized, obviously former Communist provincial town. But the disappointments are rare. There are far more happy surprises. Every single former Yugoslavian capital (barring Pristina) but especially Sarajevo, Skopje and Zagreb were amazing. And some cities that you would expect to be fairly spectacular surpassed themselves, namely Berlin, Rome and Istanbul.
So while the anticipation is better than the reality of some things, just as Mr Heavisides said, and not as good as the reality of others, it can sometimes be a great but different kind of joy. We should take our pleasures where we can find them.
Oh, and late though this is, since it's my first post of 2013, happy new year!
