Will pretty privilege be my savour or destruction?

I have spent the last week in Sydney, staying with family. This has truly been a journey in itself, and on Thursday I decided to take myself on a little escape to the Blue Mountains. The trains were free that day, the rain had stopped, and it was shaping up to be my perfect day trip. I had a plan to see the Mountains, get a sweet treat, and turn straight around again. 

My Swedish man, who climbed over the barrier to get closer

 to the water. On reflection, he was definitely showing off. 

Instead, I walk to the Mountains and they are so beautiful, I get inspired to hike. I see there is one for 1-1.5 hrs, and I think, perfect. I am filled with unjustified confidence in myself, I can walk this in 45 mins. Touch grass, be home by 5pm. I walk and it's beautiful. I am having a wonderful time. I meet a Swedish man with very intense blue eyes. He likes to stand very close to me, and at one point he implies we should be holding hands. He is a rock climber, and has a slight ego. But he is kind, and I am not worried.

We take a wrong turn. What was looking like a 45 minute walk has turned into over two hours, and the track onwards is now closed. We decide to keep walking, down a valley and up the Mountain another way, to go around. He thinks it will be fun.

I have eaten barely anything, and begin to get exhausted. We are stopped by an Australian man, who tells us that the new track is also closed. We can go around, but it will take even longer. They start to argue about whether we can go or not, and I regret all of my life decisions. My phone is on 1% and I am catastrophizing. I am going to have to go by myself with the Australian man, and will probably die here, either through physical exertion, or he will kill me, in this giant mountain range. At least it will be a beautiful setting. 

Eventually I convince the Swedish man to turn around with me, and the three of us walk back together. We walk up so many stairs that my legs will still shake the next day. I am so exhausted that I think I am going to vomit and am sure I will need to be helicoptered out of this place (this does not happen). 

The view I will die to.

In the end, we have hiked for 4 hours. My Swedish man invites me back to his hostel for tea, and I respectfully decline. On the train back, my phone dies and I have three hours to consider the actions that led me to that point. Did I have lucky girl syndrome? Was pretty girl privilege my savour, or my destruction? Do I just know too many instagram terms that include the word girl?

Did this chance meeting of the Swedish man lead me to safety, out of the Mountains, or would this journey have never happened without him? Is it better to be pretty, readily saved by a man, or better to be ugly, and potentially avoid the situation altogether? In the end, this is a pointless question, as until women no longer need to rely on their appearances as social currency, there is no winning in this equation. The only lesson, really, is no more solo hiking for me. 

Always learning, 

Hannah <3