A few weeks ago we passed the 6 month anniversary of
returning home to Melbourne. It was a bittersweet moment. Bitter in that it was
a Wednesday and we therefore had to drag ourselves up out of bed and go to work….sweet
in that the weekend before we’d been partying at Golden Plains music festival
and were very happy to be back in this lovely city, surrounded by so many
wonderful people.
Someone we met along the road theorised that it took the
same amount of time to come down from post-holiday blues as the length of the holiday
itself. I truly hope this is not the case, but I have to confess that there are
many days when I gaze wistfully out the window and dream about
exploring twisting Chinese laneways, swinging in a hammock on a south-east Asian
island, or even bouncing along a rutted track in a chicken bus with salsa music
blaring out from tinny speakers above my head.
Probably the strangest thing about coming home is that the two
and a half years spent doing an incredible number of fascinating, diverse,
insane and often bizarre things feels condensed, surreal and like it happened
to another person and in another time. I find myself flicking through photos in
an attempt to make it all seem a bit more real, and to remember the little
moments that made the trip so amazing. I try to dredge up the feeling of walking
across the border into a new country and those first confused moments as you
have to come to terms with a new language, new currency and completely new set
of social norms. Even though you develop routines when you’re traveling, they
are never so entrenched as the ones you live daily at home.
Working for Latin American tour operator means I get to
spend more time than most legitimately dreaming about travel (and getting paid for it)...but living vicariously through other people's travel plans doesn't come close to being there yourself!!
