I have been home almost 8 weeks following our travels around Australia, New Zealand and parts of Asia. Looking back, the whole experience feels like a dream and at this moment, a distant memory.
We arrived back in our home town 3 weeks prior to Christmas. The feelings when leaving Bangkok were a mixed bunch. We sat on the morning of our flight home, by a small river in the sun, wondering if this was our last day as travellers, if we would ever experience this unadulterated freedom ever again. Relaxed on our wooden breakfast chairs, the sun beamed down onto us, our skin soaking up the last rays we would be experiencing for a while. My mind danced between relief and anguish. Was I glad to be leaving behind the stressful planning and the shady accommodation? Ditching the repetitive meals and language issues? Or would I miss these places, the adventure, the independence and liberty?
As our minds flittered, only one thing that remained was the fact we had to leave, and in a few hours we would be on our way.
Touching down to the cold British winter, we were greeted by warm friendly faces at the Airport. After 25 flights in 5 months, the travelling was no longer an issue, and just like the mosquito bites, it was all taken in our stride now. Arriving 3 weeks before Christmas, we were both blessed with the fact neither of us had to return to work, this feeling like a thin foam mattress as the only protection for us coming crashing to earth.
We regaled stories and prominent memories on the ride home, still grinning as we conjure each adventure and share with our relatives. We were home, but it didn’t feel like it.
This felt more like just another stop on our travels. Where we would find our accommodation, settle in and explore for a few days, then as swiftly as arrived we would be on our way again. But this would not be the case. There was no onward flight to a new continent. No overnight train for pennies, no ill organised ferry. This was the end of the road.
Settling into a cup of tea and regurgitating more from our trip, the feeling of having never left crept in, sitting in the same front room, with the same people, only with different tales.
The weeks went by and the distant memories of backpacking crept further away as we prepared for Christmas, the second of our cushions for the devastating blow of reality.
We both threw ourselves head first into the preparation for this holiday and for a brief moment, we had forgotten all about the way we missed our alternate universe. Spending time with friends and family makes you realise how much we actually missed them all when we were away.
Questions kept coming up about us choosing to move abroad for good. “Do you want to? Could you do it?” My honest answer is I don’t know.
As the parties were partied out and the days flew past, before we knew it, I was back at work.
This was another place where once I had the tedious, repetitive questions out the way, realisation sunk in that nothing had changed.
The dashing days turned into wizzing weeks and I ended up here. Where the weeknights offer the same monotony as last time, acting as a connection between the déjà vu esque weekends.
What happened to my expected epiphany? The huge life change that travelling would instil in me. Where’s my sense of adventure gone? Should this die just because I’m in this country?
My answer, no.
I’m not in the position where I can up sticks again and repeat our audacious trip. Taking inspiration from a few blogs, I have came up with an idea. My blog will now be an account of my inner travels. Me, doing all the things I want to do. Keeping a blog about it will be the motivation for me to actually get round to doing them.
So where do I start? What do I want to do?
I will divulge all in my next post!