For about two weeks, I’ve been out of the country. Away, travelling, on holiday, vacation – whatever you call it. I’ve seen some amazing things, gone to some far-flung places and had my fair share of surprises. That’s what makes travelling great. Everything you see there is for the first time. You learn from it, you make memories and meet new people. You learn a few things too.
And then you’re back home.
Back to the familiar, the routine, the ordinary. Back to a job, back to your life, as if the one you just had on the road was some sort of dream. All you have for those experiences are withering memories in your mind, and photographs that never seem to show what you saw.
You’re back home, and it seems to have none of the life of the place you went too. In some ways, life is being on the move. You don’t want to stay too long in one area, because like a new piece of chewing gum, the longer you chew it, the less taste it has.
You then start to catch up on what you’ve missed. You can read the newspaper, watch the news and get back in the loop with what’s happening. But what you see on the TV isn’t the same as what you saw elsewhere. In many ways, what you experienced while away was realer than what you’ll read now. I never missed reading the newspaper while away, they always seemed to bring bad news. It should concern me, but in reality, does it? Debt crisis in my country? To be frank, there’s nothing I can do about that.
Anyway, what’s your least favourite part about travelling? Lost bags? Cramped long-haul flights? Drinking too much of the local booze?