Homecoming

I have written many times about the idea of home. This complex notion that seems to harass the heart and muddle the mind. Home is a haven of nostalgia. It's a safe place in the sense that you can choose your memories. The ugly is forgotten and replaced by the beautiful. The reasons you chose to leave seem to fade as all of the reasons you should have stayed make themselves clear. It is a clever trick of the mind. A trick that makes you question yourself, and all you have to rely on is your stubborn hope that leaving was right.

All of the missed birthdays, holidays, and grand life moments cannot be replaced. The absence of coffee, walks, and late night chats with childhood friends is forever painful. There are times when my heart aches for the love of my family and the comfort of my friends and I wonder why I even left in the first place. Despite the nagging doubts that ride on the back of nostalgia I hold true to the belief that leaving was the right thing for me to do. My desires refused to be ignored as I internally screamed for a life outside of my comfort zone. 

It was the way in which I left which was all wrong. A four month trip morphed into an international move. There will never be enough words to ease the pain of such a selfish plan. It's been over a year now and still I cringe with the shame of a rash decision made on the opposite side of the world. A decision made when I didn't have to face the consequences. Going home means facing the reality of chasing my dreams. It is without a doubt the most terrifying trip I have ever embarked upon. 

I am going home. Or to the place that was once my home. It may only be a three week trip but it stirs 27 years of emotion in my heart. Home means familiar faces and the streets I dream of. It means shattered relationships and a childhood room being packed into boxes. It means the end of one exceptional chapter and the beginning of the next. The mountains, sagebrush, and endless sky are calling to me and I have no choice but to answer. 

The Extraordinary Mundane

There comes a point in all great adventures when the novelty wears off and the reality sets in. Life becomes less exceptional and more mundane. Once the honeymoon stage ends there is an awkward pause of uncertainty as we question if everything is really all that we made it out to be.

I find that I experience the same timeline of highs and lows when I move to a new place. The initial few months are exciting, challenging, and awe inspiring as I wander foreign streets and uncover the hidden gems of my new home.  Each new day brings about discoveries that quench my inability to settle for the familiar. My heart feels full as I chase the unknown. 

As days turn to months the novelty starts to wear off. Tram routes that used to end in wrong destinations become second nature. I have my phone number, address, and Australian nicknames memorized. The green grocer knows to expect my tired face every Monday evening to stock up on my weekly supply of apples and spinach. The standard three month lull of comfort seems to have hit again and I don't know if I love it or hate it. 

I hate to love staying in one place for too long almost as much as I love to hate it. The incessant pull onward cannot be ignored, however, neither can the satisfaction of having a home once again. It's a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde as my heart drifts between flights to India or new bedding, teaching in Japan or gaining sponsorship, challenging myself or settling, life or responsibility. 

While I cannot begin to think of the future, I do know that right now, in this very moment of my life, I am loving living in Melbourne. This city has not been voted the most livable city five years running for no reason. The CBD (aka downtown) pulses with life as buskers serenade passersby as they meander down streets lined with shops, cafes, and Asian cuisine. The Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Malaysian, Thai, Indian, etc. food is on par with that of all major cities and could very well by my favorite draw. The coffee culture in this city rivals that of Seattle, and I have spent my fair share of gold coins trying a small percentage of what is on offer. The Yarra river drifts lazily through the city, providing me with a daily shock of beauty during my commute home as the setting sun reflects brilliantly on the water. 

As far as my personal life goes I couldn't be more content. My home is nestled a 15 minute tram ride north of the city in a quaint neighborhood that smells of flowers, sounds of birdsong, and feels nothing like what I expected of living in a 4 million person city. I was lucky enough to secure a job working for Saxton Speakers Bureau which challenges me in the best way and is opening my eyes to a world of possibility. I am in contact with professional athletes, businessmen, adventurers, and inspirational people every day who serve as a reminder that I can do/be anything I dream of. Friends have crept into my heart as we spend days lazing in parks, having pop up dinners, or treating ourselves to lunch and a bottle of sparkling wine simply for the sake of it (love you, Deb). 

This is my life and I am proud of it. Five months ago I landed with nothing except a backpack and a shattered sense of self. My financial, physical, and emotional states were in dire need of a change. With the help of some truly incredible individuals and a determination that surprises even me, I created a life for myself from the ashes. 

So while my days are full of trams, emails, and the mundane instead of planes, blogs, and the extraordinary I am foolishly content. This is my newest home away from home and I love it.

For now. 

The Lentil House

Transient, vagabond, dirty hippie.

The latter of the list has been frighteningly accurate these past few weeks. After months of gallivanting around Europe with spur of the moment trips to Berlin, Vienna, and beyond I have come to the end of my savings. Throughout this adventure, people have been asking me one common question - "how are you affording this?" Here is a little taste of the reality of being a broke traveller.

After working and saving for a year I had a small cushion to take me on this trip. I signed up for a Barclay credit card which enabled me to purchase my flight to Istanbul based on reward points alone. While in Istanbul I was lucky enough to meet a selfless, beautiful human who let me make her home my own. I lived off almonds and cheap kebabs which protected my little pocket of cash. From there I booked a cheap flight (skyscanner.com is a lifesaver) to Bucharest where I stayed in the first of many hostels for $10 or less. From that point on I travelled by bus, train, and minivan, always searching for the cheapest path. There were many nights spent on buses which turns out to be a great way to save one night's accommodation. Restless nights were spent in hostel dorms as the sound of 16 other people sleeping infiltrated my subconscious. Two cheap meals a day of street food kept me satiated, albeit slightly nutrient deprived. Things were surprisingly simple, and it was easy to get by on roughly $15-$20 a day (with the exception of travel days and the occasional cheeky night out).

Australia has been a slightly different story. In the land of $14 avocado/Vegemite toast I have finally felt the pressure of being unemployed for 7 months. As I struggled to find my feet, I moved into an appropriately priced room in what has now become known as the Lentil House. Nepalese flags fluttered across my window as I explored ways to feed myself with a rapidly depleting allowance. Thankfully the Lentil House came equipped with a blossoming vegetable garden which I raided daily for sustenance. Random combinations of beet root, tomatoes, squash, onions, and whatever other vegetable was on sale were hastily shovelled into my maw as I sat in bed reading. It should come as no surprise that TV and wifi were nowhere to be found in my little hippie abode. Olive oil was used as a replacement for lotion, face wash, and conditioner. Simple things like toothpaste and deodorant were treated as luxuries and used sparingly.

One slightly hungover morning I found a very disgruntled mate (see how Australian I am?) standing in my kitchen clutching a mug with enough force to shatter it. Her glare stopped me in my tracks as she informed me that my hippie house did not have coffee, but rather ground, roasted dandelion and her caffeine dependent body was less than impressed. It summed up what it meant to live in the Lentil House beautifully.

Having no money was an interesting challenge as I had to become quite creative to stay afloat. I have been outrageously fortunate to not have to feel the sting of desperation before this and it was a lesson I'd rather not have to learn again. An endless thank you goes out to the numerous people who helped out in some way, be it a tearful phone call, a comforting whiskey, or selfless loan, you are lifesavers.

Hello from Australia

One month into this move and I still find myself waking in the middle of the night, momentarily unsure if I am home, in Istanbul, or in one of the great European cities. As my dreams fade reality sets in; I am living in Australia. The decision not to buy a plane ticket home, but rather one to the other corner of the world was not an easy one.

Life has a bewildering way of convincing you, briefly, that you have everything figured out. It shows you your whole life laid out in front of you, and it all seems perfect. The moment you happily head down your chosen road an uneven, and even more uncertain, path reveals itself. You can choose to ignore this path and continue to live a life of beautiful, routine happiness, or you can take the exhilarating risk to step entirely into the unknown. I took the risk, but not without the greatest loss.

My first few weeks here have included eating kangaroo before finally glimpsing a small troop of them prancing through golden grass, watching a giant sting ray swim elegantly under my squid fishing line, and plunging into an icy waterfall in the isolated nook of a brilliantly green forest. I have spent time feasting at a beach house, traveling the Great Ocean Road, and camping while keeping an eye out for drop bears.

I am temporarily living in a house that smells vaguely of patchouli and cats. The highlight of the abode is, without a doubt, the vegetable garden which boasts a handful of edible surprises. Cherry tomatoes, strawberries, zucchini, lemons, and various herbs have helped keep me alive during these few scant weeks as I await my first pay check. The income will be thanks to my job working for Careers Australia on the 9th floor of a towering building in central Melbourne. This pause and chance to recuperate is welcome, because I know, come the year’s end, I will be on the move again.