live at home as i do when i'm travelling

Kept this one in mind all weekend…

Waiting at the bar at Chinatown’s cosy, retro-Commie chic hideaway Double Happiness on Friday night, another punter asked me how my week had been. I felt myself give a cautionary answer and wondered why, if I was travelling I would jump on this chance to connect with someone and see where it led… a good convo, a reccommendation of a sight to see or another bar to try, a travel buddy for a day or a week, an friend for life, a fling. Away, I would be excited by the POSSIBILITY of all these possibilities without even thinking about each one seperately, but my paranoid homebody self was cool and distant, just wanting to get her drink order in and get back to the known quantities of her friends. WHY? So I relaxed, talked a little. Learned that he and his mate were in Melbourne for a week of training, but were based in NZ. That they liked Melbourne – especially the food and bars, that it reminded them of Wellington. We talked about race riots and travel for work and I told them a few places in Melbourne that they added to the scrawled list one of them was keeping in his wallet. They even paid for my mojito. We shook hands and I went back to my mates wondering what I was worried about, and how I could be two so different ppl here and away…

I remembered it again the following day as I dined on antipasto and a delicious shiraz with workmates in a cosy cafe in the Dandenongs. Outside rain beat a lazy rhythm on the rooftiles but the weather was still warm enough that we didn’t get cold when we idled outside before saying goodbye, with warm rain spilling down our faces, reluctant to move on. It wasn’t just that we were in a cool place – eating great food amdist the lush green surrounds of the Dandenong mountains – there are beautiful places everywhere. It was that if that I usually take afternoons like this for granted. The Dandenongs are a 20 minute drive from my house, and I see these guys on a weekly basis. It’s easy to think that you’ll have afternoons like this forever. When you’re away tho, there’s a feeling that this may not be repeated that makes it feel significant, almost magical. And I tried to remember that feeling as I sloshed back to my car.

Finally, on Saturday night I found myself dancing up a storm to a live funk band in Fitzroy’s the NightCat. Instead of dancing politely, socially, lazily, I dragged my friends up front to where we could see the band and danced like nobody was watching. There was champagne in my veins and drum music resonating in my belly… It was great. James Brown would have been proud.

I’m not going to tick this one off until I make something happen, until I’ve managed to tip and mould my world view a little more so that I see my life at home with something of the wonder of travel, but without having to do it consciously. But what a great weekend, a great start. The best thing about this goal is that it’s its own reward.

Yesterday I found myself at a loose end outside Flinders Street station in Melbourne. I was early for an appointment and for some reason the beautiful gothic facade of St Paul’s Cathedral (which has always been there) beckoned.

13 years of Catholic school had the not uncommon effect of souring me towards Christianity and, indeed, organised religion in general for awhile there. I still don’t practise any particular religion and usually only enter a Church for one of 3 reasons: weddings, funerals or sightseeing.

I’ve seen and been awed by beautiful Churches all across Europe, but at home I’ve never considered entering one if not required to due to marriage or death. But yesterday, with this goal in mind, I crossed Swanston St and entered St Paul’s. It was vast and beautiful in a way that Churches in Oz rarely are (usually being functional and relatively new buildings, by European standards). I walked around the pews and behind the altar, I watched tourists take pictures of the impressive stained glass windows and ornate porticos and listened to them speak to one another in hushed voices, often with accents or in another language. I even deposited a coin in the charity box, lit a candle and made a wish (which Christians call a prayer). And when I left half an hour later, my pupils shrinking in the bright sunlight after so much somber gloom, I imagined that I was stepping out into a strange city; that I was seeing gorgeous Flinders St station for the first time; that the ppl buzzing around me could easily be new friends if we ran into each other on a pub tour hours from now.

It was a strange mixture of role-playing and de ja vu. Fun.

Have you ever turned something good into something bad? When you travel it’s easy to be adventurous, to seize the day, to talk to strangers, to take social, physical and emotional risks, to try new things NOW, to be amazed by life’s possibilities, to believe in magic and miracles and synchronicity. It’s one of the reasons I love to travel. Back home, it’s easy to complain and compare, to feel uninspired, to take things for granted, to believe there is plenty of time to do everything and wind up doing very little, to blame the people you’ve known for years for “not allowing” you to be someone else.

So if I have any goal or resolution for this year it’s this: to live each day as if I was on a working holiday on the other side of the world. I need to keep reminding myself of this, every time it seems easier to smile politely and give a one word answer to a stranger who tries to strike up a conversation on the tram; every time I consider staying at home and watching cable TV instead of heading out on the town, every time I worry about the long term consequences of a decision or interaction.

My motto will be this: Do as you’d do if you were away.