"What do you miss most about Peru?" asked friend (having just received present of Peruvian brand 'Fanny' mustard)
-"The heat."
I say, wearing a thin little 50s-style tea dress and high heels I put on for the cold April evening at home 'to cheer myself up' (first time I've tried this in a long while. It worked, and was worth being chilly. I'd been wearing a much-loved giant wool cardigan that belonged to my grandmother all day. As much as it is one of my favourite things in the world, the sleeves are too long and impractical for work, and I mostly feel like a clumsy sheep).
The same friend said I should keep blogging, and that was all it took. That on top of the odd blog-related ego stroke that I'd received over the past few weeks.
The glorious high of being back from abroad in a mini March heat wave with a glowing tan and catching up with everyone and being very busy and exotic came to a withered end, and everything was the same as before but without this big trip I'd been looking forward to for 6 months. Queue plan of action (or ¿Qué plan of action?)
It's brilliant going away and doing something you love in an exciting place with a great group of people but, more often than not, it's temporary. I only met one person in Peru who could not wait to get home and live in their home town forever (one of my favourite people, in fact). Most other people, and especially the ones who have been away the longest, feel a certain dread about the 'what next' and 'the life I had before won't be enough now'. Then, just occasionally, you get the other extreme of deeply tanned, multi-lingual eternal travellers who have had a lifetime of drifting, unable to settle in any way shape or form. Those are the ones (in my experience) that seem to either cry or fly in to a rage about life when they've had a few too many cuba libres. Nobody really wants to be those ones, do they? A girl/boy in every port, extensive romantic email correspondence to keep up (Facebook must be a nightmare to manage), worldly possessions filling one smallish rucksack and a general air of dissatisfaction under the various gripping tales of adventure. (Apologies but I tend to do stereotyping in a big way. Just blame it on my theatrical background).
So if you don't become a natural fibre-clad nomad, what is next? You get "life plus" in these travel/work abroad situations - a big, very close and culturally diverse community, the reality of extreme poverty in front of you every day, intense heat, brighter colours, noises, smells, breathtaking sunsets, warm nights and so much outdoors, activity and constant stimulation. Most lifestyles would be pretty bland after that. (I say this, I was at a meeting at my 'day job' the other day that got interrupted first by a dog coming in, then by the dog's bed coming in and finally by a photographer taking photos of the meeting (not because of the dog, this was a completely separate issue). Not entirely usual...)
However, the sun-baked nomads don't seem happy to me. They constantly talk about their enviable lifestyle, as a kind of affirmation to themselves. No, that is not the way to go.
Spoilt for choice, footloose and fancy free, I endeavour to explore what is the way to go. Not my way to go necessarily, I'm interested in the balance between satisfying itchy feet and becoming a sort of lost drifter whose feet never land anywhere.
For over three years, I've been working for a mental health charity and the issue of happiness or wellbeing is constantly cropping up in media monitoring, press requests, promoting our services etc etc. So it's something I've become increasingly interested in. Added to that, I've been meeting more and more people of my generation who are experiencing some sort of late-twenties/early-thirties crisis. Did our parents have this, or is it a new thing? Are we all just a bunch of overgrown brats spoiled by endless opportunities and credit cards?
How have I been beating post-adventure, back to reality flatness? (I hasten to add here that 6 weeks is not the same as, say, a year. I have a job that I like and I don't live with my parents. I am 10 steps ahead of some others who I plan to quiz about this. I can feel instantly cheery about a new shoot appearing on the orchid on my desk (it sounds lame but there really is something in that plant on the desk tip)). I have many tactics. However, the favourite Oxford-based replacement for surfing/jungle trekking/mountains etc:
climbing.
With some basic experience and a shiny, just about the right size harness, I started back up immediately post-trip. There is nothing like terrifying and exhausting yourself and then defying every fibre of your being that's saying "GET DOWN FROM HERE!" and actually getting to the top when it seemed impossible. No, 364 days of the year you can't go for a balmy sunset beer afterwards, but overcoming deep seated fears combined with adrenalin and endorphins is not to be underestimated. And that's only indoors, as a beginner. These are exciting times.
Since I now can't remember a time when it wasn't raining in Oxford, indoor climbing is one of a few very good things. Another involves paper mache, but that's another story. Now, I'm going to catch up with some of those deep in post-adventure "what now?" crisis and see what amusing, insightful blog material I can garner.
-"The heat."
I say, wearing a thin little 50s-style tea dress and high heels I put on for the cold April evening at home 'to cheer myself up' (first time I've tried this in a long while. It worked, and was worth being chilly. I'd been wearing a much-loved giant wool cardigan that belonged to my grandmother all day. As much as it is one of my favourite things in the world, the sleeves are too long and impractical for work, and I mostly feel like a clumsy sheep).
The same friend said I should keep blogging, and that was all it took. That on top of the odd blog-related ego stroke that I'd received over the past few weeks.
The glorious high of being back from abroad in a mini March heat wave with a glowing tan and catching up with everyone and being very busy and exotic came to a withered end, and everything was the same as before but without this big trip I'd been looking forward to for 6 months. Queue plan of action (or ¿Qué plan of action?)
It's brilliant going away and doing something you love in an exciting place with a great group of people but, more often than not, it's temporary. I only met one person in Peru who could not wait to get home and live in their home town forever (one of my favourite people, in fact). Most other people, and especially the ones who have been away the longest, feel a certain dread about the 'what next' and 'the life I had before won't be enough now'. Then, just occasionally, you get the other extreme of deeply tanned, multi-lingual eternal travellers who have had a lifetime of drifting, unable to settle in any way shape or form. Those are the ones (in my experience) that seem to either cry or fly in to a rage about life when they've had a few too many cuba libres. Nobody really wants to be those ones, do they? A girl/boy in every port, extensive romantic email correspondence to keep up (Facebook must be a nightmare to manage), worldly possessions filling one smallish rucksack and a general air of dissatisfaction under the various gripping tales of adventure. (Apologies but I tend to do stereotyping in a big way. Just blame it on my theatrical background).
So if you don't become a natural fibre-clad nomad, what is next? You get "life plus" in these travel/work abroad situations - a big, very close and culturally diverse community, the reality of extreme poverty in front of you every day, intense heat, brighter colours, noises, smells, breathtaking sunsets, warm nights and so much outdoors, activity and constant stimulation. Most lifestyles would be pretty bland after that. (I say this, I was at a meeting at my 'day job' the other day that got interrupted first by a dog coming in, then by the dog's bed coming in and finally by a photographer taking photos of the meeting (not because of the dog, this was a completely separate issue). Not entirely usual...)
However, the sun-baked nomads don't seem happy to me. They constantly talk about their enviable lifestyle, as a kind of affirmation to themselves. No, that is not the way to go.
Spoilt for choice, footloose and fancy free, I endeavour to explore what is the way to go. Not my way to go necessarily, I'm interested in the balance between satisfying itchy feet and becoming a sort of lost drifter whose feet never land anywhere.
For over three years, I've been working for a mental health charity and the issue of happiness or wellbeing is constantly cropping up in media monitoring, press requests, promoting our services etc etc. So it's something I've become increasingly interested in. Added to that, I've been meeting more and more people of my generation who are experiencing some sort of late-twenties/early-thirties crisis. Did our parents have this, or is it a new thing? Are we all just a bunch of overgrown brats spoiled by endless opportunities and credit cards?
How have I been beating post-adventure, back to reality flatness? (I hasten to add here that 6 weeks is not the same as, say, a year. I have a job that I like and I don't live with my parents. I am 10 steps ahead of some others who I plan to quiz about this. I can feel instantly cheery about a new shoot appearing on the orchid on my desk (it sounds lame but there really is something in that plant on the desk tip)). I have many tactics. However, the favourite Oxford-based replacement for surfing/jungle trekking/mountains etc:
climbing.
With some basic experience and a shiny, just about the right size harness, I started back up immediately post-trip. There is nothing like terrifying and exhausting yourself and then defying every fibre of your being that's saying "GET DOWN FROM HERE!" and actually getting to the top when it seemed impossible. No, 364 days of the year you can't go for a balmy sunset beer afterwards, but overcoming deep seated fears combined with adrenalin and endorphins is not to be underestimated. And that's only indoors, as a beginner. These are exciting times.
Since I now can't remember a time when it wasn't raining in Oxford, indoor climbing is one of a few very good things. Another involves paper mache, but that's another story. Now, I'm going to catch up with some of those deep in post-adventure "what now?" crisis and see what amusing, insightful blog material I can garner.
