We landed a month ago today. It seems time has flown by, and time has dragged on. It feels like I was last at work three years ago, and we landed last week. It feels like we were in Amsterdam three years ago, and I was down Lygon last week.
I remember this feeling when we landed in Singapore. We flew into the city at night, and I remember all the lights from the street, the cars and the buildings. I remember the buildings. Almost to the far edges of the city, they looked tall and long and wide. In the middle of this we touched down, and I had my first experience of the night air in the tropics. The feeling from when we were landing was continuing, and I was trying to “not give into astonishment”. This was not Melbourne, this was not Melbournian air. And this was not Australia. I knew no one and nothing on the outside of this building, and I knew when we got on the next plane, it would take us to more of this. Except less humid. And snowing. And almost as far from Australia as I could physically be.
I remember landing in Amsterdam and wanting to see the streets, and wanting to spend all day walking through them. I wanted to sit and listen to idle chat in a language I couldn’t understand. And then the blisters on both heels made me remember I wanted sleep, and to be over the jetlag. I wanted the woman checking us into the hostel to be sober, and not as high as she was. I wanted the room to be ready and the cleaner to clean rather than smoke joints. I just wanted sleep, and to be over the jetlag.
I can’t remember much of those first few days, though I remember it was amazing to see my brother, with his long hair and beanie. I was so happy knowing we could talk shit, listen to his stories and listen to his plans. We went to Damon’s house and slept there for a couple nights, and I’m grateful for all the food in between sleeps. The jetlag was horrible, and I wish I had have been more alert when I was with John, but it was still amazing to see him, and I can’t wait until we’re in the UK all travelling together.
While in a hostel in Prague, it all seemed a bit too much. My beloved morning routine was gone. Not changed, not amended - and no compromise. Just gone. It was in Prague I realised this, and I realised it was forever. I just wanted to wake up in my flat.
The following transpired in about two and a half seconds:
Fuck this shit, I’ve had enough. There’s no peace, no quiet - and no end to it. I’m going back to Melbourne, back to Mitchell St. Andy can get the fuck out of my room and I’ll wake up there, like I always do, and listen to News Radio in the lounge room with a coffee... Bed’s gone. Coffee machine’s gone. Radio’s gone... Fuck... I can’t go back there. And if I go back to Melbourne, I can’t be here, and I can’t meet Jonnoe in the UK and Soph and I can’t do as we’ve planned. I don’t want to go back now... This is my lot for now - this hostel and my pack.
It was strange, I think. In realising the coffee machine, the bed and the radio were gone, I realised I’d left it all. I then though more about something I was tossing up in my head before we’d left. I remember leaving Perth – and it was just that – leaving Perth. But this felt different. I was coming to Europe. I wasn’t leaving Melbourne at all. I really like Melbourne, and I really enjoyed living there. Soph and I had made a great life, and it wasn’t particularly difficult to have a great life with Soph there. We had amazing people around us, and time to spend with them. I was finally hitting my stride, learning a lot and having the most fun I’ve had in years. There was nothing to leave - but there is plenty to go to.
There seem to be two recurring ideas. Firstly, my time here is not a “once in a lifetime” experience. I was asked today “Have you been to Bordeaux?” and again my reply to these questions was “Not yet, maybe someday I’ll check it out”. I’m here as an Irishman, and I’m here with all the privileges this brings. We have been spending time with two people from Queensland recently, and after watching their struggles to be able to stay in Europe for the next six months, I have felt even more lucky than before. It’s deceptive to ask if I’m enjoying this time, because it seems most often framed in the context of “enjoy this once in a lifetime experience”. I feel happy I can enjoy my time here, and I don’t have to concern myself with things like “enjoy it while I can” or “see it while I’m here”. I can come back to Berlin any time I please, and I can go to Bordeaux any time I please. I could do both those things. Or I may not do either, I haven’t decided yet. Which brings me to the second thought:
The unknown is much less of a bitch. After spending the last month with no real plans, I have grown far more comfortable with not knowing where we will be in four days time. Not long after landing I remember feeling a little overwhelmed with the choice on offer, and it seems we made decisions to travel onto other cities for no real reason – other than “we felt like it”. The amount of choice seemed in itself an immobiliser, as the choices we could have made we endless, and about endless things. I could in one day decide to have pasta for lunch and travel to another country the next day. Now don’t get me wrong, I think “I felt like it” is as good a reason as any to travel on or stay put, but it seems to me I wasn’t really thinking about where we were and if we would like to stay, as the rest of Europe seemed to be screaming out... these are the best problems I’ve ever had...
I woke up today and followed my morning non-routine. I was standing in the sun on a spring morning in Berlin, I had my coffee and I had my cigarette. I haven’t worked in six weeks, and I have no pressing need go back to work soon. I didn’t know what I’d do with my day. Not only this, but it didn’t matter, and I didn’t care. I knew I’d see, well, whatever I wanted. I knew I’d sit in the sun with a coffee and I knew I would do it until I decided to do something else. There will probably be more of this when we meet up with Jonnoe, but who knows, cause we haven’t decided yet.
