I haven’t been on holidays with my parents for a VERY long time. And because it was my first year back in Australia and first Christmas at home for more than a week, we decided to plan a trip to Cairns.
My mum had recently seen travel photos on Facebook from a friend of hers who travelled to North Queensland and I think she was slightly jealous that they (being Americans) had seen more of Australia than they had. Up until the beginning of last year they had always used their leave to go back to the Philippines to see family, and it was probably their 5 week sojourn to the USA and Canada in mid 2011 that they finally caught the travel bug to see something more than just their homeland (as lovely as it is). So when mum suggested a Christmas trip to Cairns, I was a little bit hesitant, but thought it was a good chance to get them to indulge in the travel bug and show them how I travel.
The planning process was a bit mental to be honest. Me, being a non-planner, was frustrated by mum’s incessant questions about booking flights early, wanting to stay in a resort with a pool because there were killer jellyfish in the ocean, debates about hiring a car, and if shops were open at Christmas and maybe, no- we should- bring a Christmas ham on the plane just in case shops are closed and there would be nothing to eat and do you think the weather will be good because I hear it’s cyclone season… and so on, you get my drift. Mum’s have a way of being over paranoid so I was forgiving in this respect, but god forbid I was going to let her actually take a Christmas ham as hand luggage on a 3hr flight up to Cairns. Dad and I did eventually convinced her a Christmas ham wasn’t necessary, but when we arrived and were unpacking our bags I did notice she had smuggled across the state border some canned goods and meatloaf (maybe in preparation for that cyclone).
Holidaying with the parents wasn’t as bad as I initially thought. Sure, they’re going to want to eat dinner early, take pictures of everything, over-anaylse the touristy sights and they’re never going want to stay up late for cocktails – but I found that by having tons of patience, a bucketload of compromise and a preparedness to make time for thoughtful answers to all the questions, I actually really enjoyed their company and even learned a thing or two.
My parents are in their mid-fifties, and despite my perceptions that they were old, conservative and boring, I saw quite an adventurous side to them for the first time. Whilst my siblings and I shivered timidly at the water’s edge of a river in Mossman Gorge, mum and dad both dived in head first into the freezing waters, giggling like school children, and egging us on to jump in.
During our boat trip out to the barrier reef, my dad surprised me by wanting to try diving and loved it. Mum went snorkelling on her own for hours, mesmerised by the rainbow of corals and intent on capturing about 87 underwater photos of the same fish.
When we suggested going jungle surfing in the Daintree rainforest, Mum – who was not particularly comfortable with heights – was terrified at at the thought of ziplining through trees 20 storey’s up, but by the end she was ziplining upside down and screaming in delight – even confessing that she’d conquered her fear and would love to do it again.
Of course when you’re in close proximity to family 24/7 tempers will undoubtedly flare (the most memorable disagreement was regarding having a photo taken with a koala!), but I suppose my point is that I never realised my parents were so fearless and open-minded.
After the trip I realised that it would have taken a lot for them to want to travel with me as well – knowing that I’m a seasoned traveller and can be pretty stubborn about my way of holidaying. In the end I discovered that travel doesn’t discriminate by generation (and why should it!). My folks just happened to get bit by the travel bug later in life. And the symptoms of the travel bug is the same at every age – the desire to get away, try something new, see the sights, be adventurous, meet people and maybe even conquer some fears. To experience a holiday with your parents as an adult makes you see them in a different light – I only hope that when I’m in my mid-fifties I can jump into frigid cold lakes, fly across tree canopies, discover underwater worlds, and put up with stubborn adult children who think they know everything about travel, who stop you from smuggling Christmas hams across state borders which results in having to order pizza and Thai takeaway for Christmas dinner.
Let’s face it, we go through our fair share of ups and downs in life, but we always seem to remember the downs. From relationship break-ups, sunburns, parking tickets, rejection letters, bitchy bosses, office politics, unreliable internet access – I’m sure you’ve had it all.
But there’s always reason behind the madness.
I had the most HELLISH day at work yesterday (secret tears in the bathroom kind of thing – and I’m an ugly crier, believe me) where I felt totally unappreciated for all my hard work and my confidence was absolutely pulverised into smithereens by my bitch of a boss. I came home from work and my flatmate was waiting for me with a glass of wine and a ready to ear to listen to my raw, unadulterated anger. Later than night I went to a friend’s house who also had a glass of wine and a shoulder to lean on and she sat quietly listening to me vent, then when I finished announced that her grandmother had just died (making me feel even worse – here I was jabbering on about my trivial issues when there was a family tragedy for her to vent about). My point is, that when the world gets you down, I know that I have an army of people waiting to support me and fight for me.
About 4 years ago I went through a very tough divorce. At the end of it I was emotionally drained, had nowhere to live, was in serious debt and my close family and friends were thousands of miles away. I felt incredibly desperate, confused and alone. I internalised the situation for a long time – I didn’t even tell my mum for 2 weeks – because I wanted to believe it wasn’t real, it wasn’t happening and that it was just a blip. But it was real, and it was happening and divorces are far more than just a blip. When I was open about my issues, I suddenly realised there were people that loved me, that wanted to help me, that would make the time to listen to my problems. I actually wasn’t alone.
Life has a way of giving you lessons – and my divorce was the ultimate lesson in my life. The lesson learned? I am never alone. And for that, I want to give thanks. I give thanks to a casual acquaintance who took me in, gave me a home and helped me rebuild my confidence, emotional stability and positive attitude back, brick by brick. I thank his girlfriend for showing me how to find passion in life, become a confident woman, and for teaching me how to love myself again. I thank all the other friends who I subsequently met in the years following who injected fun and laughter and for creating amazing new memories to replace the painful ones. To my fellow travellers who I may have only spent a few hours drinking with or weeks backpacking with – I thank them for their camaraderie, understanding and sharing the life changing experiences that travel gives you. To my siblings, with whom I was never particularly close with, but gave me support nonetheless in ways that only family can. My parents, whom I owe everything and thank them for their unconditional love, support (and good food). And to a dear old friend, whom I’ve known for twenty years – who understands me better than I do – without her I would never have been able to cope with one of the most gut-wrenching, emotionally scarring and depressing moments that a woman could ever go through.
And to all the ex-boyfriends, ex-husband, ex-friends, ex-flings, bitchy bosses, nasty parking inspectors, egotistical nightclub bouncers, and Vodafone customer service – I thank you guys too. Because without you, I would never have woken up to realise that I have amazing friends and family to help me get through your incompetencies, lack of commitment, pretentiousness, bitchiness, laziness and pessimistic attitudes – through them I’ve learned that when the world gets me down, I just give thanks.
And if the world is getting YOU down, please don’t feel that you are alone. Reach out the someone, anyone. See a counsellor. Talk to God. Hell, email me if you really want (I’ve been told I’m a good listener!) Otherwise if you keep yourself caved in, locked up, and let the issues eat away at your soul – you might never have known that there are people out there who will look out for you, help you and build you back up again.
In no particular order:
1. Not waking up hungover after a big night out.
2. A really comfortable pair of shoes that look great and last forever.
3. Learning how to say something awesome in another language. C’est magnifique!
4. Driving in my car with the windows down, singing out loud to my favourite song (the daggier the better) and not caring if anyone hears me.
6. Recieving a postcard or handwritten letter in the mail.
7. The anticipation at the top of a ski run or chairlift and looking out towards an expanse of fresh, fluffy, white powder snow and knowing I’ll be first person in the world to go through it.
8. Watching sunsets.
9. When my hair decides to behave and looks fantastic.
10. When you hear from someone out of the blue who you’ve been thinking about recently.
There’s something pretty special about witnessing the end of the day which leaves me inspired, invigorated and breathless. The way that the sky changes hues from blazing orange to splashes of reds and pinks before casting shadows of purples, deep blues and greys as the fiery glow of the sun sinks lazily below the horizon. Here’s a collection of the beautiful sunsets I’ve been lucky enough to photograph. Enjoy!
In the year 1986 B.I (Before Internet), my family moved countries. Now I wasn’t exactly aware of the all the logistics involved (considering I was only five years old at the time) but it must have taken months, perhaps years to organise. Research, job applications, moving companies, plane tickets, selling houses, buying houses, finding schools, keeping in touch with family and friends. All done without the internet. Just imagine what that would’ve been like for a minute.
The expensive international calls. The paper work. The fax machines. The physical leg work.
Twenty years later, I was the one moving countries. With the Internet at my fingertips, my entire move was co-ordinated in less than two months; I arrived in my new home with a good orientation of the city thanks to Google Maps, knew what my contacts all looked like thanks to Skype, was aware of the local customs, weather, currency exchange rate and even knew my hotel breakfast menu that morning from all the online research I did. Moving countries using the Internet was uncomplicated, easy and efficient.
In contrast, Life B.I was a world of hand-written letters, postcards, film cameras and telephones that didn’t have buttons or hash signs. To use a computer you had to write ‘code’ and the television had funny looking antennas that made you contort your arms above your head in weird positions in order to get a smooth picture. You kept a notebook of everyone’s phone numbers and home addresses and to look for a plumber you would tediously thumb through the thin, transparent papers of the Yellow Pages.
If you wanted to go on holidays you would traipse down to the local travel agent, flick through the brochures and when you booked something you’d get a plastic travel wallet that contained your plane tickets printed on carbon paper. Then when you got back from holidays, you would bring all your negatives to the local chemist and anxiously wait 3 days to see how your photos turned out.
For entertainment as me and my brothers grew up, we biked around the neighbourhood, watched Back to the Future over and over again on video, swung around the Hills-hoist, climbed trees and went swimming at the local pool.
During school, we’d play bullrush, cricket and handball at lunchtime and passed notes during class – the punishment for getting caught was to dust the blackboard dusters or peel gum off the desks at recess. After school, I would get into trouble for using up the phone line for hours on end as I gossiped with my school mates about what happened at the bus stop that afternoon, or making prank calls to boys we liked.
I was about 14 when I got my first portable music player. A Sony walkman. It was royal blue and I loved the fact that it had ‘auto reverse’ and a little screen that told me the radio station I was listening to. It immediately became the centre of my universe. I would spend hours in my bedroom listening to the radio, waiting for my favourite songs to come on and when they did I would quickly press the record button so that I could forever commit them onto celluloid for later listening pleasure on my beloved walkman. 6 months on and I managed to fill an entire shoebox full of illegally recorded music from the Top 30 countdown shows; the cassette tapes housed in plastic covers that were lovingly decorated by me in love hearts and swirls, listing every single song (in order) on the sleeve. I then started making mix tapes for my friends and boys I liked as a way of sharing all our favourite music together.
I discovered the Internet at 15. My dad brought home a computer one day, and we had 3 hours of dial-up internet access a day. That was it. I hogged every single minute of it. I swiftly ascended (or descended?) into geekdom – my homepage was Yahoo (what else was there, really?), I got an email address (my friends had no idea what that was), taught myself how to build a webpage and code in HTML and somehow found myself wasting time talking to strangers on billboards and online chat. I completely and whole-heartedly devoured the internet and all it had to offer me. Less than 5 years later I started my career that is completely reliant on the internet. And here I am today.
For all its tediousness and what now seems like a complicated and time-consuming era, I look back on Life B.I. and get little pangs of nostalgia. No one cared about tweets or status updates. Keeping in touch was done with pen and paper and phones were just phones. And whilst I like to think that I should really give myself a ‘break’ and totally disconnect, even for just a day, I would probably find it hard to do so. Because while Life B.I was sweet and nostalgic, I couldn’t imagine Life W.I. (without internet).
They’re loud, aggressive, showy and just plain annoying.
They spend all their travel money on booze, tattoos and weaving their hair.
They embarrassing. Particularly if they’re of the same nationality as you, or even worse, from the same hometown.
Normally travel in packs, are on their first big overseas trip, with the aim of trying every local beverage in copious amounts and vomiting in a different bar each night.
They stay at party hostels, sleep all day & attempt to pick up a fellow bogan of the opposite sex every night of the week.
They get drunk on the flight over and annoy other passengers with their boisterous attiitudes that have been amplified by ten JD & cokes they had at the airport bar.
Their best attempt at a cultural souvenir is by buying a foreign beer t-shirt singlet and, if they’re tough enough, perhaps a foreign language tattoo on their left bicep.
They haggle street vendors as ‘part of the experience’ for half an hour to save 50 cents on fake Gucci sunglasses.
They can’t help but update their Facebook status every day of their holiday about how hungover they are and post mobile photos of them falling over on sidewalks, flashing out of a taxi or vomiting in the hostel the night before.
Argue with other travellers that ‘Straya have better beer.. weather.. girls… beaches… surf… shopping… food
Yes, they are the bogan traveller.
But I tell you what, don’t WE ALL have a little bogan traveller in us? Think about it.