The other side of travel

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Travel isn’t just about places: about exploring every last inch of a new country, a new area, a new city; about scheduling a dawn-to-dusk (and beyond) itinerary of things to do and places to see to check off The List; about comparing dining/sleeping/shopping/entertainment experiences with the reviews in the guidebooks.

It’s about sitting on Cindy’s veranda in the late afternoon light of a Hobart summer as if the thirteen years since we last met had evaporated, our conversation constantly spinning off at tangents until we can’t remember - and it doesn’t matter - where we started; being yanked into consciousness on a Saturday morning by Fynn, her seven-year-old son, bouncing onto my bed and inquiring every five minutes, as he tries to raise my eyelid, “When are you going to wake up?”; and sharing a pizza and a bottle of wine before slumping in front of a rental DVD with the two of them, the movie irrelevant except for the amount of silly fun it gives all of us.

It’s about joining the drivers and the maids and the parents and the grandparents waiting outside Ayush’s prep school in Delhi, and being knocked over by the not-quite-five-year-old, ecstatic at my coming to pick him up; going to Niti’s, seeing her I-remember-when-you-were-a-baby/now-teenage nephew again, getting to know her sister-in-law who, fifteen years’ before, had been preoccupied with the baby, and sharing a wonderful home-cooked dinner with people who have known me since way-back-when; meeting Kavita for lunch and marvelling how someone so physically unchanged since college days could have had such an emotional rollercoaster of a life in recent years; attending a lecture on South Asian issues and having the time to discuss this very different part of the world, largely ignored by the British media, with those who live there and who are involved in its politics, its economy and its law; curling up on the sofa at the Jalans’ central Delhi house over the weekend when Nidhi and her family come to visit, playing with the kids and catching up with their parents and grandparents, again, as if the intervening time in our respective countries, with our respective careers, with our respective lives were non-existent; and being accepted, to my huge delight, as a “closet Indian” and given permission to call Prateek’s parents “auntie” and “uncle”, in the same manner as his close Indian friends.

It’s about going down to the German bakery for a late breakfast with Keith and Betsy, permissively eavesdropping on their conversation about local conservation projects, wildlife issues and gossip, and watching Outjo life go by; driving over to the Cheetah Conservation Fund to see Lorraine and Bonnie and catch up with CCF and ex-CCF folks’ news; and running into Marianne at Kameldorn Garten, that wonderful, kookie, home-from-home coffee shop in Otjiwarongo run by the eccentric but delightful Hanne-dora, and discussing my friend’s wedding plans over lunch at the bar.

It’s about staying with Laura, an erstwhile client/now friend, and enjoying the expat side of Kuala Lumpur, off the beaten track for the passing tourist. We’d tried arranging to meet at each of her husband’s previous foreign postings but had been frustrated by events outside our control, my business trip to Chicago being cancelled at the last minute, and their relocating from Hyderabad to Malaysia just as I was arriving in India. Incredible to think that we’d last seen each other a million miles and several lifetimes ago, over cocktails in the chic “Twenty-Four” halfway up Tower 42 in the City of London…

It’s about staying at the van Zyls’ beautiful house in Noordhoek, recuperating from whichever African adventure it might have been that time; running errands for the ever-frantic Penny; walking the dogs along Fish Hoek beach; drinking “krijfies” and listening to music with Tom and his friend, our age difference only emerging occasionally when I have to confess to ignorance of some current bands and they to some of the music with which I grew up; joining dogs and humans in front of the TV for the weekend’s cricket, rugby and/or soccer matches; talking books, movies and exam-subject choices with Dani; discussing hunting and conservation issues with Matt; preparing salads for a hilarious braai; and indulging in wonderful quantities of crayfish which Chris has proudly sourced for the deprived visitor.

It’s about spending a long Easter weekend with Peter on the KwaZulu-Natal coast: taking the dogs for lengthy walks along the storm-battered beach; enjoying a late champagne brunch with neighbours; and having the time to talk about a Southern African’s view of events in South Africa, poaching in Zambia, conservation work in Namibia, as well as our respective hopes and aspirations.

It’s about chewing the fat with Phil over a schooner or two of VB and a plate of delicious New South Wales seafood in a Bowral pub. We may not have met in ten years, and have nearly lost even email contact were it not for his timely Google search which tracked me down, but we soon found the passage of time hadn’t really affected the way we could talk to each other.

It’s about hanging out at James’ place in Melbourne for a few days, meandering along the beach after a leisurely lunch outdoors, watching the latest Test match on TV, and enjoying an amusingly chaotic Greek meal with James and Lisa, she and I clocking up our fourth continent of meeting (we’ve travelled together in Namibia, South Korea and Mongolia, and had planned our Asian trip in London over a snatched coffee between, respectively, exams and jury duty). My apologies to Myrtle for my apparent lack of enthusiasm for sightseeing this time, but it was wonderful just to relax with friends in the Melbourne sunshine.

It’s about inviting myself to a “hot” Christmas with my Australian cousins; being a self-appointed sous-sous-sous-chef and washer-up extraordinaire in the festive cook-a-thon; finding myself overwhelmed with presents and kindnesses on a Christmas Day that could hardly have been more different from the previous year’s; relaxing with John and a beer in the sunshine on Boxing Day when everyone else was off at the beach or otherwise taking a much-needed break from the compulsory togetherness of Christmas festivities; and, replete with fizz and great food, dozing on Jo’s sofa in front of episodes of “Black Books”, waking in time to toast the arrival of 2008 with these much-loved cousins.

So, I guess what I’m saying is that travel is about people and about living, as well as about new places. It’s an often-ignored luxury after a couple of months’ “on the road” to be able to stop, not by going home but by dipping into a friend’s life, spending time with them as they go about their daily lives. Yes, I may have a twinge of guilt that I’m not hammering the road, checking off every last blade of grass, tree, mountain, cliff and beach that Tasmania has to offer, but they’ll be there the next time. This, to coin that hackneyed phrase, is “quality time” and my Calvinist conscience can, quite honestly, take a hike.

Ever since my father died, the people in my life have become very important to me. Having the time to go round the world and visit them is a priceless luxury. Thank you all for putting up with me (and putting me up): it’s been fabulous to see you. To those whom I haven’t managed to see on this trip, please forgive me, and I hope to see you soon.

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Photos

who says size matters?
fishing in the Hawkesbury River

lunchtime
hornbill at the Bird Park in Kuala Lumpur

showing off
peacock at the Bird Park in Kuala Lumpur