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­9 months abroad = 5 weeks in Europe + 7 months in South America + 3 weeks in the U.S = incredible

Once again, my vagabond adventure of backpacking across the world has come to a close – for now.

Not only have I expanded my collection of facebook profile photos, I’ve learnt some pretty great life skills and reached some personal goals.

1. The art of sleeping on long-haul bus rides and flights. Prior to commencing this particular journey, I was not a great travelling sleeper. In the past, I have not been able to fall asleep for over 30 hours, when travelling from Australia to Europe and vice versa. From muscle relaxant pills to having a whisky, nothing would knock me out – until I went to South America and travelled on buses. While the bus rides are generally pretty long, they are affordable and safe, fairly comfortable in Chile and Argentina, and slightly less so in Bolivia and Peru. Maybe it’s the rhythm of the bus that puts you to sleep, the beautiful scenery that sends you into a dream, the fact that all of your fellow passengers seem to be sleeping or the horrible B-grade movie showing that is not worth staying awake for. Nevertheless, I went from barely sleeping on these buses to struggling to keep myself awake. During my final 21 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Santiago, Chile, I slept an impressive 10 hours.

2. Hablo espanol. Fortunately for me, Spanish was a necessity in most of the places where I traveled. Improving Spanish was one of my main goals, so I took every chance I could to talk and listen to the locals. This was much to their surprise, particularly when I told them I was from Australia (which always confused hostel staff when I presented them with my Irish Passport as ID; my nationality was often a hot-topic for debate).“But Australians never speak Spanish!”, Rodrigo (or whatever their name might be) would exclaim. Shaking my head in shame, I would agree and explain how most schools don’t make foreign language learning compulsory, a part from a year or two, where most students’ greatest achievements are counting to 20 in Japanese or saying “Je m’appelle Isabel”.

I also learnt how to distinguish a Bolivian from an Argentinian, a Chilean or a Spaniard, a useful skill that could help to avoid awkward discussions regarding the dark side of colonial history. I have no idea what kind of ‘Spanish Accent’ I have, but apparently I don’t sound like I’m French anymore, so that’s a good step forward.

3. Those stairs don’t seem so bad after hiking up WaynaPicchu mountain in Peru. It may be one of the greatest things I’ve ever done, but it was a bloody steep mountain. On the bright side, climbing the few ‘hills’ of Sydney or a few flights of stairs seems like a piece of cake, in comparison.

4. Was not a victim of food-poisoning, theft or violence. Before travelling to Bolivia, everybody I met, whom had previously been to Bolivia, said that they had been sick from the food. I managed to avoid this; I ate decent meals at ‘upscale’ restaurants (which are still ridiculously cheap in Bolivia) and cooked with fresh market produce. I did not risk eating fried street food or from any cheap cafes, for Bolivian standards (which are dirt cheap for us gringos). Likewise, I had heard many stories of theft – not so many about violence or kidnapping, but Taken 2 (or was it #3? A classic example of B-grade cinema) was shown on one of my bus rides, so it was on my mind. Fortunately, I did not have to file any police reports or insurance claims (after a pretty big robbing incident in Chile). Just as well! One major theft is probably enough excitement for a while.

5. Greater appreciation for first-world comforts. As splendid as South America may seem, travelling there is not always so glamorous, especially if your backpacking; roads were often bumpy, streets were crowded and chaotic, decent, healthy food was sometimes hard to come by, beds could be uncomfortable, locals were sometimes not friendly and customer service is not really a thing.  Bolivia was perhaps the most challenging of all, as it is still a developing country in many ways. At the same time, I was fascinated to see a world so different from my own and am very grateful for the experience.

After landing in Boston, my body almost-instantly relaxed into the very comfortable car-seat. All of the tension, stress and aches involved in carrying your belongings on your back and being alone in a foreign, non-English speaking country, seemed to disappear. Hot water, central heating, hi-speed wifi, Trader Joes, friendly customer service, oh the wonders of the first-world!  In the comfort of my motherland, I was reunited with my wonderful American family in old familiar places, after a 10 year absence. As someone who has not always been proud to call myself part American, I felt guilty about neglecting the U.S. It may be targeted for all that is wrong with western society, but Australia is barely a perfect nation. Who elected the current Prime Minister again? Oh yes, Australia did.

6. Greater appreciation for my family, friends and fellow Australians. On that note, it was a great joy to return to Sydney. How sweet it is to be surrounded by people who have known you for most of your life, to sleep soundly in my own bed, have a bit of vegemite and avo on toast, hang out in the old haunts and to speak my native language, in its native dialect. Who knew that my English had changed so much? Expressions and adjectives that I had not used for a long time came un-expectantly rolling out of my mouth. For example, I caught myself saying “That placed is pretty spruced up now” (to spruce up = to clean up/makeover) and dropping “bloody” and “bugger” a lot more frequently. I realised that it had been a good while since I’d been in an Aussie context, speaking proper ‘Australian’ (or ‘Strayan’ as we say).

So, after gaining all these great life skills, learning to be more independent, more culturally literate, a better human being, yada yada…what are you going to do now?

After leading a vagabond lifestyle for almost 3 years now, I should be more comfortable with people asking me about my future prospects by now – but I’m not. These days, the questions are generally closed, as most people assume “you’ll be jetting off again soon?”. I guess this is easier to answer, as I only need to reply with “yes” or “no”. Yet on second thoughts, behind this supposedly simple question looms the “What, where, when, who and why?”.

In sum, returning home after a long absence is equally satisfying as it is challenging. How one can feel warmly welcomed and simultaneously alienated, I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to understand.

Some people might call it reverse culture shock but I prefer cultural limbo; I’m not in the America’s or Europe anymore, yet not completely present in Australia. Perhaps, I’m scattered all over the place. Like a frustratingly slow iPhone downloading a software upgrade, I’m still loading.

Finding Peace in La Paz

Overwhelmed and intrigued by this mad city, it’s hard to believe such a place translates to ‘Peace’. After just a few hours wondering around and exploring, I’m exhausted and ready for a rest. La Paz may very well turn me into a Nana – afternoon siestas and early bed times could become a habit!

At almost 4000 metres above sea-level, La Paz is the highest capital city in the world. The affects of the altitude seem to mellow me out; I feel as though I’ve had a few glasses of vino tinto, or have just finished an intense yoga class, both calming and disorienting at the same time.

After talking to various travellers and consulting some guide books about La Paz, I had fairly low expectations. Yet, upon entering the city yesterday, seeing the completely chaotic calles (streets), cars and buses going in all directions, the sidewalks lined with women dressed in long Andean-skirts and what appear to be bowler-hats (although I’m sure they have another name here) selling fruits, vegetables and whatever else it may be, I couldn’t help but feel drawn into this hectic concrete playground.

Of course, I am constantly confronted by the poverty of the people in the streets; the blind, the eldery, the women and children whose faces bare the burden of struggle. However, it’s important to see realities which are so far from my own and to be without the comforts that I take for granted – that’s why I came to South America, right?

To briefly summarise what I’ve been up to since my last post (a good 5 months ago…), I’ve finished my time volunteering in Santiago. This experience continues to inspire me. I am often reminded of the children, teachers and fellow volunteers that I worked with and am so grateful to have met them. I don’t know how exactly I’ve made an impact, yet I definitely feel the changes in myself. My eyes have been opened to the limits of living in poverty and difficult circumstances. I’ve learnt therefore, how important it is to foster hope and perseverance, to not be discouraged by the big picture and to celebrate the small victories; that’s how change comes about.

Onwards from Santiago, I spent a few weeks exploring the South of Chile – I nervously hiked Mt Villarrica (an active volcano), enjoyed the beautiful lakes region and the Island, Chiloe. Next, I headed north to Iquique, savouring Chile’s best mangoes, and at last, made it to Peru.

Upon entering Peru, I felt that I had really made it to South America. The Andean traditions are strongly present in the local Peruvian culture, in the local dress, food, the indigenous language of ‘Quecha’ and of course, the historical presence of the Incas, all of which are a striking contrast to a rather modern Santiago de Chile.

I really loved Peru; the breathtaking landscapes, the colonial architecture, the cheap and delicious food and the strong traditional culture. I stayed in Cusco for over a week and felt at home in my cosy hostel, situated in the arty neighbourhood of San Blas. A 4-day tour which included mountain-biking, zip-lining, hot springs (which was most rewarding after an 8 hour hike through the jungle!), visits to small Andean villages where they produce cacao and ‘Inca Tequila’, and a unforgettable hike to Machu Picchu has truly been my highlight so far. I wasn’t sure if I would find Machu Picchu an overhyped tourist attraction, but the hype is completely justified. It’s a mindblowingly beautiful place that is worth every single step and every sore muscle.

I feel incredibly blessed to be able to visit all of these beautiful places, although I feel the real grandeur of it all will hit me once it’s all over. When we travel, particularly to lots of different places in a short period of time, we don’t really stop to appreciate our surroundings and often get caught up with what’s next to come. For that reason, I will leave you now in peace, in La Paz.

 

Warming up to Chile

View from cerro Santa Lucía

For those of you unaware, I’ve recently moved to Santiago, Chile, where I will be working for four months as a volunteer in an NGO, called VE Global (see link below). I’ve spent the past month getting acquainted with the city, whilst completing training and orientation. Last week, I begun my volunteer placement in a school for children with special needs. I’m an assistant to the classroom teacher, which mainly involves helping the children to complete tasks and activities.

As a large part of the children in my class struggle to work independently, it’s a tough job for the teacher to assist every child and maintain discipline. I came here for a challenge and so I have one!

Here I have compiled a list of Santiago’s peculilarilites which have struck me the most:

Dogs

are everywhere. On every street corner, at every bus stop, in every park. They’re technically homeless but they seem to find food and shelter. Some are very cute, others are a bit scruffy. Although I would prefer it to be a city of cats, the dogs have been keeping their paws and salivia to themselves, so there’s no complaints from my end.

Mountains

are in fact, very closeby. On a clear day (unfortunately a rare occasion due to the pollution), beautiful snow-topped mountain ranges are visible from my apartment window, and much of the city centre.

Shopping can be complicated

Must it really be that hard to go into a pharmacy and buy some moisturiser? After a few minutes of observing other customers, I saw the pattern which emerged. The complicated procedure involves: taking a ticket, waiting for the ticket to be called, going to the counter when your ticket is called to ask for your desired item, getting a receipt from the shop assistant with which you need to go to another part of the store in order to pay for your item. Once you’ve done this, you show your payment receipt and at last, the item is yours!

Public Transport can be fun too

When climbing aboard a bus in Santiago, you never quite know what to expect. Once you’ve jumped on and hopefully found a seat (if not, your ride may be more like that of a rollercoaster), musicians will fill the bus. Genres range from freestyle rap (Featuring commentary on fellow commuters) to Mozart for solo clarinet. The spectacle continues with vendors who will advertise various products (a CD of Chilean Music for example). And for those with a sweet tooth, there is  always somebody selling chocolate.

People are actually really lovely

Chileans are generally very helpful and generous. Whether it’s the man who got up from his seat on the bus to chase the onion that had escaped from my shopping bag or the market merchant who loaded by bag with free tomatoes, there’s generally a ‘buena onda’ (good vibe) from locals.

However, make note of the key word ‘generally‘. After one week in Santiago, I had an unfortunate encounter with professional thieves who got hold of my backpack which just so happened to have my laptop, iPod, headphones and not only one, but two passports. The perils of being a multi-national! On the bright side, my US Passport was spared, so in the unlikely case that I may need to flee the country tomorrow, America will come to the rescue!

After the incident, my faith in humanity was significantly low and my faith in Santiago was even lower. Trips to various bureaucratic offices (the act of ‘Bureaucra-hopping’, as it shall now be known) has been frustrating and tedious, and will continue for a while longer.

Nevertheless, with the help of empanadas and the good group of people around me, my faith in humanity and Santiago is slowly but surely being restored. Life without my laptop and iPod is teaching me to appreciate the simple pleasures of listening to the radio, reading, cooking and social interaction. Just like the good ole days!

As October approaches, Santiagonians are eager for the long-awaited Verano (Summertime), which as a lucky traveller, I will enter for the third time this year! Although we got off to a bad start, I’m coming around to this city. With each new day, a new particularity of local language and culture is unravelled. I look forward to the months which follow, the challenges and rewards that will arise!

Home

 

A European Victory Lap and an eventful trip to Continent #3

Oh Europe! It’s been a wonderful 5 weeks of reminiscence and reunion with dear friends and incredible places. I’ve been spoilt with incredible food, kind and generous people, beautiful landscapes and for at least some of the time, warmth and sunshine.

Paris hasn’t changed – still as mesmerising and precious as ever, despite the absence of many Parisiens who escape the city during their summer holidays.  Lyon, too, still has that “je ne sais quoi”. At every corner, I was struck with waves of nostalgia and the sentiment that this beautiful city that warmly welcomed me two years earlier is still chez moi. On the day that I left Lyon for Italy, it was exactly two years to the day that I had arrived from Australia for the first time. How much has changed in two years!

   

 

Next stop was Italia. I was fortunate enough to take a most scenic bus ride from Lyon to Torino, via the mesmerising Alps.

Like an affectionate grandmother, Italy greeted me warmly and left me feeling spoilt and overfed. I marvelled at the picturesque Piemonte countryside and the beautiful city of Torino. Culinary highlights included Parmigana (fresh eggplant, tomato and parmesan), hazelnut cake, vegetarian pizza (best crust ever) and what I deem to be the best pear that I have ever eaten, purchased at Torino’s farmers market. My brief three days in Italy were probably for the best, as If I had the option to stay longer, I would have surely dropped everything and begun a life-long career as a glutton.

 

 

Entonces, España! Madrid gave me a warm welcome indeed; what better way to say “Bienvenidos” than 35 degrees?! Coming from Australia, I considered myself well prepared for the heat that was to come. Little did I know about Spanish summer! A dry heat that peaks around 5pm and remains until at least 9pm, was not what I had in mind. Finally, the traditional “Spanish time” having an afternoon siesta, eating dinner at 11pm and going to be late, all made so much sense. When I wasn’t complaining about the heat, I admired the extensive art in Reina Sofia and Museo del Prado, enjoyed the novelty of tapas and took a day drip to the ancient city of Toledo.

 

 

The next part of my journey involved a rather big leap, back to the Southern hemisphere, to a part that seems completely foreign. To summarise the journey, Shakespeare’s words seem most appropriate, “All’s well that ends well”.

It all began at the airport in Madrid. I proceeded to the check-in counter with my ticket and tried to discern what the silence and vague expression of the airline worker meant. After a moment, she asked to see the ticket for my flight out of Chile. When I responded that I only had a one-way ticket, she informed me that as I did not have a VISA, I needed a ticket out of the country, or else I couldn’t enter. While I protested that nobody had previously informed me of such regulations, I was directed to the information and sales desk, who, like a chastising school teacher, told me that “I should have known” and presented me with the option to purchase the ‘cheapest flight possible’ from Sanitago to Bogota, for only 1500 euros. Immediately, I entered a state of panic and consequently spent 30 mins walking around the airport, in search of other airline sales desks which might have cheaper flights, as well as the wifi area, with the intention to find a flight online.

 Unsuccessful in my efforts, I returned to the information desk, in tears, asking how long I had to make a decision, before missing the flight altogether. This time, the woman at the desk had a different tone, “I might be able to help you”. As it turns out, she had mistaken Chile’s regulations for Venezuela’s regulations, which are much stricter. Fortunately, Chile is much more accommodating than the workers for a certain Colombian airline (Avianca – for future reference). I’ve put it down to a combination of my unfortunate willingness to believe persons in positions of authority and the ignorance of the airline. There’s nothing like a bit of pre-flight trauma before 7am!

Needless to say, I was fairly on edge after this scare. I spent most of the flight paranoid, thinking up worst possible scenarios for my arrival in Chile and trying to speak with my friendly Colombian neighbour. When we landed in Bogota, there was much cheering from happy Colombians, eager to return home. My stop-over gave me enough time to purchase some Colombian chocolate. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently I paid about $12 for 70g. Yet, after being threatened with a loss of 1500 euros, it seemed quite affordable.  

Finally, I made it to Santiago de Chile, luggage and all in one piece. All’s well that ends well indeed.  

My first impressions of Santiago, as they are fairly comprehensive, will be published shortly.

Entonces, nos vemos!

Un bon retour

By Jove, I’ve done it again! Successfully changed continents, moved over to the right side of the road, gone from winter to summer, activated the foreign language modules of my brain, all in the name of travel and discovery. Despite the noticeable change in my surrounds, it’s really as though I never left.

After my long, arduous journey from Sydney to London via Abu-Dhabi, I arrived at Heathrow Airport, only to be greeted by my beautiful cousins, two of whom, immediately adorned me with necklaces, that I soon learnt to be known as ‘loom bands’*. This very warm, Hawaiian-inspired welcome was a lovely way to be greeted back into Europe.

Though my UK stop-over was brief, I had enough time to admire the beautiful English summer, enjoy alfresco dining and push my way (and my fat suitcase) through the tube. From London, I made my way up to Northern England, eventually to Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport, which interestingly enough sports some credible Beatles memorabilia, such as ‘the Yellow Submarine’. From there, I bid my farewell to sunny England and arrived in the rainy South-West of France (evidently climate change in full swing!).

Et me voila. Here I am, residing in a small village called ‘Peyrillac’ in France’s Dordogne region. There are about 400 people in the village, so as you may imagine, living is very local. The house that I’m staying was constructed in 1747, made of traditional stone. My bed looks like something that the bourgeois would have slept on during Napoleonic era.

The lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes, courgettes, plums, peaches, blackberries that I’ve been enjoying at meals have all been cultivated in the nearby field or in the garden itself. As there is devastatingly no bakery in the village, our bread is purchased from the next closest village. Given that bread is considered a fundamental human necessity in France (specified in the ‘5^th Republic’), there is a bread van that comes three times a week, sounding its horn loudly, so that locals know it’s serious bread and croissant purchasing time. I felt slightly self-conscious after my purchase of bananas and avocado from the supermarket in town was, in good humour, pointed out to be ‘foreign’ by my host family.

I have had to re-adjust to the French concept of time, which is even more extreme in the quiet and slow countryside. Last Sunday, the next-door neighbours were invited over for Lunch, which ended up being an elaborate 6-course feast (not including aperos or coffee), from which the total sitting-down time was 4 hours.

Of course, it is a pleasure to be surrounded by such beautiful the peaceful green rolling hills, golden fields, medieval churches and chateaux and the mesmerising Dordogne River. My biggest feats so far have been trying to find room in my stomach and politely accept a slice of cheese after delicious, hearty meals, knowing there is still dessert to come and judging whether to ‘Bonsoir’ (Good evening) or ‘Bonjour’ (Good day/hello) passers-by on my evening runs or walks. Tough life.

I’ve been enjoying swimming, cycling, berry-picking, canoeing, visiting charming villages and towns nearby, catching up on sleep, reading and indulging in French cuisine.  Nevertheless, it’s coming increasingly obvious to me that I’m a city girl. I am craving a bit of the noise, bustle and vivacity which comforts and inspires me.

Fortunately, it won’t be long before I’m back in some of my favourite cities. Before heading off to South America, I will be completing a kind of condensed, 11-day Victory lap of Europe:           Paris –>  Lyon –>  Torino and it’s surrounds –> Madrid. I am aware that Paris is a massive detour if heading to Lyon, but for a 30 euro fare, who could resist such an offer to visit cette ville si belle?! If I can visit four European cities for much less than an airfare from Sydney to Perth, then why wouldn’t you?! That Australian spatial mentality will never be shaken.

What awaits me after Europe is a completely new and undiscovered path. This is my cue for “I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore, Toto”. From September to mid-January, I will be living in Santiago, Chile, working as a volunteer for the NGO ‘VE Global’. The organisation runs six social service initiatives which foster positive development of children at social risk in Santiago. I will be working full-time in one of these initiatives, as well as developing projects in a committee, such as fundraising events and campaigns.

I have been attempting to revise mi español, but I fear this will not help much with trying to understand the local Chilean accent, which is supposedly, one of the hardest accents in Latin America. Nevertheless, I look forward to the new challenges, opportunities and adventures which await me in Chile.

* a bracelet-making craze which has radically swept the under 12 crowd in Europe (and most likely many other countries) away from their Nintendo DS consoles.

 

View from my bedroom window

Hasta la vista!

A surprising sense of pride came over me last night, as I watched the final minutes of the State of Origin match, in which the NSW Blue’s claimed their first victory in 8 years. It’s been a very long time since I’ve paid attention to NRL (Australian football). Such overt displays of masculinity (from which chivalry is exempt) often trigger feminist outbursts and leave me feeling bitter towards society. Hearing the prime minister speak has the same effect.

Nevertheless, I felt my nostalgic connection to NRL somewhat revived from Jared Hayne’s tears. Albeit briefly, I surrendered my cynicism and cultural resistance, allowing myself to be wrapped up in the moment. In spite of all its defaults; inhumane policies regarding refugees, shameful treatment of indigenous people, geographical and cultural isolation and the excessive cost-of-living, there comes the odd moment where I bite into vegemite toast, gaze up at the gum trees and feel proud to call Australia home.

On that note, I am leaving again (finally!).

I’m going back to reclaim the missing pieces of my soul, which never made it back to Australia after my departure from Europe. In 4 weeks, I will fly back to Europe. I’ll spend a few days in the UK, then back to la belle France for Au Pair business, with a few spare weeks afterwards to bask in the glorious European summer.

Et après? South America is on the cards. I threw together my motivation to improve Spanish and leap into a completely foreign context, and voila, out came South America. I’ll be volunteering in either Peru or Chile – hoping to do some meaningful and substantial work. Duration and itinerary are to be determined.

I’ll admit it’s a bit mad. Quite frankly, I couldn’t be more pleased! Spontaneity has been hiding under a rock since I stopped travelling, craving to get out and create some havoc for my well-organised and pragmatic nature.

Naturally, my existential crisis has been remedied. I’ve got a plan. Sort of.

Feeling lost? Book a flight. There’s always something on the other side waiting to be found.

Cut!

Last night before going to bed, I had a sudden urge to do something radical. I could have done something cool, like writing a song, running away, or some other activity that cool, radical people do.

Instead, I cut myself a fringe. I’ve done this twice before, but at least with some kind of pre-thought. This time, I literally just picked up the scissors and chopped it off. Consequently, it’s a bit un-even and a bit short, for which Sydney’s humidity level does no favours.Despite its awkward presence on my face, I’m glad I did it. Incoherent, edgy, disoriented – why, what an accurate description of my current existential state!

I do hope, that like my fringe, my existential crisis will too, grow out. Considering the average rate that my hair grows, I should have my life sorted out in about 3 months…

But let’s not get caught up into time periods and dates – they both features on my list of ‘taboo conversation topics’, alongside ‘current projects’, ‘plans for the year’, ‘full time work’, etc. The mere question from innocent new acquaintances, “So what do you do?”, erupts nothing less than a volcano inside my existentially sensitive self. Is it reasonable for me to respond with, “I’m currently having an existential crisis…it’s going swell”? Perhaps my new fringe will ward off such questions.

In other news, I volunteered and attended the French film festival in Sydney over the past few weeks. Somewhere between the painful nostalgie of French culture and the films’ emotionally draining subject-matter, I enjoyed it. Highlights were “Venus à la fourrure”, a very clever and very funny encounter between a first-time theatre director and the potential lead-role which blurs the lines between reality and performance, as well as “Violette”, a biopic about Violette Leduc, a French feminist writer who was mentored by Madame De Beauvoir, yet unfortunately led a miserable, lonely existence. And ain’t that the way le cookie crumbles.

Until my next noteworthy life-event, good night!

The Honeymoon is over

The novelty of “coming home” and re-discovering what I left behind has worn off.

The first few weeks of my return were sublime. Going to a Western Sydney shopping mall had never been so fascinating. Catching a Sydney train and re-tracing what were once my daily routes to University and work were like uncovering a lost land. I stood on Freshwater Beach just a few days after my return, perplexed to consider that just a week before, I had been trotting through snowy Bavaria.

We’ve had almost nothing but sun and very few days of unbearable heat. In the past 6 weeks, I’ve been to the beach more times than I have over the past 4 years. I’m one of those “non-beach” Australians (yes, we do exist). I’ve attempted to change this, but now I’m back to where I began. There’s just too much Irish blood beneath my pale skin.

My trips to the supermarket have been quite unsettling. Why is there someone packing my bag for me?! And why are they so friendly?! I’m too acclimatised to rapid supermarket lines of France and Germany, where you’re on your own. The cashier is not your friend and they don’t want to know “how you’re going”. You’ve got a limited amount of time to pack your own bag, pay and get out of the way for the next customer. If you forget your shopping bags – too bad. That’ll be 10 cents please, served with a look of disgrace for your ecological sin (most common in Germany). I recently refused a plastic bag for my one item at Coles in Sydney, to which the cashier smiled and said “It’s okay…I think Coles can afford it”.

Oh Australia! There is something very special about you. You’re like that strange Uncle that left home at a very young age, drifting far away from everyone else. He was happy to welcome new foreign friends a while back, but seems to have turned xenophobic as of late. Nobody has ever really understood him, both literally and figuratively.

In Sydney, I’ve observed that prices have increased, just like the population of hipsters. Frozen yoghurt has become a food group. I won’t get started on Politics because I feel that my whinging allowance is almost spent, as the mere mention of “Mr Abbott” is quite costly.

After 16 months abroad of meeting only strangers, getting lost on a daily basis, speaking foreign languages and never fully understanding my surroundings,  one would deem the familiarity of Australia comforting and refreshing. Yet, as my travels went on, I got used to this daily unfamiliarity. It became my mystifying, European reality.

This is the part where a wise soul slaps me on the back and bluntly says “Welcome back to reality, love!”. I thank the voice of wisdom for their advice, but I am too stubborn and resolute in my desires to accept this. If my reality was for some time, an exciting European adventure, why can it not be so again?

Thus, plans for Isabel’s Adventure #2 are underway. Suggestions are encouraged.

A week that began in Neuschwanstein…

ended in Sunny Sydney. 

 

 

Homeward Bound

Some music to set the mood: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6K8wfyzAJQ

It’s time to wrap up what has been an incredible European adventure (for now…). In just 2 short winter days, I will be going to the Flughafen, leaving behind beautiful Bavarian town of München, currently adorned from head to toe with glittering lights,  ‘Weihnachtsbaumen’ (Christmas Trees) and charming “Christkindlemarkts” (Christmas Markets). Locals and tourists take delight in admiring dapper Munich, whilst enjoying their daily ‘Wurst’ (sausage) and Glühwein – a wonderful beverage with healing powers to warm one’s soul in the cold winter night.

So where to next?

Why, only back to the Southern Hemisphere, to that great big Island where I grew up, the wonderful Land of Oz. It’s only a brief 23-hour, 3-leg flight. This journey requires patience and sleeping tablets, neither of which I will have. The world that awaits me will hum no echoes of a Bavaria wrapped in winter. In Ole Sydney Town, the sun works around the clock. Summertime is here and the living is rather easy. I will be liberated from my heavy winter coat. The thought of Gluhwein will make me want to jump in the pool. I’ll take a G + T instead, sitting out on the back veranda. Now, there’s a word I haven’t used in about 16 months!

Although I’m going home, there’s a sense of unfamiliarity about this journey; it is, in fact, the first time that I’m returning to home, after such a long absence.

Being the pre-emptive and overly nostalgic individual that I am, I’m anticipating my forthcoming European nostalgia to be rather severe. Frankly, living in the moment and not worrying about the future would just to be too hard and would probably make me enjoy life far too much.

I’ve compiled a list of the biggest re-adjustments I will potentially face upon my return to Australia:

1. Climate Shock: For a few weeks, I’ll enjoy rediscovering the wonder of sunshine, my summer wardrobe, mangoes and the beach. By February, I will be complaining about the 40 degree heat and dreaming about snow.

2. Linguistic shock:“ Entschuldigen sie! I mean, excuse me…“. What is this? I can understand what everybody around me is saying? I don’t think I’m in Deutschland anymore, Johannes… 

3. Gastronomic shock: Where have all the Brezen gone? Wo ist meine Mineralwasser?!

4. Economic /Currency shock: On the one hand, I will appear to be an incredibly stingy, incapable to bring myself to spend, $7 for a glass of wine?! $7 for a sandwich?! On the other hand, I will return to employment and find comfort in having an Aussie wage once again.

5. Long-distance shock: There will be no more spontaneous weekends away to Italy, day trips to Austria or a week holiday in 5 different countries. I might drive 8 hours up the coast and still be in the same Region. Evidently, my concept of ‘distance’ will need some re-adjustment.

6. Being that annoying friend who talks about travel all the time: My unintentional yet inevitable bragging about Europe will most-likely earn the title “Europe-snob”. People will ask me where I got my dress from, to which I will natually respond “Oh I got in London just a few months ago”. My friends and I will be talking about Phoenix and I’ll recall how I saw them in Munich just a few weeks ago. My parents will be complementing their wine at dinner and I’ll say how “I used to love the Bordeaux Superieur 2006 that I drank in Lyon”.  Apologies in advance to all those who will be affected.

Another pressing concern to address is evidently, the future of this blog. Such a title “Ma Vie Franglaise” (My French/English life) will no longer apply to my living situation. To maintain ‘mon côté francais’,   I will depend greatly upon the interactions with my rather small, Australian French-speaking support network. Those involved are my Dad (who learnt French over 50 years ago but still rattles off a bit of “Quelle dommage!” and “C’est la vie”), my cat (who understands my French just as well as my English, so I will take advantage of this by speaking to her only French), SBS – the great Australian TV channel that screens at least one film daily featuring Daniel Auteil or Gerard Depardieu and perhaps, any French tourists I may encounter in Sydney. Their simple inquiries to find out where the Opera House is, could incite a reminiscent rant about La Belle France from a certain Sydney local.

By and large, there’s a clear sense that a wonderful phase in my life is coming to an end.  I experienced a true emancipation from all familiar things and all the forces that had shaped me. I found home in a foreign place, filled with new incredible people who became my friends and family. Every day involved a new challenge, a new face, a new linguistic term, a new lesson. Anxiety, loneliness, self-doubt and frustration played only but a small part next to the profound contentment, freedom and reassurance that I felt.

Nevertheless, I long to be homeward bound, to see Sydney in a new light and finally return to my extraordinary family and friends who’ve waited so patiently for me.

So, readers, I do urge you to continue following my blog. Although it’s no longer about a 20-something year-old moving to Europe for the first time, it’s still the same person who stood locked outside of her Lyonnais accommodation late at night, and grabbed a used peach-pit found in the gutter to hit her host’s window in attempt to catch their attention.

Thus, there are undoubtedly more awkward and amusing adventures ahead.

Bis bald!

The Graduate

 

I’ve just returned from a week in Paris, as one does. This trip was slightly different to my previous escapades in Paris. For one, I didn’t pay for my 1st class TGV train ticket, my accommodation or most of my delicious meals, wine, croissants, cheese, chocolate etc… In fact, had I not gone on a Friperie-Shopping Rampage, I would have made a profit from being there.

The Catch: accompanying two Franco-Anglais children chez les grandparents. I also had to supervise the baking of Halloween Cookies and spend a few hours in a playground (see image below). Que la vie est dur!

The most challenging task was undoubtedly a 5-minute train change at Stuttgart, where I ran with two suitcases and two children, dodging suitcases and fellow travellers, all the way from our 1st class cabin, inconveniently situated at the very start of the platform (poor souls), to reach our connection to Paris.

As you would imagine, it was quite a nice working holiday. I do love Paris. Even if it’s expensive. Even if it’s raining (although it was shockingly warm and sunny). Even if I felt slightly degraded yet thankful for the woman sitting opposite me on the metro, who casually gestured to the small piece of quiche stuck on the side of my face. Even if a delivery truck was about to reverse onto me and my bike, before a man on the side of the road urged me to “Reculez Madame!” (GET BACK!) . In hindsight, I really should have thanked him instead of swearing like Parisiens do.

In other news, I graduated today. I find it difficult to fathom that I’ve spent 3 years learning things at University which equate to a Bachelor of Arts. What have I got to show for it? As far as BA Studies go, mine has taught me fairly practical things. I mastered French but didn’t quite get around to mastering Spanish. I learnt a bit about the world in Anthropology. Gender and Cultural Studies corrupted my mind a wee bit. Linguistics has programmed me to analyse Language intricately, to the point where my text messages and facebook comments take much longer to write than the average person.

In true Arts Student style, I will not attend the ceremony. Not out of protest against partaking in such an Institution, not because I can’t afford Academic dress-hire and not because I will probably sleep in. I do hope they announce my name with “Graduating in Absentia – too busy gallivanting around Europe”.