There’s something rejuvinating about travel that you just can’t put your finger on.
Sure, it’s always just your luck that your coach seat is cramped against the VonTrap family with no working in-flight entertainment, but that’s just the getting there part, which is always an adventure in itself.
What I’m talking about is that jolt to your senses that you get when you step out of an airport in a new city for the first time. The air smells different. Suddenly your brain goes into hyper-active mode and you look at every street sign, every plant in the park, noticing the differences and observing everything. Travel is like crack cocaine for dulled senses. (Not that I would know…) But think about it. At home you barely notice what’s going on down the street not to mention what’s going on in your city. Sure you read the news but do you really notice and observe the tiny details about your world yourself? Details get overlooked because we’re conditioned for our daily routines.
It’s also that delightfully frightening aspect about travel that is so addicting to me. Even though I’ve lived in places like London and Mexico City and traveled a lot, I still get pre-travel jitters before going to a completely new place. And Sydney is completely new for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that feeling, and it’s exhilarating. I’m even willing to overlook the inability of the hotel to let me check my dirty, jet-lagged self into my room until later in the afternoon. So, I’m happily forced to wander the city and make my first introductions. Self, meet Sydney. Sydney, self.
It’s something that you just can’t keep to yourself. So here I am sitting at a fruit juice stand overlooking Darling Harbour. The sun is shining, there’s a cool salty sea breeze, and I’m right where I want to be.