Do I crave seeing some unusual natural beauty? Meeting new people and seeing their lifestyle? Or do I just need to escape from the everyday reality?
As you can see I love traveling. I really do. Mostly because of the two first reasons mentioned above. But as it’s been more than 6 months since I came back from my last trip in Africa, I am starting to think there is also another reason. Not that I didn’t know it before. It’s just that with every other journey and with every other longer time spent at home I realize it more. So let’s try to put it in words.
“Are you looking forward to go back home?”
Yes. I usually say yes. Even though I’ve never had a very strong sentiment for my home country and everything in there, there are few things I usually look forward to. I look forward to see my family, because…well, it’s my family. That’s quite self explanatory. I look forward to meet my friends, with whom I can discuss things that only they will understand and with whom we’re gonna make jokes that only we will understand. With whom we’re gonna get drunk just like we can do it. I look forward to my mum’s food. To my sister’s stupid jokes. I look forward to cook in my own kitchen, where I have everything I need. I look forward to all the pretty little European things I don’t have on my travels, like the washing machine, my huge fluffy bathrobe and the wide choice of clothes and possibility of wearing something different every week.
It’s all nice. It’s all nice the first few days when you come back home, even the first few weeks. Then all these things start to bother you. Or at least me.
It’s especially the people. And the stereotype. Actually both. The people are stereotype. It’s the bubble you live in. They create the bubble you live in. Things they deal with create it. I don’t know.
There’s suddenly so much information you don’t need coming from the people, coming from everywhere. Lot of information that it’s actually not interesting. Not exciting. Repeating itself. Useless.
My head is overwhelmed with it. It is overwhelmed with it to that extent that every once in a while comes the moment when I feel the urgent need of going away.
Traveling is refreshing, because you leave all this behind. Just like if you throw it in a trash bin. You take all the stories your friend told you about this guy and that guy and about moving out and moving in, about the colleague that sucks, about this person being weird, that person being depressed and that one being so happy (isn’t she faking it?), the same person going out with someone else, who bought her this instead of that, about being single, which is better than being with someone who doesn’t truly love, right?, all the you should this and you shouldn’t that and….ah! Enough.
….but as soon as your plane gets off, it’s all gone. There’s this strange moment of total cleanness and peace. Your mind is clear, ready to soak in all the new information you will get in a new country. Here comes the question of how long would you have to stay in the country so that you would get into the same social bubble as back home? Honestly I don’t know. But I guess long. Maybe a year? The longest I stayed somewhere was Argentina and even after half a year I didn’t have that feeling. Maybe I’ll figure that out later.
Anyway, back to the problem. So your mind is happy with taking all the new information from all the new people from new environments. It’s just so exciting. Like you can actually feel your brain growing bigger. Like you feel yourself growing bigger. And that’s just truly amazing, being constantly enriched in this way. But then maybe some of this information makes you realize how different everything is from what you know back home and you start missing it. Missing your friends, your stereotype. So, when you are back in your place, you are happy to see everybody and everything, realizing that you actually missed it and thus being happy that you are there now. Until the moment you realize that it actually bugs you…and you need to go away again…