[As published in July/August BayBuzz magazine.]
I am over these mountains of wet winter washing. And I can’t stand, for a minute more, the freezing cold of the driftwood shack in which I live. I’m off to Europe for the summer. I’m in the mood to coddiwomple.
Half of Havelock, most of the Hill and the best bits of Haumoana have cleared out already. The Kellys are in Spain. Flo and her toy boy have gone to France. Dave’s back in Bali. Skipping off to finer climes is just the ticket. Footloose and fancy free, an exodus across the equator, with no worries to hold you back. The sticker slapped across my pack reads, “It’s the journey not the destination”.
All I need to do before heading out is sling a few necessaries in my ole’ kit bag, check my pockets for cell phone and money card, and activate my out-of-office, automatic email reply. For that, I quote Emerson, telling my colleagues I have gone to “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”
It’s not quite that easy.
The menagerie can’t be left without a caretaker – five chickens and two guinea pigs won’t feed themselves – so I solicit the services of a sitter. I now need to set aside a fat week to spring-clean, change the beds, tackle the fridge, and write an instruction manual for the dishwasher, airfryer, coffee-machine, heat-pump, TV. Of course, before the sitter settles in I must have a meet-and-greet. And non-negotiable is a how-to folder of each pet’s needs, with a trouble-shooting decision-making flowchart in case things go pear-shaped.
Which reminds me, I need travel insurance.
And I must work out how to get that cell phone and that money card to work overseas. I’m told too that if I’m contemplating taking cash, I better sort it quick because only Westpac does foreign exchange nowadays.
My passport is current, so tick that off the list. I found out it was current when I sent it to the passport office with $260 and a new pic only to be asked “Why?” because it was still valid. A case of mis-placed over-organisation on my part. I also sent off the children’s documentation and pictures (and fees) because theirs actually were past the best-before dates. Nothing brings a bragging parent down quicker than having your child’s photograph returned because their “head is too big” or their eyes are “too closed”. So I factored in time to get validated (them), and validation (me).
Then there are visas and vaxes. Both are tests to ensure only people who can handle complex conundrums and bureaucratic rigmarole get to go abroad. I should’ve started this process ages ago because now I’ve left it so late I’m getting hives just thinking about it, trying to sort my ETA from my ESTA.
It’s hard to keep track so I’d better start a blog … and an Instagram solely focused on travel exploits. We’ve been through a substantial period of travel starvation where anyone who escaped needed to feed the vicarious hunger of those left behind by posting to socials. Now, we’re addicted. I have a duty to feed my po-co-fomo followers.
First, I’ll need some followers. I’ll start posting before I go to build up a solid fan base. Why visit anything unless there’s someone online rewarding me with a carefully considered emoticon?
And I must have a smattering of whatever lingua franca I’m heading towards. I’ll double-down on duolingo downloads before I execute my evacuation plan. Couple that with late-night sessions watching foreign films sans subtitles, language transference podcasts on the way to work, casual conversation intensives on a Friday.
I’ll probably need a phrase book. But not a heavy one because I’m intrepid and I can’t be hung about with excess baggage. I don’t think I can get away with an app on a phone because just as I’m stumbling through dov’e il bagno the wifi will go down and I’ll be stuck needing to go with no way to tell anyone.
Packing light is important when it comes to itchy feet. It starts with the bag. My first pre-packing packing exercise brought my luggage in at 11kg … mainly because my bag weighed 4kg. Finding the perfect bag takes time so I started the auditioning process early.
I’ve auditioned my travelling garb too. I’m not taking anything too heavy … no leather, no denim, no sequins. And to make the cut, every item will be versatile, and potentially reversible, and disposable so I can replace all of it with lovely schmutter from ‘overseas’.
The theory is five tops, four bottoms, three pairs of shoes, two dresses and a hat. But no matter how long my sojourn, I’m taking just enough for a week. I may have to spend an afternoon in a laundromat, but there’s nothing more intrepid than stripping to your smalls in a semi-public place.
National Geographic’s Golden Rule is: “take half of the clothes you were planning to bring and twice the money.”
Twice the money!? I need to travel back in time, stop spending, start saving. There’s so much prep ahead of being a carefree jetsetter it’s a wonder anyone gets to wanderlust! This is not a holiday, it’s a job.
Maybe I’ll put on a cardi instead and weather the weather. Maybe a winter staycation is just the ticket after all.