I’m currently sitting in the loudest massage chair at the airport. I’ve never sat in one of these chairs before, but as I was using the power socket behind it, and I had a spare $2 coin to rid myself of, I thought why the hell not.
I’m not sure if all the recent unspeakable tragedies involving aircrafts has had any affect, but the airport is almost completely silent tonight in Sydney. I was the only person in the lineup to check into my flight, and I was the only person in this entire section of the airport, until a lady just sat down next to me to use the other socket.
Packing up my belongings and getting ready to leave felt incredibly normal. I joked with my mum that it’s been stranger to actually be here for so long than to leave again. I think my friends feel the same.
There’s some kind of heightened sense of emotion about going to, or being at an airport. Many things have happened in these last couple of months, and even more recently, that the part of my mind that thinks everything that happens in the world is trying to teach me something, has been running rampant. I’ve been celebrating the start of life, and seeing those grieve the end. I’ve seen old friends and made some new, I’ve reconnected and let go of a few. I’ve learned to appreciate each day, let go of things out of my control, and appreciate the company of those around me.
I’ve packed everything I could possibly need in two backpacks. I might be working in a homestead, hostel or office. I might be hiking, camping swimming, cycling, sleeping or hermiting. Either way I’ve got it covered. Well, except for my tent. After months of toing and froing on how to fix the annoying non-closing zipper issue, I waited to receive new sliders from Mr Henry Shires but they never arrived. Mum had the sewing kit ready to go up until this morning, having fixed the hip pockets on my pack and Little Muk’s keyring. But when the mail arrived without them, we realised shit, this ain’t going to happen. I now have my horrendous yellow bivvy sack that I took through Yosemite with me and a tarp. All I can say is, if there’s mosquitos about, they’d better watch out for one unhappy camper!
And so I bid farewell to this land I still call home and head off again to the EU. My 94 year old grandpa asked me if I had any plans of settling down. I laughed, patted him on the shoulder and told him he’d be the first to know.
I only have three flights, an overnight bus ride and a four hour walk to get to my destination. It will take me just under two days, although I’m hoping to source a bus to cut down the distance of the final stretch on foot. I guess I better start practising my Spanish! (Thanks Fuller, I still have the phrase book you gave me!) Hasta luego!