‘One of the gladdest moments of life is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight of routine, the cloak of many cares and the slavery of home, man feels once more happy.’ – Richard Francis Burton (British explorer, geographer & writer 1821-1890)
Mr Burton and I might not be altogether on the same page with this quote. I am certainly not currently feeling fettered by habit. Chance would be a fine thing. In the midst of apparent chaos, unpredictability, living between two continents, logistical planning, packing and unpacking, I find myself once gain faced with the choice to either get up and ‘dance’ or to sit sulkily in the corner refusing to participate in the whirl of my life. Unlike Mr Burton, in my own experience I have found that routine can actually bring welcome security and that repetition provides a soothing balm; and while cares and worries in their various shapes or forms are universal, I have never felt that home equates with slavery. For the most part, wherever it has been, home has been a haven and a refuge; a place for relaxing, regrouping and replenishing. True, there have been times when the tyranny of domestic tasks such as laundry, cooking, changing the sheets and making sure the car is roadworthy have been a necessary yet personally unfulfilling chore, when the close proximity of individuals with vastly different personalities and preferences has been stretching, but ‘slavery’ is an emotive and unnecessarily dramatic term for it.
Nevertheless, there is soon to be ‘a distant journey into unknown lands’. Oh yes. Tickets have been bought, seats are booked, maps poured over and messages have been pinging off three continents for the past several months. A new dance is unfolding and for this one we may need to learn a whole new set of steps… Our next adventure will take us to Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Sydney, Christchurch, Vancouver, Toronto and, we trust, safely back to England. The air miles look impressive, the time zones challenging, the temperature changes even more so, and yet there is a whiff of excited expectation in the air.
By Christmas my passport should bear some exotic new stamps which will remind me of the reality of stepping into new countries long after the cases are unpacked, yet again, and by when I will probably be wondering whether it wasn’t all some delicious but fading dream. Twenty years ago this month, we undertook a similar exploit when, thanks to the church in Hampshire we were leading at the time, we travelled to South Africa for three and a half months on a sabbatical. Our children were 2, 4, 7 and 9 – not ideal ages for a long haul flight of 11 hours to a country of such baffling contradictions. When we arrived, only the plan for the first week materialised; the gentleman responsible for our itinerary completely failed to deliver (I think it’s best we keep his name firmly under wraps), and the time stretched out before me like a chasm filled only with bleak anxiety, while everyone we met was apparently compelled by some unknown force to tell us the worst stories of violence and crime perpetrated amongst their families. It did nothing to relieve my flailing helplessness. Meanwhile, my husband revelled in the blank sheet before us, in the anticipation of escapades beyond my own restricted imaginings and, if I’m honest, my gloomy and grave forebodings; he embarked on devising a fantastic trip none of us have ever forgotten. The result was that we travelled further than most South Africans have done in their own country, visited places I had never heard of, enjoyed scenery of such magnificence it literally took my breath away and made a lasting impression on us all. We travelled over 3,000 miles in a borrowed vehicle, much of it around the coast line where one deserted paradise unfolded on another, through rural areas of isolated poverty where we were embarrassed by our European abundance and comfort, and into bushland where wildlife flourished and roamed putting every zoo anywhere to shame by it’s sheer scale and exuberance.
The only similarity between the two trips is that, just as I did then, I have no idea what to expect. The children have grown and flown so this one we will take à deux and cover nearly 27,000miles by air. It’s a trip which begins with two conferences and goes on to connect with old friends, (one of whom loaned us that faithful car back in South Africa in 1998), though I am quite sure that there will be new ones to meet as well. There can be little doubt that the novel sights, sounds, smells and tastes will assault our senses, challenge our preconceptions, stretch our horizons and provoke our understanding of cultures and people groups. Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” . That’s a good thing, right? I’m not sure how one prepares for all this apart from ensuring that the vitals of life are packed – toothpaste, contact lens solution, sun cream, clean undies etc. Everything else must take it’s chance. My Granny would approve, even while she would give her distinctive low whistle from between her dentures while her head spun at the vastness of the distances involved. How times have changed in the global village of the twenty-first century.
There are those who say that it’s not the destination that counts; only the journey. I can’t agree. While JRR Tolkien recognised that, “Not all who wander are lost”, the fact is that unless you have a destination in mind you probably won’t bother venturing beyond your front door. Adventures abound; I am keen that we should all go and find them, engage with them, dance when and where we can, whether it’s on your front lawn or across the other side of the world. Just choose your partner wisely.
dancingthroughchaos 