Philosophy...

Monday 16 February

A slight change from the usual. No photos this time. No descriptions of where I’ve been. We’re moving briefly from geography to philosophy, if you will.

Many of you have emailed me or sent me messages on Facebook to the general tune of “you must be really enjoying yourself”, and to a certain extent, yes, I am. But when you say “enjoying yourself” I imagine you’re thinking of me being in glamorous locations, eating exotic food and generally being footloose and fancy free.

And, hey, I have. I’ve stayed in Montmarte, where Picasso and Van Gogh used to hang out, been to shows in London’s West End, and now I’m in Amsterdam where it’s absolutely legal to go to a café, buy marijuana and smoke it in public. But it’s not all like that.

Right now I’m two months into a four month journey. I’m tired, crabby, I’m not eating properly because more often than not I don’t how to ask for what I want or even where to buy food, I can’t speak any of the languages of the countries I’m visiting, and then feel ridiculously inadequate because everyone else can not only speak their own language but also mine and someone else’s too.

My body hurts from carting round a giant backpack, I’m sleeping in the same room as up to 11 other people, most of whom snore and are incredibly messy and make other horrible noises like brushing their teeth.

I’m sleeping in weird beds, I wear the same two sets of clothes all the time, I have no idea of what’s happening in the world news-wise, I’m continually getting lost. I constantly have to think about where my next meal is coming from, wondering if I have enough clean knickers to last me til I can find a laundry, and inhaling a constant steam of second-hand smoke from Europeans who apparently believe that chain-smoking is a good thing.

I've discovered that other countries and cities aren't nearly as magical or as mythical as I had thought. The people eat, talk, smoke, drink, laugh, work, play just as we do in New Zealand.

On occasion I find myself craving New Zealand, or just anything in the English language. I find myself in bookstores, looking at the pitiful single shelf of English language books, just so I can say to myself that there is some printed matter that I do understand. I’ve even considered buying “Cosmopolitan” magazine, just because it was in English.

But…I am still “enjoying myself”. I’m learning. Every day I learn something new. Not necessarily about places and the history etc of where I’m going, though, there’s a fair bit of that.

No, what I’m learning about is people. I’m learning about the way other people interact with each other. The way they treat strangers – with kindness and tolerance, or otherwise.

I’m learning about different modes of transport – bikes, trams, trains, underground trains. I’m learning about houses and what kind of dwellings different peoples deem necessary for protection from the elements. I’m learning about those elements – rain, humidity, snow, constant greyness. I’m learning about languages – similarities between languages, differences between languages.

I’m learning about the different music people listen to, and how it changes from region to region, often changing because of things like how they interact with each other, with strangers, their transport, houses, weather.

I know that I’m only skimming the surface of these countries. A few days in a city is no way to meet the people and fully understand what it is that makes them tick. How different or how similar they are to me. To you. But, it’s enough to get me thinking.

And that’s why I travel.