It’s the curse of the traveller
Ain’t gonna let you be
The curse of the traveller
And it sure got a hold of me
– Chris Rea
And so, or six-year odyssey came to and end. We had left home in September 1988, a pair of naive, unworldly kids from the high country of New Zealand’s South Island. Now, after travelling through more than thirty countries on three continents, we were back home to a world that had barely changed.
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus once wrote: “no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” This truth resonated deeply with us as we navigated the seemingly unchanged landscape of life back in New Zealand. We were no longer the same individuals who had left all those years ago. Our perspectives had broadened, our hearts had expanded, and our minds had been opened to the vastness of the world.
Returning home felt like stepping into a time capsule. The faces of friends and family were the same, their lives seemingly untouched by the passage of time. We picked up conversations where they had left off, as if we had merely been away for a weekend. Yet, beneath the surface, we carried the weight of our journey, the stories and lessons that had become a part of us.
We had crossed the plains of East Africa, floated down the Congo River and crossed the Sahara Desert. We had lived a life of English citizens, putting down roots in London and the West Country. We had seen some of the cultural icons of Europe, lain on jewelled Greek beaches and changed money in dark alleyways with gimlet-eyed rogues. We had wandered far and wide in Iran, China, Pakistan and India, followed the island chains of Indonesia from Sumatra to Timor and ridden horses on Outback cattle stations. We had been changed forever by our adventures and our experiences.
Returning home in 1994 would not be the end of our travels. But the days when all we had were our backpacks, our passports and our mutual sense of wonder were behind us. Fresh adventures lay in the future with kids, jobs, a mortgage and the settled life now taking priority over spur-of-the-moment adventures that were their own and only reward. Our letters, diaries, maps and photographs were tucked away in drawers; our souvenirs were displayed on walls and shelves to be looked at occasionally and to remind us of the great journeys we had undertaken.
Life moved inexorable forward until, in another century, we once again succumbed to the curse of the traveller…and our adventures began again.
CurseOfTheTraveller 