Postcards from the Moon

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest.  A time to kill and a time to heal.  A time to tear down and a time to build up.  A time to cry and a time to laugh.  A time to grieve and a time to dance.  A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them.  A time to embrace and a time to turn away.  A time to search and a time to stop searching.  A time to keep and a time to throw away.   A time to tear and a time to mend.  A time to be quiet and a time to speak.  A time to love and a time to hate.  A time for war and a time for peace.”  Ecclesiastes 3 vs. 1-8

There is a time to see the world, and a time to be content with the little pocket of it that is yours.  This was our time, our season, and during it we have had the experience of so many of these things that Solomon associates with life.  Building; grieving; healing; crying; laughing; embracing; rejecting; loving; warring; searching, particularly searching.  I hope this won’t be our only chance to see the world, for there is so much more of it our hearts long to discover, but, for now, it is time to rest, to start afresh, to build a home.  Though this journey is over, the journey of life continues and it is just as much of an adventure.

In years gone by I fantasised about marrying my dream man (for whom I had a well considered list of specifications), and would wonder where he and I would go on our honeymoon.  Venice?  Hawaii?  Thailand?  Never in my wildest teenage dreams would I have imagined a honeymoon that would take us on ten flights, five train rides, sixty-four bus journeys, five ferries, two camper vans, two river boats, a scooter and a couple of hitchhikes to thirteen countries spanning three continents; literally, around the world.  Of course neither would I have expected that my dream man out would sport a beard and ponytail, but I suppose life tends to turn out a little differently to how the teenage version of our self imagines it will.

Today we say goodbye to South America and to this chapter in our lives, both of which I am sorry to part with, though equally glad in many ways.  This land of many faces has been by far the most challenging part of our trip but also the setting for some of our most valuable and unforgettable experiences.  It is home to the most incredible blend of vibrant cultures, passionate people and a communitarian spirit that we are so lacking in Britain.  We are ready for our return to familiarity, but I suspect unfinished business with this colourful continent, and hope to have the opportunity to return someday to uncover more of its many mysteries.

The journey has been harder than I ever supposed it would be.  Though, before we left, it terrified me, in my head I imagined travelling the world as an endless string of incredible experiences; one after another; never once giving a thought to dingy hostels, diarrhoea and death defying journeys in vehicles that, on occasion, will break down, forcing you to sit on your rucksack on the side of a dusty road, because you just don’t have the ability to crouch on your haunches like the Asians do.  I never imagined the hardships that come with a trip like this; the days when your need for home rocks you to your core and you want nothing more than to change your flights and leave the unfamiliarity behind you.    Yet despite all the struggles, and there have been many, it has also been more wonderful that I could have ever dreamed it would be. 

Before undertaking something like this, you can never anticipate how much it will change you, but I believe that it is impossible to see so much of the world; and the people who inhabit it; and not be changed.   We have come face to face with the reality and inequality that exists in humanity; poverty and privilege are silent neighbours, and the world goes on because it has to.  My heart has been broken more times than I can count, and now, returning home, I know that life will never; can never; be the same again.

 There is no doubt that we have changed physically.  We have the slightly bony appearance of people who maybe haven’t been eating enough; the effect, I suppose, of spending the better part of a year either in the third world or bumming about in a camper van; broke, vegetarian nomads.   Phil’s hair is the length mine was when we left and, with his beard, looks undeniably like Jesus.  I, who couldn’t face the day without the help of my mascara, now can’t imagine a life in which I have to apply it every day.  Wearing the same clothes day in, day out; no one would ever suspect my affiliation to fashion.  But the real change is that of the heart, and this, I hope, will become more apparent in time.

When we try to think back to the people we once were; most often found stumbling, together, around the Dundee Students Union clutching pints of something blue and toxic; it is difficult for us to equate those hazy memories to where we find ourselves now.  Though it wasn’t very long ago, we struggle to remember it in the way one would a bad movie.  It feels like a past life or maybe even someone else’s life entirely.  We are the epitome of the prodigal son, and I can’t help but give thanks to my Creator for his love and grace; always faithful even when I wasn’t.

We feel so incredibly blessed to have had this year; this first year of our marriage; and know that the rest of our life together will be different because of it.  In all that we have seen and experienced, I have come to discover more about myself in this one year than in all the twenty-five preceding it.  I have realised how small I am; how anonymous I could choose to be; an insignificant grain of sand on an infinite beach.  I have also realised by capabilities and capacity to be somebody of significance.  Not through fame or fortune; for I certainly don’t expect nor particularly desire either; but just through being who I was intended to be – a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother (I hope, one day), an artist, a disciple, a friend.  I was created for a purpose and I no longer fear it.

Through this blog I have shared with you this journey, but also my soul.  I come home with no secrets, to a fresh start in every sense.  You know who I am; I know who I am.  But who are you?   Whether you have read one post or all, I hope that you have found something in my words to inspire you in your own adventure; whether it be to travel or just to embrace the adventure that is life; this journey we are all on from the time we are born to the day we leave this beautiful, incredible earth. 

Three hundred and sixty-four days ago we began our adventure, and what an amazing adventure it has been.  Now it is time for us to come home.

We can’t wait to see you.

Ruby slippers

Our journey takes us to the mythical island of Chiloé, and we find ourselves feeling let down when it doesn’t quite live up to our expectations.  This island has been on our itinerary since before we made the decision to go north instead of south, and so we have had almost four months to build it up in our minds only to find it not to be quite what we had imagined.  But it is, undoubtedly, beautiful.  We spend one afternoon on a beach from which, across the sea, we could see a seemingly endless stretch of snow-covered Patagonian mountains.  We visit ancient churches constructed entirely from wood, and sample delicious Chiloté seafood.  We visit the wild coast and stare at the Pacific Ocean, remembering back to our time in New Zealand when we stood on its coast and looked the other way.  We admire the quirky, colourful stilt houses for which Chiloé is famous, but something doesn’t feel right.  Maybe our hearts just aren’t in it anymore.

Cutting our time in Chiloé short, we spent a couple of lovely sunny days in Valdivia, and, finally, some not so sunny days in Pucón, where we rebel against its reputation as the adventure sports capital of South America with a relaxing couple of days spent horse riding and indulging in a spa day (for who knows when we’ll next have the money to do that!).

Though this last part of our trip has been filled with incredible things, it is hard not to feel like our hearts have not already flown home ahead of us.  We want to embrace and enjoy our final days, but I can’t deny that we’re wishing the time away. 

The journey home is by no means going to be easy.  Tonight it begins with the first of three overnight buses, the last of which ends in Lima.  We have a couple of days to rest and then we’re on the road again, only this time it’s not the road – we will be departing on the first of our three flights from Lima to Madrid, followed by Madrid to London and, finally, London to Glasgow.  If only we were in possession of Dorothy’s ruby slippers and could murmur “there’s no place like home” whilst clicking our heels together three times.  Though I wonder if such magical shoes were available to me, would I have already used them?

There have been so many days during this year that I have wanted to come home, and have told Phil, wholeheartedly, that I wanted to change our flights and make that final journey back to what I know; what is safe.  But now, at the almost-end of our trip I am so incredibly thankful that my level headed husband managed to talk sense into me, and I have not one regret in our decision to extend our nine month trip to a full year.  We are broke, exhausted and 100% in need of our home comforts, but it has been worth it.  For every sight we have seen, every person we have met, every difficulty we have faced has made the journey so wonderfully unforgettable and, ultimately, life changing.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Over the Andes and into Chile, we are assuming that the landscape will be just like that of the Argentine lakes district, given their close proximity to one another.  What we fail to anticipate is the effect that a vast mountain range will have on a landscape, and so are startled to find that our assumption couldn’t have been more misguided.  Argentina was mountainous, the lakes sparklingly turquoise and the primary vegetation Christmas trees; more than anywhere else we have been it reminded us of our beloved New Zealand.  The south of Chile, in stark contrast, is lush and green; its rolling hills scattered with Friesian cows and apple blossoms.  It reminds me of Gloucestershire, and the only thing to betray its true identity are the three mighty, indescribably massive, snow-capped volcanoes that are visible (on a good day) from just about everywhere.

We have some time off from the long distance bus journeys for a few weeks, and are instead able to potter between the delightfully retro towns of the Chilean lakes district.  The down side is that the Andes make quite a considerable difference to the climate here too, and so we find ourselves stuck indoors passing by a few rainy days reading, watching movies and generally relaxing.  It’s not a bad life, though it’s not what we came halfway across the world to do.  But at this stage in our trip we are starting to drag our feet a little and so the break is a welcome one. 

In Puerto Varas we stayed in a great hostel with lovely staff with whom we spent a few evenings sharing travel stories over a bottle (or few!) of Chilean red.  And so when we returned after a few days of trekking in the beautiful isolation of the Rio Cochamo Valley, they greeted us like old friends, with a welcome so warm that I felt quite overwhelmed.  Not since our time with friends in New Zealand have we been made to feel so appreciated and wanted, and to have a little taste of it from people we have known only a few days’ only increases my excitement for the welcome I know will be waiting for us in just a few weeks.

We have been making lists, one thing a day for a month, of the things we are most looking forward to about home, but in truth I’m not sure that thirty one days will come even close to covering all the treasures I have been storing up in my heart; longing for; over this past year.  I have even, on days, missed the rain, and I hate the rain!

In our room there is a globe, and looking at it reminds me how incredibly far we are from home.  But I know that this year away from it has made me appreciate more than I imagine I ever would have if we had never left.  As incredible at the world is, home is home, not because of amazing beauty or perfect weather or mouth-watering cuisine, but because of the people who make it so.  How often life gets in the way of us spending as much time as we should with the people who matter the most, but I have come to realise that there are few things that are more important.  Bar bathroom breaks and a bungy jump, I have spent every minute of every day of three hundred and forty-six days with one of those people, and I am ready for some serious overtime with the rest.  We will be broke and starting “life” again from scratch.  It’s daunting and a little bit terrifying, but I no longer care because I will be surrounded by the great loves of my life, and that is more than enough.

In two and a half weeks we are coming home.

We are ready.

Peace and love

We arrive in the Lakes District of Argentina heavy hearted, having just heard the news that the same Chilean volcano to disrupt our flight from Christchurch to Auckland in June has erupted again, depositing a fresh dump of ash all over our next destination.  For me it was a tearful bus journey passing by scenery we could barely see, so thick was the air with a fine grey mist that has essentially devastated the surrounding landscape.  Arriving in Bariloche, one could just make out the shadow of the mountains that sit across from it on the shores of Lake Nahuel, and it was so disappointing to have come so far only to be cheated of the views that this region is so famous for.  We deliberated whether or not we should stay, which in the end we did, and fortunately it turned out to be a good decision, for over the next few days, strong winds lifted the ashy smog elsewhere.  It made for an exceptionally chilly cycle around the nearby lakes (of which there are many), but the air was clear and the views of the lakes and the jagged snow-capped mountains that surround them were spectacular.  It reminded us a lot of New Zealand, though the smell of the pine trees was 100% Scotland and, as with any reminder of home, deliciously comforting.  We ended up having a great, relatively ash-free, few days, after which we headed a couple of hours south to El Bolson. 

El Bolson is set in an idyllic valley snuggled between two mountain ranges and is renowned for its reputation as the hippy town of Argentina which is, of course, what attracted us to it, and where we discovered “La Casona de Odile” - hands down the best hostel we have stayed at during our entire year away.  Breakfasts of homemade bread and jam; nightly log fires; beautiful gardens; good company and the most gorgeous setting 5km from the town, with stunning views of the mountains.  Not to mention the home brewed beer, which, I’ll admit, I am getting quite the taste for, and so feeling considerably more supportive of Phil’s plan to brew his own on our return.  We spent six days here, and they were some of the most relaxing we’ve had in a long while.

From El Bolson we took a beautiful but heart-wrenching journey to Chile, through the area most affected by the volcanic ash.  Entire lakes were covered in a grey film, the rivers flow with it, and streets are lined with mounds (some higher than our double-decker bus) that I imagine will take years to clear.  The air is full of it and toxic as a result, and when you see how the lives of the people have been devastated as they have, suddenly a cancelled flight or foggy day seems entirely insignificant.  It was the first day time bus we have taken in a few months and, ash-aside, the scenery was truly breathtaking and, face pressed to the glass, I find myself choked with emotion at the realization that this experience is so very nearly over.  Though I am more than ready for the reunion with family and friends, I am aware that this may be the only thing I am anticipating with excitement.  We have become so used to this nomadic lifestyle and the daily discovery of the incredible wonders of this world.  We have become accustomed to having our breath stolen, on a regular basis, by such startling beauty that one can barely begin to imagine, and of which photographs cannot hope to do justice.  Though I have daydreamed about the feelings that I don’t doubt will overwhelm me the night we touchdown in Glasgow airport, I realise that these things of discovery that have become our life, will soon replace my family as the subject of my daydreams.  There is so much of the world still to see and beauty to behold; I realise that my opportunity to do so is almost over, and only God in heaven knows when another will arise, if ever again.  For though it is true; to quote “The Wizard of Oz”; that “there is no place like home”, the world is truly remarkable and I’m not sure that I am ready to let it go.  Having been so certain that we would be immune to the culture shock and struggle to settle back into “real life”, I suddenly find myself wondering if it is possible to ever fully readjust to the life we, temporarily, left behind, or will I be in a constant daydream, always anticipating the next journey?  Will we ever again feel ready for the certainty and predictability that accompany the nine-to-five life?  Will we be able to adjust to seeing the same things - day in, day out - and never have them leave an impression on us?  Will it ever be enough?