Life on the road is funny. Not funny “haha” etc, though invariably there many of those moments. I mean “funny” in that you can’t quite pin down that peculiar feeling you feel. And this being my own case of course, I think that peculiar feeling is that there is none. There was no monumental shift in anything. I waited for “it” to hit me. For that hanging moment when the sudden realisation that I was heading out to Australia, or that I was IN bloody Down Under, or that I was officially living in a van, or that I hadn’t and wouldn’t be having a shower for a few many days, etc etc…

I wasn’t lacking in opportunities for the fact that I’d be traveling 8 months in South-East Asia to actually stop me in my tracks but it never did. I could suggest different hypotheses ranging from my multicultural background (sounds so elitist though doesn’t it?) and upbringing, from my bi-yearly family vacations abroad to exotic-enough places or from my parents innate passion for travel. Or was it from my constant moving around during – still young – adult years? Truth is I’m still not too sure. I couldn’t help but expect the start of my first travel adventure to be a “moment”, although there were some near-epiphanies . I suppose the obvious answer is about “comfort zone” really. I like to think I have a broad ranging one and in this case, as opposed to being thrust into unfamiliar territory (yes, Australia is unknown territory for an expat Ozzie…) all on my lonesome, I was welcomed with open arms by familiar faces at the airport including my brother and best mate, along with his brother.

Thus, as I was always surrounded by a circle of familiarity, the transition was smooth (more so that we were still in an Occidental country). So be it at home with my family in Dubai, flying solo (ugh, so cheesy) in Paris or living with housemates in the U.K. Or Granada; or living in van with four brothers of mine, home is definitely where the heart is.


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