In December we finally reached the end of the first leg of our travels, and arrived in Christchurch (on New Zealand’s South Island) where we plan to live for the next year or two. It’s been a long old journey to get here — longer than we planned in both time and distance. So all in all we were ready to hang up our backpacks for a bit.
Except that we had a family Christmas to be at, 1400 km away.
More on that below… for the moment suffice to say we’re back in Christchurch now, we’ve got nothing more ambitious than a weekend trip planned, and frankly that feels wonderful. I’ve been enjoying going to the swimming pool regularly, eating lots of home cooked food, volunteering at a community garden, catching some live music, hanging out with friends. Re-iniviting a modicum of routine into my life.
I’d become so sick of being one dimensional: travelling, talking about travel, writing about travel, reading about travel. It’s a joy for me to be adding other things back into the mix.
But already, after a few weeks of staying still, I’m feeling enthusiasm building for travel again. This makes me marvel even more at how low my travel motivation had got. Which was you know, really, really low. Put it this way, at one point in November I started crying because I had to check out of a hostel before I’d had time for a shower. I may also have cried at having no milk to put in my tea.
Reaching breaking point with travel is not something I expected to happen to me…