Winging it around the world

Bipolar disorder is a condition in which people go back and forth between periods of a very good or irritable mood and depression. The “mood swings” between mania and depression can be very quick.

- A.D.A.M Medical Encyclopedia

You could very well be forgiven for assuming I suffer from the abovementioned disorder after reading this blog post, mainly because it contrasts so starkly with the one that precedes it. But that’s what London’s all about, isn’t it? Ups and downs. (A point I also made in my last post.) But at the moment, I’m really feeling like I want to step off this rollercoaster. It’s not so fun anymore.

I started this post a week or so ago, writing a rather light-hearted account of my amazing one-month trip that I just returned  from, through Eastern Europe (which I fell in love with) and across to the sunny climes of Portugal and Spain (finishing my trip on the glorious 35-degree high of Seville). Prague, Cesky Krumlov, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Sofia, Istanbul, Gallipoli, Çanakkale, Ayvalik, Selcuk, Barcelona, San Sebastian, Madrid, Porto, Lisbon, Lagos and Seville. Four weeks, seven countries, 18 cities and towns, countless buses, trains, ferries, a couple of planes, some trams, a couple of random car trips and what felt like a continuous flow of beer, food and good times.

I started to write about my intense month spent on the road, and how the operation didn’t come without its losses. I lost a pair of jeans (in Prague), a singlet (in Budapest), 25,000 florints ($100AUD – stolen in a nightclub in Budapest), a pair of shoes (Belgrade), a Venus razor (Budapest), a fake leather jacket (on a train in Bulgaria), £30 phone credit (at the Turkish border), a bankcard (eaten by an ATM in Istanbul), a cardigan (left in a bar in San Sebastian) an umbrella (I think it was San Sebastian) and countless brain cells (scattered throughout Europe).

I am probably one of the only travellers who managed to come back to London after a month with a lighter backpack than when I left. But despite these losses and excesses, I still returned from this trip a richer person. What I gained from this trip was worth more than any material items I lost – awesome new friends and fond memories, and a much deeper knowledge, respect and understanding of the amazing world I live in.

As much as this litany of disasters and losses was the source of much exasperation, it was also mild enough that my cousin Kate and I, and whoever else came into contact with me during my dramas, could smile and laugh as if they were comedic moments from a TV show (like Idiot Abroad), usually followed with a sympathetic sigh of “Oh Beth.” These trials and tribulations were annoying, but they were manageable.

But some losses are not so funny. Like the one I suffered just a weekend ago.

I know the junkie who crawled through the window of my North London bedroom, crept down my stairs while my housemate was sleeping, entered my kitchen and in one swift action snatched away the one thing I couldn’t afford to lose – my prized Macbook Pro – didn’t give a damn about the fact that he was also stealing my memories, words, the one portal I had to connect with my friends and family in Australia, my jobseeking lifeline, my source of musical pleasure and my friend in winter. I know the money he got from selling it on the street probably went straight into his arm – three years of memories, work, music, photographs – my whole life basically, gone in the blink of an eye. All for a fix. I know he probably doesn’t care that I worked really hard for that Mac and paid a lot of money for it, and had taken real good care of it too. No, I suppose that doesn’t matter to him at all. I wonder at what point do human beings become such empty shells, void of compassion.

A Macbook is just a material thing, but it’s times like this I realize how reliant we become on these machines and the opportunities they provide. I realize that we are a dangerously digital generation – with one wipe of a virus, or swipe of a thief – we can lose so, so much.  Can you remember the last time you got a photo professionally printed? Or the last time you bought the hard copy of a CD or even a film? Imagine if some kind of global virus ripped through every computer on earth – what devastation it would cause.

I feel like I am grieving right now. On top of this, I am bitter. When I walk down my local main street, I eye each slightly-dodgy-looking character with distrust and disdain. ‘Did you steal my laptop?’ my mind, irrationally and silently, demands, accusatory and bitter.  I  don’t trust anyone. I don’t feel safe in my own house. I don’t even want to open my window, even when I’m actually in my room. I hate being like this – I like to think the most of people. I guess that’s what got me into this trouble in the first place.

Right now, I’m facing another ruthless London winter, with no solid job prospects and dwindling savings (and of course, no laptop) – a scary scenario, considering I am living in one of the world’s most expensive cities, which also happens to be in the clutches of a recession. Then my mind wanders to Australia, where my family and friends, who I miss terribly, are preparing for summer – which will bring with it a myriad of milestones, weddings, festivals and parties. So … what am I waiting for?

It’s funny how things change-  for so long now I haven’t felt ready to go home. Not at all – I even thought April next year, which is when my visa expires, would be too soon. I think what I love so much about being here is the feeling of being connected – of being part of the exciting, dynamic conglomerate that is Europe. Of being out on my own. It’s exciting and it keeps me on my toes. But it’s funny how just hearing my brother’s or my mother’s voice on the phone can instil such an urge to jump on the next plane home. And suddenly,the more I think about it, the more the idea of returning to Australia becomes more and more attractive and exciting. To be in Melbourne again, feel the sunshine, reconnect with my old friends, enjoy endless laughs with my amazing family, to go to an AFL match (and see Collingwood win!), to pitch a tent on Meredith soil, to feel the soft beach sand between my toes, to breathe the fresh country air on my parents’ property, to see how big my cousins’ children have become … oh, and to tap into the gold mine that is the Australian economy. And the prospect of returning to journalism – my love!

I haven’t given up on London yet – I’m going to see how the next couple of months pan out, and when the time is right, I’ll make my decision. But it looks like a Return to Oz could be happening sooner than you think.