I’ve been in Cairns a whole week now and I have…basically done nothing. I’m feeling a little guilty about this.
Well, not nothing. I’ve stayed up late almost every night and I’ve gone to the shopping centre approximately eight thousand times–returning from one of which, inexplicably, with a bag full of tight jeans and push-up bras, like, who am I–and I’ve walked along the esplanade and got my feet all muddy when venturing out to look at pelicans and fiddler crabs, and I’ve had some very nice gelato and I’ve read some good books and I’ve made sure to faithfully apply my sunscreen and I’ve contributed to an excellent barbecue and I’ve fielded some backhanded compliments (“You’re really, really pretty. For a thirty-two year old.”) and I’ve spent a lot of time doing what my new Italian buddies refer to as “stare chiachiarrando.” And those are all…uh, things, right, that you can do on your Australian vacation? And I have been doing them, even if I haven’t been going on tours to islands or scenic railways or anything like that.
Tomorrow starts a last burst of the busy backpacker lifestyle, when all of a sudden I will be poring over PADI manuals and going to see live music and getting up at four hundred in the morning to go to rainforests and to take advantage of souvenir-buying opportunities. I’m going, slightly suddenly, from a very laid-back week to one that is a little more familiar to me in terms of how I generally travel: lots of running around, lots of getting up early, lots of things checked off the list. This week, though, I’ve been feeling a little as though I’ve been cheating somehow, like I’ve been getting away with not doing much but that I have to keep it on the down-low because I am not taking advantage of my travel opportunities and when am I ever going to be in Australia again, you know?
Oh, and. And then it will be time to go back to Wellington, and then it will be time to figure out what will happen for the next year. I got an email yesterday from the job I’d been flirting with, which basically told me that it likes me, but as, like, a friend and that it really cares about me and could possibly see its way to getting me some contract hours but it just doesn’t feel that way about me. And that’s all fine and good, but you know, I can’t just make out casually with this job when it’s a little drunk. I need china patterns, you know?
I haven’t been really thinking about that sort of thing for the last month–I’ve been busy! I’ve been on vacation!–but this week I’ve had a lot of time (see above: doing nothing) to freak out about it a little, to worry about what a month in the flat jobless and with A. gone will be like–will I just turn absolutely feral, rumbling around eating gingernuts in my underwear while updating my Facebook page? I’ve had time to worry about money. I’ve had time to wonder what it would be like to be back in Seattle in October, to see everyone’s pregnant bellies, to get through a fourth winter, to try to fit back in a place that may not have room for me, to have a whole new city of people to miss.
Oh, I can’t wait to be out on the boat on the reef, underwater with the octopuses, out of my head.
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7 responses to “Vacation Guilt”
Stop me if I’ve told you this before. I don’t think I have but maybe, a long time ago, really anything is possible.
A little over a decade ago I was traveling around the UK with an ex. I had just finished a delightfully intense year of grad school, he was in the middle of a pretty hard core second attempt to get through undergrad and we’d gone straight from school onto this trip. About a week or so into it we found ourselves in Cork, Ireland. Cork is like….I don’t know, Cork is the Middle America of Ireland. It’s Irish and all but it’s the very mainstream of Ireland with all the chain stores and movie theatres and Boots pharmacies and things you can get pretty much anywhere else. There probably was cool Irish culture but we were tired and all our undies were dirty and our brains were fried and the urge to list the faults of the other one that had led to our break up at high volume was nearly inescapable. So we took a vacation from our vacation in Cork. We found a sort of dorm suite we could stay in with a kitchen and everything. We went to the grocery store and bought things to cook for dinner. We watched bad TV and went to a matinee of Judge Dredd and occasionally went to sit in a pub and drink beer and write all the postcards we’d promised ourselves we’d send home.
Sometimes on a longish vacation you need to take a vacation from your vacation so that you can properly enjoy your vacation and not hate yourself and your companions and the whole experience.
Big ups to you for being a little less busy. Want to know a secret? I sat and watched a movie last night. Just sat. Apart from getting up to refill my G&T. I mean, I wasn’t fidgeting or embroidering or sewing or hennaing or doing my nails. This was a big deal. I haven’t *stopped* for, like, WEEKS.
But enough about me, I’m still praying for your to be able to stay here another year. Although the tight jeans may have to be surrendered at customs as part of the compromise (unless they’re the flared hipster sort, which I very much doubt you can actually *buy* anymore).
I agree with Kizz that it’s nice to have times in a vacation to just live the local life – go to the strip mall, do laundry, hang out at the coffee shop. I remember lots of family vacations that could only be remembered as blurs seen behind a camera lens. It’s way more fun to enjoy the Roman forum while sitting on a broken column in the rain than it is to whisk past it and take lots of pictures so that you can think about it when you’re at home. (Not that I think you travel in the rushed way – I guess I’m talking more to myself than to you.) :) Have fun!
I don’t think you need to feel guilty, you’re just taking a bit of time before everything revs up again… True, the buying of tight jeans and push up bras might be *slightly* out of character – but what the hell right !?! You’re on holiday!!!
Fingers are being kept tightly crossed for some serious octopus action on the reef, and for you to find a job that really wants to commit to you (the whole buying china together and discussing which duvet cover to buy) back in windy Welly…
Hey! Our hotel in Berlin is sandwiched between the Australian Embassy and The Australia Store.” Makes me think of you and hope you’re having a good time.
Oh, to add–yesterday as I was strolling through the glamorous Berlin shopping district, I bought…socks. And planner pages. Boy do I know how to whoop it up.
However, today I bought the Most Perfect thing Ever, a purple, hip-length, single-breasted, microfiber trenchoat that was exactly what I had been looking for in exactly the right size, in exactly the right price range (39 euros!) Clearly it was Meant To Be. But maybe still a little boring.
Oh, and I’ve already finished 2 of the 4 paperbacks I brought with. Should have brought more–I could probably have polished off the “partially read” stack on my nightstand.
Woooooo! Woooooo! Paaaaarrrrrtttttyyyyyy!!!!!