For the past few days, I've had the same three songs on a constant loop in the private listening booth of my head: Bob Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers, and "Sloop John B" by The Beach Boys, specifically the part in the chorus that goes "let me go home." No prizes, then, for guessing what's happening tomorrow.
When we conceived of this three-month trip around Southeast Asia, Sean and I were, if not profoundly miserable, then certainly both fairly dissatisfied with life. It was about two years ago, and at first it seemed like some far-off, improbable thing, something to think about in those last sweet minutes before falling asleep at night, something to occupy us on dull Sunday evenings when the grimness of the impending Monday morning could be put off for a little longer by the borrowed stacks of library-owned Lonely Planets, their covers bright and promising, their pages full of information we lapped up and wrote down, cataloguing the names of guesthouses in Siem Reap that we wouldn't visit for eight or ten more months.
And then suddenly the day was here and it was happening. We'd boxed up our life in Charleston, left our cats in good care, bidden goodbye to friends we'd promised to keep in touch with, and driven across the country to leave all our worldly possessions in a storage facility in a dubious neighborhood outside San Francisco, quick, say a prayer now to make sure they're all still there. We got visas. We got backpacks. We got international adapters (indispensable) and international sink plugs (useless) and we rolled all this traveling paraphernalia, all these trappings of nomadism, into old plastic shopping bags and carried them around Southeast Asia for three months.
Our lives, in fact, became all about bags: the Ziplocs we'd packed in different sizes for different uses, the heavy black garbage bags for keeping rain out and off, the camera bag that had to be on Sean's person at all times to avoid him going into cardiac arrest and around which he slept curled and suspicious on trains and buses, the small red plastic bag into which both our passports fit perfectly snugly, and of course, the behemoth hold-alls we hauled onto our backs every few days, crossing cities and borders with them, entering new countries, new worlds.
The night before we left Singapore in July, I didn't want to go. I cried about it in fact, sobbing with the piteousness I felt for myself, that I would have to leave my family, that I would have to disrupt this routine of doing nothing, that I would have to stay in horrible places, and worry about losing my passport, and take bus journeys whose durations veered into double digits, and finally, finally, what I realized I was crying about, why I realized I was wailing "I don't want to go! I've changed my mind!" was that I knew already, the night before we'd even set off, that it was going to end. That the three months were going to whirl by in a vivid patchwork of elephant-riding and sarong-wearing and coconut-eating, and that then it was going to be over, this carefully planned, meticulously prepared for, impossibly important journey. And what was I going to do then?
And here I am, the night before we fly back to Singapore, and I'm right, it's finished, it's over, and I'm not getting any of it back. Sure, I've got my photos, and I've got my travel journal, and I've got the entries I've written---frantically and desperately---on this site, chock-full of misspellings and grammatical errors, probably, and not half as funny and informative and real as they could have been had I not been battling the clock or an unfriendly Internet cafe owner or a person reading over my shoulder to encourage me to surrender my computer to him. But the trip itself is just about over, is over right now, in fact, and yes, althought it strictly shouldn't be over until the wheels of the plane lift up off that tarmac tomorrow morning at 8:25am, you know how it is, you've been there before: when you're saying goodbye to someone or something, it's always already over the day before you actually say goodbye. It just happens that way, I find.
We've been spending the last two days in Phuket gradually and involuntarily shrugging off the label of "traveler" and replacing it simply with the one of "tourist." We've been staying in a Real Hotel, one with air conditioning, and crisp white sheets that are changed every day, and a full buffet breakfast, and an instruction sheet on the back of the door that says "In Case Of Tsunami," and three swimming pools, and a minibar, and fresh towels, and a concierge who will arrange a taxi to the airport for us when we ask for it. We've been ordering room service, watching the movie channel in the chill of the AC, charging lunch by the pool to the room. We've been sloughing off the memory of shared bathrooms, of sluggish fans, of traffic right outside the window, of climbing five flights of stairs, of surly reception staff, of all those things that come with the territory when one elects to stay, for a solid three months, in establishments whose nightly rates are equal to the amount one used to pay during a mid-morning visit to Starbucks (providing there were two of you and one of you ordered something frothy and shameful in a Venti.)
Truthfully, I wanted to go home a week ago. We both did. We were ready for it. Burma, I think, just about did us in, and the prospect of spending another week traveling---even traveling on blonde beaches with turquoise ribbons of water, even that kind of traveling---left us both weary and exhausted. We wanted not to have to bargain for every transaction we made. We wanted to be able to wander into the kitchen and stick a glass under the tap and drink a glass of water without wondering a) how much we owed for it, b) if we would could have got it cheaper elsewhere, and c) whether it was going to give us dysentry later. We wanted not to be timed on the Internet, not to have to cram all our online business into an hour. We wanted not to have to wear the same damn blue t-shirt for the third day running, not to have to eat another banana pancake, not to have to answer that plaintive greeting "where are you from?" ("well, England and Connecticut and Singapore and San Francisco and Charleston and ... screw it, Zimbabwe, we're from Zimbabwe"), not to have to constantly be aware of the whereabouts of our electronic equipment, not to have to miss people, not to have to worry. We wanted to go home. We just wanted to go home.
And now we're going. We're packing those backpacks for the last time, hefting them up onto our shoulders, groaning about the weight, and sallying forth through the Phuket airport, through the skies and the miles separating Thailand from Singapore, through the beige tube that joins the airplane to the terminal, through customs and immigration and the baggage carousel, through the glass doors of the arrivals lounge behind which will wait two, maybe three, members of my family, and we're going home. We're doing it. We're going home.
Oct 26, 2006
Oh Holly, I'm so sad for you that it's all over, I would imagine that going back to normal life where one might not wander across an elephant in the course of the day will be very strange for a while. But then, there's the dysentery thing, and the sharing bathroom thing and the clothes in plastic bags thing so yes, time to go home. I've loved reading about your journey, loved seeing the pictures. I just can't believe it's been three months already!
Oct 26, 2006
You have memories to last a lifetime! But it's good to want to go home. Enjoy your family time before you set off on the next adventure...SF!
Oct 26, 2006
Beautiful words to end a beautiful journey!
What's next after three months abroad?
Oct 26, 2006
That sign is perfect, as is this beautiful post.
Welcome home.
Oct 26, 2006
"you know how it is, you’ve been there before: when you’re saying goodbye to someone or something, it’s always already over the day before you actually say goodbye. It just happens that way, I find. "
These lines are so very, very true.
Thank you so much for sharing the ups and downs of the past three months with all of us out here - I've really enjoyed your stories.
Safe travels home -- I hear there's no place like it.
Oct 26, 2006
An early welcome back! I imagine sitting down with a stack of "Us" magazines to see what vitally important events were happening back in the world is high on your agenda. And you just know we're going to be dead curious about your most anticipated/reveled-in activities upon return.
Other than laundry, obviously.
Oct 26, 2006
Gawd, Holly. Even when you are solemnly pleading to just go home, already you're so damn poetic. I find myself reading over your words two, three times just to soak in the adjectives that you use. Everything is so clear - you make it so easy to empathize with you - and perhaps that is the reason I love your writing so much.
Yes, this trip is over. But there will be others. Perhaps trips that are not quite so extensive, but that are equally vivid and perfect.
We're glad you're coming home, if only because we know your Internet time won't be limited to an hour.
Oct 26, 2006
You were missed, without a doubt. Even though you were kinda still here.
Oct 26, 2006
Hi Holly,
I haven't posted before but I just wanted to say - Thank you so much for sharing your travels with me (and everyone else who reads your site, of course!) I didn't realize how much I looked forward to hearing about each new place until you were gone for 17 whole days, and, yet, I still checked each day, just in case! I can't wait to see what happens next. PS - I like the proposed tagline from a few weeks ago: "Nothing but Bonfires: Best read with an English accent" It really does make a difference!!!
Oct 26, 2006
That's always the worst, when you dread a trip for all of the aforementioned reasons and then it goes by as quickly as it happened upon you in the first place.
I'm bummed for you as well. Bon voyage and you really have had a wonderful journey.
Oct 26, 2006
Look at it this way.. you're going home just in time to catch "The Home Dates" on the Batchelor! Isn't it ironic? (The answer, Allanis is NO, no it's not)
Oct 26, 2006
I remember when I went to Europe a decade ago. We did six countries in five weeks, and while it was all amazing and everything, by the end, we just wanted to go home. It was exhausting constantly having to adjust to new currency, new languages, new traditions, new food. I remember when my parents picked me up at Logan Airport, they thought it would be a nice treat to take me out to dinner in the North End (Boston's version of Little Italy). I'm pretty sure I ordered a tuna sandwich.
Oct 26, 2006
I hope it wasn't Sean doing the sarong wearing - David Beckham style! I shall be at the airport, you get to see ME!!! The BEST part about coming home! Others aren't as lucky as you!
Oct 26, 2006
I'm surprised the song isn't "It's Been a Long, Strange Trip" (not that I think you're a Grateful Dead fan, I surely am not, but it seems to fit). Happy and safe return - and post me a comment or email me if you need the flat once you get back to the city!
Oct 26, 2006
Ah, but the memories. Along with the photos, journal entries, and this blog.
You, have done what many have dreamed of--even with the bumps and bruises along the way.. Can't wait to hear about your re-assimilation into the other *real* world. And to see if your stuff survived.
Oct 26, 2006
woo hoo! now begins the real adventure: trying to live the life you want and then figuring out a way to pay for it in one of the greatest cities in the world. three words of advice: don't get pregnant.
Oct 26, 2006
Thanks for carrying all of us with you on your travels. And you thought it was only your tank tops and city guides making your backpack so heavy! We've all been happy stowaways with you. I, for one, am a little said at this journey's end, too.
Oct 26, 2006
Beautiful post as well as an amazing journey. It's been inspiring to read about your travels and was saddened when Burma disconnected you. I hope you have a safe flight home and the perfect reunion with every thing and every person waiting for you. And if you have room in one of those plastic bags, would you stop by and collect me in Japan and bring me home too? Just checking.
Oct 27, 2006
I've said a prayer for you, the cats, and your stuff. Welcome home! (To the US, that is), and don't worry, I have a feeling you may see your old friend, the Insouciant Rat, in San Francisco...
"Strike another match, go start anew"
Oct 27, 2006
Wow, I can't believe it's over already! I love what you said about not wanting to go because it would be over so quickly. I've always thought about that but could never put it into words.
NorCal awaits, a little impatiently. Also? I have to selfishly say that it will be nice having you back with relatively unlimited internet time.
Oct 27, 2006
oh, but you can't leave yet! I just got here. and while I'm sure your blog will be every bit as charming and soulful and wonderful when you get back to America, it won't have passenger elephants, you see?
and why does it have to be San Fransisco? It worries me that such an undue percentage of literary talent in this country is sitting on or near the San Andreas fault.
if you must come back, bring elephants, or at the very least a rickshaw, and stay in S.C.
Oct 27, 2006
Welcome back! I've enjoyed reading every about your journey and being utterly and insanely jealous of you.
And you know, if California ends up being a big, expensive pain, just move on up. Oregon is beautiful.
Oct 27, 2006
Wow, that did go by quickly. But now you get to start your lives in San Francisco, where you said you'd always wanted to live! It will be wonderful.
Congrats on a successful Asian journey.
Oct 27, 2006
Thank you for sharing this trip with us; I have loved reading about it. I found your blog just as you were setting off and now it's over already - time does fly. Welcome home.
Oct 27, 2006
What an amazing trip. I'm not sure at which point I joined you on this blog, so I shall have to explore the archives soon. Welcome back.
Oct 27, 2006
Dude, I can totally see why you'd be glad the adventure was over. After a while, you get so you just want a reliable hot shower, your own bed, and a lack of . . . foreignness. Won't it be nice to get back to something like normal (whatever that is)?
Oct 28, 2006
At least you get to keep Sean, right?
That empty feeling you get when something good is ending is so hard to endure. But there is so much more adventure waiting for you Holly! I hope your trip back across the country takes you through DC. I'd love to introduce you to Asher. :) And he'd love to meet his first bonafide, seasoned world traveler.
Oct 29, 2006
Best ending ever to the best three months of blog reading ever. Damn.
Oct 29, 2006
Thank you for sharing your journey with us.
Welcome home.
Oct 29, 2006
Wow -- didn`t you just leave?
When do you arrive in SF? We`ve had fanstastic weather here this October -- I hope, for your sake, it continues!
Oct 30, 2006
Your blog entries about your trip have been nothing short of amazing. I personally could NEVER have hacked it.
Oct 30, 2006
Damn, I no longer get to eat exotic food vicariously through you. It sounded like the most incredibly journey, and I hope it lived up to all of your feeeeentesies. Well come over here immediately and show me all the pictures and I'll make you egg on toast and no soup and you can visit the Castro with me...that's pretty amazing with no fear of dysentery.
Oct 30, 2006
Welcome home. That's always the best way to end a trip - feeling full and finished and ready to go home. So much better than finishing and knowing that it wasn't long enough...
You'll have nothing but good memories and good stories once you've slept, and showered, and laundered...
Oct 31, 2006
IF you were here, you would NOT Be happy with the BACHELOR right now. oh i am so pissed. first thought- HOLLY'S BLOG! ROFL. stupid bachelor.
Nov 09, 2006
Nice site!
[url=http://mvmyjryz.com/atmj/zjkr.html]My homepage[/url] | [url=http://bqrfenup.com/ojko/qoii.html]Cool site[/url]