There is something addictive about getting up in the morning and moving on, leaving everything behind you, the baggage of yesterday’s experiences and last night’s dreams, and starting out anew.
It’s an irresponsible way of life, a free life.
In this mode of existence, a few days is a long time.
You arrive in a new place and confront the unknown.
The simple tasks of orientating oneself to the new surroundings, of seeing the sights, walking the streets, exploring the new and the unknown, experiencing a different culture, heighten the sense of being alive. The mundane tasks, finding the nearest shop or supermarket, when and where the next bus or train leaves, form a minor epic full of frustrations, unforgettable scenes and comic situations.
And then before you know it, comes the feeling of familiarity – that you know this place too well, that you have been here for a long time. The senses becomes dulled. You see less, notice less. You begin to regard your hotel room, your temporary lodging, as ‘home’.
Before long, the strangeness of arrival, exhilarating, mysterious, fades. In its place comes the comfort of living according to a set of small routines. Then comes the creeping ennui, the listlessness, the feeling that you have too much time on your hands – and then it’s time to move on again.
To once again be a stranger, a pair of eyes wandering a foreign landscape, someone who is always arriving but never stays…….