You remember how I said in the last blog about how sometimes you know before you even wake up that your day's going to be shit?
Ah how I love to better myself. Because today I wake up knowing that my next two days will be shit.
It took basically three solid days of thinking and deliberating. But what I decided in the end that the best thing for me to do is to go home, but to do so on a return-flight. So basically I'm going home for five weeks, and then flying straight back to Asuncion and picking up where I left off.
That will allow me to be home through these times. Be with my family, be at my grandmothers funeral. It will (I hope) allow me to get done everything that I need to get done regarding my (hopeful) Winter job in Utah for this coming season. But then it will still allow me to use the subsequent three months to do the things that I planned on doing anyway. Like, perhaps, the big-cat sanctuary in Bolivia.
It seemed to be the best for every situation.
The one sticking-point was that it now means that me and Lilach won't be meeting in Bolivia, which I'm kind of distraught about. But you can't always have your cake and eat it too. You can't have everything. There had to be a sacrifice somewhere.
Well anyway, why does this mean that my next two days will be shit?
You might have gathered from this blog that I'm a kind of person, likes to do things as cheaply as I can. That's just what I do always. It doesn't even matter that I'm not paying for this flight, out of principle, I'll still get the cheapest one available. And at the short-notice that I had to research prices, the best price I could get on a return-flight to Asuncion was £938. For a reason though.
First-off, it leaves Asuncion airport at 5:10am tomorrow (Tuesday) morning, Paraguay time. Means that I'd have to be at the airport, 3am ish, so I'm buggered if I'm going to pay for a full-night in a hostel when I'd be leaving before 3am. So right now as I write this blog at 12:17pm on Monday, I'm already checked-out of my hostel.
The next point is that the last bus to the airport before my flight, is at 8:30pm tonight. And with a taxi costing 100,000 guarani, I'll be fucking buggered as well if I'm going to pay that. I won't pay 100,000 of fucking anything for a taxi. That US$20 stays in my pocket.
So the plan? I'm going to the airport at 8:30pm tonight and just going to sleep there until my flight. That's going to be fun. Airport sleeping.
This cheapest flight available is a three-flight ticket. The first layover in Sao Paulo, Brazil, well that's a 13-hour layover.
I've never had a flight with a long layover before, so I'm not exactly sure how it works. Am I allowed to leave the airport? Do I have my backpack for the duration of the layover? I don't fucking know. Even though if the answer to these questions is yes and no, I already know that Sao Paulo Guarulhos International, is 30km from the city centre. And I don't yet know if there's an affordable way (public transport) to get to the city centre from there.
If there is? Then fuck-it. I guess I'll be having a day in Sao Paulo. And I even said in the last blog that it's a big regret of mine that I don't have the money to travel through Brazil. Because that always has been a want of mine. So getting a day in Sao Paulo without having to fork out on accomodations and travel around Brazil. This could be awesome. A day out in Brazil!
On the other hand, and more likely, I'll just be stuck in Sao Paulo airport for 13-hours. Yay.
A nice, fun 12 or 13 hour night-flight follows. So I'll spend one night in an airport. The next one on a plane. Before arriving in Madrid for another 3 hours and 10 minutes of sitting in Madrid airport. Score.
I'd like to be able to say that I'd have the time to get out to see Madrid. But going through passport control, then making the supposed 30-minute journey to the town centre by train before getting back to the airport for my next flight... it's not going to happen.
And then, what might be travelling in relative luxury compared to what I'm used to, I get a BA flight from Madrid to London. Ending what will be something like 40-hours since I boarded the bus to the airport in Asuncion. I probably won't have slept for a couple of days, I'll almost certainly be jet-lagged, I won't have showered in 48-hours, I'll... basically be in a shit mood after that one.
I already know that I'm not going to see a bed for over 48-hours from this point. And that's not really fun to be looking forward to.
Tonight I'll be sleeping in an airport. Tomorrow on a plane. And of the 40-hours from when I go to the airport tonight, more than 24 of them will potentially be spent in various airports. The other 16 on various planes...
I've done a lot worse. But this one definitely doesn't sound fun.
It's kind of hard to express in words as well, quite what a strange feeling it is for me that in 48-hours from now, I'm going to be home. Home.
Four days ago I wasn't even sure that it was going to happen in the next eight years. And yet here I find myself today, all being well, home in 48-hours from now. It's a bizarre, bizarre feeling.
For the first-time in 7 months I'm going to be able to actually communicate with everyone. I'll be in a shop, in a train station, on the bus, and if I need to know something, I'll be able to just ask someone. Everyone around me will actually speak my language.
For the first time in a year, I'm not going to be in a hostel or in my tent or on someones couch.
I'm not going to be planning my next stop, how long it takes to get there, where I'll stay. I'll merely be there. Staying there.
Ever since I left Panorama 15-months ago, I've basically been on the road. One of my WWOOFing places in Canada lasted for 7 weeks, but that is the closest thing that I've had to a home in 15-months now. And it's just a bizarre, bizarre feeling that... I don't have that anymore. I am going to be in one place. Just, like, being there. Not planning where to go next. Not trying to make the most of the time that I have there by seeing everything that I can. I will literally, just be there.
It's bizarre to me. It's really bizarre. Not in a good way and not in a bad way. But just in a strange way... I'm going to be home. It's a fucking head-fuck.
If you asked me this time last week what I'd be doing for August, my best guess might include taking pumas and jaguars out for a morning stroll. Now I'm going to be... home. It's fucking weird. I don't think that I've really got my head around it yet.
Initially I was sceptical. But now I start to think about it, I realise that I miss a lot at home.
I haven't had a proper fry-up in 20-months now. I haven't had a decent kebab either.
Kind-of contradictory to that, but I can go out running on my old running route. Everyday.
When you're on the road, that's not something that's so easy to do. In part because you are only ever in the same place for three nights, you don't know where to go and don't know the area. And although the fastest way to see things I guess, you don't want to spend what little time you have, out running. And seeing as I only get around doing laundry every... I don't know. To the best of my memory, the last time was in Rosario. The time before was Sucre. It's once a month if I'm lucky, and I'm too fucking lazy to wash anything by hand. Seeing as I only get to do laundry that often, carrying around sweaty running clothes for a month without washing. Not too appealing.
All of a sudden though. I'm going to be home. Can go out running everyday. Wash my clothes afterwards. That's fucking trippy.
Kind of need the exercise as well.
One thing that kind of worries me, is five-weeks at home. How the fuck will I react to being dumped back into the developing world and living out of a backpack again? Maybe I'll get back to Paraguay and subsequently Bolivia, and be thinking that this is bullshit! What do you mean a 15kb download speed? What do you mean, electric shower? What do you mean only 80 channels?
It could happen. I could get home and start asking myself, what the fuck were you doing travelling with all those developing-worlders for so long?
This is kind of a head-fuck right now. Just as I was preparing to immerse myself in the most secluded and undeveloped areas of Bolivia. The big-cat sanctuary I know does not have electricity, and Amazonian towns were also on my list. Just a I was preparing myself for that, I'm going to be back in London with their weird "efficient transit systems" and "pavements without holes in."
Or just "pavements" for that matter.
I'll be able to drink the tap water. And throw toilet-paper into the toilet.
I'm going to be... home. It's just fucking weird.
People will drive on the wrong side of the road. And talk with their weird accents. There won't be hundreds of dogs just wandering the streets. And everyone will be much whiter than I'm used to. McDonalds will no longer be gourmet cuisine. Vodka won't cost £3 per litre. And I don't think that I'll be finding restaurants offering 3-course meals for £1.
It's just very, very strange. Firstly that I won't be in South America anymore. Because having been here 7-months, I'm kind of accustomed to doing things the South American way. I'm used to everyone around me speaking Spanish. And it's just going to be strange, that for the first time in a long, long time, I'm not going to be travelling. Hitch-hiking or catching a bus or staying in a hostel or living in a tent. Opening cans of tuna with a knife. Wearing the same underwear two-weeks at a time.
Actually I'll still probably be doing that. But you get the idea. It's just an absolute head-fuck to me right now, that if you'd asked me a week ago what I'd be doing for August it would involve some of the most remote locations of Bolivia. And now I'm going to be home. It's fucking trippy. I can't express in words quite how weird it feels to me.
I'm going to see family again. I'm going to see my dog. I'm going to see my bedroom for fucks sake.
Had I planned it, maybe it wouldn't be so weird. But it's just kind of happened. It's just kind of happened. And it's weird. It's just plain weird. I'm going to be home in 48-hours. Fucking eh!
My biggest regret is that me and Lilach can no longer meet again. For when we'd planned at least. That was the main thing that stalled my decision. I'll be thinking about that for a while. But with that exception, everything just seemed to work out better this way.
Optimistically I'll be able to get myself sorted for the Winter season (if I get the job) before I leave again. And I should still have the time to do all that I wanted to do in South America. So I'm hoping that this was the right decision to make.
Obviously I'm going to feel like an utter twat if I fly back out to Paraguay on September 1st only to find out that I need to visit a US consulate in London on September 2nd to get a US working visa. That wouldn't feel good. Fingers-crossed though everything will pan out. And... I'm going home.
I seem to be choosing to overlook the rather unappealing 48-hours that lay ahead of me. That's probably one of those things that's just best to ignore and hope it goes away. And then I'll be home. It's just fucking weird. I did not see it coming.
And you know the way that I'm looking at it, and this may sound stupid, but I kind of feel like this is my holiday.
I know that for most people, a holiday is something that you leave home for, it is kind of strange to look at going home as a holiday. But a holiday is basically something where you take a break from the usual worries of trials of your everyday. And the "stresses" (if you can call them that) of my everyday, is having to figure out and take buses, and find places to stay, and navigate and learn new cities twice a week, and see new things and meet new people.
I know that it might not sound too trialling. But it takes its toll.
I'm going to be going somewhere where I already know people. I won't have to think about buses. I won't have to find a place to stay. I know the area. And apart from perhaps a kebab shop which I may be scrambling to get to as soon as I get off the plane, there's nowhere that I'm going to be rushing to see.
It's like I'll be on holiday. All the trials of my daily life... which are basically what everyone else calls a holiday. Well they'll be gone!
It's fucking strange to me. I'll be home in 48-hours is just plain bizarre. It'll probably take the entire 5-weeks that I'm home to get my head around it. It's strange. And I have a joyful 48-hours prior to that to look forward to. But all being well and my plane doesn't crash and I die, I'm going to be home in 48-hours. Fucking weird or what? It's a head-fuck.