For whatever reason, many of my childhood friends had extraordinary holidays. I remember being eternally jealous of friends who escaped my home town and vacationed abroad for weeks on end, exploring Europe and the United States. My parents are particularly fond of camping, so you can imagine my ten year old irritation when I heard that Keagan would be spending his Christmas in London while I would be playing in the dirt in the South African mountains. My parents also love camping at a few dependable locations, so not only did I get sand instead of snow, it was the same sand as last year.
This year, however, I have been very fortunate in my travels. I live in Cape Town, South Africa, but I don’t actually live in the city. I live about 40 minutes away in a humble little suburb. In February of this year, however, I got a taste of city life. If you read yesterday’s post, you may recall that I worked for an Italian artist earlier in the year. For a week or so I crashed on a friend’s couch while I worked for him in the city centre. My friend’s apartment was in a part of Cape Town called Sea Point where, unsurprisingly, we had a beautiful ocean view. It was a strange experience to live and work in the city I’ve always only visited. Somehow, my home felt new and interesting and challenging.
The newness only began in my home city. Later in the year I found myself in what many people call The City, New York, New York. A name so nice, you’ve got to say it twice. New York was a whole new challenge for me. Yes, it was exciting and alluring, but the only context I have for the city is as it is depicted in movies and TV. The all encompassing dream that is New York City is a tough one to live up to, and as exciting as I found the lights and sounds, I didn’t quite appreciate the smells that The City had to offer. I also don’t know how I feel about the implication that New York City is The city. I ended up spending time in many other cities this year, and each of those also had beautiful and inviting characteristics. New York City is one hell of a city, but I don’t know if I agree that it’s The city.
In any case, I spent time in upstate New York working at a summer camp. I visited some smaller towns like Ithaca and Cooperstown. Small-town (and Medium-town I suppose) America is such an intriguing experience. Each town has such radically different people, shops, trends, and yet they all seem to share a kind of charisma. I ended off my travels in the US with a week in San Francisco. Perhaps it was the weather that California offered, but San Fran felt the most like home. A city on the sea. I spent my days walking and eating and sunbathing with dear friends and my time in San Francisco has solidified into the kind of amber gold memory we tell too many stories about.
I left the sunshine and ocean breeze for grey skies and black cabs. Mind the gap! I spent about a week in London. It was my third or fourth time in London and while my time was thoroughly enjoyable, I didn’t do anything especially touristy or worth noting. I just enjoyed the city, the West End, the included VAT. I then visited Ireland for the first time and resolved that it would not be my last. I was struck by the beautiful, rolling hills, great beer, friendly people and legendary fish and chips. I then learned the true meaning of grey when I visited a friend in Glasgow. It didn’t stop raining for all four days I spent in the city. Regardless, I loved the subway, the vibey city centre and the incredible architecture. And Greggs!
This post would be hopelessly too long if I took the time to totally unpack the joyous experiences I had in each city, suburb and home this year. I highlight my travels both in an attempt to remember them and to tell you this. I wish I could say that of all the traveling I did, I really loved exploring my home the most. That traveling may sound fun, but my heart is at home. I think there is truth to that idea, and exploring my home city certainly was new and exciting. What I really think is that traveling the world acts a little like a mirror.
In all the time I spent abroad, I would always compare my surroundings to my home. The trees in upstate New York are different to the ones in Cape Town. I would look for my home in everything, the architecture, the wildlife, the humidity. It also showed me how much of my home lived in me. I became aware of how much the way I spoke, walked, interpreted the world was an expression of my home. That I carried my heritage, culture and family with me in the midst of dark and stormy Glaswegian mornings. If only I could have carried the African Sun with me, too.