Everyone knows the real international language is love. So it's hardly surprising that so many of us are willing to relocate to far-flung places in the name of romance. I did it once. It ended in tears after two years, and actually messed me up good and proper, but I wouldn't swap my experience for anything.
Moving to the other side of the planet where you don't know a soul except your beloved puts you in a scary position. Your support circle is gone. You're dependent on your partner for your social life, emotional succour, everything.
It's a start from scratch.
But my experience is mild! At least I could speak the language and got a job relatively quickly - and it still took me about a year to feel settled. It must be a whole lot more daunting when you don't speak the language and you're not legally allowed to work, or where there's a significant culture-shock factor. Imagine what it must have been like for disco dolly Jemima Goldsmith when she married Imran Khan and moved to Pakistan!
To cut a long story short, my relationship eventually imploded and I returned to Australia. But I don't regret those two years in Manchester one bit. I made some amazing friends, saw a lot of England, got my first publishing job - and did a lot of character-building.
Have you ever relocated for love? Did it last, or did you live to regret it? Any advice for globetrotting romantics?
-Susi Watusi
Who could have said in say, August, that we'd be leaning against a bar discussing
Iceland? (Of course, you may well have been - given its white-nights party scene, its
noble literary history and its endearing penchant for
believing in elves, not to mention the genius of
Sigur Ros and
Mum.) The global financial sky-fall has brought the little island to a
sad state of affairs, and on a recent night a friend told me that she'd like to head over there with a case or two of rollmops and some hard currency and spread some cheer.
The joke got me thinking. After the bombings in
Bali, many travellers on the hunt for a tropical paradise chose to go there as a way of helping to rebuild its devastated tourist industry. In the wake of the tsunami, various destinations were visited not only by relief workers, but (as they recovered) by sympathetic tourists looking to put their dollar where it would help the most.
Pity travel. Is it a patronising, Lady Bountiful, pampered-first-worlders' indulgence, or genuinely compassionate?
Cherry Washington
On my first backpacking trip through
Europe at the age of 20, I met a girl in
Ios who travelled with a bright purple carry-along suitcase. She looked ridiculous, but I was secretly envious of the ease with which she travelled. Ever since I've wondered, is backpacking an activity that actually requires a backpack?
Of course, if you're trekking to
Everest Base Camp, it's an essential item. But for an
island-hopping holiday through the
Cyclades or a journey from one urban environment to another? It could be more trouble than it's worth. (If you think you've experienced
Parisian wrath, try squeezing into a heaving metro carriage with a pack strapped to your back.)
Despite these musings, I still dutifully pull out my backpack every time I travel. Why? I'm not quite sure. It's almost automatic: I'm going backpacking, I'll take my backpack. Next time though, I might take a moment to think about where I'm going and how much actual on-the-road travelling I'll be doing before I start packing. If I do, I might find the convenience of a suitcase on wheels wins out.
What about you?
- Gab Nancarrow