At about this time in seven weeks I will be jetting off to Australia for Christmas. It will be the first time I have been back since we were married in 2010, the first time Raina has been to Australia (her visa is all ready to go!) and the first time that I will have spent Christmas with my own family in eight years. I can’t believe how long it has been. More about that in a later post.
I have been thinking recently about what I miss about Australia. I’ve had an Aussie-filled year, with my parents visiting and a very good friend has just left us after spending a few months as our house maid guest. I haven’t really thought about all the things I miss for a long time. To be perfectly honest, the longer I’m away, the shorter the list becomes. This is a common theme among expats. And a common post among expat bloggers I’m certain!
It seems that instead of missing things, I miss places, people and experiences. I don’t yearn for pizza shapes like I used to, and even though a chicken parmy will be top of the menu, I don’t dream about it any more.
Here’s how my dream day in Australia would go:
Wake up at Grandma’s house in Robe. I don’t even mind if I’ve been sleeping on the crappy 50 year old squeaky bed. Then I would stroll down the street for a cheeky eggs benedict brunch with a gorgeous cappuccino. Coffee in Australia is sooooooo much better than here. So good that Starbucks couldn’t stand up to the competition and left the country.
The sun would be shining and there would be no wind and I’d wander to my favourite beach. It’s not a swimming beach and is a bit rocky, so there are almost never other people there. The memory of it has actually become my happy place that I visit when I’m stressed, upset or unable to sleep.
I’ll climb out onto the rocks and sit in my perfectly moulded seat and watch the sea and the sky. Because it’s a perfect day, the local sea lion will appear and play amongst the rocks searching for fish.
In the afternoon I’ll meet up with my favourite girlfriends and we’ll have scoff wine and eat goodies and while away the day. A bit later someone (most likely my mum) will start cooking a bbq and there will be eight different cuts of steak to choose from, all cooked to perfection (ok, I’m tripping into fantasy territory now...). There will be crayfish (for everyone else) and noodle salad (for me).
Eventually I’ll crawl back into the squeaky bed and sleep like the dead.
No dreams of grandeur, just comfort. This perfect day is even possible, and in just over seven weeks I'm going to have it.
What’s your dream day in your home country like?