Now that I've had a couple of days of living on a body clock so distorted not even Salvador Dali could picture it, I am reflecting on what was the toughest part about making the journey over to the land where upmarket monopoly notes resemble the local tender.
Before leaving for the airport, my roommate Rachel and I had a bet. She wagered one whole caramel latte that I would shed a tear while saying my goodbyes to the family at the terminal. Whereas I believed that being a large framed, rugby playing, ale drinking bloke; I was made to be immune to whimsical entities such as “emotions”. As a consequence of this bet, two coffees were the make-up of my first purchase on Australian soil, since I definitely shed a tear or ten.
Combining this farewell with the fact that my flight was only slightly delayed for a total of eighteen hours, it was a stressful start to my adventure. However, these weren’t the only challenges when it came to leaving the UK. Constant farewell messages from friends in the days leading up to my departure reminded me of everything and everyone I’m leaving behind. Sometimes the thought of leaving my best friends seemed to be every reason I needed to change my mind and stay in the bubble I had grown up in. The fear of not being able to talk out my problems with my friends was terrifying, but nothing in comparison to the complete uncertainty I faced in terms of finding a source of income and accommodation for when I landed.
However, by far the toughest part of traveling on a long distance flight, is being British. This is not a superiority complex; it is a real problem the British face on any flight which ventures further than the exotic shores of Benidorm.
This is because being a Brit you have a moral compass that renders it impossible to wake up your sleeping neighbour. Consequently, you are trapped, feeling caged and claustrophobic in the window seat of your flight. Only managing to go and relieve yourself of organ failure from an overly full bladder once Frenchie in the aisle has finished their hibernation and slept for what seemed like the entirety of the flight.
So to anyone thinking of having a change of residency, don’t worry about the emotional goodbyes to your friends and family. Although tough, it is nothing compared to the trauma caused by finding yourself in the dreaded long haul window seat!
