This is the first of my posts about my year long sabbatical overseas. I hope you enjoy armchair travelling with me.
I ran away from my life as I knew it. I packed up all my cares and woes, some sexy outfits, some bling and a Xmas box of Mac lipstick miniatures that would match with everything I chose to wear, (I do like to coordinate dress, jewels and makeup as my friends will testify). I knew I needed to redefine myself, as along the highway of life, like most women (and maybe men), I had become a chameleon and had begun to blend in so much in relationships and motherhood, that I had trouble finding myself. I was lost between grief from the deaths of my husband, mother and father and therefore - family; and not seeming to actualise a new life that I was comfortable in. I had the ability, time and money to run away. I am one of the lucky ones, in that respect. Emotionally, not so much.
On a hot, steamy Sydney day, the partner dropped me at the airport for my year long sabbatical. We were sad, confused and tentative about the survival of our relationship.
I went through the doors towards security and was automatically directed into the x ray cubicle, and then waved over to be tested for drugs. I blamed the recent passport photo. I looked like a drug running granny. If you are heading towards sixty, as I am, you will know that having your photo taken with your fringe parted to the sides, no smile to lift the beginnings of a saggy jowl, and harsh lighting; do not an attractive photo make. I'm assuming they looked at my passport, they saw, they sent a message out: Check this one out, she definitely could be supporting a drug ecosystem secreted somewhere within.
I had booked myself Business class, having only six months previously having had emergency back surgery. If you're going to escape, you may as well go in style. I began the drinking in the lounge, Prosecco and some small delicacies to tie me over for the next hour. I didn't even look out the window as we took off, I was too busy drinking the champagne offered before the doors were closed, and was now choosing which cocktail to have when we were air bound. Such is the life of the rich and those who have borrowed to pretend to be rich. Strangely, no one looked exactly wealthy. We all looked like we'd mortgaged our houses to be here.
There were pyjamas in bags, facial products in bags to get me through the flight and hopefully emerge fresh and shiny faced upon arrival. There was food to be had whenever the urge to eat came upon me, which was often, as I wanted to get my moneys worth. Being already quite inebriated from the initial drinks, my appetite coped with the three course meal provided, and of course there was a glass of a sweet wine to accompany the dessert. This was living. They even made my bed up! This was how the other half lived! And for a few brief hours, I was one of those people. I sadly slept most of the time, I should have been awake to enjoy the extravagance of my once in a lifetime purchase.
And then I had arrived at my destinazione, as the Italians say - Venezia, (just add ione, io, ia, issimo, and you're on your way)!
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