Kookaburras & Jetlag
I woke up to the sound of kookaburras laughing this morning. It was wonderful. What wasn’t so wonderful was the three hour nap that preceded their happy, 6am burble. Ah jetlag, we meet again.
Yesterday, Sydney sparkled like only she can. It was dark when I walked out beneath the big ‘Welcome Home’ sign at the airport (always makes me a little teary) but the sun came up as we drove out of the airport and by the time we reached the water, was bouncing gleefully off it. It was a cold and clear morning, the perfect Winter’s day and Sydney’s wide, leafy paths were full of joggers and suits out for their early coffee. It was nice to hear our accent again, the flatness of it, the upward inflection, the ‘no worries’.
As one does every time they leave and return to Sydney for a little while, I reeled at Sydney prices when we stopped for coffee with the joggers and the suits, en route home. It always takes time to get re-used to paying what we do for a coffee and a muffin at a cafe. After about a week of ‘IS THIS NORMAL?’ you just return to paying $9 for a glass of wine and forget there was a time 2€ bought you a bottle.
Now I am sitting up with a cup of tea watching the industrial revolution and England’s NHS come alive through jazz dance and the Queen parachute into the Olympic stadium with James Bond, as the sun comes up outside. It’s going to be another beautiful day. For all the Germans that ask me about how much daylight we have during the Winter, I can confirm by 6.30am things are pretty light and by 6.30pm they are pretty dark. And it is, by the way, bloody cold.
I’ll be back with better words when I am a little more coherent, when I am not breaking into weird, emotional mini-cries at the London Olympic Opening Ceremony. For now I am going to drink my tea and listen to the birds.
Get used to all of this again.