It’s 39 degrees Celsius here today. And it’s not even officially summer yet. This week, while we have our first mini heat wave, many of my friends in the northern hemisphere are reveling at the first snow of the season.
We have incredibly harsh summers in Australia and one of the most appealing aspects of my imminent move is the fact that I will be leaving these summers behind.
I spent the Christmas season last year frolicking (literally) in snow-covered Scotland: trying (and dismally failing) to build snowmen and and an igloo, trudging through ankle-deep snow by moonlight on New Years Eve, winter-hat shopping in charity stores on Lothian Road in Edinburgh, drinking endless cups of hot chocolate and regularly skidding over black ice. I adore the European and North American winters and snowfall is like the icing on the cake! The soft silence that a fresh blanket of snow creates is just magical.
Winter In Scotland
My not coping well with the heat only exacerbates my already overwhelming need to be somewhere else. I have been in the same place for too long now and am desperately longing to be ‘on the road’ again. I find it interesting, this longing to be somewhere else. When I ask fellow travel-addicts where they would most like to go if they could, the answer is often ‘anywhere’. This itchy feet syndrome, this restlessness, is it really just our need to be elsewhere for a while? Does it really matter where in the world we go? And how long in another place before we start to feel this same restlessness again?