The end of the world has come and gone very uneventfully, and aren't I glad!? It made me wonder why we are always counting the days, and what would go wrong if we didn't. Something to ponder about.
Our resolve for South America is strengthening, refusing to spend money unless it's necessary, learning tid bits of Spanish, telling the world about our plans. We helped a friend move house yesterday, and it made it just a little bit more real. That is what we'll be doing in a few months. Instead of moving our 'things' from one house to another, we'll be selling them, donating them, begging people to take care of a piece of furniture or a box of bits and pieces that we can't bear to part with. There isn't too much in that category. Our attachment really limits itself to the papasam chairs and bookshelf, our teapots and crystal glasses, our beautiful quilts and James' toy firetrucks, our beautiful lamp, and perhaps the computer. I'm sure the pile will be large, but not as large as the get rid of pile.
A few years ago I went on a trip to Fiji with a family I worked for, it wasn't a nice experience, two weeks at an island resort, itching to get out and see the real Fiji. We did have one beautiful experience, the only time we left the resort was to visit a local village, we attended a church service in a little sweating wooden building, with windows wide open to catch the breeze and a congregation of curious stares at the foreigners who were given the honour of the front pew.
We were invited into a beautiful, joyous womans home. She had 5 children, her husband working for the local council, and she was proud to show us how they lived. Their home was a single room, a beautiful room the same size as my lounge, a few meters from the sandy beach. A curtain across the middle to separate an area to sleep in, a gas burner in the corner with a few pots and pans, grass matts on the floor and a single chest of draws. She was enourmously proud of her little house, perhaps 'third world' by western standards. My heart swelled to twice its normal size I am sure. My heart swelled at the thought of living with so little need for posession, so much joy brought purely by the people you surround yourself with.
The laughter of the children in the village, the joy on the women's faces, the shy teenagers desperate for a look at Western culture. The men of the village had retired to the village hall for a Kava Ceremony, to which we were invited. From a single glance this village looked so proud and happy, so comfortable and loving, a place where you would be passed from one mother to another as a baby, and cared for by the whole village as an elder. I have no doubts that some aspects of their lifestyle may be slightly 'unsavoury' but heading back to the resort I had a great desire to jump off the bus, head back to the village and stay there. Coming home it was hard not to think about throwing out all of my possessions. It was hard not to feel guilty about the amount of 'stuff' I owned, my insane desire for more, when there is really no need for it. I know it is cultural, I know I'm not to blame for want want want, but to live with so little, and so little need for more, would be so satisfying. To think of our ecological footprint is amazing, how easily it could be changed.
Perhaps our trip is about more than adventure, more than a year off, more than wanting to see another way of life. Perhaps it will also be a cleansing experience, a chance to start from scratch when we return, with the knowledge that anything we acquire has the potential to follow us to our death bed. And on our death bed what will we want? Very little, I anticipate, apart from each other.
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