The Time Traveller's Life

I had a houseguest this weekend in dear mskp, and consequently very little sleep was had. This is why I've just rolled out of bed at the crack of afternoon tea and am trying to encourage myself to wake up properly and have a shower. The oriental lilies I bought last week are just starting to pull back their covers and peek out at the world, and I can't wait for their sweet scent to fill my bedroom and make me happy as a vanilla cake with pink frosting.

Cross posted from my Sunday Mail blog on June 8 (which garnered a woeful number of responses..perhaps people only like to get angry on Sunday?):

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As is my occasional wont, I spent Friday evening partaking in le vin rouge at so Frenchy so chic bars, dancing to the swinging hits of the 60s and belting out torturous heavy metal renditions of fluffy pop songs at La Sing. There may or may not have been some flirtatious texting.

It was basically inevitable a hangover would greet me come Saturday morning, which as everyone knows can only be cured by things that have been deep fried. It was no surprise I found myself eating ridiculously delicious food at one of Goodwood's premier breakfast spots, dark glasses in place and an intravenous drip funneling coffee directly into my blood stream.

Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell the girls next to me that blathering loudly about the highs and lows of recent overseas jaunts while surrounding patrons slowly die from over indulgence was not the most sensitive way to conduct your morning affairs. Can someone answer me how it could be possible to spend 15 minutes debating the conundrum of elevator versus stairs at the Eiffel Tower? There's possibly nothing more draining than having to hear the tales of recently returned tourists (except they're not, they're 'travellers'..). Humbug!

I've long been of the opinion that modern day travel just isn't cutting the mustard. Sure, we can jump on a plane (at least until all the Burnside dwelling soccer mums have stolen all the fuel to feed to their stupid unnecessary vehicular declarations and hightail it to Europe to pick grapes in France, walk the Pyrenees in Spain or drink vodka in Russia but it's all a bit old hat really. You could go to South East Asia, but then you'd have to deal with loud tourists who either

a) speak to the locals as if they're intellectually disabled;
b) consider glowsticks an acceptable form of nighttime accessory; or
c) stare sombrely at everything they see while secretly praising themselves for staring down poverty in such a fearless manner.

In my lighter moments, I like to indulge the thought of time travelling holidays. Imagine the freedom of just able to load up the Delorian and drop in on any old time and place you like. In no order of importance, the following would be my top five time travel destinations:


1. 1920s England

Having just emerged from WW1, Britain finally let its hair down and started to party. Granted, the parties all took place in gardens where much lawn tennis and croquet was played but what a time! The gents wore stripes and boaters, the ladies fabulous hats and pearls. Smoking was a health benefit rather than a risk, love affairs busted out of every nook and cranny and jazz was just starting to wind its way into the stuffy drawing rooms of the genteel set. Of course, to really enjoy any of this you had to be part of the upper classes, which meant duty and responsibility probably stymied any real sense of adventure. But what the hey - at least they didn't have to make their own beds in the morning.


2. Paris, 1968

Student riots. Handsome foreign men. Brie and Bordeux. Need I say more?


3. India under British colonial rule

This one's really problematic. On the one hand, it would have been terribly exciting to live in such a beautiful country with dazzling silks, gin and tonics on the porch at 6, adultery, the irresponsibility of being away from Queen and Country, three day house parties, art and literature and so forth. On the other hand, you're basically resigning yourself to epic indulgence at the expense of maintaining brutal colonialist structures of oppression, racism and exploitation. On the bright side, at least they weren't on AWAs.


4. 1940s America

Sure, there was a World War on but they didn't really have to face the reality of it. Some men went off to die and it was all terribly tragic and awful, but back on the home front business was booming. Fashion was spectacular, Hollywood was awesome, dance halls featured actual dancing, ladies wore stockings and suspenders under beautiful dresses with red lipstick, men were tall and appeared acquainted with the concept of personal grooming and everyone was busy falling madly, desperately in love while a war raged half a world away.


5. The Dawn of Time

Honestly, did you think this would escape the list? Who wouldn't relish the opportunity to visit the very beginning? To see the world in all its unspoilt beauty, to smell fresh air, to swim in sweet tasting rivers and dry off beneath delicate sunshine? Now that would be an experience to remember. I bet you'd still find a discarded coke can lying under a bush though. Tourists are rubbish.


I've just read this list to my houseguest, who's an academic historian. It's her view that I'm romanticising most elements of history and I'm a bit too willing to overlook the realities of war and colonialism. I think I've just seen too much of The Forsyte Saga. If you're going to blame anyone for my one eyed view of history, blame John Galsworthy. He started it.

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Now I'm going off to eat delicious noodles at the markets and finish the winsome Special Topics in Calamity Physics. I highly recommend it for anyone who likes just a dash of pretentious literary self awareness in their novels.

Peace out (and John Howard has been given an Order of Australia. Le sigh..)