...on our trip around the world. The Invaluable Diary has already got quite a round belly. Our return is imminent. We are currently enjoying the last few days in one of the marvellous hotel resorts in Hurghada, trying to empty the buffet, which extends over five rooms, and reach the perfect tan. However, when half my leg skin peeled off on the second morning, I gave up relatively quickly. All-inclusive in Hurghada, another real culture shock - this time in sunburnt red and a Russian accent. Nevertheless, the beguiling boredom and the prospect of sunburn are exactly what we need at the end of the trip to sort out our thoughts, record the last videos and make a few plans. If only it weren't for the pool DJ, who makes a noise with his MP3, which apparently has exactly four songs stored on it, in a volume that would really have put every road junction in India into immediate order.
What has changed in the last nine months? The world is still turning. Two wars were almost ended, then some decision-makers changed their minds. Olaf Scholz is still Chancellor. Thanks to the Tagesschau news programme, which you can also listen to on Spotify (a good tip for backpackers interested in politics), we were able to keep up to date and didn't blame us chatting with an extremely well-informed branch manager of the Indian state bank in Darjeeling about numerous details of German domestic politics. (The question ‘What's the weather like in Germany at the moment?’ rather hit us often on our cold side).
What has changed for us? I lost ten kilos due to Leah's tough rationing regime in order to stick to our budget - it was a mistake to let her carry our money around. But doubled again after a week in Hurghada. In the last few weeks, my last wisdom tooth slipped out of its hiding place. Luckily I have a dentist with me. The examination was as follows: A quick poke with her finger [starts to bleed immediately] - ‘Well, you'll have to see a dentist about that.’
What did we find out on our trip? We travelled around for nine months only to find out at the very end that a classic all-inclusive holiday is our favourite style of travel after all. If only we had started the other way round. In fact, the first day at the resort was a rediscovery of needs and comforts that we had never thought we would enjoy. It's a heaven of toilet paper! We have more than one power socket (which isn't hanging at 2m high in the room so you can't practically do anything to it)! There is a window, not to mention a balcony with a view of the sea! Not even mould or vermin, which you first had to clean up with your own clearly smelly multi-use microfibre towel (we hadn't been provided with towels in our last accommodations for a long time). Of course, we had found practically every accommodation in Asia and Africa suitable according to exactly one selection criterion: the lowest price. That's how you end up in interesting places. As a result, we have steadily and significantly reduced our level of comfort - even if it is tragic how quickly you get used to any comfort again.
We have become more flexible and resilient. Less through the yoga retreat in India than through the knowledge that things can always be worse. Delayed buses, unexpected more days without laundry facilities, bad weather in the Himalayas hiding the incredible views, inedible food at an overpriced price, closed trails for which we have taken a diversion of umpteen kilometres. Sometimes the only thing that helps is stoic composure, ticking things off and concentrating on the good bits. As I'm proof-reading this text, we're sitting on the bus and are asked to squeeze our day packs into the storage compartment instead of between our legs. A bottle falls on my head and my kangaroo pin tears off the camera bag and disappears forever into the depths of the bus. We scold each other for the stupid bus drivers, annoying passengers and this stupid country. Maybe I should delete the ‘more resilient’ after all.
We have realised how good we have it. When we talk about being poor, we don't really understand what that means. You have to have been to a village in Kenya to understand how little some people have. If I despair there because I can't find a supermarket, maybe it's because nobody can afford anything from a supermarket and therefore none exists. If we round up a delivery boy's bill by a few cents and he thanks us as if we've given him a big present, maybe it's because we've done exactly that. When the AirBnB hosts live on the same property in an aluminium shelter that wouldn't even pass for a garden shed in Germany, with who knows how many people, we counted at least four. Without electricity, without running water. Not just for fun, like us, but because they have no other choice.
But it's not just materialism, it's also the ability to access information, trust institutions and enjoy education. One sign from Nairobi in particular stuck in my mind: ‘Don't believe what your village priest tells you’ or something similar. I also remember the constant loud noise, the sometimes disgusting odours and the poor infrastructure. For us, it was another challenge on the journey, for others it is just daily life.
Who knows how long we'll be able to be thankful for our lives in Germany until we've adjusted, forgotten and are once again annoyed by one-day delivery delays from our last online shopping adventure. At least my ordered new running shoes arrived home on time, just before our arrival! Until then, we enjoy the peeling skin on our legs in the scorching sun and the last delicious dinner before heading back to Hotel Mama.
