Flying … Prague to Paris
Paris to Hong Kong
Hong Kong to Melbourne
36 or so hours.
Dark, light, light, dark.
Breakfast when it felt like dinner time.
Dinner when it felt like the middle of the night.
Dark when it felt like midday.
Melbourne Airport – Uber – home.
Nine hours later I’m back at work.
I’d been worried that I’d hate the cold, that I’d be so cold I wouldn’t enjoy myself, that the cold would see me reluctant to head outside, and whinge vociferously if I did.
But I actually loved it. It wasn’t so cold that I couldn’t function; Tim had bought so many winter-in-Europe appropriate clothes that I wasn’t ever very cold; my fur-lined boots meant my feet were always warm (and dry); my borrowed coat was perfect; the addition of buffs to our wardrobe was a master stroke of stylish fashion meets practical warmth; and I came to enjoy those times when it was cold and/or raining.
That’s not to say I’m now going to enjoy winter in Melbourne. Not unless we get proper heating and weather-insulating features common to European houses/apartments.
But in Europe the cold made sense to me. It fitted in a way it’s never fitted in Australia; especially at Christmas.
And, I have to say, I wouldn’t be reluctant to go back in winter.