And so this is Christmas…
For a time of year that John Lennon and Yoko Ono suggested was for “the near and the dear and ones” society seems fairly set on clocking up the travel miles over the festive season.
With the seasonal precision of migratory birds, the travel rhythms of the “festive period” are predictable but far from effortless.
Like Barn Swallows who after generations of nesting in caves, have now mastered “making home” in the small gaps underneath the rooves of houses, churches and – of course – barns, the holiday traveller must weigh up the balance between comfort and compactness.
The ‘Christmas Carousel’ will see participants loop around a mix of daily routines and special events meaning that one must leave the kitchen sink at home but still be able to wash the dishes. The most prohibitive element of the pre-migratory pack is the fact that one must stop to prepare. No newness can happen until the trip begins and if timed inappropriately a pre lift off limbo ensues.
As birds are beholden to the winds, holiday travellers are cajoled by transport. The Song Bird waits until a literal tail wind propels their journey forward, such is the freedom in timing of avine adventures. Your common cosmopolitan, however, does not share such calendar luxuries.
Itineraries and agendas are analysed against the checks and balances of time, energy and cost – and like most things in life, two out of three is the best you can hope for. At this time of year, however, hope is a dangerous thing to have.
A short walk with luggage becomes a long drag once a wheel is lost. A momentary curb side pause becomes a vagrant’s photoshop opportunity as the tower of trunks grows in anticipation for the bus.
Bare necessities are packed on one’s person, but one must not only bare their possessions but their soul as counter-terrorism measures sniff out contraband. Coffee might be the world’s favourite everyday drug, but any bag labelled “Columbia’s Finest” is will always raise the suspicions of authorities.
As the sun sets, the shadowy savanna of the airport lounge is gets sleepy. The world’s great metropoles may never sleep, but Tullamarine is neither great nor nocturnal, however a juicy mimosa sunset makes up for the lack of atmosphere.
The Song Bird waits for nightfall to commence its travels, apparently the cloak of darkness provides the best conditions for flight. This is yet another thing that people do not share in common with birds.
Toddlers are like Gremlins and shouldn’t be feed after dark, and so high on sleep deprivation and free sugar, they commence their hostile takeover of the airplane cabin.
Humans were never meant to fly and the coping mechanisms required to make the gravity defying feat possible can be extreme. Nicotine, valium, vicadin, marijuana, ecstasy, and alcohol are options available to some, and one young woman has decided to imbibe them all. I opt for noise cancelling headphones and Queens of the Stone Age as grumpy middle age white men mutter about the state of affairs on this plane.
The only baggage that migratory birds carry seems to be viral, and perhaps for good reason – no one should be trusted to haul the prized possessions of hundreds of people. Especially not a budget airline.
Upon arrival, the baggage reclaim stutters awake into a slow grind, and like carcasses at an abattoir they commence their slow progression around the collection warehouse. Unfortunately, much like slain beast, a lot of the bags are worse for wear – inside’s haemorrhaging and seamed joins torn – proving too much for many of our now no-so-intrepid travellers.
So why do we, the commuting citizens of Christmas custom, take on this arduous adventure? For the same reason the migratory birds do…
Food, Warmth and Family.
