Nobal Glomad

Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

It’s great to be back. The magic of Sydney’s summer is just around the corner. Although, a quick jetlag-induced 5am flip through Gourmet Traveller this morning had me scribbling the next yet-to-be itinerised takeoff. Some find their happy place in pub footy finals, others trawl eBay for super soft Japanese denim, drop their under fives at the in-laws on un-returnable loan, get that 10% return on a well-diversified super-yawn portfolio, spec a pure-analin leather option in an oversized stupidly taxed Euro all-terrainer… I can happily Kennards the whole lot. Shove me in a taxi with 13 kilos of don’t-care-if-it’s-stolen luggage airport-bound. With noise cancelling headphones and the latest Monocle in hand? Josh is in smack’d out stratospheric Valium-free happy-land.

Why the continual need to long haul? It’s an addiction. I’ve always put coffee in a lick the toilet bowl category (recently re-affirmed by a rather handsome Barista’s attempt to bring me back… it wasn’t his deft frothing skills that held my interest). I can give or take a glass of grape once a week. My grandmother handed me the virginal ciggie chug at age five and ever since I’ve coughed at the inhale. I sleep like Dumbo so have never taken knock-out drugs… ie. I’m Captain Vanilla when it comes to the up in headlights addictions. Check-in at 1am though and you’ll find me scouring skyscanner.com for the cheapest minimal stopover sky-express to Mumbai.

My name is Josh… I’m a flight-a-holic.

It’s not about tray-top dinner attraction or in-flight latest releases with trolly dolly ice-cream. If we could skip the 30,000ft couch surf even the First Classers would all say yes with a cherry on top. It’s the ‘different’ that awaits you at any given destination.

Once out of Tertiary education territory our brains typically quick-set in concrete. The doors of possibility bolt shut as we statistically slip into Trueman-ville. New input becomes a rare and forgotten prospect. Sure we can Google Map lost civilisations and Jurassic islands, but that’s been available since our school libraries were floor to ceiling packed full of Encyclopedia Britannica.

At Machu Picchu I witnessed an elderly couple’s faces light up like pre-pubescents in lollified Darrell Lea as they caught their first glimpse of the mountain hugging Incan architectural mastery. Nothing can replace that sparkle of ‘new’… Travel and its sense of discovery is one of the last bastions of untarnished left in our over-connected, inter-mixed, know-everything wired-in lives.

A friend commented the other day his younger Melbourne-raised cousin was in town and he’d been slandering Sydney’s wine bar, coffee and culture offerings. Really? If Melbourne were the paper cutout of Bondi.com would we bother to jet to one another’s cities? Zip it kiddo and say thanks for the diversity.

I’m often asked how the hell I afford this indulgent life. It’s easy. Sydney’s stupidly expensive. Jump to India or Peru, the Greek Islands or even NYC (stay with a good mate) and you’ll live like a King. Last week I bought two far from discounted pairs of denim and four tees on Broadway walking away with change from a $100 bill. In Oz that buys you a stitched leg and perhaps a pocket.

It’s not the sunbed cocktail by the pool with robe that makes us travel. There’s far too much packing, taxi-ing, shared in-flight burping snoring and farting with destination turmoil involved in getting from A to B. It’s the need for removal from what has become way too same. Time takes on a far richer stocking stuffer when we jump ship to our glossy catalogue end of the line hub de fabulousness.

Do yourself a favour. Jump on Google right now and check out that European cobbled city you’ve always wanted to stroll on a balmy summer’s eve, that plummeting canyon you’ve always wanted to climb, that infinity pool you’ve lusted to lap… it’s got your name written all over it.

Enjoy. Live. Love.