It’s Not Prague, But It’ll Do

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”– Bilbo Baggins

The other day, I went to the city. Yes, that city. The one just over the bridge. A wild 10 kilometres from my house. Please, hold your applause.

Now, to the untrained eye, this might seem like a regular outing but if you live on the Northern Beaches, you already know, crossing the bridge is practically international travel.

I packed snacks like I was flying Jetstar. Left home 30 minutes early in case I encountered roadworks, a parade, or the onset of a new Ice Age. Hit the highway. Read four road signs. Misread five. Took a wrong turn. U-turned. Then U-turned again. At one point I thought I was in Parramatta. I wasn’t, but emotionally, I was lost.

Eventually, I found the conference venue. Parked. Took a photo of the car (because I love myself and know who I am). Walked inside. Ordered a coffee. Sat down. Exhaled.

And you know what I thought?

“Look at me go. Crossing bridges. Facing roadworks. Ordering coffee in an unfamiliar postcode. I am unstoppable.”

It reminded me of my travel days, except it wasn’t Prague or Copenhagen, and I wasn’t 28, fluent in ordering wine in four languages, or living off street food and dreams. This was just my city. One I used to party in, weekly. But that’s not the point.

The point is, I left my Peninsula of Safety, and I survived. No sherpa required.

I used to tease a friend who lived in the Shire, calling her Frodo whenever she left her leafy bubble. Now? I am Frodo, and the Spit Bridge? That’s my Brandywine River.

Here’s the thing: not all adventures come with passports. Although, let’s talk about that, why don’t we have Aussie travel passports for domestic towns? Give every kid a passport at birth. Hit 50 Aussie towns, get a free flight. Qantas, Virgin, are you listening? This is marketing gold. We’ll call it: “Operation Leave the Shire.” Or “The Great Aussie Stampede.” Or simply: “Look at Me Go.”

Because let’s be honest, we all know someone who leaves their suburb and comes back talking like they just hiked Machu Picchu. (Spoiler: they went to the Three Sisters), and honestly? Good on them.

Sometimes, stepping outside your comfort zone doesn’t require an airport, just a GPS and the bravery to get lost locally, and then pay an exorbitant amount for parking kms away from where you need to be. Now that is Living!