I HAVE flown to America twice, been to Europe, China and Africa, but it took Tasmania to give me jet lag.
Okay, the flight was only three hours and I even got home an hour quicker by the clock, but I am still waking up wondering where I am.
Have I grown used to freshly laundered towels and little soaps?
Actually, there are lots of clues including the fact that it’s not five degrees outside, the surf is a place you can swim and the grass is a definite blend of grey with the green.
I know I didn’t fly a long distance (luckily so, given the fact that our food service comprised a one-bite sized muesli bar), but I still feel somewhat jet lagged.
Perhaps the jet lag is about returning to a state of constancy and not wondering whether today was a day for a boat trip, a clickety clack railway ride through the wilderness, a convict discovery or a drive down a scenic road.
Whatever the adventure, you could say Tasmania is a little slice of apple pie. But one of the best things about the holiday was the company of friends. We tossed around a few names for this little adventuring group of 10 and I wanted to call it the “What the Heck?” group because in making most decisions, we simply threw caution away. And now I am tossed back home. What the heck? I may as well enjoy it.
– Linda Muller