Dialogue: Travel abroad to beat the blues

By ELIZABETH EASTHER

Recently I suffered a bout of the blues so severe I thought I would never get better. Although, as usual, I did get better, once again I am conscious of the fact that to experience joy in this life one must also experience pain.

But, now that I'm out of the woods I have a strong compulsion to take stock of my life, to ask myself who I am, where I'm going and how I'm going to get there.

And the answer, I decided, is in travel because nothing suits me better than roaming the world, checking out the greenness of the grass on any side of the fence but my own. And with that decision made, all the travel rules I've picked up over the years came flooding back as valid and sensible as ever.

I've always said that if you want to go to foreign parts you can't just talk about it - you have to book a seat, buy a ticket and then get on the plane. That's my Rule Number One because look where I am now - deep in the heart of Sydney on a beautiful blue, blue day.

One of the first things I noticed here is how the whole place has what the America's Cup gave us - diggers and jackhammers everywhere, vying with the general noise and bustle as workers try to get the place sorted out, aesthetically at least, in time for the Olympics. Pavements, parks and monuments are all being dollied up for the games, although they had better get their skates on because kick-off is not that far away.

Travelling Rule Number Two is that when I reach a place and have settled in a little, I really like to get high because there's no better way to get your bearings than by taking a good look around. And it wasn't going to be that old Centrepoint building either - I'm a bit blase about sky towers these days. Instead I decided to cross the harbour bridge, do the walk that sells itself as being "the climb of your life."

And the verdict? Pretty steep at $A108, and the grey outfit of overalls they give you is hideous. But, oh, being up there was worth it. The whole structure seemed to be alive beneath my feet, groaning and rumbling with the wind and the traffic.

My final rule, for today at least, is don't be forever converting the currency into New Zealand dollars; it will only make you cry. When buying a few hundred pounds before I left I wondered if I shouldn't have just taken the equivalent dollar value in lamb and traded as I went.

Anyway, who cares what our dollar's worth when you're staying with a bunch of actresses? Because in Australia, the marketers of my favourite brand of cosmetics, MAC, understand the importance of the arts and card-carrying thespians get a whopping 35 per cent off the retail price. The more I spent, the more I saved and you've got to be happy with that. And with GST being introduced here on the July 1, there is a veritable frenzy of pre-tax sales.

So, here I am, citizen of the world and I'm probably the cleanest, freshest version of me that's possible. I've been dentisted and brunetted, my hair's been cut short, I've been buffed and filed and just about everything you can think of. I've tied up loose ends and unravelled a few that weren't. I have plastic in my pocket and pounds in my purse.

Coming off that bridge climb, still high as a kite, I met a man in a bike helmet sitting up a power pole playing Simon and Garfunkel's 59th St Bridge Song on a trumpet. How fitting, I thought, singing along in my head, "Hello lamp post, watcha knowing, I've come to watch your flowers growing ... looking for fun and feeling groovy."

PS: I'm on my way to London, Glastonbury and Paris with the plan of moving to Spain as long as they'll have me. If anybody out there knows anybody who'll hang out with me I'd really like to know. I'm terrible at calling people I've never met and saying, "Hi, I'm in your city and was wondering ..." but I'm going to overcome that fear.

If your uncle has a castle or your new wife's cousin is a count you could e-mail me at imabroad@chickmail.com.

I'd be ever so grateful.