25 December 2005
Arrival-Angst
Cyril Connelly had something to say about this (in The Unquiet Grave): 'Arrival-Angst is closely connected with guilt, with the dread of something terrible having happened during our absence. Death of parents. Entry of bailiffs. Flight of loved one. Sensations worse at arriving in the evening than in the morning, and much worse at Victoria or Waterloo, than at Paddington.'
I prefer Paddington, too, but I never feel Connolly's angst. Instead the sight of my current home city effortlessly produces feelings of ennui, slightly relieved by actually getting within my own four walls. The real problem comes the night of arrival, and for the next seven as I battle to readjust to local time (I'm convinced my body clock permanently fixed itself on Beijing time a few years ago.)
I wake about 1am and lie for hours hoping to fall asleep again, but with my mind too alert. I calculate that unless I get my body back into the habit of lying down at this time, the adjustment will continue to be difficult. But not only do I remain awake, but just about everything stupid I ever said or did comes back to me in full 3-D and high definition detail and wince-enducing emotion, from childhood social solecisms to embarrassing moments with girlfriends and stressful business disputes. And as I lie twitching I become more and more depressed about the pointless and trivial business of travel writing.
Eventually there seems nothing to do but get up and put this unwanted alertness to constructive use by doing some work, until as dawn finally comes I begin to wilt, and fall asleep on the living room sofa, to awake late, stiff, and muddled, and begin the cycle again, until it burns itself out after about a week.
Travel is such fun.
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