I could write a whole book about moving from Herne Hill to Tottenham on the tube.
Its not important though and now that I’ve set the scene, I need to get on with telling you what happened.
Travel has changed. It is almost unrecognisable from what it was only ten years ago. Because of the internet you are now never really going away.
From emails to photos to chat rooms to video messaging – you often talk more, and deeper, with your friends when you are away than when you are at home.
You might have a great Uni mate who lives in the next suburb, but who you only see maybe every second month, and when you do you’re probably pissed. Suddenly, because you’re overseas, you write to him every second day and get a bit miffed when he isn’t as fascinated as you are with sunsets and bus rides and your general onslaught of communication.
The internet ruined travel. Period.
Alright, it changed it.
Travels death isn’t quite complete. Computers are not yet totally integrated into the backpacking experience. Lap tops are still to cumbersome. Mobile phones are expensive to run and pathetically impotent on the net. Palm pilots are getting their but are still expensive toys with a lot of limitations.
That leaves the internet café.
I’m sure one of you smart arses must know the figures, but since ’99 when I was in India dealing with slow dial-up (which seemed in itself a miracle) to 2006 when even four chicken towns in south Bolivia have youths video conferencing, and private internet booths in southern Chile are giving working girls serious competition, internet café’s must be THE growth industry of the developing world.
Everything seems to point towards the computer. Email, telephone, organising photos, organising your music, booking hotels, researching places, writing: everything.
The computer becomes an object of lust and covetousness.
Soon after we moved in, Ben brought a laptop and gave us unlimited use of it.
We were very happy.
That was the way it had been since we’d moved in. The place was clean and modern but with no decoration. There was absolutely no indication of Bens past except for a few Lonely Planets for Asia and a copy of PC’s for dummies.
No pictures, no photo’s, no old furniture or kitchen stuff. No old car. Weirdest of all, no one ever rang. He was as blank as the walls.
The good thing was that you only had to suggest something and it would appear. A casual word about the crappy frying pan and a new one turned up. New curtains, a bike anchor, a toaster, a bread bin and then..the lap top.
I remember walking down the hall. Everyone was out. They were always out and I wasn’t working yet. Past the couches. Past the kitchen bench, smoothly over the polished wood floor in my socked feet, to the brand new computer.
I flipped it open and ran my hands over the keyboard whilst it booted up.
