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BACKGROUND MUSIC NOT YOUR SCENE?
YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO TURN IT OFF RIGHT HERE!
(It's a generation-gap thing!

I came across my passport recently. Not only was it covered in mould, but it had expired in 1992. It was a little depressing to realise that although we live in a global village, I've been stuck in the house for nearly a decade. It's not that I didn't enjoy travelling, and who doesn't have the fondest memories of their first Let's Go trip overseas? ("Let's go" indeed, as the local bus pulled into some dump or another.) But in between the raptures at, say, being in Venice or seeing Santorini for the first time, were those Peggy Lee moments, those "Is that all there is...?" moments. Maybe I saw them on a bad day but, to tell the truth, I thought the Pyramids looked a bit small. So why has there been such a long gap between international flights? I believe there are parents who would do the rounds of ancient keeps in eastern Europe or go trekking in the Himalayas with two small children, but frankly, I'd prefer to sit on the footpath in the nude and pour boiling water over my head. I'm sure I'm not alone. Given that the travel industry is growing furiously and that those in their middling years with offspring aren't really going anywhere much at all (well, yes, thank you, we did have a very nice time on the Central Coast), someone must be going somewhere. At his 40th birthday party, my friend Simon observed that turning 40 is a topsy-turvy time, in that you find yourself envying your parents' lifestyle - particularly their delight in inundating you with postcards from ever-more exotic locations. And this is what is wrong with older people today. Having reared their own children, they are surprisingly reluctant - no, downright unwilling - to stay home and help you rear yours. Their cholesterol is virtually nonexistent, blood pressure's under control, they're fit and healthy, and they're just not around when and where you'd like them to be. To say nothing of them having a seniors card which they like to wave triumphantly all and sundry every five minutes. We baby boomers are not the "me, me, fabulous me" generation- our parents are, as exemplified by the fact that no sooner have you looked at the photos and videos of one trip, than they're reloading the camera for the next one. Intrastate, interstate and overseas-if there's something there, they're there. The real reason for the proliferation of backpacking hostels during the past few years is not that there's been a massive increase in the number of golden-haired Swedes or Germans coming to this country but, rather, that they're sharing their cornflakes and communal bathrooms with a deluge of grey-haired Australians. On my parents' last trip but four, a self-drive swan around Western Australia, they failed to book their accommodation before they arrived at Margaret River. (Incidentally, this demonstrates the dangers of letting older people loose on their own when they should be at home, babysitting.) The last bed in town was at the local backpackers' so there was no choice but to take it. "We had linen sheets,Penelope," said the postcard, and they haven't looked back. They lived frugally in their younger years, so that they might enjoy this time, and they deserve it, so it's pointless and mean-spirited to be bitter or jealous. However, and this is purely a cautionary remark, I will just say that it's perfectly okay to sell off the family home and whiz about the countryside, but let's hope a little has been set aside for any possible nursing home expenses. Just call us the Gonerils, but accommodating one's parents and their extensive souvenirs, including, say, their newly acquired African drum collection or antique pine furniture from pillaged Baltic states, might just be beyond the means of most families. All this gadding about by everyone over 65 has inspired me to consider a little expedition abroad myself, to touch different cultural possibilities, to encounter "the other". Some extensive brochure work has singled out a family friendly, budget-pri resort in Fiji. However a friend has commented that in her experience, the only "other" she encountered was numerous other Australian fmailies who declared that this was their last resort, as all their ungrateful children did was whinge and moan. It might be more advisable, then, to just hang out for the ancient keeps of Ancient Rome tour in 2031. I'll mind you a seat on the coach. Penny Biggins Penny Biggins was writing for The Age

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