Staying put: A destination with no passport required

People often talk about ticking destinations off a bucket list. Last year, I discovered that my own home may be the most promising destination - one I have been ignoring for years.

Instead of packing a bag, rushing to the airport, and trying to remember if I locked the back door, I took the bold decision to explore the rare and mysterious location known as Home.

My itinerary looked surprisingly familiar. There were guided tours of forgotten cupboards, cultural excursions to the pantry, hikes around the washing line, and even a sunset safari into my tiny garden to see if the resident agama would make an appearance.

I tried to approach the holiday like a traveller arriving in a new country. After all, seasoned adventurers always say travel is about perspective. So I put on my curious face, grabbed some snacks as a travel companion, and set off across the living room to find something inspiring.

We tried what travel agents would probably call a Scenic Breakfast Experience. This involved sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal while pretending it was a rustic lodge overlooking a lagoon. I listened for seagulls but heard fish eagles and purple-crested turacos instead! Quite authentic, but that’s White River for you…

Next was a full-day tour of the Laundry District. This is not a popular tourism route, although it certainly teaches character. I encountered hidden treasures (behind the washing machine), sudden weather changes (my husband opened the garage door), and unpredictable wildlife (some spiders made themselves at home in the corner).

Experienced travellers insist that adventure is born of discomfort, so I reminded myself that nothing builds resilience quite like tidying shelves that clearly do not want to cooperate.

Lunch was a street food festival of leftovers. Unlike the markets of Durban or Maputo, where you wander through stalls filled with colour and aromas, my journey took place in front of the open fridge where I attempted to construct something edible from roasted vegetables and the last remaining cheese slice. The ambience was simple but honest.

In the afternoon, I went on a Historical Walking Tour through my own wardrobe. This archaeological dig revealed relics from a previous era, including a shirt I wore only once and a pair of jeans whispering stories from 2012. I marvelled at the cultural diversity of garments I never wear.

I even discovered a pair of leather gloves that made me feel like a Victorian explorer, although I neatly stuck them away behind a bundle of scarves after realising winters in the Lowveld are… well, like winter in the Lowveld.

No holiday is complete without a touch of luxury, so at sunset, I checked myself into the exclusive Daydream Spa, also known as the sofa. The treatment menu included the rare and restorative Nap Therapy and the ever-popular Scroll and Contemplate.

The views from this resort were spectacular, especially when the sun hit the curtains at just the right angle.

Feeling rejuvenated, I signed up for an evening entertainment package called Cooking Dinner. This is a self-catered activity, quite similar to glamping, except no one pretends it is glamorous.

Many travellers return home saying meals taste better abroad. In my case, dinner tasted fine, although I suspect my seasonings need a passport.

Once the dishes were done, I embraced the nightlife scene. This consisted of switching between three channels, finding two documentaries, and a film I gave up on after twenty minutes.

It reminded me of bar hopping, except I did not have to worry about transport or crowds. Every venue had excellent seating and no entry fee.

By the end of my stay, I had reached a familiar truth. Holidays at home are slower, quieter, and much cheaper, yet they still tell a story.

They remind us that travel is not always about moving across borders. Sometimes it is about paying attention to what is already around us. Even if the scenery is the same, the experience can still feel new when you look at it with curiosity.

In the final moments of my domestic retreat, I stood in the doorway like a traveller about to check out of a memorable trip. Instead of handing back a room key, I simply switched off the lights. Instead of dragging a suitcase, I walked to my room with a cup of tea.

It all felt strangely ceremonial, as if I had just completed a personal journey without crossing a single kilometre.

So this season, if your passport is resting, your budget is sighing, or you simply cannot face holiday traffic, consider a stay at the five-star resort called Home. The service is familiar, the dress code is forgiving, and the checkout time is whatever you want it to be.

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