The Phantoms of Work Travel

It’s a warm evening and I’m in Melbourne walking along the Yarra River at Southbank. The sun has almost set and the city lights are gently coming on.

It’s beautiful yet I feel… divided.

I’m on a work trip, so just to be here soaking up the atmosphere is a privilege. But anyone that’s done a lot of it will tell you that work travel can be lonely.

You can have an awesome day of meetings and catch ups with old colleagues and friends and do good, impactful work. But in the evening, you’re always alone back at your hotel.

So to avoid that, I’ve come out for a walk, looking for the solution to most of the world’s problems:

Ice cream. ?

That’s when I notice the publicity banners hanging from the light poles along the river.

“Phantom of the Opera” they announce. “Now showing”.

Something stops me in my tracks.

The venue is right there. I can see it, only a hundred metres from the river.Suddenly I wonder if by some miracle the show is on tonight.

Following my gut feeling, I head towards the theatre and see people streaming inside. I hurry down the stairs to the box office. There’s no queue, only a lady with curly dark hair at the counter.

“Good evening, I don’t suppose there are any tickets left for this evening?” I venture.

“Oh I’m sorry” she replies, “I’ve only got single seats – there are no pairs left tonight”.

I check around for my mystery companion, but they appear to have deserted me.

“Well, I guess that’s lucky” I say.

Within minutes I’m heading down to the stalls. To my great surprise I’ve got an exceptional seat! 5th row towards the centre. I’ve barely got time to thank the Travel Gods when the lights go down.

The Phantom of the Opera has one of the strongest musical openings. The initial chords of the organ seem to shake the room. ?

DUHHHHN, dunh dunh dunh DUHHHHHNNNNN!

Something deep inside me cracks open. Powerful emotions well up and I’m transfixed, swept up in something that feels both familiar and new.

I’m struggling to understand what I’m feeling. The music swells, the performers dazzle and I’m all adrift in tears.

But I can’t understand why until…

Until I realise something that’s been buried for a long time.

It strikes me that music ties us to places. It ties us to moments in time.

We might forget the name of a neighbour or a colleague, but we'll never forget how some song made us feel at some critical moment of our life.

Instantly I’m no longer in Melbourne, alone after a long day of interstate work.

Instead I’m at my childhood home, in my bedroom, almost hugging my stereo as I listen to an original CD of Phantom of the Opera that my Mum had bought me when the show first came out. I listened to that CD until it was worn out. I’d never seen the show and the gentle sands of time had covered over the way that music made me feel.

But suddenly I’m no longer alone on a work trip:

the music carries all the phantoms of my past to me.

As the soprano Amy Manford hits an exquisite high note at the apex of the performance… I am crying my eyes out.

Because sometimes phantoms from our past haunt us or frighten us.

But occasionally they lift us up, fill us with love and music, and remind us of who we really are.

It’s been one of the best nights out I’ve ever had by myself.

And I didn’t even get my ice cream.

Rob Malicki is a traveller and storyteller.

His passion is helping young people to find the next step on their journey, because life is a daring adventure or nothing at all.

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