It has come to my attention that I am a completely different person when I travel. Well, when I say “completely” different, I’m still liable to fall over at any given moment, and whoever thought it was a good idea to combine the steep streets of major Portuguese cities and slippery cobblestones deserves a special place in hell. I haven’t fallen over YET but it feels like it’s only a matter of time.

But I digress. I have realised that I do a heap of things when I am travelling that I never, ever do at home.

Like go into churches. The only reason I would ever step foot in a church at home is if I have to go to a wedding or funeral. Just poke my nose in for a look? Not in a million years. But when I’m travelling, I’ll pop into any church, chapel or cathedral, temple, pagoda or mosque. Any religious building at all. I’ll marvel at stained glass and soaring ceilings and mosaic floors. On my current trip in Portugal, I reckon I’m averaging a church a day.

And while we’re on majestic buildings, I only seem to visit a library when I’m on holidays too. Which is weird, because I am very much in favour of libraries as a concept, but I struggle with the emotional pressure of returning books on time. It’s a curse. Having said that, though, if you want to lure me into a dusty book-filled room overseas, I am a willing participant. On this trip, I visited the magnificent Joanina library at Coimbra University. Previously, I made a special daytrip to the Swiss town of St Gallen and braved the rain to shuffle around their library in snazzy shoe covers marvelling at the elaborately carved shelves. And you can’t even touch any of the books.

Here’s another thing I would never do at home: eat a buffet breakfast. Look, I might go out to brunch on a weekend, but I’m never going to partake in a buffet offering. But on holidays, it’s a completely different matter. Mostly the attraction is that it’s included in the price of your hotel stay, but nothing makes me happier than an omelette stand and an enormous pile of tiny croissants. Do I want sliced dragon fruit? Of course I do. And throw in a couple of hash browns, some vaguely described murky green juice, a small mound of obscenely crispy bacon and a pain au chocolat (or two). The lure of the buffet breakfast is way too strong to resist.

Come to think of it, I rarely go into a bakery at home either. Yet on holidays, a bakery is almost the first port of call. Portuguese tarts? Of course. Fresh, crusty baguette? Oui, d’accord. Viennese strudel? Look, I think you know where this is going. When I’m travelling, sampling the local baked goods is a way to scratch the surface of the culture (or at least that’s what I’m telling myself), but when I’m at home, I don’t even buy a loaf of ordinary old bread. I’m some sort of Jekyll and Hi-carb kind of arrangement.

And then there’s my love of public transport, but only when I’m travelling. When I’m at home, the only reason I would get on a bus is to get to Optus Stadium on game day. But overseas? Oh, I’m riding the Metro and the Tube and the Subway like I’m a local. I’m catching buses in LA (no one catches buses in LA) and Kyoto and jumping on regional trains in Denmark and France. I have a bunch of apps on my phone to help me navigate the public transport networks in a bunch of different countries. Need to get from Lucerne to Zermatt in Switzerland? I have you covered. But I don’t have the Transperth one. Is there a Transperth one? I don’t even know.

It’s only natural to live differently when you’re away from home. Of course you’re going to take public transport when you don’t have your car at your disposal, or you’re still scarred from when your hire car got impounded in regional France because you didn’t realise the parking lot turned into a marketplace on Saturday mornings. For example.

And of course you’re going to peer into a church when you’ve got the time to do it and the church involved is 700 years old. But also, maybe there’s some merit in taking some time to approach my hometown like I’m a tourist. Hell, I haven’t even been to WA Museum Boola Bardip, and yet I have found myself at the World of Wine museum in Porto and the D-Day Museum in Atlanta. I should probably rectify that.

And if I can find an outlet in Perth that makes proper Portuguese tarts, I’m prepared to lift my bakery embargo as well.