Last week I sat in a cafe reading my newsletters. One writer was sharing photos from his recent trip to Paris. It looked stunning – the cafes were practically oozing with literary spirit, fashion was everywhere on the streets, baguettes and croissants were abundant yet cheap. It seemed like a beautiful and inspiring place to be.

A noise behind me broke my reverie. A little girl, no older than five, was trying to pronounce a word from the menu, and people around her were amused at her inaccuracies.

“Suh-laa-mai,” she said.

“Suh-laa-meeee,” her parents laughed.

“Suh-laa-meee,” she said again, with some effort. Her success was met with cheers from customers around.

Then my gaze lifted upwards and I noticed that the cafe I was in was strangely beautiful. There was a soft aroma of coffee and toast in the air, the chairs were comfortable, the walls were decorated with oil paintings and in the corner was little wooden carving of a lion. Outside, the sun was warm and bright – a rarity in Melbourne winter – and there were people strolling, jogging, and enjoying the occasion. Rays of sunlight lit up the cafe through the windows, and the golden hue made the room feel divine.

It struck me then that I had never noticed the beauty of this place, despite having visited previously, and for an instant the glory of this moment stunned me, almost to the point of tears. Then, just as quickly, the thought I had previously missed other moments like this, due to distraction, tiredness, or ignorance, sunk me into a deep sadness.

We often look towards unfamiliar places to escape the mundanity of our own lives. That is, I think, one of the greatest motivators for travel. But look up for a moment, and one might realise that paradise was around us all along, just waiting to be discovered.