I cannot tell you how much I'd rather be in Melbourne right now. Imagine: the blue skies, the scorching sun and none of these freezing temperatures, dreadful clouds and the peculiarly British lurgy. But it's not the sun that I'm after - rather, I'm reaching out to Melbourne like a desperate couch potato flicking the channels in a hope to find something more uplifting. You see, Britain right now is under a spell of a very dangerous condition. It's called Trumpomania.

It all started predictably enough: Trump has been inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States. Like many others, I watched the ceremony broadcast with interest and listened to his speech, setting out the priorities of his presidency. I've been tuning in to the Today programme on BBC Radio 4 every morning and going to bed having listened to the latest news on Trump's new laws and ideas. I cannot tell you how many times I've been checking my Facebook and Twitter in-between. I listened to the podcasts discussing the Women's March and I marvelled at the solidarity shown by liberal men and women all over the world. I also wondered why these same Londoners didn't march in protest against the government of Poland which had intended to tighten abortion laws (taking away the choice from women) in the fellow European Union country. Pretty quickly, I felt satiated. It doesn't take long to feel bloated on chips and beer. The next morning I craved something else but instead I was getting the same old thing: chips and beer, chips and beer. As Trump was relishing the media attention, I was beginning to feel sick like that guy in a documentary who was eating nothing but McDonald's every day.

This TV lurgy is very familiar to me. For years now I have been watching my friends and family in Russia being fed a media diet which consisted primarily of Schadenfreude. The Russians are being preached that the European civilisation is in crisis and that America has got kicked in the backside by its beloved democracy. No money is being spared on the state-owned media, including the famous RT channel. The daily doom show is colourful and persuasive. Its audience is completely hooked. The Russians are thinking: "Things aren't so bad at home by comparison, we'll pull through one way or another."

And now I am watching the same scenario unravelling here in Britain. We are being fed the same formula. Trump is delighted to bring back torture and ban asylum seekers from Muslim countries; he talks about introducing a tariff on Mexican imports and stops giving money to pro-choice NGOs. Mrs. May looks like Mother Theresa by comparison. The media is squeaking with delight - every bit of Trumpomania is priceless. How can ordinary news from Haringey or Hull compare? It's as if he is some sort of fairy tale monster we ought to be frightening our children with. I can see it happening: "Poppy, eat up your soup, otherwise Mr. Trump will come and get you!" He is ubiqutous, after all, with his Twitter posts reaching far and wide. And so we are sitting on our sofas sharing another "can you believe he said that" post or going on a march with a poster which says "Free Melania!" because that's what's going to change things, like that nasty borderline sexist man from work is suddenly going to vote for LibDems rather than the UKIP at the next elections.

Of course I am pleased that so many went out to protest against the patriarchy and like anyone I am outraged by Trump's tweets and initiatives. I also understand that Brits are infatuated with the US (sadly, the same cannot be said about Continental Europe). I'm just not at all sure that this obsession with Trump is helpful to you, me or the world at large. What if instead of talking about his red ties, you could go through your wardrobe and donate some clothes to Suited & Booted, a London-based charity which helps disadvantaged, jobless people look professional at job interviews? What if instead of spending hours on social media we explained to our children what feminism actually means so that when our daughters grow up, nothing holds them back and our sons naturally share parental responsibilities? What if instead of slaving for the nasty man at work, you touched up your CV and applied for a new job?

The reason I am dreaming of Melbourne is because this weekend it's where the truly legendary athletes - Venus and Serena Williams, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer - are playing in the finals at the Grand Slam tennis tournament, Australia Open. These incredible players have been delighting us with their victories for at least a decade. They have been inspiring us with their tenaciousness, hard work and resilience. I wish I was in Melbourne right now to supercharge myself with their energy and positivity. Alas, a home screen will have to do. And after the tennis I'll do something useful or have a cup of tea because anything is better than giving in to the Trumpomania.
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"Traveling. It leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller." Ibn Battuta

Travel, they say, broadens horizons, which usually means that when we return home we feel terribly disappointed to have stunning vistas replaced by the concrete jungle, to submit once again to the monotonous routine and to get sucked into pointless little dramas which only days ago would have seemed ludicrous against the vastness of the ocean. 

I have recently returned from South Africa, where I had fallen in love with the country's natural beauty, especially its stunning coastal walks, fun and hospitable people, great and affordable food and wine. I also felt overwhelmed by South Africa's history and politics, which are painfully complicated. This travel experience taught me to count my blessings and made me appreciate my upbringing in the Soviet Union. It also made me think differently about simple things like commute in London, something I usually regard as "a pain".

I grew up in the Soviet Union where a poor person was just one black Volga and a seaside dacha behind the super rich one. In other words, inequality wasn't a big issue. The Soviet Union was a deeply flawed economic system which had no chance to survive beyond its 70-year history, yet in some important ways it was the model of modern society as I see it. Education was free and while it is true that someone who knew someone could get their children into a well-regarded school, a child living near that school would be enrolled there too and receive the same start in life. We all lived in flats in fairly similar apartment blocks, and while some had three bedrooms, colour televisions and even washing machines, there was never such a stark contrast as living in a secured villa with a swimming pool and the help in Camps Bay vs. dwelling in a shed in a Cape Town township. Well-connected or not, Soviet Russians had plenty to aspire for: anyone could afford to go to the opera, and people did.

Women in the Soviet Union were encouraged to work and state enterprises subsidised or provided free pre-school care. I didn't grow up thinking I'm meant to breed and look after children; I have never thought about some sort of glass ceiling career women in the West are only now beginning to punch in earnest. I'm not saying that Russians aren't sexists but curiously while a Russian woman is stereotypically considered a "bad driver", there is nothing at all unnatural about a woman being an engineer or a chief executive. My point is that travelling to places where women are struggling for equality, where opportunities for different genders are so horribly asymmetric, I realise how fortunate I am to have been brought up without prejudice.

                                                                              ***

I returned to London narrowly missing the tube strike. That's lucky, but my experience in Cape Town made me think that an occasional strike is a small price to pay for the privilege that we have here. If you travel to Cape Town, make sure you go and explore its magnificent Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. One caveat: public transport doesn't go there, so you must either drive, get a taxi/Uber or jump on a sightseeing bus. If you live in London, can you imagine a public park or any public venue in London that you cannot get to by tube or by bus? I don't think so. It is one thing that we take for granted (and complain about extortionate fares, congestion etc.). In Cape Town a regular Joe cannot take his family to botanical gardens on a Sunday. For me, this is where inequality can and should be tackled effectively, because without aspiration township kids won't go further that their parents. 

It is on the tube from the airport that I made another startling discovery. Londoners on the morning train looked gloomy and tired with most of them glued to their smartphones. That's not what surprised me though. It was the diversity of people on the tube - they came from the Far East and Eastern Europe, Bangladesh and the Caribbean, Western Europe and Australia. It's hard to believe, but South Africa with mostly blacks and blonde whites looked homogenous in comparison! Despite the early hour, the grey sky outside, it felt incredibly uplifting that I call London, this cosmopolitan, mixed hotpot, my home. Even anti-globalisation politics, which is having a bit of a moment today, isn't going to change that because London and Londoners wouldn't have it any other way.

So you see, while I'm already hatching plans to see more of South Africa and while I miss the spontaneity of travel, it is wonderful to be back. Travel doesn't just broaden horizons, it helps to zoom into ourselves and our habitat and find gratitude for things we have always taken for granted.