Off the Couch and On the Road

My next trip, I thought as I sat in my fluorescent-lit office and ate my paltry homemade sandwhich, wouldn’t be exotic. Everyone would know exactly where it was, and you wouldn’t need any injections or malaria tablets to go. There would be no traditional dress, no jungles, no climbing ridiculous mountains and definitely no altitude. Or small planes. Or boats. None of that.

It would be relaxing and luxurious, I decided, as I nodded to myself and chewed. Even though I was still so young in travelling years, I could afford a little luxury. (Travellers’ ages are like dog years – what you are in reality isn’t exactly what you are deemed to be. It’s why 20-year-old backpackers act like 5-year-old kids, and 80-year-old men decide to hike Kilimanjaro. I work on a division of 4, which makes me about 7-years-old.)

So I collected brochures on idyllic B&B’s in England and countryside towns in France, and it was all going to be lovely. Except travellers have, by nature, itchy feet. And mine were no exception. It was toward the end of the year and a compulsive urge suddenly took over and I just knew I needed to go somewhere. Now. So I searched for all tours leaving between two particular dates, (I hadn’t gotten leave approved yet, but these kind of whimsical fancies can’t be held back by protocol, can they?) and there were 81 results. I took out of the equation places I’d already been, flights that were too long, and trips that were too short, and I came up with Borneo. Right, then. I was going to Borneo.

After looking on a map to see where, exactly, Borneo was, I read up a bit on the country and decided it was perfect. There were indigenous cultures, dense jungle, a tough 2-day hike up Mt Kinabalu (which sounded awesome just saying out loud, right?), and boat rides out to places like Turtle Island. It was perfect! And plus, I had always wanted to go to Borneo. I’m pretty sure, anyway.

A few weeks later, having regretted packing while watching Grey’s Anatomy, (last time I tried to Grey’s multi-task I booked my flight a month too late) I was dropped off at the airport under strict instruction by my 6-year-old niece to bring back a monkey. And I was on my way to Borneo.

“Have you ever been to New Guinea?” The immigration officer said as he stamped me out of Sydney Airport. “Ahhh, no,” I said, perplexed. Was I going to New Guinea? Was that a part of Malaysia? Was it in Borneo? Was I actually going to end up in Borneo? I smiled nervously and walked through to my departure gate with feigned confidence.

Mental note: Do not watch Grey’s Anatomy while booking flights. Ever.

-Sarah

I often draw upon characters on books or movies for inspiration when I’m running low, wondering what they would do in a particular situation (they all seem to handle things so much better than I). In this case, I was in Puno, with a terrible cold and even worse asthma, and feeling the effects of altitude to boot. I wondered whether it was worse paying extra and catching the train to Maccu Pichu, rather than the torture that would surely be trekking whilst my asthma was this bad. I just couldn’t decide. And then I thought of Jerry Maguire.

I can’t imagine Jerry Maguire procrastinating into his hotel pillow, no matter how bad things got. He would just do it. I thought of Jerry’s mentor Dicky Fox, sitting behind that big desk, his white eyebrows raised as he pointed to the screen and said, “If you don’t try, how are you ever going to know if you can do it?” I reluctantly agreed. Jerry would slap me on the back and raise his hands in question, looking at me for a final decision. I admit, his enthusiasm and positivity was catching, despite that fact it was all in my mind. I imagined myself nodding. I would do the Inca Trail, and deal with the consequences as they arose. That’s what Jerry would do. What can I say? He had me at hello.

-Sarah

I don’t think many have asked why the grass is greener on the other side, or understood that unique human ability to want what we don’t have.

Probably they just crossed a wooden bridge, looked back over to the hillside they walked from, pushed their spectacles higher up the bridge of their nose, nodded and mumbled, ‘Yes, yes. Definitely greener. Must write that down.’

The greener pastures complex is, I think, at it’s most defining moment when you’re overseas and alone, in countries where you can’t wander aimlessly down the street or hang out in a coffee shop, and where you have nothing but time to sit and think about the hillside on the other side of the bridge. It is interesting to note the things one does miss at this time (barring the obvious family and friends) – the once neglected car? Job interviews and suits? Washing and vacuuming? Cash machines and paved roads? Clean feet, like, all the time? Insane.

I have realised  it’s not a long term dilemma, usually the appearance of some newfound friends, being amongst hoards of tourists, an episode of CSI or emails from home eases the ache to fly home and start cleaning the bathroom. And then there are the moments you pinch yourself and find it amazing that you are seeing the very best of the world that is privileged to so few.

I have often replied to the question, ‘so why are you travelling overseas?’ with a wink and a wry, ‘Oh, it’s cheaper than therapy.’ But perhaps I should replace that with, ‘Well, there was a wooden bridge I decided to cross…’

Yes, yes. Definitely greener. Must write that down.

-Sarah

Last time I was this sick, I was on route from Nepal to London – a harrowing 24 hour journey made all the worse by the deadened senses, the dull ache and the struggle to breathe that is the flu. I don’t know if it was the impending travel that my body disliked, but I was certainly feeling the effects, despite buying some ‘Bach’s Rescue Remedy’ which promised to ‘Restore that positive feeling!’ and ‘Comfort and reassure!’. Trust me, after days of cash machines freezing my cards, flight changes, hostels moving my booking across town and not telling me until I’d arrived very tired, very late; trying to sort out bungles with transfers and accomodation in Kenya (and those the least of my concerns) – I needed all the positive outlook I could get, hell I was gulping the stuff down.

My positive outlook and I spent dawn in London Paddington cursing ticket machines; mid-morning in Frankfurt practising swahili with the african security guard who was supposed to be drug testing my menthol chest rub; late afternoon in Cairo cursing baggage handlers who told me of my luggage ‘six down, relax. It will come’ (It did, I didn’t) and arrived in Nairobi, Kenya, dawn of the following morning, so tired I thought if I got mugged or lost I wouldn’t even care.

Thankfully it wasn’t the case – my driver was waiting for me at the airport and made sure I checked into my hotel safely, the hotel staff were lovely and even had a security guard escort me to the ATM and back when it was light, and I managed to sleep all day and felt a little better. Kenya was winning points all around.

-Sarah

There are worse places to be when you are sick than sitting or laying down no more than 5m from a bathroom for about 10 hours, so I didn’t mind the flight or the transit at Bangkok airport.

In my ill state, and rush to get to the airport however, the details escaped me – exchanging rupees, picking up some washing in Kathmandu, wearing suitable attire for London weather, buying a London street map. Oh, and my bag broke. But no matter, all could be rectified on arrival in London I was sure.

-Sarah