Hometown Vagabond

You are a World Traveler: Address Your Dependencies

// October 16th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

This past weekend I went through caffeine withdrawal. It was a miserable experience: a full forty-eight hours of a throbbing headache and insurmountable fatigue. I spent most of two days in bed, popping Ibuprofen and lavishing attention on my very contented cat.
When I told a close friend I had done it in the name of travel, she launched a well-reasoned argument on the accessibility of caffeine throughout the world. Even the remote Pacific island of Kiribas, where she’d spent a year writing her master’s thesis, a daily caffeine habit was no obstacle.
Her point is valid: finding out the many different forms of coffee in different countries has been one of my favorite investigations. Prior to Friday, I had not gone a day without some form of caffeine in over ten years. And my addiction-fueled pursuit of caffeine has created some lasting memories. Drinking espresso at a sidewalk Paris café. That green, brown and white whipped minty confection at Kava Kava Kava in Prague. The bus station in Nuevo Laredo where they handed me a Styrofoam cup and pointed me in the direction of the microwave.
Looking back over my love affair with coffee, however, I’m forced to see the sheer amount of time, money and effort my obsession requires. Ordering anything in a country where you don’t speak the language is difficult, but summoning the skills before you can even open your eyes properly is another challenge altogether. Every morning would begin with a quest, sacrificing the dignity allowed by combing my hair and putting on proper pants so I could make it to the hostel breakfast room and take in the drug that allowed me to begin my day. Hydration, an all-important tenet of healthy travel, was neglected in my efforts to maintain a proper caffeine high. And let’s not forget my shameful forays into an unnamed American coffee chain to spend unconscionable amounts of money on a cup of joe I hoped would ease my homesickness.
I won’t say that I’m done with coffee or caffeine for good, however. There is dark Swiss chocolate out there waiting for me, that café in Paris beckons, and I would be remiss not to sit down for a traditional mug of yerba mate, should I be invited. Maybe in a year’s time, when I’m ready to take my trip, I will be ready to drink coffee responsibly. For now, however, it’s time to address those dependencies that may stand between me and vagabonding crutch-free. Maybe it’s internet, television, texting, nicotine, alcohol, chocolate. What do you find yourself incapable of living without today? And what are you going to do about it?

You Are a World Traveler: Sit Still

// October 7th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

Sitting still is not meditating, nor is it waiting. To ease your journey you will have to learn to do both of those things with grace, but that will come later. Today your task is merely to sit still, and observe.

A public place is the best location for this. Find a cafe with outdoor tables or a comfortable park bench. If you have a stoop in front of your house, this is ideal. Leave at home any items that might distract or enteratain you: no cell phone, iPod or handheld computer games. Any items that invite interaction such as a deck of cards or camera, are permissible.

The purpose of this exercise is twofold. First you are here to observe the world. Curiosity is a rare and undeveloped skill in most of our modern lives, and this has no little impact on your ability to travel successfully. At some point in a foreign country you will be forced to spend tedious hours waiting for a bus or stranded with a sprained ankle in a hostel bar, and at this time your greatest commodity will be your ability to observe and be curious about those around you.

Watch who passes: do they look tired, happy, nervous, angry? Can you tell if a person is trustworthy by how they hold their body? What time of the day do the businessmen in this neighborhood take lunch? When do the nannies leave home with their charges? Can you tell if someone is unemployed or calling in sick for the day? What is the posture of guilt, of jubilation? What is the mood of the neighborhood–do people seem to know each other?

The second lesson of this exercise is to learn how the world observes you. Are you approachable? Do people catch your eye and smile? Are you able to catch their eye and smile? Does the barrista offer you a refill without asking? Are you asked for money or harrassed? What kind of a person are you in the world when you have no shield in front of you. No friends, computer, book, sketchpad. What happens when you sit, and wait, and let the world come in to you? Now is the time to find out.

You Are a World Traveller: Pack Lightly

// September 28th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized, World Travel: Change your Relationship to Time

The first time I traveled abroad I shoved my prettiest clothes in a true hiker’s framed backpack a cousin had lent me. I was going to Scotland, the fantasy destination of my childhood, with a good friend from highschool I kept every free memento from the trip: Underground ticket stubs, Cadbury chocolate wrappers, a complimentary map of Edinburgh, a stolen beer coaster from a ritzy London pub, a kebab advertisement quaintly urging us to “‘ave one.” My friend chided me, bemused. I had legitimate souvenirs already, bought at the Dublin Guinness brewery or in a Glasgow side street. Why was I keeping all of this junk? Sentimental reasons, I told her. I was keeping these artifacts to preserve and record our journey. I didn’t want to forget a single moment.

And I still have them. It’s all in a silver shoe box in my childhood bedroom, a shoebox held together with duct tape and triumphantly labeled: England/Scotland/Ireland 2003! The silver shoe box is in a steamer trunk with several other shoe boxes, around fifteen year’s worth of shoe boxes from the age of 13 onward, boxes full of old movie tickets, wrist corsages, concert bracelets, flyers, locks of hair, beer bottle caps and notes passed in class. If I had to tell you why I’ve kept it all, well, I’m not sure that anyone could really understand my answer.

I have many diaries from those years, but they’re incomplete and inadequate in so many ways. Words cannot keep up with the hectic events of adolescence. I wrote down what I thought were the important things, and history rendered them unimportant. Only the objects bear proof. My diary from highschool might record the mad crush I had on Jerry. Jerry didn’t give me anything, but Tom, who had a mad crush on me, gave me a photocopy of his hand during math class. I still have that photocopy, and look at it I think of Tom and I smile.

That photocopy, that artifact, is proof that when I was fourteen a boy liked me and was too shy to say so. Without my many artifacts, how will I remember the time I saw a friend’s band play, the beer I shared with a new roommate, the friend I had for two weeks in the fifth grade? And the travel…what will happen when I am old and I forget the time I took the bus overnight to Phoenix, Arizona because I itched to see the Southwest? How will I remember that without my old and faded Greyhound ticket? Where will my experiences go?

My friend, the same practical friend who teased me as we wobbled our way through Dublin, lives in a tiny apartment with her fiance, cat, the accouterments of various hobbies, clothes, cooking utensils and, at any given time, at least four or five hungry friends. Her apartment is charming and well-organized and I can always walk across the floor. I live in a spacious two bedroom apartment whose closets barely contain evidence of hobbies abandoned, clothing I’ve never really worn, clothing I’ve worn to death but can’t bear to give away, postcards unsent, maps I’ve used once, books, books, books, and a shopping bag stuffed with the past year’s mementos: a two-year old day planner, movie ticket stubs, a menu from a Czech restaurant, and the list goes on.

Where does the list stop? What is worth keeping and what isn’t?

When I returned from that first trip abroad I remember sitting stunned in my bathtub looking at the shampoos and soaps sitting along the rim. At one time I had thought they were necessary. I had bought them in good faith that they would make my hair shiny and my skin soft. But after three weeks living from my borrowed backpack, everything outside of that backpack had suddenly been rendered superfluous.

If I want to leave, if I really want to leave, I have to leave it all. The old movie tickets, wrist corsages, concert bracelets, flyers, locks of hair, beer bottle caps and notes passed in class. I don’t need the detritus of hobbies abandoned, clothing I don’t wear, postcards unsent, maps of cities I’ll never return to, books, books, books.

I am terrified that what I have is who I am, when all travel has taught me tells me the opposite. Who I am is what I have. I am a traveler and I in the world. These objects are not the world. When I rid myself of them, the world is able to come in.

You Are a World Traveller: It’s Time for Time to become part of the Journey

// September 28th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized, World Travel: Change your Relationship to Time

The journey begins today, as I walk down the stairs and am confronted with my bike. I do not have time to ride my bike to work today. I never have time to ride my bike to work.

I have a morning routine, and it is a bad one. Every morning I hit the snooze button between two and six times. I get up when my bladder becomes insistent. I walk downstairs, and I start the coffee. I turn on my computer. My cat gets an errant pat, her food and water are checked, I let her out onto the patio. I glance at the headlines, eat some combination of carbohydrates and dairy, sip coffee, check my Facebook, my e-mail. I may watch a sitcom. Some days the idea of catching a sitcom before work is only thing that gets me out of bed. With ten minutes to spare, I throw my dishes in the sink, run upstairs and pull clothes off the hangers and throw clothes on the floor, brush my teeth, haphazardly make my bed, grab my purse and go.

What do I want? I want to meditate, to poke at my garden, to walk or ride my bike until I sweat. I want to shower and do my hair, make my bed. I want to eat whole grains while reading the newspaper. I want to talk to my cat, put on a careful outfit and apply a careful makeup, to leave the house smiling. Why don’t I? My complaint is that I don’t have enough time. I don’t have enough time. Today, I don’t have enough time to ride my bike to work. Today I watched America’s Next Top Model for 45 minutes while eating chocolate chip cookies. With five minutes till deadline for departure, I decide what to wear. I walk downstairs. Twenty minutes until I have to be at work.

On the road the alarm never has a chance to wake me up. Sleeping in a noisy hostel dorm leaves little opportunity for hitting the snooze button. What does it feel like to wake up in a foreign country? What does it feel like when your first conscious breath is one of foreign air? On bad days, the lack of routine depresses me. I want an honest cup of American joe, but the hostel coffee is spiked with cinnamon, it’s instant or they only have tea. I don’t know how the showers work, I can’t dress privately, I am grumpy.

On good days, days that I am a true traveler, I wake up and I am truly awake. My heart drums and I can taste foreign tastes on my tongue. I think, “I am waking up in Spain.” “I am waking up in Edinburgh.” “This is my first morning in Prague.” Every interaction has potential, moments that would be mundane in my hometown life are novel and worthy of treasuring. I cannot predict what the coffee will taste like, and this thrills me.

Bruce Lee said, “I if you love life, do not waste time, because time is what life is made of.” When I am traveling, I really love life, and I love myself. I fall in love with life and with myself over and over with each new challenge, with each experience, with each second of well-used time.

The opposite of love, is not hate, it is apathy. My journey does not allow for apathy. I look at the clock. There is time. There is always enough time for a journey. I roll up my pant legs.

You are a World Traveller: Be Curious About the Natives

// September 28th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

The trip begins now, more than a year before I leave the United States. The trip begins when I become a tourist in my everyday life and learn to approach the world with a sense of wonder.

The trip cannot be postponed. It begins this very moment, in my psychology class, where so many other mornings I’ve sat slack-jawed and discontent, wondering what prompted me to register for a class that started at 8:30 am.

But today I choose to look at my surroundings with a sense of novelty. The middle-aged woman across the room transforms. She is no longer a fixture, a dull acquaintance I’ve exchanged hellos with once or twice. She is a native of this new place, an elder with valuable advice for my journey. Each item of her costume, from her earrings to her glasses to her shirt was chosen for a reason unknown to me.

The first part of my journey is accepting that every person has a reality separate from my own. This sounds obvious, but be honest. How often do we use a subjective mental shorthand to categorize other people? The woman in my class is wearing a yellow shirt with the words “Humboldt County, established 1850” printed on it. I’ve seen this shirt for sale at a chain pharmacy. So I assume she’s the type of person who buys her clothing at chain pharmacies: not my type of person.

But what do I know? The shirt might be a gift from a beloved grandson or have an equally poignant backstory. And what does the shirt say about her? Above all, it says that she is proud of the place she lives. I have never worn a shirt that proclaims my pride in any place.

In our everyday lives, people who aren’t potential lovers or friends, people in whom we have no investment, often turn into social furniture. We see them without really seeing them. We have no interest in finding out what makes them unique, what motivates them and what lessons they may have for us. When we are travelers each person we meet is a potential experience, their very foreignness warranting notice and investigation, a conversation recorded in our journals. Today I am a traveler, and I think I will ask her where she got her shirt.

You Are A World Traveller

// September 27th, 2011 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

Even as you read this page, you are traveling. The planet Earth rotates at 1, 040 miles per hour. Gravity and momentum are the only things holding us to its surface. Travel is more than backpacks, plane tickets and guidebooks. Travel begins when you decide that the world is not a map, and that travel is not just moving from place to place but the texture of language, food, unlikely friendships, discomfort and discovery. Maybe, like me, you have not yet begun your physical journey, but you can choose to be a world traveler nonetheless. This blog is about the year leading up to my around-the-world trip. Using practical experiences from past trips I will offer a series of tips on getting into the proper mindset for long-term travel, while sharing my own daily discoveries. Over the next few months you’ll learn the importance of packing lightly, driving slowly, and learning how to poop in a public restroom. And, in a year’s time, you’ll get to see my practical advice put to the proverbial acid test as I leave my very American, Northern California community for Thailand, India, Rome, Botswana and other tasty destinations. I’m glad you’re coming with me.