Category Archives: Opinion Articles

When it’s Time to Travel Again

03 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Africa, Opinion Articles

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Seattle Skyline

A distinct and undeniable pattern has emerged in my life.  A job loss precipitates a period of long term solo travel.  This is an embarrassing thing to admit – but I have been fired or forced to resign 4 times in the last 3 and a ½ years.  After each kick to the gut, I have booked a trip abroad for one to six months.  I admire people who can jump right back into the job search after losing their job.  For me, a job loss, especially one that is a result of a firing for personal/painful reasons and not poor job performance is too hard to come back from without a chance to hit a reset button.  Searching for a job requires you to be truly “on” in regards to self-promotion and self-marketing.  At a time when personal confidence has been severely tested and the inevitable self-doubt regarding whether I should continue in an industry that keeps spitting me out like sour milk rises to the surface, a job search is very unappealing.  Then, well-intentioned friends shower you with the advice to take this opportunity to do some reticent soul-searching to discover a way to make a living fulfilling myself on a deeper ‘soul’ level; or how this is simply an opportunity disguised in tragedy – the inevitable and unavoidable assurances that “as one door closes another one opens.”

As true as these well-wishes might be, the only thing that ever really helps me move forward after such a traumatic event is going away for a while.  Call it escaping one’s problems, refusing to face reality, shirking responsibility, or being fiscally irresponsible – it’s the only thing that has ever worked for me in the past.

This job joss was particularly harsh because I really loved my job and the company I was working for.  After nearly 12 years as a financial advisor/planner – I had finally found a firm whose values were aligned with my own.  Unfortunately for me, I misjudged the value alignment between me and the CEO of the firm.  The firing could not have come as a bigger surprise, totally out of left field and only four days following a positive performance review.

I was left feeling totally shattered.

Me at my former office

There’s nothing worse than finding yourself unemployed right before the start of the holiday season in Seattle, when the weather is so grey it looks like late evening at 10 o’ clock in the morning.  I found myself going through a grieving process, in shock and disbelief over what had happened and in a state of growing anxiety about what the future might hold.

It was in this rather unstable frame of mind that I set about booking my next big trip.  West Africa was high on my list as the next big “adventure” and lucky for me- the only tour company that offers overland trips in West Africa had their once-a-year trip leaving at the end of November.

As exciting as it sounded, I was also suffering from the typical pre-booking anxious ‘glued to my couch’ syndrome that has also resulted in me booking and canceling flights in a repeating cycle in past years.  Adding to this issue was the fact that unlike East Africa, 5 of the countries on the Dragoman itinerary required visas be obtained in advance and it started looking like I wasn’t going to be able to obtain all of the necessary documents by the time of my intended departure.  The trip was starting in Senegal, and being a dual citizen, forced to use a visa agency that could only obtains visas in DC for US passports, I tried to convince the tour company that I could fly there on my British Passport since the first 3 countries permitted visas obtained on arrival for British subjects.  What harm could there be in getting my US passport fed-exed to our guest house in Guinea-Bissau?  Being told it was simply too much of a risk in that the passport might not show up and I’d be left stranded/unable to continue the journey – I was forced to book only part of the tour that started in Freetown, Sierra Leone and took in the countries of Guinea, Cote D’Ivoire, Ghana, Togo and Benin.

Landing in Freetown, Sierra Leone

I booked everything on a self-imposed whim and found myself crying hysterically on the drive home after sending off my passport for the $1,000+ visa process.  What had I done?  Was I emotionally/mentally stable enough to handle the rigors of overland travel in such an undeveloped-for-tourism area of the world for two months?  What if I experienced a repeat of my last overland experience where I didn’t connect with anyone on the truck and it was filled with 18-year-old party/sex/alcohol driven lads from pretentious private schools in the UK?

I found myself full of trepidation and regret that interchanged with excitement and fear on an endless loop.

Faced with spending Thanksgiving in the States, I made plans with one of my best friends and former “flame” who’s sister was visiting that week from out of the country.  Little did I know at the time that the 3 night/4 day excursion to Olympic National Park would turn into a nightmare.  Heading out to stay on the peninsula at a friend’s place to avoid the Thanksgiving day lines at the ferry – an innocent dinner conversation turned into a huge fight that continued to escalate into the night.  In the morning, both of my so-called “friends” refused to follow through with our plans to stay at a lodge a few hours’ away.  In tears, I told them I would call another friend to see if he might join me that evening since I was damned if I was going to spend the holiday alone – especially one that is characterized by family, love, good times, and gratitude.

When I emerged from the bathroom after making my tearful phone call – they had both left and ensured that they were non-contactable by blocking me on any and all forms of cellular communication.

I spent the holiday alone and in tears.

I’m not sure if I have ever felt that emotionally devastated in my life.  I’d now lost my job and my so-called best friend.

I was in such poor state I immediately flew down to Palm Springs to visit my dear friend Craig and hopefully get my mind off the previous weeks’ events.  I was so grateful to have someone to talk to, laugh with, and get up to no good with.  Despite my best efforts, the pain and struggle continued and I knew it was going to take being somewhere so foreign that it felt like Pluto to really help me process, heal and move on from the past months’ trauma.

Visiting Craig in Palm Springs

The last few days spent in a frenzy of last minute arrangements for house-sitting, packing and buying essentials – I finally headed to the airport for my 3-leg journey to the capital of Sierra Leone: Freetown.

There was no going back now: with a heavy but hopeful heart – I got on the plane.

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Saquisili Market – Screwing Llamas for sale

06 Sunday Jul 2014

Posted by in Ecuador, Opinion Articles, South America

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Saquisili main square

Saquisili main square

In Ecuador, markets are an extremely important part of the culture. We had been told that the market in Saquisili was the most authentic indigenous market in the country and it was held every Thursday. Upon arriving in the city, we were informed there were actually four markets in one- a textile market, a food market, and the large and small animals market. Finding the one hotel in town was easy enough and though a little shabby, at $15 for a comfy bed for the two of us, I was pretty happy.

The difficulty came in finding somewhere to eat. Just like Latacunga, there didn’t appear to be any restaurants in town. We asked lots of individuals where we might be able to eat dinner and we were repeatedly met with blank stares. Since the majority of the townspeople were poor, it appeared that eating outside of the home was a luxury that the vast majority could simply not afford.

Breakfast at Saquisili Market

Breakfast at Saquisili Market

Eventually, we did find a little converted garage on a side street where an old lady stood over 4 steaming pots of food and offered us potatoes, meat and a fried egg for $2.50. The meat was extremely tough and what made it even tougher was that we were only given a spoon to eat our food with. At least the beer was relatively cold.

Main Food Market

Main Food Market

In the morning, I was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to get my caffeine fix. I can almost imagine living in a town that didn’t have a selection of restaurants, but I cannot imagine living in a town where you can’t purchase a cup of coffee in the morning. Luckily, at the food market, there were several stalls offering up a traditional Ecuadorian breakfast of a boiled egg with cornmeal served in a husk and black coffee. I managed to buy a cup of hot milk from another stall for 20 cents and Voila! – Café Au Lait.

Baby pig for sale

Baby pig for sale

There were some shocking sights awaiting us at the animal market. Some more surprising than others. For instance, I was mentally prepared for seeing pigs squealing and being dragged by their legs and thrown into trucks, I was prepared for the cows and sheep all tied up and bleating in unison. I wasn’t, however, prepared for the sight of two Llamas having sex, while also tied up and awaiting purchase. I got some interesting photos to be sure.

IMG_9504

Llamas...doing what Llamas do

Llamas…doing what Llamas do

The small animal market was a little more distressing for me. There were hundreds of plastic and fabric bags on the ground by people’s feet and I didn’t think much of it until I noticed that there was squealing and meowing and barking coming from the bags. The bags were full of guinea pigs, rabbits, puppies, chickens, goslings, and kittens. As people walked by, the owner would grab an animal, often by the neck to show the prospective buyer and then mercilessly drop the tormented creature back on to his buddies.

Guinea Pigs - yummy?

Guinea Pigs – yummy?

A basket of fowl for sale

Guinea Pigs and a basket of fowl for sale

In addition, there were hundreds of cages just filled to the brim with little sad creatures. Some showed significant signs of fighting with open wounds on their backs and legs.

IMG_9518

Puppy anyone?

Puppy anyone?

It was all in all, quite upsetting, but an eye-opening cultural experience that had to be had at the same time.

Coming Home: Why Does It Have To Be So Hard?

26 Thursday May 2011

Posted by in Opinion Articles

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Coming back is not all bad: Parties and being darker than your friends

I flew back from Mexico seven weeks ago today. In the few weeks that followed, I set about planning and implementing my self-hosted travel blog. I was full of enthusiasm and excitement for the list of articles that I had still to write, not having had time to finish them all while in Central America.

When I’m backpacking, its all I can do to not write a post every single day about the amazing experiences that I’m having and the sites that I am witnessing. And while the travel excitement did last for several weeks after my return, I have found it increasingly difficult to blog about the rest of my trip.

Blogging is not exactly new to me, I started writing about my travels back in 2001 when I completed a Semester at Sea voyage around the world. However, the idea of continuing to write about travel when I’m not traveling is something I’ve always struggled with.  And it’s not for lack of stories, I have hundreds of ideas that I think of as I am going about my day-to-day life. I just missed how alive and vibrant I feel inside when I’m on the road. How much I want to write about that, every day.

I’m happiest when I’m carrying a back pack

I guess part of this has to do with the reverse culture shock of returning home. I know culture shock is supposed to affect you when you leave home and go to a foreign land, but for me, my time here in Seattle has been so tumultuous over the past few years, it feels more like home when I’m traveling than when I am back.

In many ways I have been extraordinarily blessed over the past two years with the number of travel experiences that I’ve had. This started when I got laid off in January of 2009 from a company whom I had worked for five years. I had dedicated so much of my time and energy to getting my CFP certification, and climbing the ladder in the financial services world, that when it ended I went through an identity crisis. Who was I when I didn’t have that position?

I also learned that the people I had worked with, who had literally been my entire social circle for so long, were not truly my friends – our friendship had been dependent on my continuing to show up at the office every day. To make matters worse, my boyfriend had just left me two weeks previous. So, here I was without my career, my boyfriend or the people I typically turn to for support. It was the perfect time to get away. To get the kind of perspective and clarity that only travel can give you.

Back then I went to Guatemala for a couple of weeks, and ended up returning from Bolivia four months later. It was an amazing trip, but it was very difficult to come back to my empty life in Seattle.

After several months of job hunting I finally landed another position in financial services, which I was then fired from three weeks later due to a personality conflict. That time I left to travel to Nepal, Cambodia and Thailand.

On my return from that trip, I was fortunate enough to land a dream position away from the financial services world that I had grown to mistrust. As many of you know, I landed a position as the Content Editor of TravelPost, the travel tech startup formed by the founding members of Expedia. I was being paid to write about all things travel, and I discovered the wonderful travel blogging community that I now feel a part of.

My last day in Mexico

Just when things were starting to look up, I got laid off again in January of this year, together with another eight employees. Once again, I react to these situations differently than most people would in my circumstances. I don’t panic and start frantically looking for work, I immediately begin thinking about where I should take the next trip to clear my mind, clear my heart, and reassess what is really important in my life.  It’s the pathology of long-term travel junkies, right?

After a Middle Eastern itinerary seemed badly timed due to the political uprisings, I elected to return to Central America and see the rest of Guatemala, Belize and Mexico. It was an incredible journey, and it served to fuel the wanderlust that grows ever larger each time I come home from an amazing journey like that.

I don’t mean for this to be a whine-fest, I’m extremely grateful for the amazing experiences I have had traveling, and in many ways, the three job losses have enabled me the opportunity to travel because of the time it has afforded me to go away. If I had the money, I would probably still be making my way around the globe.  But why do I only feel like myself when I am on the road?  Am I just escaping reality and my problems?  People often ask me how I’m able to just get up and go off galavanting solo around the world at a moment’s notice.  I reply that for me it is easy: what’s hard is making life work staying put in one place.

Must it be so difficult to come back home? And why is it difficult to write about my experiences now?

Anyone who’s been unemployed can tell you that it is extremely difficult to stay upbeat and  motivated when you’re looking for work. This is especially true for me as I feel like being unemployed and looking for work has become my career.  Having only been an online editor for seven months, it seems I cannot parlay this position into another one where I would be writing, even if it wasn’t about travel. Meanwhile, my financial licenses are expiring, and the time it has been since I served in an advising capacity to clients grows longer, together with my doubt as to whether that is the right career for me anyway.

Arnaud and I training for our Mt. Rainier climb

On the positive side, I have been kept wonderfully distracted by training for an upcoming climb of Mount Rainier with my wonderful boyfriend, Arnaud, and by planning a move to the city of Kirkland on the east side of Seattle at the end of this month.  I’m hoping a change of location will do me and my head some good. I know writing this post has already helped – I feel that I have come clean with you, my audience.

For those of you reading this who are travel bloggers, how many of you only write about your travels when you’re traveling? How do you bring yourself to stay motivated to write about your experiences when you’re not?  I would really appreciate any advice you might have, because even though I have been writing for 11 years now, I am new to the world of consistent blogging even when I’m home.

And thank you so much to all of you who have told me that you enjoy my stories, and who have encouraged me to keep writing.

I promise to keep trying.

Please, Don’t Be A Pretentious Traveler Part II

03 Tuesday May 2011

Posted by in Guatemala, Opinion Articles

≈ 33 Comments

Border into Panama

No signs at this border crossing

I recently wrote a post about a very pretentious traveler whom I met in Guatemala this past March. Lots of you commented, and it would seem that it was a common experience shared by most of you at some point or another. I wanted to follow that post with this one dedicated to a traveler named Martin, who was the antithesis of Miss Fancy Hula-Hoop Pants, but whom I incidentally met on the same day and at the same hostel.

A group of us were sitting down to dinner. We were having a typical conversation about where everyone had been and stayed. Sitting at the end of the table was an unassuming looking man with brilliant blue eyes freshly dreaded dreadlocks, who was eagerly tucking into his food. During the first 15 minutes of conversation, he didn’t really engage. The conversation turned to Lake Atitlan, as Arnaud and I would be traveling there next and were looking for a good hostel recommendation for Panajachel. A few people interjected their thoughts, and then I turned to the silent guy at the end of the table and asked him whether he had been to the lake, and had any accommodation recommendations?

He mentioned the name of a hostel, but pointed out he had only chosen it because it was extremely economical and was pretty far away from the main action of the downtown area. He did tell us about a great little bar that had great live music. He casually mentioned that he typically camped as he was traveling to save money, as he was on an extended trip.

Up to this point we hadn’t really noticed anything special about this person. He was friendly and trying to be helpful. Pestering him with a couple more generic questions, we discovered that he had just had his bicycle stolen. This wasn’t all that incredible either, until he explained that he had basically been cycling for the last year all the way from Tierra Del Fuego in South America to Guatemala!

This information got me extremely interested. This was a traveler with a unique story, and certainly one that a lot of people would’ve chosen to brag about. However, in a very mild-mannered English accent, Martin began captivating us as an audience as he began to explain how he had actually been traveling for the past eight years, and how his decision to cycle from the southernmost tip of South America to the northernmost tip of North America wasn’t really anything special. He explained that hundreds of guys did this every year, and so he didn’t really think he was that unique anymore.

Well. I’d certainly never met anyone doing this! I was interested!

Aconcagua, 22,841 Feet

Mighty Aconcagua, 22,841 Feet

We were fascinated and started peppering Martin with questions about what it had been like, what tools he had used to get from place to place, how much gear he was carrying with him etc. It turned out that in addition to cycling, Martin was an avid mountaineer and was climbing high altitude peaks along his journey, including the mighty Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in the continent. He was even carrying all of his cold weather gear on his bike; everything except an ice axe and crampons.

Martin was happy to answer our questions, but he never once took any credit for his outstanding achievement, and brave forays onto a truly unbeaten path on the back of a standard road bike. He told us about his bike rides through winter blizzards, his Aconcagua ascent, his malaria and water-borne sicknesses he’d endured because like the locals, he no longer treats his drinking water. One particular story stands out in my mind, and it concerned his crossing the border from Colombia to Panama, overland.

“Well, you see, crossing the border via the dense jungle on a road bike is a bit tricky,” he explained.

“I basically don’t carry any roadmaps, because they are so unreliable in Central. I typically end up following a compass, rudimentary markings in the lonely planet guide, directions from locals along the way, and my gut. I was passing through during the rainy season, when I knew it would be especially difficult to get across by bike. And since it’s considered a rather dodgy area, there are not very many road signs,”

“At one point, I think I’d been biking about two days on one small road I thought was the correct route only to find out later that it looped back to where I had started from. I was gutted as it had been especially physically demanding. Not wanting to be discouraged, I set about on a different route only to find that the rain started coming down so heavily that I had no choice but to pull over, set up my one man tent in the bog, and wait for the weather to clear.”

“After a rather crazed, mosquito-filled sleepless night, I awoke to water inside my tent, and when I peered outside, there was a river flowing where yesterday there had been a road! Some locals had come across my tent in a boat and were just sitting there waiting to see what crazy person had set up a tent in the middle of the jungle so close to the Colombian border. I think these guys were Wounaan Indians, so they didn’t speak a word of Spanish or English. It was rather difficult trying to get them to understand where I needed to go- that I need their help was, believe me, rather obvious! “

Map of No-Man's Land: Border between Panama and Colombia

“Eventually I understood that they wanted $10 for me to get in their boat and be paddled across the border; at least, I hoped that was where they were heading! I remember thinking that $10 was a lot of money because based on my best guess-work; I was no more than a few miles from the border. Turns out, I was in that boat with those two guys for the next 15 hours before safely crossing over into Panama. It was absolutely wild. I can’t begin to tell you how precious and unique that experience was for me. Being paddled to Panama by those guys.”

Martin’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and we sat listening with rapt attention. The writer in me kept asking him, “Have you written any these stories down or blogged about any of them? Seriously?!”

He just kept insisting that he’s an ordinary guy who loves to travel, loves to climb mountains, surf waves, and have adventures. He didn’t think his stories were anything special.

“People who can live in one place. Have a home, a family. Keep a job that they go to every day of the week. They are special. Not me. This is my life”.

I found him inspiring. He was the epitome of cool- because he didn’t consider himself to be.

After my encounter with hula hoop girl earlier on in the day, I can tell you that meeting Martin was a refreshing change. He had experienced so much and been traveling for so long, he even admitted that he looked 10 years older than his mere 29 years. Yet despite this, he was more than happy to discuss where I might like to stay in Panajachel. Only after probing him did he offer up this array of colorful stories of adventures into the wild unknown that most backpackers don’t get to experience.

Funnily enough, I met another traveler in Rio Dulce who had encountered Martin and was likewise struck by his tale and accompanying modesty. It seems Martin is leaving a trail of positive impacts in his interactions as he heads north. I did give Martin my e-mail address, and let him know that he had a place to stay once he got to Seattle sometime next year, but I haven’t heard from him yet.

“So… Where’s next for you? Now that you’re bike-less?” I asked Martin as I left the table.

“Well, turns out that the police in Panajachel found my bike today. Which I really wasn’t expecting. So I’ll just enjoy my bus journey back to the Lake…and then I’ll be on the road again. Maybe find some work for a while to save up some more cash before heading to the States.”

He smiled and hungrily shoveled some more dinner into his mouth, clearly content that he could enjoy some food that wasn’t packaged noodles boiled on his camp stove.

I am curious to know if any of you pretension-hating travelers out there have met Martin? Or at least someone like him that inspired you?

Please, Don’t Be A Pretentious Traveler

28 Thursday Apr 2011

Posted by in Guatemala, Opinion Articles

≈ 101 Comments

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Undoubtedly one of the greatest joys of travel is meeting like-minded people along the way.  I would even venture to say that whether one’s recollections of a particular place fills you with warm fuzzies or a sense of indifference has more to do with who you spent time with while there than with the location’s inherent merits.

For instance, I had an incredible experience trekking through Patagonia because our five-person team gelled so cohesively.  I can no longer separate my memories of that trek from the people who I shared it with. Likewise, sad to be parted from my new little group, I was in a bad mood for the following week that I spent in Buenos Aires on my own.

 

My awesome trekking team in Torres Del Paine, Chile

That being said, sometimes the characteristically negative interactions one has with other travelers can be equally memorable.  The loud, disrespectful guy who turns on the lights in a dorm room after coming home from the club at 3am.  The backpacker who complains about spending the equivalent of 30 cents more than the locals, on a purchase at the market.  Or, the pretentious traveler who exudes superiority whenever she opens her mouth.

I met the last example during my stay in Lanquin, Guatemala.  There was an American girl there in her mid to late twenties, admittedly very attractive, who always wore cowboy boots paired with a mini-skirt and rapidly batting eyelashes when she spoke.  She had a rather hairy, pony-tailed English guy traveling with her on a motorcycle, and they struck me as a rather mismatched couple.

George, the English guy (I have somehow blocked her name from memory), explained how they had met up in Nicaragua and how he had invited her to join him traveling the rest of Central America with him on his motorcycle.  He was very down-to-earth as he explained that they were enjoying their slow travel style, and he was obviously completely enamored, with an “I can’t believe she’s with me” look on his face as he talked about her.

I should mention that I was in a typical Mayan stone sauna at this moment, and that George and his travel companion had an audience of about eight others.  The conversation was proceeding as typically as you’d expect in a hostel full of strangers meeting for the first time: Where have you been traveling? How long are you traveling for?  Where are you from? Etc.

Meeting fellow travelers on the hike to San Pedro

I addressed the American girl with the typical latter question.  Despite her strong East Coast American accent, she nonchalantly replied “Oh, I’m a citizen of the world”, while running her fingers through her black wavy hair.

Stifling my desired response of “Is that what you tell immigration authorities when you cross the border?” I replied asking, “Ok. But what part of the States are you from originally?”

“Oh, I was born in Boston.  But I don’t consider myself American anymore.”

“Really?  Why’s that?”

“Well, I haven’t lived there in so long. I’m location independent.”

“I see. So, how long are you traveling for on this trip?”

“Oh. I’m traveling indefinitely.  For example, when I met George I’d just finished six months in the Darien.  I never know where I’m going next. That’s why I’m a citizen of the world”.

This girl had such an air of conceit in her voice that I felt like punching her in the face but instead I just swallowed and smiled.  And then came the punch line, when someone asked her how she liked traveling by motorcycle.

“Oh, it’s so much fun and unpredictable.  We just go wherever we feel like whenever we feel like it. The only difficulty is bringing my hula”.

“Your what?” I ask.

“My hula-hoop.  I hula everyday when I travel.”

No-one likes a know-it-all show off.  Even if you’ve visited over a hundred countries and have been on the road for the last ten years, it doesn’t make you better than anyone else.  It makes you privileged. Travel should enlighten, build confidence and a sense of tolerance and community.   So feel free to share your experiences, your wisdom and your stories with those less ventured,

but do so to encourage, not to impress.

Otherwise you’ll be shunned by others and some blogger will write a nasty post about you when they get home.

From that point on, whenever I would see this girl, I would avoid engaging in conversation.  The next day when I spotted her and George inside the Lanquin Caves, I really wanted to ask her where her hula-hoop was.