while i was in college, and after i graduated, i wanted to backpack in europe. but the reality of the situation was that that was for the rich kids and i needed to work to afford to stay in school. there was no eurail pass for me, i had no fort lauderdale or cancun during spring break, i went home and worked to help pay for the semester that was half over. graduation day came and i stayed at work to do a double shift rather than crossing the stage with my classmates. working double shifts all through college was the way i had afforded to get this far, it seemed like the right thing to now that i had 10 years of debt to pay off once i graduated.
i was asked about my previous travels this week. had i done the backpacking in europe? why do i travel with a backpack now, when i can afford to pay for the five star hotel? today the cost of the holiday is more time than money. i plan trips on weeks that have holidays embedded within them, the time away from the office is much more of a challenge than the cost of the trip. the desire to carry a backpack and stay in "local" accommodations rather than yet another hilton is why this is vacation, i need to get away from the business travel environment.
but i am not the standard backpacker. i seem to have done this backwards, i delayed the backpacking until my back actually hurts from carrying the bag. travel in my 20s was restrained by the desire to pay off the loans needed to fund the parts of education i could not cover with double shifts. travel in my 30s was restrained by commitments including not taking days away because they were non-billable. travel in my 40s, well this has almost become a survival act. the reaction to an always on lifestyle and the need to be anonymous.
as i have been considering this, i have noticed the number of backpackers who are all around me this week. there is a certain flavor to the type, they are dominantly white, educated, literate and in their mid to late 20s. there are some in their thirties, but the over 40 crowd is limited. many have long histories of travel, the longest i have heard was 18 months of travel over 4 continents, with another 8 months to go before landing back in new york for a wedding. how does someone take 26 months out of their life and travel the world? i am asking that hoping how to figure it out for myself more than as a rhetorical question. where is the funding coming from? is it too late for me to be adopted by these parents?
when my older son was 10 or so, he asked me about eurail and suggested we do it together. i thought this was a great idea, one i honestly would not have come up with myself. i looked at tickets, considered the route through europe and presented the plan to his mother. the conversation ended abruptly, the trip was never taken, an opportunity was lost, one i wish i could go back and reclaim. i wonder how life would have been different if we had taken this trip. how would i be different?
as i look at the backpackers around me, i see them in the future. i see the house, and the volvo. i see the business they are running and the clients they need to keep happy. i see the children they are raising. i wonder if their spouse will also be a backpacker, or if they will be someone who orders roomservice and has never worn the same shorts for a week or shared a room with semi-strangers in a hostel.
i wonder when they will tell the children the stories of their backpacking past. i was almost 20 when i found out my father had gone to work in the caribbean for over a year. he never really told me the story other to say he had a great time. that is a side of my father i never knew existed, and i am sorry i will never know him at that time. will these parents be different? will they have pictures, blogs and facebook friends who drop in and tell the kids the story of a crazy night in thialand that mom has never mentioned? or will those memories be quietly tucked away under the adulthood that mom and dad take on? will the kids be given lectures on safety as they are carpooled from soccer to dance? will dad remember cambodia when he considers snooping in his daughters diary?
i talked to my younger son on the drive to the airport this week. i told him i was going to the mountains and hoped to piss over the border. i could hear him smiling as he laughed and called out to his mother to tell her about my plans. i could hear her adult reply to my childish plan. that made me smile.
backpacking is the 21th century version of hippy-culture. it's about the freedom to not shave, not get up in the morning, not go to bed at night if you don't want to. it doesn't matter if you smell a bit, if you have a stupid idea that you carry out or if you drink a bit too much.
what matters is that you find the time somewhere in your life to take an overnight train into the mountains, to look over the border and to know if you do want to let go, you can take a picture and share it with your children as a part of who you really are.
we are our past, and if we are really lucky, we are also our long scruffy futures.
Friday, November 19, 2010
meeting people
i have been thinking about what travel is for me. i am in a place that i really like, and have come to multiple times over the past few years. there is a certain comfort to the place and the pace of life here. there is both a history and a future that is clearly visible on the streets. i am here to relax, eat, drink and sleep. travel is about meeting people, places are more about the people you interact with than the locations themselves.
sunday afternoon i walked into a tailor shop hoping to get a new jacket. i had been to this shop a few years ago, recommended by the hotel i was staying in i had gone in for a suit; and came out 4 days later with 3. those earlier suits are wonderful, they are not only high quality at a great price, but they remind me of the fittings. i remember complete conversations, with a tailor who speaks little or no english. i made a friend that week, the experience made the trip and it was one of the reasons i am back now.
a few months ago i needed a jacket for a business trip. i started hunting in KL for a sports jacket. in contrast to buying suits here, doing almost anything in KL is an experience in frustration, inter-mixed with delay and miscommunication and ending in either expensive disappointment or complete failure. i have lived in KL for almost 5 years, i have no tailors who are friends and find it cheaper, easier and much more fun to fly to communist country to buy clothes. so many things are just harder than they need to be in my new home, and that frustration builds up.
i do have a favorite cafe in KL, i go there and the staff call me abang. i feel welcome and they know what i want. they took the time to figure out what i like and to smile and talk to me. but this is far from the norm in KL. the malaysian mindset is one of transactional encounters, with scant interest in building friendships over the longer term. this might be centered in retail space where staff are not owners and are not planning to be there for very long; but i think it goes deeper than that.
early monday morning the train to the mountains pulled into its final stop and we disembarked into the darkness. there was confusion with the pickup which taught that viet-english of "one minute" in no way means 60 seconds, or anything even close. the eventual pickup was followed by a slow climb up the valley, 30 km of switch back curves with piles of rock and heaps of sand blocking lanes of travel. if the roads where not scary enough, the mute driver was yawning and shaking his head to stay awake. i really wanted to know the viet-english for slow down and stop passing on curves.
checking into the hotel was made very easy with a helpful receptionist who spoke good english. she was dressed in a local costume with a red turbin and drop earrings with pearls hanging. she was pretty and punctuated sentences with a large smile, but there was something familiar about her. i noticed how closely she would watch the people she spoke to, gauging their reactions and adjusting her approach. i recognized i was watching a lionese, stalking along the edge of a waterhole, looking for signs of weakness to be exploited.
the next day i was leaving the hotel to walk to the village a few km away. the promise was that the level of aggressive selling experienced in town would be lower in the village. the suggestion came after i had complained about being unable to walk the streets without being followed by calls of "buy from me, buy from me". i was told that i had to expect this, i was white, i clearly had money and too nice.
i had a laptop in my bag and asked to leave it in the lobby safe. the same receptionist asked, "is this for me?". i replied, "do you want it?". she said, "no, i want you" with the same cool smile. the words were said in barely hushed tones, and again i sensed the prowling lioness. i felt like the aging water buffalo, momentarily separated from the herd. i retreated to safety and went hiking down remote mountainous trails towards a raging waterfall at the bottom of the valley. somehow walking into the wilderness added to the comfort.
when i was checking out of the hotel the receptionist again brought up the aggressive selling in town and again explained that i needed to understand the people here had grown up poor and were just trying to make a better life for themselves. i said i understood, i had also grown up poor and knew the desire to push for a better life. this is when she told me that if she told me of your childhood i would cry with her, and preceded to paint the picture of the 5 person family living in a small house, roof open to the elements, one bed, one blanket that was too small to cover them all from the winter cold. i paid my bill and moved away. i felt sympathy, but not for the story, for the need that drives the predator.
as i travel and meet people, i have noticed there are three basic groups. survivors, victims and predators. survivors and victims are common people who are living their lives, and i believe some move between these groups over time. predators are the outliers, they are the ones we need to watch for as we move towards the water hole. they hide themselves behind a smile with no real warmth, or the practiced tales of their victim or survivor personal history. i have met this same person a few times over the years, and did not recognize what i was seeing at first. it takes me a few data points to identify a trend, but once i see the curve i am good at projecting the next event.
beautiful women who show quick interest, who have an aggressive approach and stories to explain why the aggression should be understood are now one of those curves. i got in the overly expensive private bus, driven by the same mute driver, down the same winding curves with rubble on the road. this time, the mountain roads were covered with thick clouds and 3 foot visibility. the same behavior of passing other vehicles on curves was now a few orders of magnitude more dangerous than the drive up. i was glad to be on my way, i had a fitting with my tailor the next day and i was looking forward to the city.
i had gone to the tailor this time to get another sports coat. i will be leaving with two new suits, two sports coats and two shirts. buying in pairs is a thing for me, but it is not an indulgence, all of this is only slightly more than the price i paid for the single sports coat i bought a few months ago in KL (or less than the price of one suit off the rack in the US). the tailor does great work, and better than that when she walked into the shop as i was picking materials she smiled and laughed. she remembered me from two years ago, she came over and gave me a hug. it was the hug of a friend, i knew i was not at risk.
meeting people is good, the more you meet the better at it you can become. safety comes from awareness and if you are aware you can make good choices. a few years ago i made a choice to buy a new suit, that choice came with a friendship of sorts. travel for me is meeting people, and staying safe. maybe i am getting older, or that i am just craving the quietness that safety brings me. but for me, as i meet people i keep thinking:
safety first.
sunday afternoon i walked into a tailor shop hoping to get a new jacket. i had been to this shop a few years ago, recommended by the hotel i was staying in i had gone in for a suit; and came out 4 days later with 3. those earlier suits are wonderful, they are not only high quality at a great price, but they remind me of the fittings. i remember complete conversations, with a tailor who speaks little or no english. i made a friend that week, the experience made the trip and it was one of the reasons i am back now.
a few months ago i needed a jacket for a business trip. i started hunting in KL for a sports jacket. in contrast to buying suits here, doing almost anything in KL is an experience in frustration, inter-mixed with delay and miscommunication and ending in either expensive disappointment or complete failure. i have lived in KL for almost 5 years, i have no tailors who are friends and find it cheaper, easier and much more fun to fly to communist country to buy clothes. so many things are just harder than they need to be in my new home, and that frustration builds up.
i do have a favorite cafe in KL, i go there and the staff call me abang. i feel welcome and they know what i want. they took the time to figure out what i like and to smile and talk to me. but this is far from the norm in KL. the malaysian mindset is one of transactional encounters, with scant interest in building friendships over the longer term. this might be centered in retail space where staff are not owners and are not planning to be there for very long; but i think it goes deeper than that.
early monday morning the train to the mountains pulled into its final stop and we disembarked into the darkness. there was confusion with the pickup which taught that viet-english of "one minute" in no way means 60 seconds, or anything even close. the eventual pickup was followed by a slow climb up the valley, 30 km of switch back curves with piles of rock and heaps of sand blocking lanes of travel. if the roads where not scary enough, the mute driver was yawning and shaking his head to stay awake. i really wanted to know the viet-english for slow down and stop passing on curves.
checking into the hotel was made very easy with a helpful receptionist who spoke good english. she was dressed in a local costume with a red turbin and drop earrings with pearls hanging. she was pretty and punctuated sentences with a large smile, but there was something familiar about her. i noticed how closely she would watch the people she spoke to, gauging their reactions and adjusting her approach. i recognized i was watching a lionese, stalking along the edge of a waterhole, looking for signs of weakness to be exploited.
the next day i was leaving the hotel to walk to the village a few km away. the promise was that the level of aggressive selling experienced in town would be lower in the village. the suggestion came after i had complained about being unable to walk the streets without being followed by calls of "buy from me, buy from me". i was told that i had to expect this, i was white, i clearly had money and too nice.
i had a laptop in my bag and asked to leave it in the lobby safe. the same receptionist asked, "is this for me?". i replied, "do you want it?". she said, "no, i want you" with the same cool smile. the words were said in barely hushed tones, and again i sensed the prowling lioness. i felt like the aging water buffalo, momentarily separated from the herd. i retreated to safety and went hiking down remote mountainous trails towards a raging waterfall at the bottom of the valley. somehow walking into the wilderness added to the comfort.
when i was checking out of the hotel the receptionist again brought up the aggressive selling in town and again explained that i needed to understand the people here had grown up poor and were just trying to make a better life for themselves. i said i understood, i had also grown up poor and knew the desire to push for a better life. this is when she told me that if she told me of your childhood i would cry with her, and preceded to paint the picture of the 5 person family living in a small house, roof open to the elements, one bed, one blanket that was too small to cover them all from the winter cold. i paid my bill and moved away. i felt sympathy, but not for the story, for the need that drives the predator.
as i travel and meet people, i have noticed there are three basic groups. survivors, victims and predators. survivors and victims are common people who are living their lives, and i believe some move between these groups over time. predators are the outliers, they are the ones we need to watch for as we move towards the water hole. they hide themselves behind a smile with no real warmth, or the practiced tales of their victim or survivor personal history. i have met this same person a few times over the years, and did not recognize what i was seeing at first. it takes me a few data points to identify a trend, but once i see the curve i am good at projecting the next event.
beautiful women who show quick interest, who have an aggressive approach and stories to explain why the aggression should be understood are now one of those curves. i got in the overly expensive private bus, driven by the same mute driver, down the same winding curves with rubble on the road. this time, the mountain roads were covered with thick clouds and 3 foot visibility. the same behavior of passing other vehicles on curves was now a few orders of magnitude more dangerous than the drive up. i was glad to be on my way, i had a fitting with my tailor the next day and i was looking forward to the city.
i had gone to the tailor this time to get another sports coat. i will be leaving with two new suits, two sports coats and two shirts. buying in pairs is a thing for me, but it is not an indulgence, all of this is only slightly more than the price i paid for the single sports coat i bought a few months ago in KL (or less than the price of one suit off the rack in the US). the tailor does great work, and better than that when she walked into the shop as i was picking materials she smiled and laughed. she remembered me from two years ago, she came over and gave me a hug. it was the hug of a friend, i knew i was not at risk.
meeting people is good, the more you meet the better at it you can become. safety comes from awareness and if you are aware you can make good choices. a few years ago i made a choice to buy a new suit, that choice came with a friendship of sorts. travel for me is meeting people, and staying safe. maybe i am getting older, or that i am just craving the quietness that safety brings me. but for me, as i meet people i keep thinking:
safety first.
Monday, November 15, 2010
relaxing travels
i started saturday morning at 3 AM, forced awake by an alarm set to stun me out of well earned sleep. i stumbled around in the dark, afraid of the blaring lights that would replace the night with the flip of the switch. i had started another holiday, time away from work and the standard pace of life that i bury myself within. what sounded like a great idea when originally planned, was forcing me up, when i would much rather snuggle into bed and let the weekend slowly creep past. i laced my boots, shouldered my backpack and headed for the door. pushing the grumpiness away, i tried to relax and draw in the comfort of a promised relaxing vacation.
driving to the airport i called my son in the US and found him preparing for a 10-boy sleep over. how he ever convinced his mother that having 10 boys over for a lack-of-sleep over is beyond me. allowing a small horde of laughing tweens to commandeer your home is right up there with running away and joining the circus. it sounds like fun and adventure, but when you get right down to it living with monkey poop all around you has its limits of enjoyment. then again, there i was hours before sun-up being slowly driven to a discount airport so i could fly to a communist country, board a train and go into the mountains. who was i to judge?
i need this holiday. the timing was set months ago to allow me to juggle three projects. the planning has appeared to work out, the first seems fully stabilized, another that is in test but is coasting down its planned slope, and the last is running ahead of the curve a bit like a runaway train. the past few months have been a roller-coaster ride; and it is clear i need to get off and take a break from the "fun".
a roller-coaster is probably the wrong metaphor here, it has been more like bungie jumping must have been before the sport had a name. in a moment of boredom someone started a sentence with "what if we..." and for some reason thought it would be fun to actually to try it. we then cobbled our gear together and found a high ledge and at the last moment called home to warn the parents what we had decided to try. there was tension and some coercion to force us to let go before we were completely ready, but we survived the first thrilling fall before hearing the onlookers say, "dude, that was awesome, do it again".
this is what i needed to get away from, the desire to sieze the day with white knuckles from fear of death secondary to unrestrained free-fall. it does feel amazing when the stress is replaced by the reality that you did let go, you accelerated toward a short sharp shock, and then just as you were sure you had overstepped, you where snapped back and the curve reverses itself to one of upwards safety. it clears the mind, but there can be a hangover, and taking a rest from the party is a good cure for that.
so here i am, walking a neighborhood i mapped in my head on previous visits. i know where to go for a morning ca phe sua da with banana pancakes, or to get a very good croissant to eat while strolling along the lake. i am ready to move around the city on foot, cyclo or motorcycle. i am looking forward to sitting on a corner for hours, drinking bai hoi and eating pho ba for less than the price of a single coffee at starbucks. i am also going to eat at my favorite italian restaurant in asia, go to mass in french, and if i am really lucky get my name on a wall of fame for drinking 10 shots of "rocket fuel" the rice wine served straight or with infusions of your choice from lemon to snake. why in god's name would i want to drink rocket fuel, not once but ten times in row? well, it will get me a t-shirt as well as the bragging rights of success. it will also probably give me a serious headache, so this will have to wait until after the train to the mountains.
maybe that is why i needed this vacation. i needed to have a challenge that would not matter if i failed to do it. i mean, who cares if i stop at 9, or push to 10 and then fall off my stool. i really do want to get to ten for the t-shirt, but the shirts are only 5 USD and i could always buy one rather than drinking my way to ownership... but that really isn't the way to get the t-shirt is it?
just like all the other stupid things i do, it's the doing that is most important. owning the shirt means that i also own the experience. i can wear it not because i can afford to buy it, but because i stepped my ass up to the bar and ordered the drinks while someone was keeping count. if no one cared to watch, if it didn't matter to anyone at all, why would the doing matter. i don't want to wear a shirt if i didn't earn the damn thing. and, i don't want to celebrate something that is easy enough for anyone to do it. it might sound stupid, but it's true that there are too few challenges in life, you need to be proud of the ones you have survived.
if you are really lucky you can look around the table after your jump and with a steady voice say:
been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
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