It’s Never Just Awesome

“You’re going to have so much fun! What an adventure! You’re so brave to go by yourself!”

The reality that I have now realized is this: I had no clue what my emotional, mental, or psychological state would be as I traveled. I really only planned for my physical state, and only somewhat adequately (as in thank goodness for Gravol, I’m glad I walked to work with my weighted backpack a bunch in June as training, but what in the world was I thinking while packing shirt-wise). I have traveled by myself before, but never had I ventured to four non-English speaking (sort of, as in primary language spoken), unique-currency-using, bring your own toilet paper, nothing booked beyond the first 2 hotel days besides my return ticket, foreign “enough that I could be in trouble” countries. Yeah.

I was excited while booking my plane ticket, indifferent about research beyond looking at a map and roughing out a route, overly zealous about vaccinations, malaria pills, and medical supplies, and shaking in my shoes, imagining cashing in my insurance cancellation policy I bought with trip, freaked-out as I was driving to the Vancouver airport. But, obviously, I did not cash in, and instead napped in the airport until security opened, got on each of my three flights, and made it in one piece to my hotel.

The first day, I made myself relax and mostly stay in my hotel room, convincing myself that I wasn’t paralyzed with fear, but rather intelligently and purposely adjusting to the time zone and preparing for the less comfy digs I knew I’d soon be staying in. I did leave my hotel briefly, after a bit of working up, and was kindly escorted by a doorman 30ft outside and to the right, into a booking agency. The nice lady helped me figure out a few of my next moves, booked these for me, and impressed upon me the importance of keeping my receipts. (Thankfully – paper is king here, and the only thing that will be getting you on whatever excursion, train, or boat you’ve already paid for.)

I even walked one block further, attempting to acclimatize before scurrying back the delicious A/C. I even noticed my “brand” of hostel had a location less than a block away, which I booked for the following 2 nights upon returning to my cushy hotel. (International Hostels – I have a membership which nets me 10% off, has locations most places I travel for cheap, like Jasper and Banff for spring break, and always comes through on cleanliness and amenities.)

Day 2, I checked out (not quite as late as possible, but close), and walked with all my stuff down two blocks, up a two-story staircase overpass walk way, down the other side, and back a block to the hostel. I was pouring sweat. I tried not to drip my Northern Canadian self on the very nice guy at the front desk as he checked me in to the first of MANY co-Ed hostel dorm rooms that I would experience* on this trip. Then I realized that I was a TRAVELER. As in, leave the hostel, go find something to do, an adventure, whatever. Stop being afraid and go find something to do and get this trip going!

*survive, endure…

By the end of those first days, I was feeling confident, proud of being able to traverse a gigantic foreign city (there are English subtitles everywhere) by myself (I could look lost for all of thirty seconds before being helped) on public transit (you can go forward a direction or backwards, pretty hard to get lost). I had taken a boat, seen two lizards (dragons!), and found blessed A/C relief at the giant fancy mall’s movie theatre, where I watched the new Star Trek. In English.

Chiang Mai was close to as simple, and much smaller. I made fun friends with other amazing travellers, hung out with elephants, took a cooking class. And then was picked up, almost on time, for my slow boat to Laos.

Reality check time. (Remember my first post? Laos is not Thailand…)

Crashing spectacularly off the front bench of the slow boat in front of 120 people is not the worst thing that could happen. Snotty, bullyish backpackers, and a guesthouse with no A/C and salamanders crawling on the walls of my room is not the worst that could happen. Even waking up with what I’m pretty sure was black mould growing on my tongue and teeth after a questionable dinner (seriously – I had even brushed and didn’t drink the water or rinse my toothbrush in it) is not the worst thing that could happen. These things are pretty minor in the grand scheme of life, death, time, etc. But they all felt pretty crappy in the moment, and by the time I got myself somewhat dramatically into Vientiane, I was feeling pretty sorry about this whole stupid adventure. I got out of my own way thankfully, worked to adjust my attitude, and felt back on track by Ha’noi, Vietnam. An easy flight, no lost bags, no visa problems. And beauty! Excursions! Wonderfully helpful hostel staff, no sharing my room or bathroom with messily urinating or inappropriately under-clothed strange men. Bliss!

I once again met warm and kindred adventurers, finally swam in a gorgeously temperate turquoise ocean, bathed in the sunset, and drank in strange stars. And then I got on the 35 hour-long train from Ha’noi to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), and realized I could be puking my guts out for the next day and a half. Low emotional point at 2:30am, regret returned, thoughts of rebooking return ticket, etc. Luckily, the nausea receded. I figured out that I felt less like a shaken-up pop bottle if I slept with my head going towards the train’s centre of gravity, remembered I had downloaded audio books, and discovered great kindness in my fellow travellers once again. By the time we were passing the most breath taking ocean coast views I could ever hope to someday return to, I had figured out the pattern.

As exciting as the briefest of descriptions about where I was traveling sounded to me as I said them beforehand, that excitement is not the reality of travel. There are moments of this for sure – and so far, enough that they have kept me from rescheduling my return flights. But the realities of travel for me, as reflected in my non-physical states, has been something of a continuum: I move from total, near-paralyzing apprehension, through a phase of rage and frustration at my own ineptitude and my perceived shortcomings of others (think, me yelling at potential drivers at the train station this morning at 5:30am – NO MOTORBIKE!!! TAXI!!!), to the most enjoyable phase, which is that excitement. Joy even, with the presence helpful people, gratitude at my bumbling-yet-somehow-successful planning, and wonder at my new surroundings. The last part is also often attached to sleep, a wifi source to check in, and the incredibly strong South Asia coffee options.

Recognizing this continuum is actually super helpful, as now I can wait to move past, or perhaps evolve in my ability to disable my initial dismayed reactions of, “Oh shit, what am I doing, why am I here, I want to go home”. I’ve learned this will pass, and I can then move more quickly on. (Probably still through the frustration, since I’m being honest, although I’m working on tempering the rage as my disorganization or misunderstanding is my own creation, what with traveling fairly cheaply and booking as I go.) Eventually the wonder that feeds my wanderlust and comes with phase three appears, at least so far. Really, the worst that could happen (besides dying a horrible yet memorable death, or some disfiguring/ immobilizing injury or disease – sorry for the reminder Mom and Dad) is that I wouldn’t learn anything on this trip. I might learn that I’m too old (or spoiled) for this kind of travel, that I prefer to take extreme holidays in shorter stints, that I underestimated how challenging doing this myself would be; I might also learn that not every minute can be exciting or enjoyable, or even that I CAN keep going when things are feeling like absolute garbage, regardless of whether I should. The contrast is important, the place where my (afterwards) funniest memories have been born, and what I’m actually growing from. Without the contrast of the black mould/ throwing up/ crying, screaming, and kicking on the inside times, I would have less appreciation for the wonderful people/ breathtaking experiences/ crazy amazing and possibly once-in-a-lifetime moments.

I was video chatting with my Mom tonight. She says this is how all of life works.