Planes, Trains, and Scooters

I promised a more light-hearted post, and though in a way this will be, I realized I struggled with writing a post highlighting all the funny mishaps of travel and cultural/language barriers; because honestly, that could be a book. So until I can sit down and compile all of those into something brilliant, you'll have to bear with me as this post takes a little detour.

When I took the time to think through the true start of my heart for China, it goes back to my first tastes of travel. I don’t remember my first road trip or airplane ride. I grew up with wanderlust parents who started their traveling excursions long before I was born; from hitchhiking, greyhound buses, gold mining in the California mountains, to building a home in the New Hampshire wilderness, my parents planted a seed in all their children that would refuse to let us settle. I remember during my angsty junior high years telling my parents, “when I turn 18 I am getting a house and will never leave it or my family/friends until I’m old, and then I’ll die there.” (big threat, I know...) I didn’t realize it then, but as I was brooding over always moving from place to place, with each state I lived in and every new experience, there was a desire or ‘itch’ being born into the deepest parts of my soul. So instead of getting that house at 18 years old, I boarded a plane to the other side of the world.

“Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.” -Ibn Battuta

Travel in Asia is unlike anywhere else in the world. You have to throw out everything you’ve ever learned about travel etiquette, time management and personal space. I learned very quickly that plans are really just wishful thinking, and you really shouldn’t put much (if any) weight into them.

Over the years I've learned that if you’re tired enough, concrete and a backpack are sufficient beds, typhoons should be taken seriously, traffic laws are merely suggestions, Frogger is the best scooter training program, coffee/dessert should be sampled everywhere, and Duty Free stores are a very big deal in literally every.other.country. I’ve missed flights, chased trains, squished into vans, sped through center lines on mopeds, and slept on boats. I experienced exhaustion like I never had before, and my standards for how acceptable I was leaving the door drastically lowered­ (when you’re sleep deprived, puffy, frizzy, sweaty and dazed, pretty much all hopes of ‘presentable’ goes out the door).

Honestly, sometimes I dreaded travel. Regardless of my adventurous heart, the thought of getting on yet another flight that led to 2 more, then a train, a boat, and a few taxis all while my brain was in overdrive, wandering through a place I didn't speak the language...sometimes completely alone...only to turn around in 3 days to do it all over again, was sometimes just too much for my battered and tired bones to take. Other-times, travel was an escape–I physically fled from my troubles and when I felt like running away, I was rewarded with a plane ticket and immersed myself in a foreign land where I didn’t have to explain myself or what I’ve been going through. I soaked up the clear skies and waters as I pretended to be just a girl on vacation. I sipped on fruity drinks and bought local goods. The thing that never went away, as much as I tried to ignore it, was the fierce anxiety that accompanied every trip. It was during each of those 3-5 day trips every 60 days that we truly realized how quickly things could change in our little world. We tried not to show how frantically we would connect to WiFi to make sure we didn’t miss an email announcing news of a little loved one. We carried this anxiety because it happened time and again; we would be gone for just a couple of days, yet in those days, we would hear the news of loss. News of big change and missed goodbyes. How do you process that kind of news while laying on a beautiful beach sipping on a cocktail? It doesn’t feel real, and as much as I wanted to block it out, turn off my phone and clear my mind from all the hard, I couldn’t. I would continuously check my phone and desperately wish I was there to witness it all. To say the hard goodbyes, to comfort and be comforted, and to experience it all with my own eyes. Missing a single second felt like I was being robbed of something fought for. There was this constant battle within myself of wanting to close my eyes and run away, and at the same time never blink again. What I wouldn’t give to be there for it all. Experiencing both the pain of presence and pain of absence, I have learned that presence is never regretted like absence is. I can sit through the pain of my memories; I can process them and relive them and learn from them. I can’t say the same for the pain of moments missed.

I have to be honest, I experienced acute travel burn out near the end of my 3+ years in Asia. After trip #21 I was tapping out. The anxiety, fatigue, and disinterest overcame me and I was quickly losing that wanderlust ‘itch’ I carried with me for so long. It’s hard to soak it all in and relax when your body is worn down, your heart was left behind, and your sense of adventure is nowhere to be seen. My last trip was at the end of January. I didn’t know that it was my last trip at the time, and I booked a quick 24 hour jog to Mongolia on my own. I was walking down the street in -16 degrees Fahrenheit with my eyelashes frozen and unable to see from the cloud my breath was creating. I looked around at the frozen fields and the people in their reindeer fur boots with smiles on their faces and I remember feeling so incredibly content. January was one darkest months I can remember, and I was absolutely not looking forward to the trip.

I didn’t want to leave my friends as we were going through such pain, and I desperately didn’t want to leave the babies.

My anxiety had been through the roof for weeks, and I was struggling to eat and sleep enough. But in that moment I was overcome with peace. I was plucked from my bubble of slipping depression and plopped into the literal tundra.

I looked around and saw life unlike any I’ve seen before–in the freezing cold it was still moving, growing, changing, and flowing. People were smiling through chattering teeth and rosy cheeks and I took a cold deep breath. I purchased a pair of wool slippers and decided that I wasn’t going to succumb to the darkness. Maybe it was just the shock of the freezing temperature, but that sudden realization that I was going to be okay carried me through the next weeks of my world turning upside down.

“Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” -Confucious

My scooter was another escape. It was one of the only things I had control over. On hard days I could jump on my scooter, put on music and just drive. I weaved in and out of traffic at my own pace, and I’d find trees, medians of grass, or tiny streets with smiling faces to remind me that there was still life; moving, growing, changing, flowing. My scooter gave me wings of independence. The wind and wheels carried me when I couldn’t sit still anymore.

(Gosh, I miss that speedy blue friend).

Travel has shown me the world. In its smallest ways, it’s helped me escape, carried me to new places and let me use it for what I wish. In its biggest ways it’s opened my eyes to new ideas, shown me perspective, and given me rest. I’ll never be able to express my gratitude for what it’s taught me about the world, humanity, and my faith. I’ve felt impossibly small, and been humbled to the core by how much of the world is out there. It’s taught me there is no 'right' way to build a home, career, or raise your children. It’s shown me the passion, hard work and contentment of people. It’s taught me I have so much more to learn. The things that are hard to me are so vastly different from the things that are hard for others. It’s taught me patience, compassion, and empathy.

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” -Ernest Hemingway

Several modes of transportation have carried me on many many journeys and I hope they will again very soon. Whether I’m being carried to a new destination or metaphorically escaping my demons, travel has played a key role in my journey–both literally and figuratively.

I've ridden boats through waves to see glorious sunsets, ridden on them to snorkel dark waters (in manic fear), I've boarded tuk-tuks far too small for our crew and crowded into questionable gondolas and elevators. Airplanes and trains have been my vessel to great joys and anticipation. They've seen me at my worst; their windows a support to my weary head. They have held me in my sorrow, and have offered uninterrupted time to reflect. Their seats have born witness to great conversations and tears of laughter. They've been my transportation home and back again–and again and again. They've been 8 passenger vans carrying 16 people, squished and laughing the whole way. They've been bearers of first McDonald's trips and zoo excursions. They've swiftly and safely brought fighting lives to hospitals in last efforts of hope. They've carried brave babies and brave families newly joined and headed for a new forever. They've been the vessels of broken hearts and mended ones. They've been the vehicles connecting the pieces of my journey, and I'm so thankful for each and every one of them. No matter the destination.

“The journey itself is my home.” -Matsuo Basho

I've learned many things while traveling, but the gist is this: for the most part, people are kind. People are welcoming. People are good. Food and skin come in many beautiful colors, and languages are fascinating, connecting people through shared emotion. The truth is, things are simpler than we make them out to be. We as humans are so capable of getting dirty and doing what’s necessary when the time comes. I discovered that no matter your personality, people are adaptable beings. When faced with high stress situations we can get uncomfortable, put one foot in front of the other, and surprise ourselves with what we are capable of.

Anthony Bourdain said it well- “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s OK. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

I'll end this with a few word summary of some of the countries I traveled to in the last 3 years. I won't be able to express the impact each journey has had on me, but I'm forever changed for the better because of them. And so very thankful for those who traveled by my side.

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• Vietnam - coffee, coffee, coffee and laughter.

• Philippines - looks like watercolor skies and happy smiles.

• Japan - modern serenity and stunning from every corner.

• Singapore - where the company and sights are richer than the land.

• South Korea - feels like typhoons, but tastes like great food.

• Thailand - tastes like mango sticky rice, feels like soft sands.

• Cambodia - rice fields and cinematic temples by way of bumpy rickshaws.

• Australia - glorious in every way.

• India - where the air is hot, the food hotter, and the marble floors cool.

• Taiwan - typhoons and night markets make for great stories.

• Hong Kong - where initials and memories are shared, and brave babies are healed.

• Mongolia - frozen oasis.