Travel Anxiety

In the days, weeks, and even months leading up to a trip or an international move, I always seem to to become anxious. Besides some momentary spikes here and there, it's more or less a gradual buildup.  Closer to the date of departure, the anxiety is more associated with the process of making sure everything is in order (packing, tying up loose ends at home, etc.), but I think most of my anxiety deals with how open to possibilities the upcoming travel event (a trip or an international move) will be. This isn't to say that my anxiety is focused solely on the negative possibilities of travel event. That is part of it, but I think most of my anxiety before a travel event just comes with trying to rationalize the unknowns.

To me, this can be nicely summarized with the following quote:

"[Anxiety] is altogether different from fear and similar concepts that refer to something definite, whereas anxiety is freedom’s actuality as the possibility of possibility."

This quote comes from a philosopher I admire, Soren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard is famous for his philosophical ruminations on anxiety (amongst other topics). Many consider him the father of existentialism in part because of this. He associates the feeling of anxiety with the "dizziness of freedom". He once used the example of a man who is standing at the edge of the cliff. The man has the choice to either throw himself off of the edge or stay put. The fact that he has the choice to choose even the most terrifying of possibilities (throwing himself over the cliff) is dread and anxiety-inducing.

To me, this is what it's like to go on a long trip or to move to a new country: throwing oneself off of a cliff (metaphorically, of course). One is leaving everything familiar behind. One leaves family, friends, jobs, and familiar places and customs to reluctantly embrace new family, friends, jobs, and places and customs. It's stressful, and yes, anxiety-inducing.

I recently came upon an article discussing Kierkegaard's concept of anxiety in terms of creativity. A portion of the article quotes another author, Rollo May, from his book The Meaning of Anxiety, on Kierkegaard's idea of anxiety in terms of creativity (it's rather long, but I thought it appropriate to include all of it):

"One would have no anxiety if there were no possibility whatever. Now creating, actualizing one’s possibilities, always involves negative as well as positive aspects. It always involves destroying the status quo, destroying old patterns within oneself, progressively destroying what one has clung to from childhood on, and creating new and original forms and ways of living. If one does not do this, one is refusing to grow, refusing to avail himself of his possibilities; one is shirking his responsibility to himself. Hence refusal to actualize one’s possibilities brings guilt toward one’s self. But creating also means destroying the status quo of one’s environment, breaking the old forms; it means producing something new and original in human relations as well as in cultural forms (e.g., the creativity of the artist)."

Now obviously, this concerns the artist directly, but I think it's more than applicable for the traveler.

When we as travelers and expats go to another country and truly immerse ourselves in a new culture, we're "destroying old patterns within [ourselves], progressively destroying what [we] have clung to from childhood on, and creating new and original forms and ways of living" and "destroying the status quo of one's environment, breaking old forms". "Creating new and original forms and ways of living", I should add, would be better thought of in this context as adapting to a new culture and the inner conflict (and sometimes, cognitive dissonance) that comes with accepting competing modes and perspectives when we put ourselves in a new environment. After living in a new culture, it's hard not see people, society and culture, and situations differently.

For example, after living in China and South Korea, I experienced what it was like to live in extremely collectivist cultures as opposed to the extremely individualist culture of the US. Living in China and South Korea not only allowed me to see the benefits and consequences of collectivism, but also allowed me to look more objectively at the benefits and consequences of individualism in the US. While I wouldn't say I have adopted a collectivist psyche, I tried to understand it, adapt to it, and apply it to my life in small, beneficial ways.

This is an example of trying to synthesize old modes and perspectives with the new modes and perspectives to "create new and original forms and ways of living." I don't think this at all the main reason why people travel or become expats, but it's certainly one of its vast benefits.

It's a fact: traveling changes you, and almost always for the better.

But first, you have to give up yourself to the possibility of possibility.

It's A Small World After All

As I mentioned in my post concerning my hostel life as a long-termer and the interesting people I have had the pleasure (and occasionally, displeasure) of interacting with, I have had a lot of it's-a-small-world-after-all experiences (heretofore referred to as a "small world experience"). 

I don't really know if some unseen hand of fate has arranged these chance meetings for us, but I have without a doubt had several, statistically staggering, encounters abroad. And I know I'm not the only one. I've talked to several people who, while traveling in different countries, have happened upon someone from their past, whether it be someone from school, a previous job, or even a familial relation. It seems to happen quite a bit considering how statistically improbable it actually is.

While a lot of my small world experiences have been second or third-hand connections (i.e. meeting someone who knows a friend of mine or meeting someone who knows a friend of a friend, respectively) but I won't go into those. There are only two that I feel are considerably noteworthy as being small world experiences where I ran into old friends in unlikely places.



Rick in Vietnam

By far the most chance small world experience I had was when I was drinking in the "backpacker district" of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.

I was at a makeshift bar drinking and playing cards with friends when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a familiar face walk by with a guitar strapped to his back.

Taking a chance, I conjured the name of this person who was momentarily residing in the purgatory between anonymity and recognition and yelled, "RICK!!!"

Well, that turned around and quickly became the Rick I knew from my time teaching English in Shijiazhuang, China.

Rick is from Manchester, England and he had been living in Shijiazhuang a couple of years by the time I had arrived.

Besides being drinking buddies, Rick and I performed (playing guitar and singing, as well as lip-synching and dancing) for the local elite at some Christmas banquets in the few ritzy hotels that Shijiazhuang had to offer (intrigued? If you want to read more about this experience, then check out my post about it here).

Well, Rick came over to our table and we excitedly caught up with each other. We talked of old times, news of the remnants of the old gang back in the Shiz, and what our plans were for the future.

Sometime afterwards, Rick decided to take out his guitar and started performing a variety of songs. This attracted the drunk holidaymakers stumbling around the street who would join in as Rick's chorus. We stayed there until the sun came up.

(Note: surprisingly enough, we would actually run into Rick again at the airport. We were flying to Hanoi and he was flying to Phu Quoc, which is a beautiful island in Vietnam.)



Mike in Malaysia

After I was through with my year teaching English in China, I decided to travel to Guilin and Yangshuo, China, as well as Krabi and Ko Phi Phi, Thailand and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Having been such a novice to international backpacking at this point, I bought all of my flights last minute and did next to no planning. This proved to be to my disadvantage not only in terms of costs, but also eventually of getting from Guilin back to Shijiazhuang (I ended up having to purchase a somewhat expensive flight from Guilin to Shijiazhuang's small regional airport instead of taking one of the many sold-out trains). I still bow my head in shame when I recount how irresponsible I was with the planning for that trip...and this coming from a person who is an obsessive planner!

Anyway, enough of that tangent.

I had planned on meeting up with my friend from Shijiazhuang, Nate. At 19, Nate was the youngest one of the group I ran around the Shiz with. Nate had finished a year living and working in Australia, and then moved to Shijiazhuang in order to work at a daycare and to improve his Mandarin. When Nate was in middle school, he had the option of choosing one of several foreign language courses. Nate, admittedly not having foresight but rather having a "that might be cool" moment, chose Mandarin out of the pool of more traditional American school system languages like Spanish, German, and French.

Nate and I were scheduled to arrive at the same day on separate flights. He arrived earlier than I did, and after I checked in we decided to go out for dinner. After that we came back, and he and I both noticed a lanky, moppy-haired guy sitting at the hostel's computer. Before opening the door to our hostel, I think I said something like, "Is that Mike?! No way." If I didn't say it out loud, I most certainly thought it.

I opened the door and yelled, "MIKE?!"

His moppy head swung around and his eyes got big. He yelled, "AHHHHHHHH!!!" as greeted each other.

Mike was a fellow English teacher in Shijiazhuang. He taught a prestigious language high school relatively close to the university I taught at. We found it so hilarious that someone with as thick of a Scottish accent as Mike had was even allowed to teach English at this high school. I'm sure after hiring him, the administration of the school collectively put their heads in their hands. Mike had a sharp, dry wit characteristic of many of the Scottish that I've met...and not to push stereotypes, but a profound ability for binge drinking (to be fair, at ages 23 and 24, I was certainly no stranger to this).

We both left China not having any idea we were going to be in Malaysia at the same time (again, partly because I did such a piss poor job planning).

After the initial ecstatic shock was over, I vividly remember exclaiming, "We're getting drunk tonight!" And indeed that's what we did.

The next morning, I was flying back to China move out of my apartment and wrap up my wild and crazy year teaching English there. I would not be seeing Mike back in China. He was heading directly back to Scotland after doing a bit of traveling.

I'll never forget waking up Mike in the hostel dorm room to tell him goodbye. I shook him and forcefully whispered his name:

"Mike...hey, Mike! I'm leaving to catch my plane."

Disheveled and hungover, Mike looked at me directly in the eyes and said in his thick Scottish accent, "It was emotional, mate."

For those of you that know, that was the last line of the movie Trainspotting. Even considering I knew that at the time, I thought (and still think) that a very fitting, yet concise, way to summarize my year in China.

*****

I want these small world experiences to have some meaning. I want them to be profound in the literary or cinematic sense when the main character happens upon his lost lover or old friend from the past who helps put his or her life into perspective. Not that I'm in any need of having someone else put my life into perspective. So, maybe this just shows the extent to which I have been deluded by Hollywood into thinking that my life is less my own narrative and more of a movie with stock plots and scripts.

OK, I don't think that's actually completely true.

A part of me just feels as though these small world experiences are just too much of a coincidence not to mean anything. This, coming from someone who doesn't have any belief in religion, fate, or luck.

For now, I'll just embrace the shared pleasure that so often accompanies serendipity.

Introvert Style Backpacking

As any of my closest friends could easily tell you, my most recent obsession is the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator. There is a good chance you took the Myers-Briggs test when you were in middle school or high school. If you’re a close friend of mine, there is a good chance that I’ve recently forced you to take the Myers-Briggs test.

One piece of information covered in Myers-Briggs is whether you’re more introverted or extraverted. From taking the test and reading about the differences between introverted and extraverted people, I’ve gleaned that I am most assuredly more on the introverted side of the spectrum. It was something I basically already knew because I often need time by myself to recharge.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve become more comfortable with spending inordinate amounts of time alone. I think this is both a good and bad thing. On one hand, I’m much more comfortable with myself and don’t necessarily need approval or fulfillment from others. On the other hand, I feel like I’ve become more withdrawn and I feel like I should be trying to have more social interactions. But, then again, this latter feeling could be the influence of a culture that makes people feel guilty for not always feeling social or outgoing.

Recently, I've been noticing a lot of articles on the topic of how technology is making us more lonely. I can't say I disagree entirely, but the fact is if I wasn't on my laptop reading or writing (or idling on Facebook), I would be reading a book or writing music. I know myself well enough when I need social time and when I need time alone. I just wish everyone else could somehow gauge that!

But, I digress.

It can be hard to tell right off the bat if someone is introverted or extraverted, but I would venture to say that at least 75% of the backpackers I meet at hostels, tours, and bars are probably extraverts. Simply put, most extraverts are going to be more comfortable taking risks and traveling to new places than most introverts.

This can be a problem for us lowly introverts. Sometimes, I just want to read or be alone. However, youth hostels are inherently social places.

But then again, it makes me feel like I’m coming off as standoffish, and I don’t want to give out that kind of vibe. I just want people to know that I need my space, and that we probably aren’t going to be “BFFs” immediately, because it takes me a while to warm up to people.

While staying at a hostel long-term, I've noticed how quickly people (again, probably the majority being extraverts) have warmed up to each other, and it amazes me. I've observed people becoming best friends or becoming a hostel couple in a matter of days. It blows my mind!

I remember a time in Korea when my friend, Kate, and I were in the back of a taxi, and she mentioned something regarding the fact that she was going to leave in August (while I would be staying for a second year in Korea), and I started crying. 

Kate exclaimed, "Oh my God, Josh! You're crying!" as she helped wipe away the tears.

I'm still not sure exactly what was so surprising to Kate concerning my emotional reaction, but I think it was because she didn't realize that I felt so strongly about our friendship. 

A day or two later, when we were recounting the exchange in the taxi, Kate said something like, "Getting to know you is like gradually peeling layers off of something, but every removed peel reveals something that keeps on getting better and better."

There are very few compliments I've received that are better than this one. Why? Because it shows that Kate knew that it takes some time for me to open up to people, and that my friendship was worth that time and patience.

So, to wrap this, I figure I should give some advice to fellow introvert travelers.

• As long as you are nice about implicitly setting your boundaries, people are not going to think you're rude or antisocial.
• As appealing as it might be to just tell people, "I'm an introvert, so I need a lot of time to myself", this is going to turn a lot of people off. They will think, "Is it OK to try engage this person now? How can I know?" Honestly, most people are pretty good at picking up context clues. If you're reading a book, most people are not going to try to come up to you to start a conversation. If they do, then they are obviously idiots and you wouldn't want to become friends with them anyway!
• You might have the desire to spend all day reading or writing, wandering the city by yourself, watching TV, surfing the internet, or knitting (seen it more than a few times in hostels!), but you can learn a lot about the world by just talking to someone for five or ten minutes. And that's better than any fucking episode of Friends. God, I hate that show.
• If you don't have any good friends after a week at the hostel, don't think there is anything wrong with you. You will make friends. As someone who has extensive experience traveling and staying in hostels, making friends is almost UNAVOIDABLE. Even when you don't necessarily want it. 
• Leaving your comfort area is 9 out of 10 times the best decision. Although I'm not always great about following this rule. Sometimes I just want to lay around the hostel reading and not go out to party, not go on a tour, etc. However, there is always time for relaxation, but you may never jump off of a 15 meter cliff into water in Boracay ever again. Or rock climb in Yangshuo, China. Or motorbike along the beach front road in Krabi, Thailand. You get the picture.

Hostel Life in Adelaide and Interesting People with Interesting Stories

This is the first time I've ever stayed long term in a hostel.

Living here was the first time I think I was really consciously aware of a living space really BECOMING a "home". It's hard to describe, but after I first arrived, I could feel myself becoming more familiar first with the different spaces and corners. Then I started to feel that certain warm feeling of relief and security you get when you come "home". After that, I started to view the other long termers the same way I would housemates.

Speaking of housemates, there is a really eclectic mix of people staying here long-term: two hilarious Korean guys who are dishwashing at a restaurant, a young Nepalese man who is working at the hostel and a convenience store, a Dutch-Vietnamese guy who is taking a break from his university studies, an Australian guy studying for the seminary (more on him later), another Australian guy who is a martial arts kickboxer, an American girl who is interning at a lab and studying neuroscience, and an Italian guy who is working at a bakery and at the hostel. There is also a Chilean couple who are both working doing potato and onion packing. A lot of the "long-termers" that were here when I arrived have already left: a couple of German girls, another American girl, a couple of Japanese...but such is the way of hostel life!

However, because of the nature of hostels, most people come and go quite swiftly. It's odd to live in a place that is essentially a thoroughfare for most. I see new backpackers arrive and leave every day. Some stay for a night, others stay for a week or more.

Seeing so many people come and go from the hostel, one is bound to meet some odd and interesting people with some odd and interesting stories.

Here are a few of these people and stories:

Michelle

A few weeks ago, a group of three (an American girl, a Dutch girl, and a British guy) came into my dorm room. It took less than two minutes of introductory small talk to find out that the American girl, who we'll call Michelle, had dated one of my fraternity brothers back in Minneapolis. The conversation went like this:

"Where are you from?" - Michelle
"I'm from Kansas, close to Kansas City." - me
"Oh, so you went to KU?" - Michelle
"No, I went to Drake University in Des Moines." - me
"Oh, would you happen to know Adam _______?" - Michelle
"...Yea, he was in my fraternity." - me

Believe it or not, but this not the craziest "it's-a-small-world-after-all" experience I've had. I could spend an entire post writing about those experiences, which I will in the near future.

In any case, I have the American girl to thank, because I had just quit the sales job I had had, and she suggested I do what I have been doing for the past few years and what I will probably continue to do for the rest of my life: teaching English as a second language. She does it in Sydney and has way less experience than I did. Now I'm working a few hours at a private English institute and just got a sub-contract private tutoring job using her as a reference!

Michelle had worked very "successfully" in a marketing/advertising firm for a couple years after graduating from university. By the age of 27, she realized that she wasn't happy, so she quit and decided to travel...sound familiar? After getting a TEFL certification, she spent seven months in China, and while on vacation in Australia...decided to stay here. She's planning on traveling to Africa and Europe in the somewhat near future.

Ricky

Ricky moved into my dorm room a few days after I did. He was a skinny 40-something-year-old Australian who seemed to mean well. However, my intuitive alarms were set to "keep under observation" when he told us, quite soon after introducing himself I might add, that he was trying to get a mining job out west to get away from "ice". "Ice", for those of you who don't know, is the street term for meth. Not only this, but he been in a hospital in Adelaide being treated for a minor stab wound. He got kicked out of the hospital for leaving to get a drink at a pub. How did he get the stab wound? Oh, he just got into a little skirmish with a couple of guys at a pub.

In the course of a week, Ricky went from bad to worse. He was obviously still doing ice (staying out at all times of night) and sleeping through most of the day. He once brought back a homeless guy who seemed like a "pretty good guy", but then accused of him of trying to steal his phone (when clearly Ricky was just drunk sitting on the couch and it fell out of his pocket.

One Friday night I was trying to read in order to fall asleep and Ricky, red-faced with blood-shot eyes, kept on trying to talk to me (What's America like? What do you think about 9/11? Did you know that the Bush family ate dinner with the Bin Ladens?). I had already resolved at this point that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. I answered his questions rather tersely hoping that he would get the picture (of course he didn't). Finally, I said, "I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I'm trying to read in order to fall asleep because I have work early tomorrow morning." After this he mumbled something to himself, including some audible curses. After a few more minutes he left, and while he was leaving he asked, "Where are you from?" (even though we had obviously just talked about this), and I said, "The U.S..." and he said, "That figures" and walked out. I rolled my eyes and was finally able to actually continue reading.

At this time, a fellow long-termer who was also staying in my dorm (we'll call him Steve) was warming up to Ricky a little bit (I have no idea how), and on a particularly "methed" morning, Ricky offered to pay Steve's rent. Steve had the money, but he just needed to go to the ATM to get it. Well, it turns out that Steve only THOUGHT he had the money, as he had not been paid yet by his employer. The days following this were clearly exasperating for Steve, because Ricky was constantly hounding him for the money, even going so far as implying that he was going to get some of his boys together to beat him up or take his phone.

After all of this came to light, and armed with the excuse that our dorm was being deep cleaned on Monday, I moved to another dorm on that Saturday and told the staff that I felt uncomfortable around Ricky, so to please not move him to my new dorm. The staff took note, and a day or two later, Ricky was kicked out of the hostel for having a couple of strikes against him.

Ricky was a man who clearly could not take care of himself, did not take responsible for his actions, and thought everyone was out to get him. Basically, exactly the type of person I would prefer not to be around.

A few days later, I was walking around and saw Ricky with his bags walking with a similarly dodgy looking fellow. I looked the other direction as soon as I recognized him and continued on my way.

Luckily, I have not had the displeasure of dealing with anyone as awful as Ricky since he left.


Kanu

I honestly can't remember this guy's name anyway, but it was actually something kind of close to Kanu. He was a Fijian who had immigrated to Australia. He was a massive man and a massively cheerful. He was also very generous with his food. He wasn't shy about telling people that he was staying at the hostel because his wife had kicked him out of his house (for the second time, in fact). He actually seemed pretty upbeat about the whole situation, to be perfectly honest. A couple of times Kanu brought back loads of bread from a local shelter that gives out free food for the homeless (basically all of the stuff that local bakeries were going to throw out anyway) and share it with all of us. In my mind I thought, "This bread might better serve people who can't afford food or a place to stay", but I certainly wasn't going to argue with this man.


Sam

I was initially very skeptical of Sam. Unfortunately, I have an automatic aversion to people that carry Bibles around with them. As Sam and I are both early risers, we would often be the only ones in the kitchen before 8:00 a.m. It's funny to admit this now, but I definitely tried to avoid talking to him because I was afraid he was just going to preach to me. There is probably nothing I want less than to get preached to by an Evangelical Christian at 7:00 a.m.

We had short interactions here and there, but nothing significant.

It wasn't until he came to the bar with us one night. At first I thought, "Wait, Sam the Evangelical CHRISTIAN is coming to the BAR with us?" Well, after I ordered a beer and Sam ordered a water, he and I had a conversation at length about his life and how he became a born again Christian.

I don't recall all of the details (not because I was exceedingly intoxicated, but more because this was a few weeks ago), but here goes. Earlier in his 20s, Sam had lived abroad in Europe and had lived the party lifestyle typical of that age (as if I'm so far removed from that...hah!). Sam then went to Africa (I can't remember which country) to volunteer, primarily as an English teacher. He saw widespread illiteracy, poverty, and much worse...the insignificance of human life. One day, he was running doing his morning workout, and some guys on a corner stopped him and called him over.

They said, "Those are some nice shoes there."
He said, "Yea..."
They said, "Let's see'em."
Sam smiled and said, "No" emphatically, but without sounding like a smart ass.

The men continued to insist, but Sam continued to refuse them. Eventually, they let him go.

When he got back to his host family he decided not to tell them about what happened. Despite this, word got back to the host family, and the patriarch of the family said, "Sam, did you get stopped by some men who wanted your shoes?"

Sam said, "Yes."
The father said, "We know who it is, and we will kill them."
Sam said, "...Um, sorry, what?"
The father said, "We are going to kill them."

Once Sam realized he was serious, he pleaded with them not to. Finally, he calmed down his host father, and nothing ended up happening to the men.

Sam having chosen to recount this experience with me makes me think that this was one of his main turning points to eventually becoming a born-again Christian, but he also made it clear that he had several more experiences that led him to discover his faith.

(Again, sorry for the lack of details and sort of mundanely written story, but his story

Sam has also briefly volunteered in India and is planning on going back there to do more work.

Sam is a Christian in the truest sense. He is completely selfless, sincerely humble, and he earnestly cares in the well-being of those around him.

The Good Life...?

I recently read an article in which a 31-year-old woman left her hectic, yet "successful", life in NYC to move to St. John, the smallest of the U.S. Virgin Islands. She went from making $95,000 as a journalist in Manhattan to serving ice cream and bartending for $10 an hour, and she couldn't be more happy.

While traveling, one tends to meet these types of people. People that had very secure, professional, high-paying jobs that they became increasingly disillusioned with until they reached a breaking point, quit, and packed their bags to explore the world.

Just a smattering of examples: a fellow American English teacher in Chile had worked in the R&D department for a prominent cosmetics company for several years before quitting and coming to Chile. An Iranian-English man worked a marketing job before packing up and moving to the Philippines to work at a hostel. Two German girls I met on a day tour in Vietnam worked as pharmacists before leaving their jobs to travel the world.

At one point on our tour I asked the German girls, "What are you going to do when you go back to Germany."

They laughed and said, "We have no idea."

I'm not being sarcastic or condescending when I think, "That's great", in response to their complete uncertainty about their future.

There is a reason I put "success" in quotations earlier. The markers of "success" that we have built for ourselves (at least in the United States) lacks any and all substantive meaning for me: rising the corporate ladder, buying a house, buying a nice car, marrying, having children, and making a lot of money to buy nice things. I believe it was once called the American Dream.

Don't get me wrong, I totally see the appeal in the comfortable security that that lifestyle brings, but it in mind, it begs several questions: Where is the excitement? Where is the novelty? Where is the adventure?

When you've planned your life to such a degree, I would argue that there is very little room for excitement, novelty, or adventure except possibly for those two coveted weeks you have for vacation once a year.

For now, my ideal life is teaching English in one place for a year or two at a time, traveling for several months (including some random employment working at bars and hostels), and then finding a new place to teach.

To a degree, this is a "plan". But having no idea where I will be or what I will be doing a few years from now is where the excitement, novelty, and adventure lie. All I know is that, for me, life is too short to worry about things like car insurance, mortgage payments, and...children. 

Barring any sort of metaphysical or existential engagement into this topic, I'd rather just point out some lyrics from "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads as a final statement. When I think of "taking the road less traveled" vs. the "comfortable, secure life", these are often the words that come to my mind:

"And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack,
And you may find yourself in another part of the world,
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile,
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife,
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?"

Bits and Pieces of Travel

There were more than a few places that I went in my 3.5 months of travel where I did almost no sightseeing and/or almost nothing of interest happened. These were places where I generally took a break from sightseeing and just laid on the beach and soaked up some rays.

  

 Phnom Penh, Cambodia (September 2014) 

  My first stop on my 3.5 month-long vision quest.  Phnom Penh ended up being my least favorite place in Cambodia. The main highlight for me was The Killing Fields, although “highlight” seems like an inappropriate word to use. I think soul-shattering would be a better phrase. The Killing Fields self-guided audio tour was really well done. It included interviews with people who experienced the horror of it first-handed. For anyone that doesn’t know, The Killing Fields consisted of various isolated sites in Cambodia where soldiers of the Khmer Rouge (a ruthless totalitarian dictatorship that ruled from 1975 to 1979) would take prisoners and murder them in cold blood. Then they would often be buried in mass graves.  However, the killing field just outside of Phnom Penh is the most infamous. To give an example, there was a tree in the area called “The Dead Tree” (if I remember correctly). It was called this because Khmer Rouge soldiers would quite literally swing babies by their legs into these trees, and smash their skulls against the tree. Horrific, horrific stuff. There was also a prison within Phnom Penh, called S21, which was also known for various atrocities. Khmer Rouge soldiers would often take prisoners directly from S21 to the killing field outside of Phnom Penh. Phnom Penh was also the only city I traveled to in my 3.5 months that I felt unsafe walking around in just after sunset. The only other thing that I liked about Phnom Penh was that its central market was pretty awesome. Really good food for really cheap prices. Besides the above, I didn't really care for Phnom Penh.


Sihanoukville, Cambodia (September 2014)

  Considering the fact that Cambodia has only a very small coast, Sihanoukville is about the only beach town you can go to in the country. Despite the filthy old men hanging around with their Cambodian "girlfriends" (I use that word euphemistically; the underground sex tourism industry is unfortunately alive and well in many parts of SE Asia), Sihanoukville was a great place to relax and catch some rays – not to mention great, cheap seafood. I once ordered a marlin steak, scallops, vegetables on the side, with three beers…all for $6.  You can’t beat that!  Sihanoukville was the first time I had been on a “tropical” beach in 7 months, so you know I spent essentially all of my time on it!

Kuta Kinabalu, Malaysia (October 2014)

  There really isn’t much to say about Kuta Kinabalu.  There is nothing that special about it.  Uh…it’s a port city? 

It’s not a BAD city per se, but there is just nothing to do or see, really. Nothing special about it. To be fair, I came to Kuta Kinabalu with the intention of not doing anything. There were some boating activities that were available, but they didn't appeal to me enough to take me away from straight up chilling. So, I spent my two full days there pretty much just hanging around the hostel, because by this point in the trip, I really just needed some time to recharge.  I do, however, want to give big kudos to the restaurant around the corner from my hostel.  The manager was an exceedingly genial elderly man who kept me fed for those two days.  Thanks, genial elderly man. You were so nice and your restaurant’s food was so good!  

Semniyak, Bali, Indonesia (October 2014)

 The trip from Probolinggo to Semniyak was quite possibly the worst part of my 3.5 months of travel. 

Have you ever seen "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" with John Candy and Steve Martin? It was kind of like that, but a lot less funny.

I took a train from Probolinggo to Banyuwangi, which is on the east coast of Java island in Indonesia. From the train station, a five minute walk brought me to the harbor where I took a ferry. From the western harbor of Bali island, I took a small van to Denpasar City. From Denspasar I took a motorcycle cab to Semniyak. I literally used four different forms of transportation in less than 24 hours for the same journey.

But that's not all, so please allow me to elaborate. The train was fine; I had absolutely no problems. A conductor on the train asked me if I was headed to Bali, and I replied in the affirmative. He said I should talk to a friend of his who worked as a travel agent. I got the impression that whoever this "friend" was was probably going to charge me an exorbitant price for whatever services he was going to offer, so I politely took the card, but I already knew exactly what I had to do and how much everything should hypothetically cost. Out of curiosity, I asked what his friend charged for transportation, and he gave me a price that was much higher than I had read on-line. I smiled and said, "Thanks."

After disembarking the train, I went to office of the train station and spoke with the sole employee working there. I asked him where I had to go to get transportation across the strait to Bali, and then to Semniyak. He told me the harbor was just a five minute walk away, but the price he gave was still quite a bit higher than the one I had read on-line. I told him as much and he made some excuse. So, I walked to the harbor and was called over by two guys standing by the entrance of the ferry terminal. Neither of them were dressed in any sort of formal work attire as one might expect, but they said I should wait for a bus there that would be loaded onto the ferry and then take me all the way to Semniyak. They gave me the same price as the officer inside. It sounded fishy, so I went over to a parking attendant for the ferry terminal. When I told her what I was trying to do and what the two guys and officer had said, she rolled her eyes. She said that they basically had a scam going with the long distance buses, and that I should just buy a normal ticket for the ferry, and there would be transport just outside of the ferry terminal in Bali. I could see as I was talking to her that the two men in front of the entrance to the terminal were shamefully walking away. Caught in the act!

I bought my ferry ticket and boarded. 

The ferry was supposed to take 20 minutes, but if I remember correctly, it took about an hour. This was because boat and ship traffic was backed up at the harbor.

After eventually disembarking from the ferry I walked outside and was soon met by two more guys trying to get me to pay the same exorbitant price that the two other guys from before. I brushed them off and found the transportation that the parking attendant had been talking about. When I walked up to the van, there was an older French woman who was clearly irked. I asked when the van was leaving for Denspasar, and an attendant said, "When this van is full." I looked around, and there were only a few other people waiting. After about an hour and a half, another couple of ferries had arrived, and enough people had come so that we could take off. In the hour and a half we had to wait, I befriended an Indonesian businessman who got me a lower price on the ticket for the van ride (foreigners are charged more...), for which I was very thankful! Because most of Bali's islands only have 2 lane highways, traffic was pretty terrible, so it took us a few hours in slow moving traffic to get to Denpasar, which is the main city on Bali. At this point in the journey, I was about ready to crack and break out in a fit of screams. Luckily, I held it together until we were let out in a transportation hub in the middle of Denpasar. However, I needed to get to Semniyak Beach, so I asked a motorcycle cabby to take me and negotiated a price that I thought was still too high. Seeing no cheaper option, he took me right to the front of my hostel.

Needless to say, after that journey I was both done with traveling across land in Indonesia and done with their multi-leveled corruption within the tourist industry.


Huay Xai, Laos (September 2014)

Huay Xai was simply the destination of our two-day boat that started in Luang Prabang. We just spent the night here before taking a bus to Chiang Mai, Thailand. The highlight of the night was the owner of our hostel, who also doubled as its manager and front desk employee. She was probably in her 70s and spoke English really well, and boy was she sassy! Our Russian friend, Roma, could be a bit cheeky at times, and this old lady showed him what's what with her sarcasm. She made us laugh a lot and asked us to refer to her as "Mother". She said her child (can't remember if it was a son or daughter) married an Australian national and lives there, so if I remember correctly, one reason she learned English was so she could communicate with her grandchildren. So cool!
 

Ko Samui, Thailand (October 2014)

I really only spent one day on Ko Samui. It's an island that's basically just one big holiday resort. There were a lot of families and couples from mostly Europe, Russia, and Australia. The beach was beautiful, don't get me wrong. But nothing special about Ko Samui besides that.

Ko Pha Ngan and Ko Tao were two islands just north of Ko Samui, and in my opinion, they were much more suited to a young backpacker such as myself. I'll write about my experiences there in the near future.


Phuket, Thailand (October 2014)

Phuket is the largest island belonging to Thailand. We had been told to, at all costs, avoid the dirty, seedy Phuket City, and make our way elsewhere. We went to a small coastal resort area in the northwest corner of the island. There was no traffic and practically no noise at all except for the waves hitting the beach. We went swimming and ate some yummy seafood, and that's about it! From Phuket, I flew to Malaysia.

Laos: Vientiane (September 2014)

        If Kampot, Cambodia was the surprise hit town of my travels, then Laos was certainly the surprise hit country of my travels.  When I was traveling around China five years ago, I had heard a fellow traveler laud Vang Vieng, Laos as the Holy Grail of SE Asia Party Capitals (more on that later), I knew that I was eventually somehow going to make my way to Laos.

Five years later, it became a reality.

Visualize and actualize! That should be my motto, as it has become a recurring theme of my life for the past five or so years.

Anyway, after traveling through Cambodia on my own, and having only a couple of “hostel buddies” in the last couple weeks, I was more than ready to meet my travel buddy for the next few weeks, the wonderful and wild Mary!  I taught English with Mary in Daejeon for two years.  We arrived in Korea at the same time and had the same orientation.  Mary and I had been acquaintances for a while, but developed more of a friendship during our second year in Korea.

After collecting my luggage in the spookily-close-to-being empty airport I found one lonely tuk tuk driver just outside the terminal’s parking lot. At every other airport I’ve been to, a flank of taxi drivers is available to take me anywhere I please (within reason, of course). It wasn’t as though I had taken a red eye flight and arrived in the middle of the night. No, this was 7 p.m.

If it had not been for that lone tuk tuk driver I don’t know what I would have done!

Mary was waiting in the foyer of the hostel when I arrived, and we were, of course, super excited to see each other. We went out to dinner and had some beers to commence our 3 or so weeks of travel together.

The next day we rented bicycles to take in Vientiane. The central part of Vientiane has retained some of the aspects of its French colonial period. This includes, most visibly, the architecture. Colorful French apartments and mansions line the streets. There are also some cafes and restaurants that style themselves (atmospherically and gastronomically!) after the traditionally haughty French equivalents.

Among the highlights of our bike riding was Vientiane’s very own Arc de Triomphe, Patuxai. Ironically, the Patuxai was built to memorialize the Laotians who fought for independence from the French. We climbed up to the top to get a panoramic view of the city.

Besides that, we biked around a temple complex. Because Mary was wearing shorts, she had to wear a sort of improvised dress: I can’t for the life of me remember what they are called, but they are essentially very large, rectangular pieces of patterned cloth. Many of the temples in SE Asia provide them; sometimes they are of a lighter material, sometimes a heavier material. Unfortunately, they were made of wool at this particular temple, so Mary felt quite uncomfortable with it around her lower body in 80-degree weather.

By far the best part of our time in Vientiane was visiting the COPE (Cooperative Orthotic & Prosthetic Enterprise) Center.

Before I explain what the COPE Center actually does, it might help to provide a little background information. The following is an excerpt from the Lao Rehabilitation Foundation:

From 1964 to 1973 more than 580,000 bombing missions were launched over Laos by the U.S. Air Force, in a war that most of the Western world didn’t know about. As a result, more than two million tons of ordnance fell on Laos. The most widely used types of bombs were anti-personnel cluster bombs filled with 670 bomblets that were intended to explode on or shortly after impact. These bomblets, about the size of a tennis ball, are known as “bombies” in Laos. Each bombie contains around 250 steel pellets, which were meant to fire in a 2 to 4-meter radius when detonated, thus crippling but not killing enemy soldiers. The theory was that an injured soldier cost the enemy more than a dead one.

The biggest issue is not only are people accidentally stepping on some of these unexploded bombs and thereby getting severely injured or dying as a result, but some people (including children) actually seek out these unexploded bombs and “bombies” because they are worth quite a bit in scrap metal.

The primary mission of COPE is to provide prosthetic limbs, as well as medical supplies like braces and slints, to victims of these latent bombs. The other main thing is that they have direct involvement with teams made up of primarily Laotians being trained by bomb experts from Australia and elsewhere to find these bombs and disarm them.

If you feel inclined to donate to their cause, go here to do so!