Travel can be transformative experience. Alongside the actual trip (the air miles, unfamiliar dorm beds, indecipherable languages and alien landscapes), there’s a more personal journey. Foreign cities, different cultures and liberating getaways are often where we discover things we never knew about ourselves, or do things we never knew we would, or would dare to, back in the comfort and routine of home.
I remember peoples reactions when I said I was going away, it had been a mix of admiration, envy, encouragement, cautiousness and; occasionally, horror. And, indeed, there had been moments when I’d also doubted the wisdom of such venture, certainly, it would have been easier to stay settled, to keep the life I’ve built around me: the structure, the friendships. But maybe some people are more prone to bouts of wanderlust than others.
We travelled with that deluded belief that exudes only in a foreign land, that somehow we were invincible, that somehow because we were living life to the full we would be rewarded for doing so and kept far from harm’s way. I took risks I would never take at home. Rode motorbikes across India and Vietnam mountains, avoiding collisions with kamikaze local drivers. Couchsurfed around India, Sri Lanka and Thailand. Swam miles around the open ocean using just a snorkel, trying to find extinctive turtles. Sat on a roofs of wooden boats, for days on end, to reach a destination, squashed into rickety local buses and shared trucks with live chickens. Climbed the coconut trees and tried every possible street dish. Dined with Indian families, slept with Sri Lankan children, fished with local fisherman, kayaked between steep mountains, played with tigers, rode on elephants and walked through killing fields. Home was a jumble of tribal lodges, jungle camps, couchsurfers spare sofas, homestays where bed was the floor, five-star boutique hotels and $5 windowless rooms with tea-stained walls and bunk beds that creaked like some Jurassic skeleton beneath us.
It has now been almost eight months (231 day to be precise) since that first plane journey to Delhi. We’ve ventured through India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. Over 310 hours spent in cars, trains, buses, boats and planes; that brought us to incredible places and rewarding experiences. And one of my most poignant memories from this trip is watching kids play with sticks and stones in a mud in Cambodia and after long inspection letting us join them. No matter their cultural background, no matter their economic situation, kids will always find imaginative ways to have fun, which proves that childhood can be wonderful no matter where you go.
And I guess that’s what I wanted to experience- the you and I of a foreign land, the people who may not leave a footprint but who make our world what it is. It’s easy to become afraid of life when all you see are daily news items with images of blood and war. But when you get to these places, invariably that’s not what you see. You see people striving to get by, with courage and tenacity and a sparkle in their eye.
And it is what I wanted to show myself and my readers. That, in the words of Louis Armstrong, it is indeed a wonderful world.
It was a life- shaping, outlook- altering, unforgettable journey. And good news is- next one to come soon…
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