On Roadblocks, Breakdowns & Changing My Course

DAY 58

As I checked in for my flight from Cairns, Australia, to Singapore — tried to check in, that is — I realized I had made a rookie mistake.

The nice man behind the JetStar counter informed me that I needed proof of onward travel in order to enter Singapore without a visa, and I had no such thing. In fact, I had specifically checked Singapore’s entry requirements to see if I needed to book onward travel — that is, provide proof that I was going to leave Singapore within 90 days — and thought that I didn’t.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

Please let me in, Singapore. Pretty please?

A year ago, if I faced the possibility of being unable to board my expensive international flight, I would have gone red-faced and broken down into tears. I would have felt extremely embarrassed and angry with myself for not doing more research. I would have beaten myself up and let the situation ruin my day — maybe even my week.

But I’m amazed, even as I write this, to report that this travel snafu did not faze me. I simply took 20 minutes to hop onto the Internet and book a bus from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur in three days’ time, emailed the itinerary to JetStar and then successfully checked in for my flight with plenty of time to spare.

No red face. No tears. I was slightly embarrassed, but it didn’t ruin my day. It didn’t even ruin five minutes of my day.

I was pretty damn proud of myself for that.


DAY 63

Having successfully entered, eaten my way through and exited Singapore, I was now at the the front desk of my Kuala Lumpur hostel, trying to make change for a 50-ringgit note so I could do laundry.

The nice woman behind the Reggae Mansion counter informed me that she could not make change for my note, and that I would have to go buy something small and come back for the 8 ringgits' worth of coins I needed.

My face went red. I felt tears prick the inside corners of my eyes. I mumbled a defeated, "Oh," and then hightailed it up to my room before I started to cry. Then I flopped onto my bed and let the tears flow.

Over laundry.


WHAT HAPPENED?

In one of these situations, I stayed cool and calm in the face of a potentially huge travel issue. In the other, I completely broke down over a tiny, insignificant roadblock. What the hell happened to that unfazed traveler I was so proud of?

The short answer is that I became really, really homesick on day 61 — the day I took that five-hour bus ride from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur. The feeling came out of nowhere, but it hit me hard.

My seat was amazingly comfortable, and the bus' air-conditioning was heavenly compared to the thick soup of humidity outside. I had a row to myself. I should have been perfectly content to relax for five hours.

But as I stared out the window at the Malaysian landscape, it began to rain, and my mind wandered back to all the times I've stared through rain-spattered windows in Seattle. I love watching the rain. I love curling up with a cozy blanket, a good book and a mug of tea or hot chocolate even more.

Suddenly, the refreshing A/C felt icy. My spacious row of seats became incredibly lonely. And I longed for a blanket, a real book, a spot on my old couch to relax and maybe doze off. I desperately wanted to grab a milkshake and see a movie with my dad, or bake cookies with my mom.

I arrived in Kuala Lumpur to more rainclouds, and a particularly dark one seemed to hang directly over me. I felt miserable and just wanted to stay in the hostel and stew. I hated the way I felt — like that annoying homesick girl at summer camp who can't stop crying long enough to have some fun. I thought it would pass, but I couldn't ignore the ache in my chest and what it was telling me.

I wound up tearfully Skype-calling my mom and dad and arriving at a decision: I'm going to take a break. 


REVISE AND RESET

My plan has always been to fly to California in mid-May for a family trip to Yosemite, but I had intended on returning to Southeast Asia to spend June exploring Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam before I attend Portland's World Domination Summit in July.

Now I realize I'd rather stay in the States until WDS so I can slow down, spend time with family and friends, and recharge a bit before heading abroad again. I was disappointed with myself when I got to Kuala Lumpur because I didn't have that thrill I usually feel upon arriving somewhere new. I feel like a really privileged jerk to admit this, but hopping between cities and countries had become the norm and lost its novelty.

I stopped crying long enough to visit KL's awe-inspiring Petronas Towers — wow.

I think, no matter what your circumstances are, that something being different is what makes it special. One short vacation a year can be a huge thrill, while a long period of constant travel — even to the most exciting places — can lose its luster, and you find yourself wanting to do things that used to seem mundane in your old life.

This is not at all meant to be an, "Oh, poor me, traveling is so hard," post. Most of the time, traveling is much easier than I thought it would be, and it's certainly a hell of a lot of fun. I just never expected the emotional side of it to get so intense — the side that has me missing my family, my hometown and all the familiar comforts of my former routine.

There are people who can travel nonstop for a year or more and thrive, but I like the idea of taking a step back after three months of being on the go, slowing down and rebuilding my appreciation for this incredible opportunity I have to see the world — not to mention the fact that it saves me from a few extra long-haul flights across the Pacific.


CHOOSING MY OWN PATH

At first I was sad to miss out on the Southeast Asian countries I'd planned to visit, but I realized I just don't have the same excitement to explore Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam that I've heard in so many others' voices. I've really enjoyed Thailand so far and am happy to be spending 30 days here, but does my heart leap when I think about wandering through Angkor Wat or inner tubing in Vang Vieng? Sadly, no.

My little bit of Chiang Mai, Thailand.

In college, I created a massive collage of Greece photos on the wall of my dorm. I've dreamt of driving along the coast of Croatia. I would die of happiness to eat just about anywhere in Italy. Those are the things I should be doing, regardless of how much everyone else raves about Cambodia, etc.

And I could certainly get more bang for my buck by continuing to travel in Southeast Asia, but time is a currency, too — something of great value and of which we have a finite amount. Why should I spend more time traveling somewhere just because it's cheaper when I'd happily drop more money to go places that make my heart do a happy dance?

In the next chapter of my travels, I will move much more slowly. I'll definitely struggle with the urge to see and do everything in every country, but I know I'll enjoy the overall experience more if I strive to ignore that pressure.

While in line for one of Mrs. Pa's famous fruit shakes in Chiang Mai, I shared a bit about my homesickness with Dave Dean. He's been traveling the world for well over a decade, so he knows his stuff, and he said this: In his experience, homesickness really means you miss having a routine, and you can help fix this by slowwwing dowwwn. Find a place you love. Get settled for a while. When you get the urge to move on, do that.

Sounds pretty good to me.


NEXT UP

I left my intense homesickness in Kuala Lumpur, thankfully. I thought I'd feel like a failure by changing my grand travel plans, but do you know what I actually felt when I purchased a one-way plane ticket to San Francisco for May 9? Relief.

Now I can enjoy the rest of my month in Thailand with the knowledge that I'll be seeing many of my loved ones again quite soon in California. I'll be able to spend my 25th birthday with family and friends in Seattle. And I can either hang out in Seattle until WDS, or take a few mini-trips to U.S. cities I've always wanted to visit — New Orleans, D.C., Boston and Chicago come to mind.

And after that? I'd still love to visit Iceland in July, and Europe is calling my name.

I'm incredibly excited for what's next.

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Day 30: Bondi to Bronte

On day 30 of my travels, I wake up 7,755 miles from home. I'm one hemisphere, two seasons and a full day away from all of my friends and family.

I'm in Sydney, Australia.

I don't feel quite that far from home, though. One reason is because I wake up in a big, comfortable bed in a quiet, private room. It belongs to a friend who also grew up 7,755 miles away from here.

He's not a close friend — his name and face merely dot the periphery of memories that stretch back to elementary school — but he didn't hesitate to offer his empty room for my use while he's out of town on business.

I'd consider it very strange if he made this offer back in our hometown, but, over here, it just sort of makes sense. Our very different lives, which have haphazardly branched in such ways to bring us both to this place, share a common root.

The other reason I feel a little closer to home today is because, with reliable (and free) Wi-Fi at my disposal, I've caught up with some dear friends via Facebook chat — friends I hadn't communicated with in a month. I hadn't realized how much I've missed them.

Lately, I've felt a bit like one of my many devices that have North American plugs: lost in a place where things look almost like home, but are just different enough so that I don't quite fit.

The solution for both of us?

Adapt. Connect. Recharge.

***

With a good night's sleep under my belt and a renewed vigor to see and do, I set out to visit Bondi Beach. I slapped on my SPF 30+, grabbed my sunglasses and tucked an umbrella in my daypack since the forecast called for rain at some point. I just hoped the partly sunny weather would hang on for me.

Google Maps told me Bondi Beach is about 3 miles away from my friend's flat in Double Bay, and I could either take a train and walk, a bus and walk or walk... and walk.

So I walked.

The most satisfying form of transit.

My Google Maps route took me through tree-lined suburban streets and alongside a park and nature reserve before I reached the hustle and bustle of Bondi Junction. I worked in a stop at Vodafone to sort out an issue with my prepaid phone plan, and then continued on down Old South Head Road toward the shore.

I spied turquoise waters while still a few blocks away from the beach, but stopped short when I caught sight of the menu at Sabbaba.

One Ayia Napa was quite necessary at that moment.

Green basil pesto falafel balls, hummus, tahini, Haloumi cheese, lettuce, tomato and capers were stuffed into a pita and into my eager hands. I chuckled at the description of “green basil pesto falafel,” but it was delicious despite its redundancy.

I proceeded with a full, happy belly to the beach, where I found a pristine expanse of sand lapped by some of the most beautiful blue-green water I’ve seen. It was blissfully uncrowded, with the majority of visitors out bobbing on surfboards, waiting for their next great wave. I plopped down on the sand to take in the scene.

I’d love to say that I sat there contemplating life and drawing deep conclusions about who I am and where I fit in in this world… but mostly I just took joy in being there.

I thought about how happy it made me to get around on my own two feet. I sifted the soft, fine sand through my fingers. I felt it cling to the underside of my legs, forming a light crust when combined with sunscreen and sweat. I watched clusters of tourists take the same photo over and over again: back turned toward the water, arms flung out wide, smiling broadly.

My version of that photo, minus the arm-flinging.

Wind whipped across the beach, but at 24 degrees C (75 degrees F), it was not unpleasant. A swath of clouds in the distance vaguely threatened rain, so I decided to get a move on and begin the popular Bondi to Bronte Coastal Walk.

The 3.5 km track from Bondi Beach to Bronte Beach is paved, fairly flat and replete with benches and scenic viewpoints. Well, the whole thing is a scenic viewpoint, really.

That sign says it takes an hour to walk it one-way, but I think that’s just if you stop to take pictures every five seconds (like I did on the way out) or if you meander quite leisurely.

It's absolutely worth taking the time to absorb the incredible scenery.

Many runners cruised along the track, and I would have loved to run it, too, had I been without my daypack and my falafel-belly. I'm so jealous of those who call this their regular running route!

Solo traveler = self-portrait expert.

Once I made it to Bronte — which is a much smaller beach and has far fewer stores and restaurants surrounding it — I hustled back to Bondi in well under an hour.

It’s so weird — this strawberry-blueberry smoothie was just waiting for me at Bondi!

OK, not really, but it did cool me down and revitalize me after the walk. After all, I still had quite a trek back to Double Bay ahead of me.

The overall trip clocked in at 8.5 miles and more than three hours of actual walking. (Yes, I'm a nerd and wore my Garmin.) Very satisfying indeed!

Also satisfying was the much-needed shower I took upon returning to my friend’s flat. I didn’t even go swimming, but I was still covered in that delightfully beachy combination of sand, sunscreen and sweat.

As I scrubbed the layers of grime from my legs, I heard what sounded like an enormous crash of metal pellets striking a tin roof. I glanced out the window and saw that the Sydney sky had opened up in an instant, releasing incredible torrents of rain.

I just smiled and continued scrubbing, thankful to be enjoying a warm shower inside when I could have been easily caught in that shower outside.

It seemed as though the travel gods had held off on the rain especially for me.

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