Happy Thanksgiving!

While this is a holiday only celebrated in the States, Rick and I have a lot to be thankful for this year.  So much has happened in this past year to lead us to this point.  We are blessed with supportive families, hilarious and awesome friends, new opportunities and accomplishments, the health and energy to walk miles each day, and an ever-strengthening relationship with each other.  We’ve enjoyed amazing experiences and overcome some very sticky situations without harm.  I don’t think we can ask for anything more. 

And while we didn’t have turkey with all the trimmings, we enjoyed a delicious bowl of goat-head soup each, all spicy garlicky soup and tender melt-in-your-mouth meat, followed by splitting a kunefe, a yummy cheesy syrupy dessert. 

Happy Thanksgiving to you and all your loved ones!

Travel Time

The day I moved into my dorm at UC Irvine, I began a period of restlessness.  The longest I lived anywhere in the 10 years since that fateful day was 3 and a half years with Rick in our Santa Ana apartment.  Now, on this trip, that restlessness has only intensified.  I recently commented to Rick, while standing in the middle of the Mongolian steppes, hip-high grasses rustling in the wind, blue sky arching overhead in a perfect dome, "You know, three weeks seem like forever now to me.  Every three weeks, I think we should move on now.  What are we going to do when we settle back wherever we end up?  How will we feel after 3 months?  Or 3 years?"

I’ve heard that people who spend their whole lives travelling, who make a profession or a lifestyle out of never staying put, they forget how to settle down.  They don’t know how to find peace in one place anymore.  And I used to think I could never reach that point.  But, now, I can empathize.  Because, long-term travelling seems to operate on a different sort of time scale.  It’s simultaneously faster and slower, a strange sideways sort of feeling.  Faster, because there is so much to do, and it’s always a surprise when night creeps upon us signaling that another day has ended.  There’s no regular rhythm as there is with work or school, no reason to mark each day except making sure we end up at the airport on the day our ticket states.  So, the days pass in a blur, no Mondays to complain of, or Saturdays to look forward to.  It’s just a day like any other.  And it’s a little sad, to lose that sense of anticipation or that feeling of satisfaction in completing another week.  Yet, each day is fully savored, the way a good dish of food is savored, slowly, eyes squinted in enjoyment, scent filling up my skull, taste bursting along every tastebud, the sensation of warmth sliding along my throat.  In this way, each day passes slower, because we are more aware of each moment.  It’s not something to push through to get one day closer to the weekend or some special event.  It’s an event unto itself. 

After a certain amount of time, we have enough of one flavor and start craving anew.  We want to see a different sort of culture or people or food, and our feet start getting antsy.  There’s so much to see out there, so much to experience.  Sometimes, I become overwhelmed by the sheer amount of THINGS in this world to experience and am startled by how few years I have left in my life (a ridiculous thing to say for someone of my still relatively-tender age, I know).  So, yes, I know how easy it would be for me to think, "One more thing to see.  One more thing to do," and never stop travelling my whole entire life.  I haven’t reached that point.  I don’t know if I ever will.  But, I now understand why others dedicate their lives wholly to traveling the world.

Reflections on the 2nd Month

We’ve spent this whole 2nd month in Mongolia.  It may seem rather on the dull side, one country, not the most cosmopolitan of one either, but I think we’ve grown inward more than outward this month. 

Mongolia, despite its rapid modernization, is not a place built for tourists, so we’ve had to depend even more on each other than before to counteract our increasing isolation.  It’s interesting to see how language, or a lack of a common language, can create barriers much higher than differing cultures or looks.  How can we ask for help if no one understands?  How can we even do a price check on a loaf of bread, if all I can do is hold up the loaf of bread and make questioning noises?  Our pointing has become more eloquent and we’ve grown to appreciate the many nuances hand motions can convey, but there are still information we can’t transmit or receive because we don’t have the right words for it.  And it’s so frustrating.  I’m sure it’s even more frustrating for those who desire to help us but can’t. 

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A Lazy Afternoon

Written down in my notebook about two weeks ago.

I drift away in my thoughts, eyes barely open, fan blowing a steady breeze in my direction.  A gecko has stopped in the rafters above, frozen in motion, as if made of silicone and carefully glued above for ambience.  For once, I let all the "I-shoulds" and "I-have-tos" fade.  It’s nice, in a strange unsettled sort of way.  Like a sense of relief from pain, so long a part of me, I had quite forgotten it existed until it’d left.  I can feel the individual ribs of the bamboo hammock hard underneath my back but it’s by far the most comfortable hamock I’ve ever laid in, as it doesn’t try to engulf me in fabric like a human burrito the minute I lay in it.  And if the wanderings of my mind tend towards Sean Patrick Flannery and Norman Reedus in Boondock Saints (both 1 & 2) rather than any deep philosophical truths of life, I don’t mind.  Because I don’t expect anything productive to come out of this particular hour. 

Perhaps some may ask, "What’s the point?  You’re in an exotic foreign country and you’re just laying around doing nothing?"  Well, yes.  And that’s the only answer I can provide.  Later on, we’ll probably stroll over to a nearby church for evening service, then enjoy the ambience of Chiang Mai’s Night Walking Streets.  We’ll settle back in our guesthouse for various errands & responsibilities, maybe relax with a musty yellowed novel purchased from the local Gecko Used Bookstore and a cup of lukewarm tea laden with cream & sugar.  But, right now, I’ll dream a little longer of tattooed Irish boys with rosaries and silver pistols.

Reflections on the 1st Month

A month ago, Rick and I sat in LAX, almost giddy with anticipation for a trip we’ve thought about and saved for years.  Now, after a month of travelling and 3 countries (3 and a half if you count our overnight stay in Korea), I’ve definitely realized a few things:

Home takes on a new definition

We’re currently “homeless” in the sense that we have no permanent home abroad and no permanent home in the US either.  We also have no idea where we’re going to end up when we do get back to the US.  This means, home is starting to mean something different to me.  I still have my childhood home.  And the US is still my home country.  But, home, to me right now, has become wherever we are + Rick + our two rolling pieces of luggage & our backpacks.  It’s not a PLACE, it’s a state of being.  Ok, rag on me for sounding all hoighty-toighty philosophical, but there’s a particular sense of freedom in that. 

Learning to judge the worth of our material possessions

Everything we buy falls into two categories: to be consumed or to take up space in our limited luggage space.  The very nature of our trip demands that we can only bring with us what we can carry.  And it’s not like we’re going to head home after our stay in each country.  Whatever we buy and don’t use up, we have to add that extra mass and weight to what we have to lug to our next stop. 

So, now, when we purchase souvenirs for ourselves or others, we weigh it in our hand and rearrange our luggage in our minds, trying to figure out what tiny space we can create to safely bring it home with us.  I’ve learnt to quickly assess whether I truly want something, if it’s “worth” it. 

And sometimes, we come across something SO worth it, we’re willing to ship it home at incredible cost, and that’s totally cool too. 

Plus, we’ve really learned to appreciate the few things we’ve brought with us from home, considering we’ve used them over and over again and they’ve (mostly!) come through for us time and again, making our life much easier.  The things that aren’t useful or sentimental have quickly found their way into the trash bin to make way for more worthy things. 

Don’t fall into the expatriate trap

There are moments when we find ourselves comparing the country we’re in to the US.  We dream about In-and-Out Burger and Netflix and English-speakers and cheap fruit.  And yesterday, after watching a bootleg version of The Help, I had the most intense craving for chocolate pie and no way to get to a Marie Callender’s.  But I have to keep reminding myself to see the good in the country we’re in, the things we can experience here that can never be found in the US.  I’m learning to stretch out of my comfort zone (slowly!), to squash my social anxiety and experience what the world is waiting to teach me. 

Expectations rarely match reality

3 countries!  And yet my blog only reflects one.  I know I’m two weeks behind.  I suppose I could whip something out but I don’t want to skimp on quality for the sake of quantity.  But, each blog post takes time: to write, to edit, to add photos, etc.  And time, I’m finding, is a dwindling resource. 

Rick and I went into our trip with grand plans and a list of projects to work on.  We thought, “Hey! We finally have the time.”  Ha!  We’ve definitely have to scale our ambition back quite a bit to balance with our wearying pace of travelling and actually enjoying ourselves.  When we have free time, I’m slowly learning to allow myself time to breathe, to nap, to read a book.  You know, have a vacation, instead of my frenetic pace before where I went to work and when I came home, I kept working on all my personal work late into the night.  So, if that means I’m two weeks behind on my blog, or I don’t know what we spent every penny on, or I go a week without answering any emails, or I haven’t gotten to editing the dozen short stories pending, then so be it. 

Don’t worry, though.  I have lots of half-written blog posts in the pipeline. 

Privacy is a precious commodity but people are pretty darn cool, for the most part

Wherever we go, there are people.  People I don’t know.  Constantly.  And so far, pretty much every person we’ve met (apart from a few mouthy Chinese taxi drivers) have been nice and try to be helpful.  We’ve heard a lot of life stories and it’s fun to learn about the differences and similarities between us.  The only thing is, we don’t get a lot of privacy, so we have to take privacy where we can get it.  That’s why I’ve learned how important spending that extra money for private rooms are,just to have a place to shut out everyone else for a little bit.  Rick and I are also starting to develop ways to discuss things without other people overhearing.  I can’t wait until we can have whole conversations with just our eyebrows. 

There are going to be ups and downs (so better have a good travel partner)

Most of the time, travelling is awesome.  But, even in the short time a month affords, things don’t always go according to plan.  Nights sleeping in airports aren’t comfortable.  There are long periods of waiting.  We miss our stop on a bus and are stranded in an unknown place in the middle of the night.  Insane crowds.  Not being able to communicate.  And, as a married couple, there are bound to be disagreements and conflicts, especially when we’re both tired and hungry. 

Conflicts with my husband are especially tough for me, because he’s the only person I know and the only one I can turn to in the particular country we’re in.  So, we’ve both had to figure out how to deal with each other in our enforced constant state of togetherness and how to deal with problems that crop up together as a team.  Everyday, I’m realizing more and more how blessed I am to have Rick as my travel partner because he complements me so well, and he’s a steady presence that I know I can trust no matter what happens.  Travel is really a test of relationships and I’m glad that (so far!) our relationship has only grown stronger. 

So far, we’re having a blast!  I wonder what the next month will bring. 

Initial observations of Bangkok, and Thailand in general

It may be a cliché thing to say that travel, or the act of travelling, opens our eyes.  Perhaps it doesn’t open our eyes, so much as allows our minds to react differently to what we see through our eyes.  In the comforts of home, of a normal repetitive routine set among familiar surroundings, we are not obligated to observe, to compare and contrast, to struggle to understand the most simple of tasks.  When we deliberately put ourselves out into another part of the world, in a place where the customs, language, and ways of thinking are different, often incomprehensible, then we are forced out of that unconscious state of "normality" into a state of learning.  We are again children, watching those around us for the smallest cues of right and wrong, of polite and rude, of praise and censure.  And we, again, SEE rather than let our surroundings slide by us in a blur.

After more than a week in Bangkok, and now in Chiang Mai, Thailand strikes me as a unique combination of reverence and practicality.  The reverence reveals itself in both the casual way faith is inserted into daily life and their respectful, almost worshipful, attitudes towards the people who lead their country.  In any meandering walk through the city, I encounter holy trees wrapped in a filmy rainbow of fabrics, ornate temples where chickens cluck and stray dogs wander freely, and spirit shrines painted in reds, whites, and golds, carefully placed so that they aren’t overshadowed by the house or business that erected them.  Lit incense burns in small metallic bowls tucked away in the concrete nooks of random street corners.  And shopping malls set aside special prayer rooms for anyone to use. 

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10 Lessons from the last 10 Years

10 years ago, I was graduating from high school, dreaming of college and some amphorous future just beyond my reach, wondering what the next ten years would bring. 

In 10 years, I:

-Headed off to college
-Had my first boyfriend break up with me, then broke up with my second boyfriend
-Got my first job
-Moved to a new apartment
-Fell deeply in love for the first time
-Got my first professional internship
-Sucked up enough courage to approach a professor about a research project
-Moved to another apartment
-Learned for the first time what burnout felt like
-Negotiated my first salary, turning my unpaid internship into a real (albeit temporary) job, allowing me to leave my first job.
-Graduated college
-Learned how painful job-hunting, a semi-long-distance relationship, and moving home can be
-got my first REAL full-time job
-got engaged, and 15 months later, got married
-went on my first overseas trip not under the auspices of my parents (and learned what a brilliant travel partner my husband made)
-Moved yet again, tripling my commute time.
-tried and failed in innumerable amounts of personal projects, learning to dust myself off and keep going
-Had my first short story published, then my second. 
-finished my Certificate in Personal Financial Planning 
-Learned to accept the person that I am, and how close I was flirting with burnout again
-Left my first REAL full-time job and have begun packing for an EPIC trip. 

Through these last ten years, I’ve traversed through so many different phases of my life.  These are the 10 lessons I’ve learned:

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