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Sometimes I forget why I travel. You are on the road for so long that it becomes a job (a nice job), but a chore none the less.
Then you meet someone and it reminds you why is important to remember who you are. No matter where in the world you may be. Thank you Pedro from Portugal, for being such a condescending douchebag to remind me. And I don’t mean it in a nice way, for once I’m not being sarcastic.
But to know why I say that about someone, I guess I need to catch you up with my trip. So it will take a while before everything makes sense.
So no better way to tell the story of the first couple of people I actually got to know in my trip. So I’ll take you back to June 2015 in Chiang Mai, Thailand. At this point Bangkok is on my rearview and I have my eyes set on going to Laos. So I decided to go to the northern part of Thailand. If you decide to do this, the trail will more than likely will take you through Chiang Mai.
Chiang Mai is a town that if you are young and looking for places to have fun, legal or illegal ways, there’s a place for you here. There’s a nightly night market, and a Sunday night weekly market that overshadows the nightly one. So I would recommend participating in the Sunday night one if you ever visit this town.
After a day or so in this town, I started to feel anxious, I wasn’t doing much. Even in Bangkok, I was already feeling fidgety. I looked online for things to do in this town that didn’t involve buying something. And I found a trail to Wat Palat (Palat Temple). Is a smaller temple than other well known temples, but it is a free hike there. I was already dreading having to go by myself but when I went to my room to get ready for my newly found hike, I started talking to a girl from my room. I mentioned the hike, and how I would need to rent a bike to get there first. She seemed interested and ask if her and and her friend could join up on my mini adventure. I said sure, and that’s how I met Cass and Emma. Two friends that met in Australia (or New Zealand?), one from Canada, the other one from Scotland, doing their own traveling.
We rented bikes from our hostel for less than $2 and we set in our way. While biking in Thailand (I’ll make a post about driving in Asia at a different time) is not inherently dangerous, still a new experience for me since they drive on the left side, contrary to what I grew up in Puerto Rico and the U.S.A. We were also doing it in 31C (90 F) weather. Add to that, the fumes from the cars and motorbikes and it makes for an interesting ride.
My only pic of Emma and Cass, can't believe I didn't took one of us 3. Argh!!!
We had to stop a few times to gather ourselves, but like good warriors we kept going until we reach the entrance to the trail. We biked around 12km (7.5 Miles) to reach the beginning of the hike. The humidity was rising, so while the hike itself is only 30 to 45 minutes, it was pretty exhausting in this weather.
Along the way there’s this robes that the monks wrap the trees with to signify that they are holy and they shouldn’t be cut down. It makes for a beautiful trail. When you reach the temple you get a nice view of the city. A river also runs through the temple, so each of us took some time to wash ourselves to mitigate some of the heat we were all feeling.
Emma cooling off with towel
Once we reach the temple we walked around, and there was free bottled water for us to drink. We took advantage of that, and sat down for a needed break. A young monk apprentice talked to us, he told us he was from Laos, and studying in Thailand. It was a sweet moment and another reminder on how good it feels to have interaction with the people you meet. Specially when they are positive ones.
View from the top, my crappy picture, not crappy view
We hike back down, ate a late lunch and kept riding back to our hostel. I would hang out one more time with Emma and Cass. I haven’t talked to them in months, but like most of the people you meet in this travels, if I’m ever in a town/country nearby, I wouldn’t think twice in meeting them again. After all we are, I believe, we are all one community of nomads.
The following day I manage to make a hot day even hotter. But that’s a story for tomorrow.
Income deficiency starts now….
For the first time since I was 17 years old, I am without a proper job. I will officially be unemployed. Thankfully I’m doing it under my own terms. But still scary. Today is my last day at my current job as a Systems Administrator. I hope I did a good job for the company and the time I put there. I love my co workers, and their ball busting ways. Even if work wasn’t entertaining, at least they were always good for a laugh or an interesting conversation about the different Terminator timelines or which Avenger is the least useful (Black Widow).
I got to say, that leaving the country and going into the unknown in 2 weeks doesn’t scare me. Its should, because I have so very little planned for what I’m about to embark, yet, I’m more at peace with that decision everyday.
What does scare me, is the fact that I no longer have a job. I always knew I had a paycheck coming my way. Now the idea of not having a paycheck scares me, there’s no safety net, no going back.
A while back I had a one-on-one meeting with my manager. I told him that in about 2 months I would be leaving the company. While my skill sets are not unique, I have been in this company for seven years. I have forgotten more about this place that I can ever document, so I thought it would be beneficial for him to know about my plans, so that they can plan on how to replace me. He said “I hope you have a good job opportunity coming.” As a way of wishing me good luck in my next job.
However I said “I don’t have anything lined up. I’m traveling the world.” And as those last 3 words were coming out of my mouth, my eyes watered. If you know me, you know I’m not much for touchy feely moments, so the fact that I got momentarily choked up was unexpected for me. But it really set in stone, the moment I’ve been planning for over 20 years.
I went to one of the sites I support(ed) yesterday, my last on-site visit. The fact that I’m leaving the company was brought up, and they start asking me questions about my plans and why I’m doing this. I don’t have great answers for those questions. But I did say that, there’s an imbalance in the way I run my life. This woman also agreed with that statement on her own life. I know there’s plenty of people with that same sentiment.
One of the reasons I like to travel is that you get to know a different sides of yourself. You meet people along the way, and you feel more at ease with these strangers. It forces you to open up. It took me a while to figure it out, but is the fact that when I’m traveling nobody asks me “What do you do for a living/work?”
It’s such a first world question.
I can’t express how much I detest that question. I don’t like to ask that question, but sometimes I can’t find a way to NOT ask it. And I don’t like when people ask me that either. In United States what you do for a job seems to define you as a whole person, it helps to label you into an expected box. Lawyer? Well you must make a lot of money and be an asshole. Dentist? You must be a sadist. lol.
It’s an easy way to tag people for sure, but the times I have been to other countries, I don’t think I have ever been asked that question. They don’t care. That’s not what completes them. Their jobs are just the vehicle to put food on their tables, not what drives them to be fulfilled (or not). Their families and friends do that.
In United States a get together is as much a celebration as is in other countries, but in other countries it seems they do it daily. We are lucky if it happens weekly here. When I was in Peru, my aunt’s house was the hub of the family. Her daughters, sister(s), brother, would come by almost every day, they would laugh and talk, and be a united front. They knew what was going on in each other lifes. It took me a while to realize I didn’t know what most of them did for a job.
Work was such an afterthought in their lives. The way it should be. I shouldn’t be so scared. I won’t be.
I’m a CHEATER! Part II
In case you haven’t figure it out, I didn’t cheat with another woman. I might not be the best boyfriend, and I have made some mistakes in my life. But I cheated with an idea. An idea that has been haunting me for at least 20 years, probably 25 years.
When I was a kid my dad was subscribed to Reader’s Digest. I would read it, mostly for the jokes and anecdotes at the end of the stories. But sometimes I would also read some of the stories.
I don’t remember the exact name of the article, but if I remember correctly it was named: “Is there any good people left?”
The narrator was wondering if there were humans with good intentions left in the world, or more specifically the US. He decided to put it to the test by leaving all his credit cards, money and possessions behind, while he traveled from the East Coast of the United States to the West coast. No money, no car. Just the open road and hopefully the kindness of strangers.
In the story he talks about the different encounters and the different stories. The one I still remember was of him walking in the dessert hitchhiking. It was getting late and cold, cars were passing him by, and all of a sudden a couple of nuns in a car stopped, and said to him “You might be a murderer, but even if you are, we can’t let you walk by yourself in this weather.” And gave him a ride.
He made it safely through the U.S.
I remember reading this story and thinking I want to do THAT! This story, along with my feelings of never being in quite the right place fuel my desire to see the world.
To see if maybe I could find a place I could consider home. Puerto Rico is so small in comparison, that I knew it couldn’t hold my desires. As pretty as it is, it just wasn’t my home. Growing up watching American movies, I thought that maybe the continental United States would be my place. I learned English, and when I first saw the opportunity to leave I left. Two weeks later I already gave up my Puerto Rico license for Florida, and never looked back.
But this desire to keep seeing more wasn’t satisfy with just being in United States. Is a hungry beast and needs constant feeding. I would try to appease it by traveling to London, Rome, all over the US, back to Puerto Rico, Spain, Peru. But it goes beyond that.
For that reason I have decided to quit my job. And travel through South East Asia (and hopefully beyond) for about 9 months of my life.
Vagabond trotter
When I was about 14 years old, I went to the mall with my mom. That sweetspot age when you don’t want to be seen with your parents, but you need them to drive you to places. You know the age.
Well, before going to the mall, we had to go to one of the isolated stores across from the mall. To go to the mall from said store you had to go through a 4 lane highway, up a small uphill of grass, that would lead you to the parking lot of the mall and into the main entrance of the mall.
We crossed the highway without a problem, and I went up the hill running without a problem. But looked back at my mom and she was struggling up this small hill, trying to not lose balance and fall. I retreated back to get her and hold her hand while now both of us when up the hill, and we went up to the mall.
That scene has stuck with me through all of this years, is a scene I never talk about, because is a mundane moment. But it really wasn’t for me. When I was a kid (less than 8 years old), my mother as a proud Latina woman can be, would take me into this streets bazaars in Puerto Rico. And we would be walking for hours, my small little feet would get tired and I would try to whine, cry, complain, to slow down or stop. But my mom would have none of that, she would keep walking and it was up to me if I wanted to keep up, because there was an unveil threat that if I couldn’t keep up, I would stay behind and my mom would only had 2 kids to raise instead of 3. There was a certain level of veracity to this threat, that always pushed me to walk with her even when I was tired.
Fast forward to 2013. I went to Peru to see my extended family that I haven’t seen since I was 7 years old. I also wanted my mom to come to Peru with me, so that I could pay for her to go to Machu Picchu. She was born and raised in Peru, but like a lot of Peruvians, going to this wonderland is not financially possible. So I wanted to give her a small present for all the years of sacrifice as a mother that she has done for me and my siblings. It doesn’t even begin to pay what she has done, but is my little down payment for that.
I payed for a package that would take my mom, my aunt, and me to Cusco, and we would go through the minor cities/ruins of the Inca empire before going to Machu Picchu. I would then separate from my mom and aunt, and I would go to Machu Picchu city by myself.
To see Machu Picchu, there’s a few ways to see it
1. You can do the Inca Trail, which can be 2, 4 or 5 days. You would go a trail, and hike/camp overnight along the way until you get to the ruins on your last day.
2. You can do it the easier way, have a touring company take you in a bus to the entrance of the ruins and you explore the ruins with a guided tour leader.
3. You can do it on your own (once you get the right pass) and hike up the trail up the mountain on the same day.
I would had liked to do the 4 day inca trail, but with only 2 weeks vacation and meeting family in Peru, it just wasn’t possible to do it. So I decided instead to break from my mom and aunt, and I would go with the third option. While I’m trying to explain this to my mom, she says, that she could do it with me. I decline, and say is better for her to go with my aunt and do it with the guided tour.
Once we were in Cusco, we visited Urubamba ruins, and while the views were astounding. Look for yourself.
There were also this giant steps, hundreds of them:
They would tire you out, all of us were out of breath. I was able to regain my breath and keep going. My aunt, while younger than my mom, gave up quickly. My mom was able to regain some of her breath and kept going farther than my aunt, but couldn’t follow me anymore.
You see, age had finally caught up to her, even though she is in great shape for someone of her age, there’s only so much she could overcome. And that’s what I saw for the first time in that seemingly normal afternoon of my youth.
My mother, the woman that dragged me along the streets of Rio Piedras, and the woman that to these days, walks every morning for an hour to start her day, was finally getting old in my eyes. I had to go back to help her. It dawned on me, in that afternoon, that there’s only so much we can walk, before your body says no more.
I’m now 36 years old, and I know that my walking prime days are numbered. For that reason I need to change my life.
35 years old and counting…
I’m going to change my life. For better or worse, I’m changing my life. And I’m scared for that.
I’m as scared of that, as I have been of anything else in my life. I’m too old to start over, and too young to give up. I’m too immature for my own good and too much of a thinker and not a doer.
That’s why I want to change. I want to embrace life and start anew, but I guess I’ll start my old tale at the beginning:
My parents are immigrants from Peru, my father is a very adventurous guy. He has lived a life that movie stars dream of. My mother has been his steady companion for about half a century. We didn’t grow up with much, but never poor. There wasn’t any big extravagant things in our house, but we always had a home. We didn’t go out to eat (rarely), but food was never scarce.
We grew up in Puerto Rico, my parents come from Peru. Both Spanish speaking countries, and while there’s some similarities, the differences are daunting. We speak the same language, but don’t talk the same. We eat the same ingredients but not the same foods. We are separated by years of traditions.
Puerto Rico, if you don’t know, is part of United States, we are not a state, but a commonwealth. A more politically minded person can tell you the more minute differences, but with the exception of some taxes that we don’t paid, and the fact that we can’t vote for the president, we are pretty much on-par with the other 50 states. A Hawaii that speaks Spanish if you want.
Not going to bore you with details, but Puerto Rico has never been an independent country. Not since the Spaniards claimed it in 1493 by Christopher Columbus (yes, that Columbus). We were owned by Spain until 1898 when Spain and United States got into a little turf war. Spain lost and as part of the treaty, Spain granted independence to Cuba and Puerto Rico became a consolation prize to United States. The U.S.A. really wanted Cuba, but Cuba was in the middle of it’s own independence fight with Spain, so it was easier to take over the smaller island of Puerto Rico.
Puertoricans are conflicted with this, some like the status quo, others want to become the 51st state, and a smaller contingency wants independence. Politics are the #1 sports in Puerto Rico, followed by Baseball, Basketball, Boxing. So every four years there’s a big fight over which party is going to take over. As a kid it was hard to understand all the different points of views, and when I was able to see them, I realized that I just didn’t care enough. If I wanted to become a state (my preference) it was just easier to go to the States. I never voted in a Puerto Rico election, I was finally eligible to vote a week after the elections. By the time the next election rolled around I was already living in United States.
Forgot to mentioned, one of the perks of being born in Puerto Rico, is that you are a US citizen by birthright, so there was no VISA hoops to go through to come to America.
I’ll talk more about my parents and Peru on my next post.
Don't Follow My Lead 