Once upon a time, not too long ago, I met a girl from France who was traveling across the world. She was determined to make it all the way without taking a single flight. In Dushanbe, where I met her, she was struggling to design her way to Japan. There were some complications with the Russian Visa, and there was something about boats. Even more impressive than her crazy ambition was the fact that she wasn’t posting anything about her trip on Instagram!
She wrote in her journal, called her family and friends once in a while, and that was it. “I’m not doing anything special”, she told me without any hint of sarcasm.
I told her she was crazy to think that, but now I feel the same way.
Okay, I haven’t traveled across the world, or even a fifth of it. But I’ve done my fair bit. You probably know the gist if you’ve been reading regularly: I quit my job and travelled from 2015 to 2019. I’ve jumped into lakes and seas in Argentina (more than a few times), watched soaring condors while trekking in the South of Chile (well, one condor but a really majestic one) , walked from the end of Switzerland to the end of France, motorcycled for more than a year in India, cycled 6000-8000 kilometres (but who’s counting) from Tajikistan to Slovenia, become a certified paragliding pilot and mountaineer, and other such cool-sounding stuff.
People have called me brave, but I was just a guy who had money, time, and no one who depended on me for either of those things. They say “Oh wow, you cycled 6000 km”, or “You backpacked in South America. Amazing!”, but really things just happened one after the other: bus ticket after plane ticket, kilometre after kilometre, decision after decision.
A moment from when I was cycling in Iran comes to mind as I write this. Three of the spokes in my front wheel had broken off in quick succession of twangs, as they do. I had twisted them around adjacent spokes as a temporary fix, but I was scared of how long I could go without more of them breaking. I was pedalling along lost in my worries, when a lady stopped me and gave me a bag full of oranges, many more than what I knew to do with. I pulled over — or whatever the cycling equivalent of that phrase is — after a bit and ate some of those sweet oranges, accompanied by tahini and lavash (Iranian bread). Sitting on the grass in some farmer’s private property, I knew even then that it was a Special Moment™.
There have been quite a few moments like these. You know, when you feel like the whole world is just…right, and everything (including you) is exactly where it is supposed to be. But the fact that the moments were special doesn’t make what I did brave, or special. It just means I was lucky enough to have had them.
Having these Special Moments™ is easier while travelling, of course. Much easier. It’s easier to talk to strangers, and easier to stumble upon great experiences, but that doesn’t make what I did great or anything. Luck, privilege, money, stability… all that uncool stuff is what let me do these cool things.
“I wish I could travel like you. How do I do it?”.
If I had a rupee for every time someone said these words, I could…oh, maybe drink a beer I guess. So not that many, but still. People ask this question looking for an answer, but I don’t have one, except that I had the money and the time to spare.
If you don’t have enough money, or if you have people who are dependent on you, or if you like your job too much, it’s not easy to “just take off”. I’ve met people who’ve done it, but it was very far from easy for them. Maybe they’re the ones who really deserve the title of “special”.
But really, as I write this , my mind has already changed a bit. Looking through my photos to find some pictures to paste here, I feel incredibly lucky. Even a bit special, you might say.
Nope. Just lucky.
Loved the tone of the post. Thank you for sharing it.