9 months on

My default world clock

I cannot believe that I have been travelling for 9 months. It has been a blessing to be travelling, and especially more so in the most recent 3 months, when I went to far flung corners of the world. I learnt a lot of new things but also discovered a lot of similarities between countries - like how, outside Asia, there are Africans and South Americans who have rice as their staple, that it is impolite to refuse a mate (a tea, pronounced as "mah-teh") if someone in Chile offers to share a cup and a straw with you.

During my travel, time and days lost their relevance unless I had to be somewhere. Time was a measurement relative to when the sun rose/set or when I was hungry. Otherwise, time came to a standstill while waiting (for someone to contact me, for a transport, for the food to arrive) or sped by when I was having fun. I checked the world clock only when I needed to find someone in another part of the world. I lost track of the days since every day felt like a Saturday. The days of the week only mattered if, for example, a supermarket did not open on Sundays or a museum closed on Tuesdays.

After spending long periods in the jungle, hills and Antarctica in the last 3 months, I found myself trying to catch up with my blog entries. At the same time, I wondered who had been reading my blog as promised and who were the readers from Barbados/ Columbia/Costa Rica/ Cyprus/ Estonia/ Finland/ Guadeloupe/ Latvia/ Moldova/ Mongolia/ Philippines/ Romania/ South Africa/ Ukraine/ Zimbabwe... My top 5 readers were from Singapore, US, Spain, Russia and UK. I knew who could possibly be from Singapore, US, Spain and UK but who were from Russia? Were they faithful readers or people who were randomly googling and researching on something?

Sometimes I thought of people whom I have met along the way and wondered what they were doing and if we would become friends in real life under other circumstances. I was discussing with someone, what the definition of "friend" is. We concluded a friend is "someone you would genuinely cross the road for" - if you see someone from across the road and cross the road just to say 'Hi", the person is your friend. For the longest time, I   was lazy and had not been crossing the road for anyone. Gone also, were the days when I was the organiser for gatherings and parties. I had not reached out simply because I did not need rejections, excuses and what-nots. I did, however, make some effort during this rtw trip and kept in touch with 3 people during the whole 9 months. I very much wanted to hear from more people but seldom initiated contact from my end. Everyone had gone back to their real lives and moved on while mine remained stagnant. I have always thought that since they had my contact details, those who really wanted to, would keep in contact. I really should try harder but last thing I want is to appear needy.

Speaking of "in need", there was 1 thing that never changed over the 9 months - every time I arrived at a new place, I wished that there was a familiar face waiting for me, to give me a big hug and assure me that I had made it safe and sound. Not another worry if I had everything under control. Not navigating through the public transport system and wondering if I had missed the stop. Not negotiating with the taxi driver or fending off the 15 men who were asking me to board their cab with "no, gracias, no" or "muy pesado" if they tried to carry my bag. Not fretting if the driver would truly bring me to my destination.

Despite the many horror stories I heard before and during my trip, I had never came close to any real danger. The closest "danger" I had been was accidentally staying in the hostel where someone I knew just got burgled. Lela, who was on my Galapagos boat, told us how she stayed in Hostel M in Quito, Ecuador, went out for dinner and came back to find her snorkeling gear, clothes, camera, passport and money stolen. When I reached my hostel in Quito, it was 6pm and getting dark. The receptionist told me that a guest has fallen sick, extended her stay, the hostel was consequently fully occupied and if I could be so kind as to stay in another hostel run by the family "next door". "Next door" turned out to be in another block, 1 street away and to my horror, Hostel M. As I had nowhere to go, I agreed to stay for the night only, thinking I could use the internet, find a hotel and move out immediately. I was down on my luck and could not find anything available online, not even a room in a 5-star hotel (what were the odds?!?)! I went to ask for a map so that I could go out for dinner and the receptionist told me the area was not safe and to leave my passport and valuables in her safe. That really freaked me out and I decided to barricade myself in my room to defend myself and my properties and had potato chips for dinner instead. That night, my sister happened to post on Facebook that mum had warmed up her dinner when she returned late. It was the only time I missed home. 

Over time, I did, however, found a strategy to overcome an obstacle I initially had. I have always been a crybaby. Read a book - tears flow. Listen to a song - tears flow. Watch a movie - tears flow. Take a roller coaster ride - cry. Sad - cry. Angry - cry. Happy - cry. One can only imagine how I could easily cry my eyes out when bidding farewell. The trick to not embarrassing myself in front of my friends, I discovered, is to do something stupid. Lost something important before departure and wasted my energy looking for it. Went for last minute shopping and returned late so I had no time to say thank yous and goodbyes. By the time I got to my transport, I would be so tensed and exhausted that I would fall asleep before my transport take off and would have no time to look out of the window and shed a tear. I just had to make sure I woke up just before the champers, umeshu or ice cream were served on board.

Cheers!