Imagining stepping out of the constant and somewhat predictable rhythm of daily routine into a new script, one that you at least hope and maybe even expect is capable of surprising you, is both the most exciting and the most frightening part of travel. Considering the unpredictablility and the potential of who and what might be 'out there', these mixed feelings come not too unexpectedly. In so many
situations around the world, after all, the possibility of dialogue, of meeting the 'other' with vulnerability and a readiness to begin honest self-criticism has been forfeited. Rather, as we are so often reminded, humanity is capable of doing horrific things. The decision to meet threat with counter-threat and resorting to intimidation through violence (which, in its self, breeds new types of insecurities and vulnerabilities) is daily reported in the media. Our collective awareness that we could inadvertently step into a violent conflict, into the crossfire, if we step out of the relative stability of what and who we know and are comfortable with is a legitimate concern. But despite our awareness of the dangers that lurk, however poorly they might be defined, many of us can't ignore that a truly vibrant potential for growth, connection and maturation also exists through who and what is out there.
The possibility that we aren't quite as free as our liberal self-conscience and
democratic rhetoric likes to think begins to articulate itself in wholly practical ways when travelling. A country that you may be travelling through (not even stopping in) might require you to have a travel visa for their country, for example. Furthermore, it might be necessary to stay a few nights in a city that you explicitly wanted to avoid so that you can apply and wait for the said visa, because that country's only local consulate is in that particular city. Of course, these examples aren't worth discussing themselves. But they can serve as an obvious starting point for the traveller to begin reflecting on just how deeply we might be affected by factors outside of our control. Grasping this, even without giving these reflections the greater space and effort that they deserve, can substantially aid the traveller in psychologically preparing him or herself for the varied social, political, religious and economic currents that will be exerted upon them as they adventure abroad. Of course, there are certainly ways and degrees of cushioning your experience of the raw and unfiltered realities of the communities that you step into. Still, no matter how someone chooses to travel, the hope to
absorb or
be absorbed into something fresh, something real, is there.
It almost seems a waste to say that we all enter into these relationships and experiences with prejudices, perspectives and histories, with decisions and delusions that cannot be separated from who you or I am and have become as individuals. Because of this, the stretching of my horizon or yours, more often than not, does not happen in one dramatic swoop. Rather, this receptivity to who and what is out there usually manifests itself in the traveller through small, incremental ways and acts. This is akin to someone first dipping their toe in the water, than going to their ankles, then knees and so on. So in this sense, an increasing attentiveness might begin with something as small as noticing a smile from a passerby, when you might not usually even
look to see what expression someone
is wearing. Little by little the realization sets in that by listening, looking and speaking more intently, by being more in-tune with what is surrounding you, a door opens and welcomes you into a richer, more complicatingly engaged (and perhaps more bloggable) connection with the world.
It is tempting to think sometimes that you are actually doing a favour when you persevere in not turning away from someone. This is especially the case when it would be much easier to do just that, avert your eyes, close your ears, shut your heart. The trouble with this is that it paints an incomplete picture of what human reality is: in all our variety, we
need each other. We learn and grow by doing and having things done to us. This process of challenge and resistance and
compassionate response to it is how our identities are formed, reordered and resurrected with a little bit more maturity and an increased capacity to give and receive (dare I say it) selfless love. When someone has been convinced of their self-sufficiency, that their comfortable definitions are all-encompassing, that who they are meant to be has reached as high and as final a state as can be reached in this life, in the world, is when their attention is stunted into being merely a favour to the other and no more.
It is to avoid this static, delusional fantasy that we make ourselves vulnerable to what is other, by looking, by listening, by sharing, by loving. We actively attend to the other so that we may be moulded by it. It is an acknowledgment of our
contingency, and that we do, in fact, have unavoidable individual and collective weaknesses. I also can't help but suggest that this is a parallel to what the Christian understands contemplation to be: Giving honest effort at making regular time just to be acutely receptive not only to the world, but most particularly to the ultimate Other, God embodied in the person Jesus of Nazareth. My point in all of this, though, as obscure as it might still be, is that as we engage with and open up to who and what is out there our lives hang just as precariously and are just as much in flux as those we view around us. None of us are fixed points in the ever shifting pattern of the world.
You have been pulled in every direction (physically and emotionally) and your senses have been bombarded. Somehow you can feel exhausted
and rejuvenated at the same time. Bonds of friendships have been formed between you and former strangers on the go. Surely there are many more people who weren't converted into friends and maybe there is even someone who you particularly remember with mixed thoughts because of a deeply insensitive comment they directed at you.
Creativity has possibly been found or reawakened through journalling, drawing, painting, blogging, poetry or some other medium. You have had times of mountainous happiness and valleys of frustration or even anger. This is travelling. And this is humanity in relation with itself. It demands very much from the adventurer. But, through experiences, particularly with all the varied people, the traveller can take much from the journey, too.
Many travellers, certainly us, travel at least in part so that they can bring home something new and something fresh back to their family, friends and community. Showing that a commitment to conscious, honest and unaccusatory relations with who and what you don't know well
is worth the effort it demands is possibly one of the most dire imports needed in many pockets in the West. Of course, this doesn't mean we must endorse or believe what we are shown in our connections with others. It simply means being open to the process of listening and responding to and with each other. Upon returning home, the traveller, I think, is in a unique position to suggest this through photos, stories and by visibly living life with a more fantastically stretched horizon.
p.s. Happy Birthday, Airica and Dave!
Cesky Krumlov was stolen straight from
a fairy tale. Or, maybe all fairy tales were set in Cesky Krumlov.
Either way, you get the idea. Visiting mid-week, in April was
perfect. We were able to experience all the atmosphere with very few
other tourists.
Fast forward to the next day at noon.
Standing in front of the Astronomical Clock on the Old Town Tower, in
the Old Town Square. Aka. Tourist Central. The clock performs a
forty-five second mechanical display with four characters playing a
part: Death, Greed, Vanity and Pagan-Invasion (the biggest fears of
15th Century Prague-ites) essentially a giant cuckoo clock
of sorts. “This is THE MOST touristy city in all of Europe,” I
exclaim to J. Its jammed. With a bunch of tourist gawking at the
clock. I get the feeling that most of them aren't sure why they're
there. They just know they're supposed to be. I can't really be
annoyed about that, though. I'm standing there too; watching the
(rather anti-climatic) astronomical clock strike noon. I feel a bit
bad for the clock.
Prague
is street after cobblestone street of photogenic Eastern/Central
Europe. The Prague Castle, all fairy-tale-like, looms over the city
and offers sweeping views to those who huff up the hill (as well as
those who took the funicular- but they didn't really earn it, now did
they?) Then there's St. Charles Bridge, where legend has it that in
1393 a priest (St John of Nepomuk) was tossed off by King Wenceslas
IV (...not good King Wenceslas who looked out on Boxing Day) for
refusing to divulge the Queen's confessions. Legend also has it that
gold stars in the halo of his statue followed his corpse down the
river. Now his statue has a bronze plaque at the bottom of it. Yet
another tradition is that if you rub this plaque, you'll return to
Prague one day. Who doesn't love a good tradition?
Prague
has a lot to see. Its especially hard to get through all the serious
sightseeing when every other street boasts a refreshing beer
intermission. But wait- there's the Prague Beer Museum. This is no
museum, I admit. Just a tricky name to ease a bit of the sight-seeing
guilt as you watch the glass of time drain to half full. All you
while trying to decide which of the 30 beers on tap to taste! Plus,
we were at a Beer Museum after all, one should expect to learn
something. For example, I learned that while beers in the Czech are
labelled by degrees- temperature is not actually what the little
degrees symbol is indicating. Its actually some complicated system
that doesn't relate at all to the temperature the drink is served at,
nor directly to the percentage of alcohol in the beer, but its “an
indicator of specific gravity known as a 'Balling' rating.” Ok, so
I didn't actually learn that. I copied it directly from the
guidebook. I stopped trying to understand after the words 'gravity'
and 'beer' were in the same sentence. But, thankfully we have smart
friends: Thanks, Lasse!
planet, we can finally say, with no small amount of excitement and anticipation, that today, we are homeward bound!
Newfoundland is. I miss being around people who understand that it is offensive when people first mistake you for an American and then follow it up with 'Well, close enough, right?' Umm. Well, physically, I suppose. Oh! And Tim Hortons and everything Presidents Choice makes. And maple syrup. I miss Canada's majestic rocky mountains, the red roads and lighthouses that dot PEI' s coast, the pristine north channel, the prairie sky, Newfoundland's rocky shore, and, more than any other slice of our great country, the windswept pines, moody waters and the perfect in every way, 30,000 islands of Georgian Bay. No, I haven't been gone long enough forget all Canadian geography- I do know that I can't just hop in the Mooney-mobile and drive over to Vancouver Island for the weekend from Niagara Falls. Yes, I do still know that I actually live no where near the west coast's mountains or the east coast's lobsters. But I just love knowing that hey are there, somewhere in our vast country, my home, and that they are just one quick West Jet seat sale away. No passport required.
Its really been a fantastic, live-changing adventure that I wouldn't trade for all the tea in China, and believe me, that's a whole lot of tea. But now we are ready and excited for the next chapter in the Adventures of J&K- life back in Canada.
we've said with, "You have way too much time on your hands!" And as we are quickly coming to the last leg of our trip we can't deny it: we have had almost nothing but time to think.
g' and made time for it. In other words, they took an active approach to their free time rather than being overly passive about it. In our particular situation we made sacrifices to open up room in our lives for a fifteen month adventure. But it isn't the amount of time that is of primary importance.
ere is an activity I want in my life, even though it will probably occupy only a very small part of my time. It was an enriching rediscovery for me.
wholeheartedly and meaningfully participated in the life of his community is time and thought well-spent. And that is what happens at feasts. At Christmas dinner stories about my great-aunt and great-uncle always come up. For me and my family it would be impossible to think of Christmases Past without them and their home. Out of their love and generosity they have left us with some very special memories now that they themselves have passed away. In the same way, that's what the feast of St Nicholas is about: making room for stories and traditions to be reborn in ourselves.
had a daughter but no money to offer as a dowry so that she could be wed. Just like many places nowadays, once the daughter reached a certain age her family would shed their financial responsibility towards her and she would have had to find a means to live elsewhere. If she were to marry, her husband and his family would do this. But without a dowry this wouldn't happen. Life would have been quite desperate. And of course, desperate times call for desperate measures: if nothing else, it would have opened the door of possibility to a life of prostitution for the daughter. Seeing and understanding the girl's situation, tradition says Nicholas left three gold nuggets on the family's window one night so that with them the family had a dowry to offer for their daughter. A happy ending, right? If you have ever found or even gave a mandarin orange (or three) in a stocking and never knew why that sort of thing is done, now you do. It is the tradition of this story being kept alive. The mandarins symbolize the gift of the gold nuggets.
ible with and for the people we love, what just-the-right Christmas gift for them would be should become clear.
rothers had whittled their once large menu down to essentially one item: hamburgers. Since then, the restaurant franchise has become a globally recognized brand. The name of the restaurant? McDonald's.
As an independent backpacker you will never have a neutral feeling about how and what you shoved into your rucksack. One person might snicker at the seventy to one hundred Liter packs labourously being hauled past her. Conversely, the poor soul carrying that eighty Liter pack will see a thirty Liter bag hanging seemingly weightlessly off the shoulders of another person and vow to himself to pack like that savvy traveller next time. We have each been travelling for a total of two out of the last eight years, almost always together. Not once in this time has a seventy-Liter-plus backpacker been evangelical about their pack size to us. But more of these folks than I can remember have asked us, "Is that all you have?" We can almost see a twinkle in their far away eyes when we say, "Yes." When you are considering what size your primary bag should be, keep in mind that just because your trip is big, doesn't mean your bag has to be. Mine is twenty-eight Liters and Kristen's is (an exorbitant) thirty-two Liters.
twelve Liter bag that we can pull out if we need to pack a picnic lunch or to carry whatever else.
While talking about feet I should mention just how important good shoes are. I wear walking shoes and they double as hiking boots when I need them to. When they feel old-shoe-comfortable when I try them on in the store, I know I have found the right walking shoe. As I break them in they only become more comfortable. The comfort is important, but being waterproof is great too. I have worn Goretex walkers for years and haven't found anything better or more multi-purpose. This comes at a price, though. Where my whole travel wardrobe costs about $100 to $150 and lasts at least four years of travels, my shoes cost around $300 alone and seldom do they last even two years with the amount of walking I do. To me, it is worth the cost. Also, it doesn't upset me too much when they come as a birthday present.
traveller can do is bring a quick dry microfiber towel. Ask anyone who has carried one what their experience with it was and I am pretty sure most people will mention how awful they smell after very few uses. You can wash them, but the first time you use it after washing it the horrible smell comes triumphantly back. Cotton is generally not a good fabric for travellers. It dries rather slowly and wrinkles notoriously. But a really thin cotton sarong will dry quick enough to be useful and it will efficiently dry you off after a shower and will never develop a smell. It is the only piece of cotton that I carry. These things are cheaper and much superior to the microfiber smellowels.
travelling. A bonus to all the book side of the Kindle is that some models come with 3G. We haven't travelled with a Kindle yet, but it is possible that we might in the future.