Walking Into Wilderland

Off the highway the broken path began. The first crossroad came earlier than expected as I managed my way over a broken bridge holding my breath, hoping it wouldn’t be it’s moment of collapse. And then the uphill battle began. My black yoga leggings, a size too large kept cinching low just as my fake ray bans slid down my nose in sweaty drips.

On any other day, roaming around the landscape, the walk would have been enjoyable. But with inappropriate clothing for a hot day, a 20 kg pack strapped to my back, and an uncomfortable side bag weighed down with my “essential” technology gadgets, the ascent was frustrating.

I had to remind myself that easy paths lead to ordinary destinations.

I had to remind myself that this is what I asked for, somewhere extreme, somewhere extraordinary.

I’d just finished spending the past two weeks in pure luxury, traveling to Australia and New Zealand with my parents. After being separated from them for ten months, my Mom and Dad had decided it was time to visit their nomadic daughter across the globe.

For me, it was a sudden change in perspective and pace, as I’d spent the prior four months backpacking and volunteering through Southeast Asia. I was used to sleeping in open-aired huts, friends beds, and hostel dormitories. With them, I’d find home in studio apartments, queen size mattresses, and flat screen TVS. I was used to public transportation, in the form of buses, trucks, and tuk tuks. With them, I’d be graced with airplanes, private cars, and yachts.

Although sudden, I so easily adapted to this opposite spectrum of life. Yes, I’m a backpacker, but I was definitely born a princess. Just as easily as I can eat a $1 toastie from 7-11, I can also prepare gourmet sandwiches with hummus and deli meat and tomato and cheese and onion and salt and pepper. I can sit in hundred(s) dollar seats watching professional tennis players like Venus Williams. I can snap tourist photos from the top of a double decker bus. I can take tours of the Sydney Opera House and absorb the history of a spectacular monument. I can order dinner without cringing at the prices- yes appetizer, yes dessert.

I could so easily transition into royalty, but in reversing the order and greeting the rugged life once again, I just wanted to give up.

As I bent down to tie my shoes, that 20kgs tested my balance and I went backwards sliding down the hill. Unbuckling my cargo, and throwing it aside, I found shade besides the trail and guzzled what was left of my water. I had managed to walk five minutes before ultimate frustration had taken effect.

Still, my only option was to move forward. I couldn’t let myself be that pathetic girl who admitted defeat by leaving my pack at the roadside shop. This walk was going to happen whether it took me until nightfall.

As negative thoughts rambled in my monkey mind, I held my breath and let out a deep exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Within minutes of mindful breathing, I recognized what was missing from this ‘disaster’ was a pure appreciation of the present moment.

Ok, I said, I’m twenty-four years old. I’m in New Zealand. I’m walking to a sustainable community.

And just like that, I began to trust the process. Doubt passed. Calm entered.

No, my pack did not miraculously become lighter. Actually, it became heavier as I decided moving my side bag into the backpack would make my stride a little less cumbersome. No, the heat did not retreat. No, the ascent did not level out.

The conditions of the journey remained the same. It was simply my intention of the journey that had changed. And it made all the difference.

An hour later I’d arrived. I had withstood some falls. I had enjoyed some roadside plum snacks. I had made it.

Strangers embraced me with hugs as I watched a pregnant lady walk barefoot with her belly exposed. One of my first introductions was to the composting toilet, where our human shit would transform into food for the soil. I would be living in the “Love Caravan” and I was allowed to eat whatever I could harvest from the garden.  

I had arrived to Hippieville, Wilderland they called it. I was exhausted. 

I unpacked my bag pleased that I wouldn’t be carrying it around, at least not for a while. I looked out over the bushland and on to the estuary.

And I smiled.

It's (Not) Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

"So it looks like I'll be spending Christmas alone this year... on a boat,"  I paused as I spoke to my brother.

"That sure sounds like fun," I heard in a sarcastic tone over the phone.

And my holiday decision, which I had already put so much thought to, was hit like a dagger.

My brother and I don't really see eye to eye on my life approach. As I've ran away from my family, and moved around the globe to never look back.

There has been no other time on my 9 months abroad that I've questioned why I moved away than now. Now, during the Holiday season.

Thanksgiving skype chats have passed where I got to virtually see the whole family together. Pictures of Christmas trees and reindeer sweaters have swamped my news feed.

I really do miss home.

But then my life continues over here. The fear of missing out at home disappears as I go running after little Laos nuggets. As I play hide-and-seek behind their windows and get invited to sit with the husband and wife for water. Managing a grown up conversation, all the while playing hand games with their children. They tell me it isn't often the little ones get to play and listen to a farang girl. So I say "hellooooo" in a drawn out way that sets them into laughter as they mimic me.

I can be completely in my head and in regret about not being on the other side of the globe. And then beautiful cross-cultural exchanges happen. And I become aware that whatever I'm doing, it's working. I'm feeling connected to the world and I'm happy.

So this year, my Christmas will not be spent nestled with my kitty by the fireplace. My Christmas will not have a tree glittered with ornaments. This season I will not write a letter to Santa. This season I will not open gifts nor wait in anticipation for surprised expressions.

So this year, my Christmas will be spent rocking along the riverside with my backpack by my side. My Christmas will have a boat stocked with strangers. This season I will celebrate the day like every other. This season it will just be me.

When you decide to live abroad, you pay a certain price. You set a distance from yourself and those you love to afford the luxury of the foreign. You make the decision that it might be months, or even years before you'll get to see those friends and family you once interacted with on a daily basis. 

So here I am, choosing the life of travel. Choosing a home called Thailand populated by people who speak a language I barely understand. Choosing to spend the season in a way most of the world's population will never experience.

I dial the phone twice, as once never seems to give them enough time to get there.

"Is that you, Nora?" he says as my mom laughs in the background.

We talk about what he's done that day, and I talk about what I've got planned. Mom is always asking if I'm safe. Or if I've gotten a tattoo.

And the tender subject comes up for my plans this holiday. I explain I'll be on my own for Christmas as I make my way to my friends for New Years.

As if he knows I need a good laugh he replies, "Well if you aren't going to be with us for Christmas, what does it really matter anyway?"

"No one knows you better than yourself. And if you've gotta be alone on Christmas, then you've gotta be."

Bukit Lawang: Where We Were Welcomed Like Family

After living in Thailand for five months, I’ve come to expect smiles and kindness. I’ve come to expect that when I pass a grin, I should receive one in return. I’ve come to expect special glances because of my snow-white complexion.

So when my two friends and I set out to explore the country of Indonesia, what did I expect? Well, I sure didn’t expect to be embraced quite like this.

Flying into the dirty, busy, overbearing city of Medan had me feeling insecure about my decision to explore this country. Gangs of men surrounded us in hopes to be our transport out of this hellhole. I looked down at my shorts and immediately regretted my comfortable choice in wardrobe. In this very Muslim environment, every inch of skin was well noticed.

That night, our decision to quench hunger with cup of noodles turned into lines of men gawking from the window of the Indomart. The following day, our drive out of town continued the terror as our driver overcame semi-trucks and tested speed limits on unpaved roads.

All of this craziness left me holding on for dear life.

But when we finally arrived, my ears were pleasantly surprised with a quiet embrace. There was no hectic commotion, no horns beeping. Instead, as we walked to our accommodation, there was ‘halos’ and smiles that seemed to make sounds for as far as the grin stretched. The powerful river was the soundtrack for the town. And the children, with their incessant desire for high fives, made it all feel like a movie.

Little did we know, that within days, this beautiful jungle town would become our beautiful jungle town.

Our very first night, we saw real tradition when we were invited to a wedding. Everything was so fresh and different, like the concept of dropping our dinner plates and empty waters on the ground. A performance of witches and lady boys had the little ones dashing around and hiding in pure terror. It was really cute to see how into it the kids got, and how entertained the elders were. And then, we got invited on stage. I knew it was the appropriate thing to agree, but the entire time I couldn’t help but laugh at the awkwardness. Three western girls swaying on stage with a handful of Indonesian women, while the rest of the crowd sat in their seats and watched.

And then there were the moments that will be stained in my memory forever. Like seeing the little boy who had rescued us on our tubing adventure earlier that day. I offered him a Mentos, and that little rascal took off with the whole roll. Or the grandma in the corner who motioned me to close my legs, as I often sit like a boy. Or the bride with a snake wrapped around her neck, pleasantly surprised and honored by our presence.

Even after a high of such cultural welcoming, our night was not over. We visited newfound friends, whose musical talents had enticed us that afternoon. Little by little, the circle of musicians increased, as did the instruments. Twelve men singing their hearts out and three Americans beaming uncontrollably- that’s what set the scene. And when it became too late for the noise in the neighborhood, we didn’t just pack up and leave, we all packed up and headed to the river.

It was beautiful to be in a moment where the fun was never ending. Where tomorrow was tomorrow and today was today.

Off to the jungle

Bukit Lawang is one of the few places in the world where Orangutans can be viewed in the wild. Our guide, Joni, led us on our trek and took us on a daunting exploration of monkeys. It was amazing to hear that his English language came from the jungle, from communicating with tourists and learning from his fellow guide friends. Maybe he couldn’t read or write, but he spoke English better than most Thais I’ve come in contact with.

Our first viewing of the Orangutan was a Momma and her baby. We had come across an unusual sighting of a fight between her and the black gibbon monkey. You’d think because of the Orangutans stature that they’d pick on these little black ones more often. But gibbons regularly travel in large packs, so the Momma was taking her chances; this was a very special event.

Since Orangutans are constantly moving, it was not an easy feat to come across these majestic creatures. The guides were whistling to each other throughout the jungle, occasionally placing phone calls regarding sightings. They are truly a family of jungle men sharing their lucky crossings. We were sliding down hillsides, skipping across rivers, scaling the side of tree trunks all on the hunt for the orange humanlike monkey.

In another sighting, we passed by a shirtless guide who motioned to us above. Perched in his nest lay a sly Orangutan, swinging a dark green shirt in the air. He’d snaked it off the guides back! We watched for a half hour as he attempted to put the shirt on, almost achieving to pull his furry head through only to take it off and use it as a blanket. It was pure, natural entertainment.

The jungle was a very, very special place. We shared games and tricks. We drank Bintang in the moonlight. We showered at the waterfall. We learned some of the Bahasa language. We laughed, a lot. We noticed how greatly the locals cared for the forest. How diligent they were in keeping it clean. How well respected this sacred place really was.

We dropped our role as tourists, and quickly absorbed our destiny as jungle sisters.

The days that followed continued this combination of adventure and authenticity. We took an hour-long raft down the river, passing grazing water buffalo and families doing their daily cleaning. We drank tea and ate scrumptious fried treats. We climbed the top of a van and took a ride back to town with this bird’s eye view of paradise. It didn’t matter if it was raining, we were singing and enjoying every experience. We hopped on motorcycles and toured nearby villages. We guzzled down egg noodle soup by the riverside.

 While crossing a bridge to a waterfall, I was stopped midway by an Indonesian woman wearing a muay thai boxing shirt. She touched my blonde hair, asking if I was American. Immediately after my response, she was pushing her son towards me, laughing, and suggesting we get married. As I started to laugh as well, she reached for my hand and expressed her sincerity. She wanted me to marry her son and teach the family English. I gave gratitude and laughed away the forward proposal. They took a picture with me and we exchanged Facebook accounts before parting ways.

We were not just checking things off our “to-do list”, we were experiencing genuine cultural integration.

Our friends from Thailand came for a visit and we were able to share this place, a place we had fallen in love with, with a new set of eyes. The tribe had extended, at least for a short time, to six girls with striking Balinese red flowers in our hair. We climbed crevices and clambered over slippery rocks, with bouts of laughter echoing on the walls. We all gazed in amazement in this cave with millions of bats screeching overhead. We shared a barbeque and welcomed everyone to our porch. While sitting in a circle, I had one of those moments of true appreciation as my friends interacted with our Indonesian friends, all while a Bukit Lawang version of “Country Road” strummed in the background.

We departed from this beautiful village with a sentimental send off just like the cinemas. As our van drove away, three Indonesian boys waved in the distance, and Emily turned to us and muttered, “I think I’m going to cry, guys.”

We knew we’d found a place quite like any other. We knew we’d return.

But little did we know, how soon we’d be back.

Listen to Your Body

I could get all spiritual with you. I could tell you that the body is a vehicle for our souls. I could tell you how much appreciation and awareness are owed to this amazing platform for life. 

I could tell you these things, but you probably won’t listen.

It doesn’t matter; your body is a sneaky little beast. Your body will act like a psychotic child crazed for attention. Even when you persistently ignore it, your body will stamp its feet and make a scene.

And you still won’t listen.

But in one form or another, be that an accident, a sickness, or a disease, your body will dropkick your ass. With the wind knocked out of you, you will try wrapping your head around what’s going on. All the while, your body will be in the corner, shaking its head, saying, “I told you so.”

It’s in this state of total exhaustion that you finally take notice of your body.

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For me, my body made its testament on my way to dinner Friday night. In the surroundings of oncoming traffic, my body said enough. I fainted, taking a hard nose-dive to the pavement.

Just like that, my body provided the wake up call I had been ignoring.

You see, I’m the type of girl that’s go, go, go. I’m in the classroom playing superhero making airplanes out of 3 year olds. Five days a week I have at least seven monkeys crawling on me trying to find their own space of Teacher Nola. I am daily over-saturated with Patience; Nurture comes knocking at the door every five seconds; Laughter soaks my skin; Creativity is chief in command. It’s a crazy cacophony of emotions.

When the weekend arrives I quickly switch out the rewarding but taxing life of education for adventure. Within 36 hours I have packed in reuniting with friends, exchanging with locals, experiencing the lands diamonds and relishing in the beauty of Thailand. It’s always too short and so worth it. The Senses are in constant disbelief of how extraordinary it all seems.

Taking perspective on my stimulating lifestyle, I can understand why my body did what it did. I mean, it scared the living shit out of me. But I get it. I have to slow down. So, I canceled my planned trip and did something I should have planned a while ago.

 Rest. 

I stayed in for once. It was the first weekend in months waking up in my own bed rather than in a dorm, a hotel, a guesthouse, or a bus. I took a breath of normality. I watched a movie at the mall. I relaxed at the nail salon. I drank Starbucks. I ate a hamburger. I let my body take a freaking break from the hustle and bustle of my overflowing routine of work and travel.

My friend described me as the celebrity who cancels their tour due to exhaustion. And she was so right on. Because we can’t all be rockstars everyday. We’ve got to give ourselves some time once in a while.

Our body damn well deserves it for all the work it does for us.

Koh Samet & Khao Yai: Rolling Deep with the Wanderlust Academy

Out of all the great things my teach abroad program has provided, above all is the college-esque experience.

And who didn’t love college?

It’s the friendships that thrive without constant attention and connection. Where you can bump into someone on campus you haven’t seen in months, and pick up right where you left off.

So, for me, Thailand is like that. It’s like this college campus I’m still exploring and discovering. It’s like this Wanderlust Academy glittered with friends in different regions. But there is bound to be that party, or that Beach Week, or that Mountain Weekend where we will reunite.

It’s the ability to be connected to a vast population of colleagues in a foreign land. It’s the camaraderie that helps limit moments of loneliness and homesickness.  It’s the fairytale that could be denied, but that is authenticated by shared association.

Did that really happen? Yes, it did.

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Beach Week. Koh Samet is a beautiful island in the Gulf of Thailand, popular for Thais and void of the party backpacker. Actually, every Western stranger I met was currently a teacher or had previously been one. A long weekend enticed groups of us from the Isaan region, the North, and the Bangkok area to join in on a beach vacation.

I hadn’t put on my mermaid legs in over 3 months, my excitement was clear. The half-day journey to arrive was worth it the moment we jumped on a boat with fellow program friends already onboard. This crystal blue longboat ride landed us on an island guarded by mermaids. Need I say fate?

Despite rainy season forecasts, the weather was perfect every single day. We shared buckets for breakfast, cocktails couldn’t really wait until happy hour. We ate Thai food on English menus, a true rarity for us Isaan girls. We floated in the ocean, chilled on the beach. A perfect combination of sunshine and laughter. There were moonlight fire shows, where a six year old performed. There were Naga nights body painting, and late night swimming. It was a solid beach vacation.

                                      

Maybe I’m spoiled, maybe I’m oversaturated on saltwater from years by the ocean. I know, I can’t believe I’m saying it. . . but the Caribbean wasn’t giving me the cultural feel of Thailand I’ve become accustomed to. I could have been anywhere in the world. I’m surprised that sand, sun, and sea don’t bewilder me as much anymore. 

Still, the backdrop was perfect for the occasion, it really was. It’s just what I needed, to relax and chat with friends to the soundtrack of waves. And it was groovy to see that, personally, my location in the Northeast, what they call the “Real Thailand”, is perfect for me. I hadn’t really acknowledged that, until then.

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Mountain Weekend. Khao Yai National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, covers three provinces making it the third largest park in Thailand. It’s a very popular vacation, so our timing of the rainy season helped relieve worries about cabin availability. Cool mountain air, roadside monkeys, two private songthaews and a 40-person cabin all to 17 teachers set the mood for a perfect vacation.

Driving around, up, and into the mountain. We visited a monstrous waterfall, where we discovered pythons, and took in the epic scenery. Unlike Hollywood daredevils in the The Beach we did not jump off it, but we still pushed the edge. We received history lessons on Thailand and Buddhism from our driver situated in picturesque farmland. We watched as millions upon millions of bats flew out of a cave like ballet dancers in the sky. The spectacle was amazing but the company enhanced it tenfold.

We only scratched the surface of the park. But we sure had fun. Monkey business. Laughter. Dancing. Laughter. Like little kids at camp, we built tents, or at least tried.  The trip was short, but we are always able to pack legendary memories within 24 hours.

Traveling deep, with so many people, might seem like an overwhelming experience to some. And yeah, it is a lot of people. Totally. But bringing together mass amounts of friends just provides an opportunity to celebrate.

And it’s not like we just celebrate. We celebrate with backdrops of the most beautiful places in the world.