Traveler

Tricia Sucks at Learning Languages

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Istanbul, Turkey – January 2009

Out of a group of eighteen, I was shocked to find only three of us did not want to strip halfway nude and participate in a communal Turkish bath, or hammam.  Since the other two holdouts were 1) a leader, and 2) a girl who had grown up in Turkey and already experienced a Turkish bath, really it came down to just me being a prude.  I liked the other members of our team, but we had only known each other for seven pre-trip meetings and two days of traveling.  I did not feel safe enough to let my extreme self-conscious guard down.  Instead of participating in a cultural experience and group bonding exercise, Kate and Chris and I wandered the streets of Istanbul alone.  The three of us took a taxi to the mall where Kate’s family shopped.  I was disappointed to see that it was a normal mall with a sleek interior and modern storefronts.

“We could see if there are any good movies playing,” Kate suggested.  We headed toward the mall’s theater.

“How do you say ‘let’s go’ in Turkish?” Chris asked.

“Haydi gidelim,” Kate said.

“Haydi gidelim,” Chris repeated.

Kate glanced at him in shock.  “Wow, Chris.  That was really good.”

“Hi-dee gitilem,” I said.

“Close,” Kate allowed.

“Hi-dee gitilem,” I tried again.

“Haydi gidelim,” Chris said.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” Kate exclaimed.  “Your accent is perfect, Chris.”

We found the theater and stared at the back-lit movie poster for Yes Man.  Deciding we didn’t want to spend money on it, we discussed what else to do with our time.  “We could find somewhere that sells baklava,” I suggested.  Kate decided we could walk to the waterfront and find a shop there that would sell the dessert.

“Haydi gidelim!” Chris exclaimed.  I frowned at my feet.

As we crossed cobbled streets and slanted sidewalks, Chris continued to request Turkish words from Kate.  He parroted them back perfectly almost 100% of the time.  Every time I tried to join in the game, I inevitably stumbled over the foreign words and wound up speaking gibberish.  Kate was unfailingly polite, encouraging despite my failures.  This only made me feel worse.1930753_513230292032_7597_n

We found a pastry shop that sold baklava, and to make up for my wounded ego, I might have overly bragged about how “when I was in Greece!” I’d fallen in love with the honeyed sweet.  We bought four squares and carried the box to a bench that overlooked the Bosphorus.  The lights of the city danced over the dark water.

“Nefisti!” Chris exclaimed.

In my jealous mind, Chris was now capable of speaking fluent Turkish while I had yet to pronounce one word correctly.  I stopped trying to join in the language acquisition game and instead led the conversation around to learning more about my teammates.  We had a lovely and vulnerable conversation that was only occasionally punctuated by Chris’s remarkable ability to absorb foreign languages.

We met up with the rest of our team at the hotel two hours later.  They were bursting with ecstatically grossed-out stories of communal scrub brushes, which I listened to with a combination of relief and jealousy.  It was getting late, and I saw Chris lean over to Kate.

“Yatak!” he yelled suddenly.  “Go to bed!”  As we started to scatter to our rooms, I muttered, “Yatak.”

“Hey, good job!” Kate said.  I hadn’t known she was walking behind me.

“That was right?” I asked.

“Yeah, it was perfect.”

I smirked, shoving humiliation down deep.  I was still smart.  I could learn things.  Like, one thing, at least.

Tricia Accepts the Inevitability of Peeing in Public

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When I went to the bathroom in my Mongolian apartment for the first time, I allowed myself a moment to smirk pridefully at the wastebasket within arm’s reach.  I used the kickstand to open the top and affirm my suspicions.  Yup – Mongolia was a No Flushing Toilet Paper country.  Totally fine; I was a world traveler.  Greece and Turkey had similar policies, and I had mastered the art of not breathing while throwing away used TP.  Going to the bathroom in Mongolia was going to be a breeze. 

A week later, I left the city for an hours-long road trip with Gany and a driver from Samaritan’s Purse.  We were going to visit three families in order to check up on their health after recently going to the United States for heart surgeries.  We had gotten a mid-morning start, and after a couple hours we stopped at a seemingly random hill that housed four pavilion tents and at least a hundred people.  I found out that this would be the finish line of a horse race that was taking place in celebration of Naadam.  We bought some khuushuur and let the oil drip down our fingers as we leaned out of the open truck doors.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Gany asked.

Having been raised under the adage, “If there’s a toilet, you go whether you have to or not,” I had already scoped out the location and determined that there were no restrooms.  “I’m good,” I told my friend.  We wiped off our greasy hands on a roll of toilet paper Gany had packed, and our driver continued to bounce down and up the grassy Mongolian hills.

We continued to bounce despite my ever-expanding bladder.  The countryside is a stunningly simplistic dichotomy of blue skies and green hills, but there is not much in the way of houses or even trees.  I stopped drinking water.  Another hour passed.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Gany said.  “What about you?

“Yes!” I admitted.  I scanned the horizon eagerly, but…there was no change.  Maybe that was the magic of these hills in the middle of nowhere.  You could crest the top of one and suddenly overlook a whole city of bathrooms.  Shockingly, that didn’t happen.  Instead, the truck pulled to a stop.  “Are we stuck?” I asked.

Gany looked at me in confusion.  “No…this is our bathroom break.”

She noticed my panicked glance at our male driver.  “Don’t worry, he will use the other side of the truck.”

“Oh,” I said.  “….Good.”

Gany grabbed the roll of toilet paper, and I paused in sad understanding.  I should have known something like this was coming since we had packed our own TP.  I followed Gany slowly away from the truck as she unwound a handful and passed it to me.  I ignored the sound of our driver peeing.  “I’ll take the left!” Gany said, like I was supposed to know what that meant.  The left…tree?  Bush?  There were neither.  Dutifully, I veered to the right, then course-corrected as I realized the truck was no longer blocking me from our driver.  Where was I supposed to go to the bathroom?  The ground stretched in an unbroken plane in every direction.

Breaking an unspoken friendship code, I snuck a glance to my left when I heard the sounds of peeing once again.  Yup, Gany was squatting in the middle of a field.  I guess that meant…I would too.  Quick tip:  trying to pull your pants down as quickly as possible guarantees that something will get caught and the whole process will take longer than necessary.  In my case, it also meant I peed a little on my shoe.  It pays to take your time.

As soon as I was once more fully clothed and had kicked a smattering of dirt over the used TP, I felt triumphant.  I had used the bathroom outdoors!  I was a modern woman who could occasionally sacrifice personal dignity without complaint.  I was the best traveler ever.  I’d conquered my (previously unknown) fear of peeing in plain sight, so that meant I would never have to do it again!  …Right?

Book Rec – In a Strange Room

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Whenever I hear of a book that sounds interesting, I put it in my library queue.  When it arrives, anytime between one week to five months later, I usually forget why I asked for it.  Such was the case when I found In a Strange Room by Damon Galgut waiting for me on the hold shelf.  Who or what told me to read this wonderful book? I want to buy them a cake!  

As I scanned through the first couple pages, I was initially turned off by Galgut’s poetic paragraphs and disregard for the established rules of grammar.  Almost as soon as I had decided the book was too weird to read, I found myself entranced.  In his book, Galgut describes three journeys–to Africa, Greece, and India.  The rhythm of his prose makes his adventures something lyrical and deeply moving.  He generally writes in a third-person past tense, but sometimes, within even the same paragraph, he shifts from “he” to “I” as though the emotion is so strong he has been sucked back into the memory as if it were a present-tense reality.  I mean, that’s some amazing writing.

Something in him has changed, he can’t seem to connect properly with the world.  He feels this not as a failure of the world but as a massive failing in himself, he would like to change it but doesn’t know how.  In his clearest moments he thinks that he has lost the ability to love, people or places or things, most of all the person and place and thing that he is.  Without love nothing has value, nothing can be made to matter very much.

Although the book revolves around traveling, the destination is not really the point.  Galgut is more concerned with why he travels than where he goes, with how traveling shapes him and affects his relationship with others, either by drawing people together or as a repellant force.  In a Strange Room is not a book for the head, but for the heart.  If you want a uniquely emotional experience, this is the book for you.

Spirit Airlines

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Some people value comfort while traveling.  My motto tends to be “shove me in the overhead compartment if it will save me $20.”  If you are more concerned with cleanliness and leg room than savings, well, I don’t have much to say to you.  If you are willing to be a contortionist to save a buck, then welcome, dear friend.  Let me share the wonder of Spirit Airlines with you. 

I had heard of Spirit Airlines as some kind of monstrosity.  You cannot fit in the seats!  You’ll have to pay crazy amounts of money for carry-on luggage!!  They will kill your soul!!!  Not true.  I have flown with Spirit Airlines twice, and no catastrophe has occurred.  That’s not to say there aren’t tricks to having a good Spirit Airlines experience.

  1. Pack Lightly.  There is nothing worse than saving a buttload of money on a plane ticket, only to spend it all back on luggage.  Instead of giving up on an airline that charges even for carry-ons, I suggest learning to pack more efficiently.  Grab a good backpack and practice rolling sweaters and jeans into the tiniest possible cylinders.  Even better, wear all your bulky clothing on the flight so that you only need to fit some underwear and t-shirts in the bag.  I guarantee you don’t need all that junk you want to fit in a suitcase, and if you do?  Probably you can buy a bottle of shampoo at your destination.  Or else prepare whoever you’re visiting for the inevitable “Hey, can I borrow x, y, and z?”
  2. Prepare for Cramped Quarters.  I mean, I guess it’s true that the seats in Spirit are small.  But let’s be honest, what airplane seat is comfortable (except for Emergency Exit rows or the above-my-pay-grade First Class wonder seats)?  From the way people talked about Spirit, I assumed I’d be sitting with my knees pushed under my chin.  Not even slightly true.  I am 5’8″, and my knees were fine.  It’s not the most comfortable situation in the world, but you can deal.  Bring an engrossing book or play Candy Crush–you’ll be so distracted that the landing will come before you even realize you’re uncomfortable.
  3. Be Flexible.  This is my one concern with Spirit.  When I visited my friend in Baltimore, I had planned to fly back home Monday at 8:00 a.m.  That would have given my friend plenty of time to drop me off at the airport and get to work on time.  Perfect.  A month before the trip, I received an email that my flight had changed to noon on Monday.  That ruined everything.  We decided that I would fly out Sunday at noon, which cut my trip short by half a day.  It sucked, but we crammed as much fun as possible into the shortened weekend, and in the end, it was okay.  Plus, Spirit didn’t charge me for changing dates, so.  They earn a couple points for that.

I’ve found that Spirit Airlines is ideal for weekend trips.  I flew to Baltimore for $177 round trip, and I flew to New Orleans (one way) for only $44.  I’m willing to put up with a lot for those kinds of prices, and by “a lot” I mean “minor inconveniences, really.”

Tricia Leaves the United States for the First Time

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August 2004 – Athens, Greece

The first time I left the United States, I was sixteen and wearing a yellow polo shirt and homemade khaki skirt.  The airport seats around me were filled with ten similarly clad people; I suppose to other people we looked like a cult.  In actuality, we were a Southern Baptist handbell choir, which, now that I think about it, still seems like a cult.  For those not in the know, perhaps you are imagining a bunch of sweaty African Americans pounding their fists on pulpits while simultaneously ringing those tiny Salvation Army bells.  You couldn’t be more wrong–we were a white, diversity-less group of mostly-mild-mannered men and women (and teens).  As for handbells, well.  Watch this video (it isn’t us).

It was 2004, and we were on our way to Athens, Greece.  The summer Olympics were beginning, and we were going to take advantage of the tourist influx to bring people to Jesus via music.  More specifically, we would draw crowds with our fancy handbell ringing, and a team of college students from Somewhere in the Midwest would talk to people and try to convert tourists during their vacation.

Regardless of whether my opinion of speed-evangelism has changed or not in the last ten years, it is true that we got to ring handbells in some pretty amazing places.  The first night we played on the  front stoop of a church that overlooked Hadrian’s Gate.  Later we rang the theme song to Chariots of Fire as the Olympic torchbearer ran down the street twenty feet in front of us, then gave each other ecstatic high-fives at the end because OMG IT WAS LIKE A MOVIE.  Once we rang on a sidewalk overlooking the Aegean Sea while men clad in Speedos politely applauded.

When we weren’t ringing handbells, we were sightseeing, and it was during those momMars Hill3ents that a love of traveling settled in my bones.  Being Christians in Athens, we excitedly climbed to the top of the Areopagus and posed as though our group leader were Paul in Acts 17 (Bible nerd fun).  I walked the excavated roads that Paul’s apostolic feet might have touched, and I scuffled around in circles to increase the odds.  For the first time, it struck me that the Bible is a historical document.  The things written in its pages actually happened, and I was standing in a story I had heard a hundred times before.  Suddenly my faith felt deeper, history felt nearer, and the United States felt…insufficient.  There were layers and layers of history in this new city, and all the fireworks in the world couldn’t change the fact that my home country was a historical baby.  I wanted to see more.  I wanted a broader perspective.

On the flight west over the Atlantic Ocean, I wasn’t sad to leave Athens.  I knew I would be back someday, to this city or another or the whole world.  I wasn’t done finding and sharing truth all over this beautiful damaged planet.  I was already looking forward to the next trip, wherever it might be.

Movie Rec – The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

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This trailer always gives goosebumps, both because of the soundtrack (“Dirty Paws” by Of Monsters and Men) and because of Walter’s slow development from office dreamer to world adventurer.  The instant I first saw this trailer that The Secret Life of Walter Mitty would either become one of my favorite movies or else be a total flop in which only the good bits made it to the trailer.  Happily, the movie was the former!  I’ve seen it twice now, and both times I turned to the person watching with me so we could stare at each other with swimmy eyes and say, “Oh my–that was–let’s go somewhere or do something.”

“Life is about courage and going into the unknown.”

What makes the movie especially wonderful is that while it exults in travel and adventure, it never denigrates a working life.  In fact, it is only by country-hopping that Walter learns satisfaction in his normal life.  If life is about courage and going into the unknown, that applies to jumping out of helicopters or standing up to your jerk boss or telling someone you love them.  Seeing a new world is a beautiful experience, and sometimes what it reveals is the beauty of our current space.

Love love love.  I cannot recommend The Secret Life of Walter Mitty highly enough.

Instagram, Until You Shouldn’t

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Although I remember a time before the Internet, let’s be real.  It doesn’t really count.  Life didn’t truly begin until every facet of my existence could be uploaded for the entertainment and enjoyment of others.  I’ve been blogging since I was 15.  I’ve been uploading an obnoxious amount of pictures to Facebook from the moment I discovered how.  My memories do not exist so much in my head as they do on my computer’s hard drive.

There are some very obvious perks to this system.  For one, it eliminates those painfully long slideshows enforced by well-meaning family members.  No longer are people held captive to my will–I simply upload my experiences, and the responsibility for participating in my travels is up to the viewer.  They can like my status, reblog my post, or comment on my picture–or not!  I’m not going to force anyone into doing something they don’t want to do.  (Well, sometimes I message my closest friends “WHY HAVEN’T YOU COMMENTED ON MY PICTURE??”, but that is an exception.)

I joked earlier about my hard drive being the home of my memories, but honestly, this is extremely handy.  I travel with a lot of different people, and on a couple occasions, I’ve traveled alone.  Memories stay alive in the retelling, and if the people who traveled with me are not around to say, “Remember when–” then there is a good chance those memories will fade.  In a sense, my photo album files and blog posts are the friends who keep me laughing and groaning as they remind me of all the dumb beautiful things that have happened to me.

A final perk (though this semi-list is by no means exhaustive), sharing your experiences online can encourage and inspire people you might never realize needed inspiring.  Some people want to travel, but think they are too incompetent to manage it well.  Once they read my ridiculous stories, they might realize that compared to me, they’ll do just fine.  Very few people have a sense of self that is so resilient as to walk through life without the influence of others.  If I can be a part of the movement that pushes a person toward stepping outside of their comfort zone into an adventure, well, sign me up.

But now, the other side of the story.

After blogging throughout high school and college, I started to feel disconnected from real life.  I would see something new, or live through something funny, and immediately think, “This will make a great blog post!”  I was hurrying reality, eager to get through the experience so that I could write about it.

When this happens, you’ve gone too far.  If a love of blogging, Facebooking, or Instagramming inhibits your ability to live in the present moment, then…maybe take a break from social media.  Practice soaking up beauty for its own sake before sharing it with others.  There is a scene in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty in which Sean O’Connell, world famous photographer, neglects to photograph the elusive snow leopard he has climbed a mountain to find.  Walter asks him, “When are you going to take [the picture]?”  Sean replies, “Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.”

Our social media-saturated culture has some wonderful benefits.  Celebrate it!  But take time to live in the present before you live online.

Tricia Has a Not-So-Near-Death Experience

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March 2010
Fatick, Senegal

When my dear friend Lindsay paid good money to travel to Senegal while I lived there, I repaid her kindness by stepping on her glasses.  She simply taped them up and continued to help me hang mosquito netting over the air mattress we had set in the tiled foyer of my house.  My mom was visiting as well, and as the rules of seniority dictated, she got my bed in a private bedroom.

DSC00095After we had fallen asleep, a booming crash jolted me awake.  I was rigid with awareness, and just as I began to relax, the loud noise rang out again.  It felt loud enough to shake the house.

Beside me, Lindsay sat up and screamed, “What was that!?”  I rolled my eyes at her over-reaction, but as my sleep-addled brain caught up to reality, I realized I had a death-grip on her arm.  My mom ran out of my room to crouch outside our protective mosquito netting.

“Is that a normal noise?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, fear creeping into my voice.  “I mean, donkeys or something, yes.  But I have no idea what that was.”

“It sounded like your washing machine fell off a shelf,” Lindsay suggested.

“My washing machine is not on a shelf.”

“What if someone is trying to break through your gate?” Mom suggested.  Now that she mentioned it, the noise had sounded like a battering ram against our metal compound gate.  I stared at the dark windows two feet away, but I couldn’t see the flashlight beams of any thieves or assassins.  My mom hugged us through the netting.

“Liz!” I called.  “LIZ.”

My roommate stumbled out of the back room, rubbing her eyes.  “What is it?” she asked grumpily.

“Did you hear that crash?” I asked.

“No.”

Lindsay, Mom, and I all gasped.  “But it–it was so loud.”

Liz sighed.  “Do you want me to check outside?”

The three of us nodded desperately.  Liz had lived in Fatick a full year before I moved in with her.  She knew things.

Liz reemerged from her room with a flashlight.  She shone the light through the window and waved it across the yard twice.  “There’s nothing out there,” she announced, returning to her bedroom.

My mom still had her arms around Lindsay’s and my shoulders.  “Do you want me to pray for us?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lindsay said.  Mom prayed earnestly for our safety from…loud noises, then reluctantly went back to my room.  I let go of Lindsay’s arm and settled back into the mattress.  We lay there silently for several minutes.  Every normal sound suddenly felt dangerous.  Was that scraping sound someone crawling over the compound wall?  Were they going to tear away the window screen and shoot us from between the bars?

“Lindsay?  Are you still awake?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” she answered immediately.

“Do you want to…maybe move to the living room?” I suggested.

“Yes.”

We left the netting hanging from the ceiling and dragged the mattress into the living room at the back of the house.  There was now a wall between us and the dreaded windows, but my feet could still be seen through the doorway.  I curled into the fetal position and prayed that God would save me.

He did, because when we woke up, the sun had lit the house and Liz was standing over Lindsay and me.  “Are you serious?” she asked.

“We were scared!” I insisted.

“Of a noise?” she asked.

“A loud noise.”

Lindsay held her broken glasses to her face and exclaimed, “Oh good.  We’re still alive!”

Book Rec – 36 Views of Mount Fuji

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36viewsAt the top of my Dream Vacation list is Japan.  Why?  I don’t entirely know.  My general sense of Japanese culture is one of beauty, order, and peace.  I also like their tendency to make material goods as adorable as possible.  Japanese architecture resonates with some pagoda-shaped hole in my soul, and I want nothing so badly as to stand amongst a bajillion cherry blossom trees in full bloom.  Well-meaning idiots tell me there are cherry blossom trees in DC, but that is not what I want.

I feel like there is a good chance I am actually Japanese wrapped in American skin, a feeling that Cathy N. Davidson understands and shares.  Davidson is an American woman who lived in Japan four times over the course of a decade.  She is an introspective and honest writer, intent on both describing the country as well as her thoughts concerning what she sees.

I adored reading about someone who allows me to vicariously live through her adventures.  It is just enough to tide me over until I get a chance to visit Japan on my own.

Groupon

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My life before Groupon was a gloomy haze of full prices and routinized restaurants.  After I was exposed to the greatest deal-maker on the Interwebs, my life forever changed.  Half-price movie tickets, discounted oil changes, and 75% off horseback riding adventures!  Are you curious about Ethiopian food but unwilling to shell out more than $10 on a potentially disastrous meal?  No problem, Groupon has your back.

What does this have to do with traveling?

No matter if you live in a city Groupon covers or not, there is a good chance that the place you are visiting will be covered (at least, in the USA).  Before you head to Seattle or New York, check out Groupon for some unusual vacation options, like a Murder Mystery Dinner Show or Glass-Blowing Workshop.  It could save you a ton of money as well as introduce you to some unique tourist opportunities.

And then there is the holy grail of Groupon.  The Getaways page.  I check this category at least once a week, scrolling through location-based vacation deals with one hand and wiping away drool with the other.  There are gorgeous hotels available for reduced rates, but what really gets me excited are the international travel packages.  An 8-day Irish Vacation with Airfare & Rental Car for $899?  SHUT UP.

I have to include a caveat here.  Be careful!  Always click the green “See Options” button–sometimes the advertised low cost only applies to flying out of certain cities at certain times.  It is almost inevitable that you will have to buy a plane ticket to get you to the city from which the Groupon works.  It’s still entirely possible, however, to make the extra purchase and still save a bunch of money.

I used to think this was too good to be true.  But I went to St. Maarten because of a resort discount on Groupon.  Booking our room was easy, they knew us when we showed up, and payments went through without a problem.  I bought another Groupon for a hotel in Puerto Rico that I will use in December.  Hopefully it goes well–if not, I will write a follow up Travel Tip on how Groupon is the Worst Ever OMG.