Six Month Milestone

I've been traveling full time for six months now. Here are a few of my thoughts so far:

• I believe that happy “accidents” occur by putting yourself out there, by taking risks, by not having expectations about how things will turn out. I've experienced this principle way too many times to think of these incidents as accidents. I expect them.

• There are few things as delicious as a good cup of coffee. Or worse than a bad a cup of coffee.

• I don't need much to get by. All of my earthly possessions fit into two bags. And I'm still getting rid of stuff.

• It's fun to wake up not knowing what city I’ll be in that night.

• The public restrooms in New Zealand are clean. I mean clean enough to invite someone over for dinner.

• Cold drinks are over-rated. Except when it comes to beer.

• I have a new appreciation for good water pressure.

• It actually is a small world after all...I met a guy on a remote island in Fiji and subsequently bumped into him more than 100o miles away at a museum in Wellington, New Zealand.

• I can't believe I've driven 10,000 miles on the other side of the road without being involved in an accident or getting a speeding ticket.

• I can eat just about anything. And enjoy it. Except beets. But I already knew that.

• I have a REALLY bad sense of direction. But I've had lots of unexpected adventures by getting lost.

• Humor transcends all barriers of language, culture or ideology.

• Not everyone is a fan of The United States of America. In fact, a lot of people aren’t.

• It is truly humbling and sometimes downright embarrassing to witness my fellow travelers' proficiency in multiple languages.

• I thoroughly enjoy having my ideas and beliefs expanded by someone who holds a different point of view.

• A bunch of expensive, heavy camera gear doesn't make me a better photographer. I've gotten rid of all the equipment I brought with me and I'm using only a pocket-sized point-and-shoot.

• I'm surprised and inspired by how concerned many of my fellow travelers are about the environment and conserving resources. There’s an entire section of the Lonely Planet Guide devoted to “green” travel.

• I want to maintain a child’s eye view. Playful, inventive, creative, open to all possibilities. In the past 6 months I’ve seen more physical beauty than one person can absorb in a lifetime. But I hope I’ll always be awestruck by a spectacular sunset, a thundering waterfall, or a night sky in the middle of nowhere filled with constellations I’ll never be able to identify.

• I've met very few people my age who are insane enough to sell everything they own and travel the world and who have no Plan B. Or Plan A.

• With all due respect to my travel companions and room-mates along the way, I REALLY like having my own room. Paying more per night beats the hell out of participating in a snore-fest/body odor buffet/sleep-deprivation experiment.

• My goal is to live in the moment, to suck the juice out of every experience, to live courageously and compassionately...and to embrace randomness and all its surprises.

• No matter how early you get up or how remote your destination, the Germans are already there.

• I’m not on a quest. I’m not trying to “find myself”...or "enlightenment". I’m not looking for anything. OK, maybe I’m looking for the perfect, pristine beach with turquoise water and a single, solitary hut with nothing else around except for another hut where delicious meals and cold beer are served. By an exotic woman wearing a sarong. Is that too much to ask?

A Case of Mistaken Identity: Part Two

A couple of years ago, I went on a date with a lovely woman named Heather. She was bright, charming, funny and attractive…and most importantly she had a kind heart. I met Heather through a mutual friend, and when I bumped into her a few days later, quite by accident, I asked her out.

We went to dinner at one of my favorite Thai restaurants. The conversation flowed easily and she seemed comfortable in her own skin. We had a similar point of view on lots of things and she made me laugh. I had a great time, and as the evening drew to a close, I knew I wanted to see Heather again.

When I got home from work the following night, there was a letter in my mailbox. The envelope was green, and the handwriting unmistakably feminine…but there was no return address, so I couldn’t guess who the sender was. I opened it to find a card with an illustration of a kitty cat in a bathtub and lots of pink flowers and seahorses and bottles of perfume on the shelf above the sink. The kind of card that a seven year old girl might send out as a birthday party invitation. I was intrigued to say the least.

I opened the card and read the inscription:

“Dear John:

Thanks for a lovely and delicious evening. Hope your shoot went well.”

Followed by a hurriedly written signature which contained a capital “H”, and a “t”, and possibly and “e” and an “r”.

My first thought was...“Heather”.

My next thoughts went something like this:

1. She used the words “delicious” and “wonderful”. Sounds like she had a good time!

2. A thank you note? That seems kinda formal and uptight. I don’t know her well, but that doesn’t seem like the Heather I went out with the previous night. What was that joke that made the rounds when I was in college? Oh yeah…”Why don’t sorority girls go to orgies? Too many thank you notes afterwards.”

3. This card doesn’t look like one that a 40 something year old woman would pick out. Unless she’s using her 12 year old daughter’s stationery. Not possible…even a 12 year old girl would be embarrassed to use this stationery.

4. Whether she purchased the card or borrowed it from her daughter, she probably has a house full of wicker wreaths, sickly-sweet smelling potpourri, floral scented candles, “Precious Memories” dolls, stuffed animals and figurines of unicorns and more than one cat. Yikes!

5. Wait a second…How could she mail a letter after 11 p.m last night and have it arrive on my doorstep the following day? Even if a member of her immediate family is a postal worker that would be tough to pull off.

6. What other woman named Heather would have sent me a thank you card for a wonderful and delicious evening? I’d been out of the country for a month and had just returned a few days earlier. Whoever it was was very tardy in sending me a thank you note. How rude!

7. Who else have I been to dinner with in the last few days?

8. Who do I know that would use such girly stationery?

9. Bingo! My next door neighbor…whose name is Hunter!

Hunter had very kindly agreed to keep an eye on my place and water my plants while I was gone, so when I returned I took him out to dinner to thank him and to catch up. As soon as I figured out that the card was from him, and not Heather, I e-mailed him immediately, and within minutes I could hear him next door howling with laughter.

Heather got a kick out of the story as well, and we did have several more dates, despite the fact that she has multiple cats.

Footnote: To read about another case of mistaken identity, click here

A Case of Mistaken Identity

As I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Alice Springs, an insignificant dot on the map in the middle of the desert in the middle of the outback in the middle of Australia, the first thing I noticed was the heat. Blinding, knee-buckling, stifling heat. After the cool breezes in Melbourne, the weather in this tiny outpost in the middle of nowhere hit me like a punch in the face.

Before leaving on my round-the-world odyssey, I had carefully researched an infinite number of luggage options. I envisioned a magical mystery bag of unlimited capacity, with wheels and a handle, light-weight and ruggedly constructed and which, in the blink of an eye, could morph into a backpack.

A tall order for sure…like something on Edmund Hillary's wish list...but I found exactly what I was looking for in the Osprey Sojourn. Futuristic, sleek, water resistant, with a capacity of 80 liters and equipped with all-terrain in-line skate wheels…it is truly a design marvel and a thing of beauty. AND, it comes with an almighty, lifetime guarantee. Intellectually, I know it’s just an inanimate object, but my feelings for the Osprey Sojourn approach the love I feel for my iPhone.

In all my travels, I’ve never seen another one like it. In the movie in my head, as Journey plays "Highway run..into the midnight sun...wheels go round and round...you're on my mind...restless hearts sleep alone tonight", I am certain that I am the envy of every other traveler.

I hurried to the baggage carousel just in time to hear the angel chorus singing as my Osprey emerged from behind the clear plastic curtain, and before a mob of adoring admirers could rush forward to touch it, I proudly grabbed my one-of-a-kind, badass backpack and feigned nonchalance as I walked towards the airport shuttle bus.

A few minutes later, a German woman who was as steamed as an over-heated Volkswagen boarded the bus and wanted to know who had taken her bag. Knowing that mine was the only one in existence, I paid little attention as she grew more and more irate.

Suddenly it occurred to me that in order to remain profitable, the Osprey company would probably have to manufacture more than just one bag, and as the realization penetrated the mind-numbing heat inside the bus, I asked her what her bag looked like.

Turns out it was identical to mine...well, black instead of brown. And with a bright red luggage tag. Unmistakably hers. I apologized profusely and jumped from my seat, leaving my carry-on bag behind, and ran inside the terminal to find the baggage carousel completely empty. My heart sank. Not only had all of my earthly possessions disappeared, but more importantly, I had lost my Osprey.

Like Kwai Chang Caine, I was doomed to wander the earth with nothing but a cloth satchel and a wooden flute. And I don't play the flute.

All the airport employees had vanished as if squirted out of the universe like watermelon seeds. I sprinted down to the far end of the terminal to the airline counter. Nobody home. By now I was really beginning to panic, because I thought my bag had either been stolen, or locked away in the lost luggage room by someone who was nowhere to be found, and I had left my other bag on the bus without telling the driver, and any minute it would leave without me.

Just then I turned to see my bag on the carousel, disappearing through the rubber flaps back out to the loading area. I sprinted down the length of the terminal again, and like an Olmypic hurdler, leapt onto the center of the carousel, barely catching the tip of my shoe, but regaining my balance in time to narrowly avert a face plant when I landed on on the other side. My Sojourn had returned.

When I finally made it back to the bus, breathless and sweaty, my other bag was still in the aisle, and I plopped down next to a guy who was reading a book entitled Theological Aesthetics After Von Balthasar. And I thought the Osprey Sojourn was one of a kind!

As luck would have it, the still infuriated German girl was also on the bus, and gave me the stink-eye through her über-hip, expensive glasses. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and give her a hang-dog look, certain that I had set back relations between our respective countries to about 1944. I made it to my hostel without further incident, where I was met by Rosco, an ebullient fellow who loaned me a rusty bike from the era when Australia was still a penal colony.

As I rode around, I heard the strains of “Sweet Baby James” coming from a cobble stone street, and being die hard James Taylor fan, I followed the sound to a hole in the wall restaurant...where a blind guy was sitting in a chair on the sidewalk playing the guitar. I knew this was the place for me. While I waited for my lunch order to arrive, I went over and introduced myself and we had a nice chat. It wasn't until I got back to my room that I realized I had asked him if anyone had ever told him he sounded like José Feliciano...which he did! But that's like telling a really smart person in a motorized wheelchair that they remind you of Stephen Hawking.

Note to self: Open your eyes. And think before speaking, genius!

Top 20 Favorite Aussie Colloquialisms

1. G’day: hello; howdy; greetings

2. How ya goin'?: how are you?

3. Bob’s your uncle: there you have it; that’s that.

4. Off like a bucket of prawns in the Alice: used to describe food that is spoiled, as if it has been sitting out in the hot sun in Alice Springs, a town in the middle of the desert

5. Slow as a wet week/wick: interminable; boring

6. Done like a dog’s dinner: finished; completed

7. Skull: to drink a beer really fast

8. Long drop dunny: outhouse

9. Esky: cooler; ice chest

10. Arvo: afternoon

11. Tinny: can of beer or an aluminum boat (depending on the context)

12. Wingeing Poms (pronounced WIN-jing): the English, who are universally regarded by Australians as whiners and complainers

13. Flash: upscale; top notch; fancy

14. Wheelie bin: large outdoor trash can which can be rolled to the curb.

15. Schooner: A glass containing 500 milliliters of beer

16. Tucker: food

17. Togs: swimsuit

18. Bugger off: an expression of annoyance e.g. get lost; take a hike

19. Pash: kiss

20. Any word abbreviated by adding “y” or “ie”: brekky (breakfast), Chrissie prezzies (Christmas presents), sunnies (sunglasses) mozzies (mosquitos)

An example (with sincere apologies to my Australian friends):

G’day Johno. How you goin? I’ve just bought a flash new tinny, mate and I’m gonna take it out on the lake this arvo. Be sure to bring your sunnies, your togs and an esky, mate. But leave that potato salad from last week behind, it’s off like a bucket of prawns in the Alice, so chuck it in the wheelie bin. It’ll be slow as a wet week if we don’t catch any fish, but we can always skull a few tinnies, mate. Be sure to use the toilet before you show up, because the long drop dunnies are smelly and I don't want to listen to you wingeing like a Pom. And the mozzies are brutal...bring some insect repellant so they’ll bugger off. Afterwards, we’ll head to the pub for some tucker and a few schooners…there’s a waitress there I’d like to pash.

This explanation of Aussie slang is done like a dog’s dinner. Bob’s your uncle.

Speaking of colloquialisms, here's a video I shot of the 2 bus drivers who took us on a tour of Uluru a.k.a. Ayers Rock, then cooked dinner for the entire group afterwards: