Travel tides

I have arrived in Bocas del Toro, Panama after six days at sea. Huh, I´ve always wanted to write that.

I left Cartegena, Colombia on the 6th of December and sailed on Captain Daniel´s 40 foot sailboat, the Naylamp, stopping off at the San Blas islands and Cayo de Agua island, before finally arriving here. With a week to go before returning to the states for a break, my journey between continents was fittingly ridiculous. Encapsulating so many elements of travel, I was at the mercy of the travel winds and quite literally, just had to go with the flow. Out at sea, one has a lot of time to think, and between daydreams of Johnny Depp-ish pirates taking over the ship, I reflected on my last eight months of travel.

There are moments of travelling when I really have no words to explain the pure absurdity of it. It´s like the world is giving you a little nudge in the ribs, and exclaiming, ¨he he.¨ I often turn to share my astoundedness with others and find blank, puzzled stares. Equally, there are moments that take your breath away, make you want to whisper and suddenly remind you of the quiet beauty of the world.

And so, as a sad farewell to Central and South America; a goodbye to beans and rice; to the hunt for small change; to bed bugs and sand flies; to cold showers; to travelling Irishmen; to bottles of rum; to reggaeton; to ham and cheese sandwiches; to every identical travel conversation and to those few you meet, that count, along the way...here are my favorite WTF (what the fuck) moments of travelling; the ones that awed me and the ones that will never cease to be ridiculous...

(in reverse chronological order)

1. Sailing the Caribbean sea with this man:

2. Sleeping beneath the stars on the open sea, sailing with dolphins, eating seabass caught 10 minutes before, shooting stars, moonsets and jumping mantaray.

3. Breathing underwater.

4. Singing along to a medley of hits from the nineties sung by a Norwegian on a rooftop in Quito.

5. Juanes, live in concert. Drunk and surrounded by screaming teenage fans, I thought I had lost the plot when the Vice President of Ecuador came out onstage in between songs to bequeath Juanes ¨El Embajador de la alegría¨ (ambassador of happiness). This actually happened.

6. Reggaeton. You know, I just have no words for this one.

7. Lunch, in Ecuador.

8. Defending the goal as five Ecuadorians rush me and knock me down (let the record show that I blocked this particular goal). The last thing I heard was, ¨Como la jirafa cae.¨(how the girafe falls).

9. Travelling with this effin guy. A little bit of an asshole, a little bit of a sweetheart, and completely Irish:

10. Realizing that you are exactly where you want to be, where you are supposed to be and wanting nothing more.

11. Having a raunchy antiquated nineties Spanish pop song named after you in Argentina.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xH3T1aQ2YSs

12. Sleeping with cockroaches in Antigua, Guatemala. I hear you eat about 20 bugs in your lifetime. I am positive that I have quadrupled my number just with my time spent in Maria´s house.

13. Being on the road for eight months with the same five pairs of underwear. Amazing.

There are more moments, so many more, and unbelievably, more to come. That is all for now.

Machetes and wellies

It feels good to earn your food and a hot shower. It´s amazing to work with a machete. It really is the only tool you need. I would buy one to take back with me, except for the problems with convincing the airlines that it´s a garden tool and not a weapon.

Monday morning I started my volunteer adventure in Ecuador and hopped in a truck with the crew going to the Santa Lucia lodge. After a 45-minute ride, we hiked the rest of the way up.

Santa Lucia was a plot of land bought by 20 families in the 1970s, a part of a government act to return land to the local communities. Originally, the families farmed the land, but this proved to be difficult as the land is not good for agriculture and required a lot of deforestation of primary cloud forest. In the 80s, 12 families still remained and began to look for alternatives (bee farming, sugar cane production, etc). In the 90s, after Santa Lucia was declared a protected forest by Ecuador, the familes moved to ecotourism as a sustainable source of income for their community.

It is great to be working directly with the people you are supporting and to immediately see where your work is going. The work varies depending on the day and the time of year. This week, we cleared the main trail and made panela (sugar made from sugar cane). We spent a full day just cutting and cleaning the cane, and another whole day extracting the juice (with mules and a large handmade crusher). After the cane has been extracted, we boilt it down until it is more syrupy, then mix and mix until it is powder. Two full days, for probably about 30 kilos of sugar.

We are up at 6 a.m. every day, and to bed at 9 p.m. Our uniform is work clothes and wellington boots. I am there with five other volunteers (Germans, a Norwegian, an Irishman and an Australian). The people that run the lodge are mostly from the Molina family, and all employees are part of the cooperative of Santa Lucia. Everything is done in Spanish, which is great (and a lot easier to understand than Argentinian Spanish).

I decided to stay another week, and just made a short trip to Quito to use the internet and relax. I am back to the volunteer house tonight and then back up the mountain tomorrow morning for more time with my machete!

Escaping paradise

Everyday in Jericoacoara is like pleasure tripping through molasses. You can´t move too quickly, in a town of sand and beating heat.

I woke up at 8 a.m. and would eat breakfast looking at the Por do Sol dune; melon and cake and coffee. Then, lather on sunscreen and put on the only outfit I wore all week, my bathing suit. At 10 a.m. I exercised with a group of locals on the beach, then went for a swim and laid on the beach for an hour or two. Todo bem.

Midday, to escape the sun, I would shower and dose in the hammock with my book. At around 3 p.m. I would pick Miguel up on the beach and head for our daily açai (brazilian fruit, eaten with honey and granola). When the town started making an ant trail up the dune to watch the sunset, I would grab a beer and head up. Afterwards, it was caiparinhas on the beach and maybe an outside movie, or forro dancing.

We stayed a week and a half and I´m a bit in shock to be so far away, so quickly. If I ever dissapear, you´ll find me in Jeri.

After 48 hours of travel, and another brilliant night out in Sao Paulo with the amazing and beautiful Camile, I am in Quito, Ecuador. I leave in a few hours to volunteer at Bosque Nublado Santa Lucía, a community based ecotourism lodge in northwestern Ecuador. www.santaluciaecuador.com

6 months later

A jew, an irishman and a travelling tattoo artist go to Sao Paulo. At least, that´s where I found myself six months after leaving California for Guatemala.

Miguel, the irishman, and I met in Guatemala and we reconnected months later in Buenos Aires. After rain and cold and snow in Argentina, we decided to head for the sun. We picked up a travelling buddy, Michel Luna, a tattoo artist from Peru. We immediately regretted our choice in travel partner when we went to the airport the next day. Next to our two backpacks, Michel had one large suitcase, a rolling suitcase, a large backpack, four large cases of CDs, another small backpack and a case for his tattoo materials (9 bags!!). After a day carrying around his CDs (no, he didn´t know about iTunes), my giggles got the best of me when the airline lost our bags. But I really started to laugh when Michel pulled a taser out in the subway, for protection of course, from the bag he carried on the plane. A taser. Really?!

Needless to say, we ditched Michel in Sao Paulo and since then Miguel and I have found our travel groove in Brazil.

Brazil, a country that was not high on my list, has been an amazing surprise. Alive with spirit and music and dance and culture, I have completely fallen in love. People are really friendly and open, and Miguel and I have spent much more time with locals than with travellers.

If you could just see where I am now...after four days in Sao Paulo, we headed to Rio, then further north to Fortaleza. Yesterday, we took a seven hour bus ride and then a one hour buggy ride to get to Jericoacoara. Jeri is a small town in the sand dunes; no cars, no banks, no roads. Just beaches and dunes. It´s perfect. It´s just where I want to be. I need to be still for a moment. I need to think.

It is amazing how lucky I am to be here...as I type, I can see the sand dunes and the ocean. People will start walking up the dune for sunset soon, and then gather to watch Capoeria (Afro-Brazilian dance) on the beach. People gather around drink stalls in the sand, where you can get a caipirinha for $1.50. Afterwards, it will be time for a meal of fish, rice and beans; all fresh, all for $2.50.

The overwhelming part is not that it is so easy and so cheap to find a small piece of paradise; the overwhelming part is that it took only one choice to be here. I won the lottery when I decided to travel. I won it all when I realized that you can be the richest person in the world, or the poorest, and still be exactly where you want to be.

It´s a powerful gift that I do not take lightly. It comes with the obligation of responsible travel. Six months later and I have doubts. I am tired of the same old travel conversations (Where ya from, how long are you travelling for...), and the lack of substance (one might say the vapidity) that can come from sightseeing and boozey nights out. I am not travelling to check things off a list, or drink my way around the world. I am seeing beautiful places, drinking with new and interesting people, but I am giving absolutely nothing back.

I realize that it´s extravagant in its selfishness.

I am the first person to preach the benefits of travelling, and yet 6 months later, I am questionning my own ability to make good from all this. There is a time for travel and relaxation (which I sorely needed and that I appreciatively take for myself), however, as the rest of my time travelling starts to take shape, so do my goals and intentions for the next 10 months. It´s time to give back to say thank you for all that has been given to me.

Yo, moi-même and I

I am at the very bottom, the very tip of the world and it seems a good place to start. I feel as if my journey has just begun. I left America almost 6 months ago, but this is where I feel it all begins. There is nowhere to go but north, and so I do.

I am absolutely deliriously happy to be on my own and I feel as if I came to the end of the world to find what I needed. I hiked in Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego, near Ushuaia, chatting to myself the whole way. I saw two people in three hours, and I hiked along the water and through grasslands that looked like scenes from The Neverending Story. When I came to the swamp of sadness, where Atreyu´s horse dies, I re-claimed it the swamp of happiness and I came back to my hostel with mud up to my knees and soaked through with snow and mist.

After Ushuaia I spent 20 hours going to El Calafate, crossing the border into Chile twice and getting a little tipsy on box wine in the bus station with a new friend. I continued on to El Chalten, a pueblo out in the middle of Patagonia - only 23 years old with no banks, dial-up internet and the pristine and free Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. I hiked to Lago Torre, where ice chunks from the glacier float in the lake. I cried on the trail because it is just so beautiful. In five years, this new little town will be overrun with tourists and paved roads.

I am shockingly low on money and I have the entire South American continent to cross with two and a half months until I touch US soil. I´ve never been so happy. I´ve never felt so lucky to be here, to be doing what I am doing.

Teaching

Well, for one, I quit.

Which feels amazing, I am not going to lie. Teaching English is a great way to travel the world, and I would recommend it to anyone that asks. I will do it again (but perhaps in a country where I am making a little money each month, rather than losing). However, my itchy feet are calling and I just had to GET THE HELL OUTTA BsAs!!!

And so my few observations on teaching. In homage to David Letterman...

TOP 10 THINGS YOU WILL OBSERVE TEACHING ENGLISH IN BUENOS AIRES:

10. Argentinians are absolutely ridiculous. They make teaching very easy as they are highly entertaining. They´re like Woody Allen with Italian hand-gestures.

9. Speaking of Woody Allen, this country is one big neurotic jewish community. In fact, it has the 7th largest jewish population in the world. Paranoia abounds.

8. The morning routine in offices is full of kisses. And, unlike kisses as greeting in other countries, in Argentina the kisses are LOUD. I mean, all you hear from 9 to 930 a.m. is sucky face noises. I kinda love it.

7. ¨Touch and go¨ means something very different in Argentina than in English. They use this English saying to allude to a one-night stand. Awesome, right?

6. For 6 hours of actual teaching, you spend 3 hours running from class to class, 3 hours killing time in between and approximately 1.2 minutes actually preparing your lesson.

5. Further to that, in an hour class you spend the first 5 minutes waiting for them to arrive (sucky face noises in the lobby, exchanging pleasantries with the receptionist); 15 minutes asking how their weekend was, another 15 discussing their children/wife/ex-wife/girlfriend/boyfriend; 20 minutes discussing superlatives/comparatives/past simple vs. present perfect or when you use i.e. vs. e.g.; and the last five minutes asking them what they are going to do for the weekend.

4. You make up definitions to words because either you have no idea what it means, or you are just fucking with them. And thus, lesson learned, you hesitate to use articles from the New Yorker.

3. No one really knows the the difference between a gerund and a present participle, especially you at 9 in the morning.

2. There is a very thin line between teaching English and being someone´s psychologist.

1. No one is safe from laughing like a child at students innocent blunders. The truth is, ¨sheet¨pronounced by a Spanish speaker comes out like shit. And that it just funny.

Mi casa, mi musica

When expats move to BsAs they move

to Palermo. Even before you arrive, travelers tell you that you will spend all your time in Palermo, that it's the only place to be. Cheto (posh) bullshit, that's what I say. I live in San Telmo and, for me, it's the place to be. It used to be a run-down neighborhood, but in recent years it has been revived. True, it does have a lot of tourists, thanks to a million hostels (at least three on my block alone), but the people that live here are porteños. Great restaurants, much cheaper than Palermo, stores, local artists, a fruit and vegetable market; I feel at home in San Telmo.

I live with Cristina, a 24-year-old bass player who owns the house, an inheritance from her grandparents. No heat, no internet, the oven and washer-dryer broken, but the house has  a cool vibe with musicians coming and going and I can't complain too much with the $300/month rent. I have a monastic cell of a room, but access to the roof terrace and I'm happy in my little space.

Julia, a fellow English teacher, also lives here. A neurotic Jew (she wouldn't mind me saying) from New York City. We often huddle together over the gas stove (it's really freezing here in the winter) and discuss where to find moneda for the bus and whether our boss has a mild form of autism (he must).

The house is full of music and I have to admit, I love listening to Cristina practice with the metronome keeping pace. I can hear it now, in fact. 

Every Sunday, Cristina plays with a group of musicians at the street fair in San Telmo and they often hang out in the house afterwards to play music. Impromptu jam sessions, cigarettes, Fernet Branca, smelly musicians...you never know what you will find on a Sunday evening.

Because my thoughts are never far from food, I am thrilled to have my favorite restaurant in Buenos Aires just two doors down, El Federal. A bottle of wine and a picada (plate of cheeses, meats, olives, etc.) is really all I need to make me happy (unless we're talking two bottles). 

A wonderful little nothing of Argentina is that when you order coffee or tea, you always get a plate of cookies or two little bits of cake. A traveler's dream. Me and El Federal like to hang out together, do Spanish homework, and play a little game of "Am I going to eat the cake, or not?"

But if you want to know where I spend most of my time, it's in the old-man cafes that populate the city. Part coffee-shop, part brasserie, and completely Argentinian -- I am addicted to these places. The always have great food, are always a great option for coffee and a medialuna between classes, and always have old men sitting around and shooting the shit. Love, love, love.

It's starting to warm up a bit and it has been a cold and miserable winter. God knows why I decided to have two winters this year; that's why I am planning on having two summers. The first day of spring is this Sunday and I am off to the end of the world in two weeks (Ushuaia)!

Just two more weeks of work...

Movement

I just took a 2-hour colectivo ride to the Ezeiza airport to catch my flight to São Paulo. 1.50 pesos (50 cents). I am freezing and the bus ride started to play with my emotions (twice it doubled-back as if mocking me). I didn't want to pay the 40 pesos to take the airport shuttle bus and I had 2 hours to ponder why BsAs doesn't have a direct colectivo to the airport. Shrug.

But here is where it gets good. I love American Airlines. I know it isn't very popular to say, as if I have bought into the consumer masses and support big business, gas guzzling, slick advertisement driven consumption. But, I love 'em. Let me tell you why.

I have been rubbing pennies together for weeks; I am still living on two pairs of jeans and 5 t-shirts and honestly, I am sick of them. I have staked out the best cafes in BsAs to get a coffee and three medialunas for only 6 pesos, not because I love pastries, but because its a cheap way to eat. I am starting to loathe medialunas.

But now, right now, I am sitting in the Admirals Club, thanks to my ridiculous amount of frequent flier miles and my platinum status. I am drinking nescafe; it is warm and delicious. There are cookies. Free internet. I bet they even have showers. I never want to leave.

I've wasted so much time in airports. I kind of love them too. Something about the people coming and going, the overpriced food, the airport air, the people dressed in their best and their worst, the strange purpose of queueing and going to the bathroom.

I wonder how many hours I have actually spent in an airport in my life. What have I done with that time? One time, I got drunk off a large beer in Texas (somewhere) and set up a match.com account (look at how many things are wrong in that sentence)! I've written blog entries in Madrid's aeropuerto. I've eaten in the creepiest bar in the world - Phoenix's "Fox News Restaurant," with Bill O'Reilly on 20 screens. Conference calls. Crying. I've spent many lonely hours in Heathrow. I missed a flight in Minneapolis. I've never been so excited to be going home. I've never been so unsure of what I am doing. I've never been so excited to be going somewhere new. I've done work. Read great books, horrible novels and trashy magazines. I've slept. I've been unable to sleep. I've never wanted the plane to land. I've changed my life getting on planes.

Airports seem like limbo. And in a way, they are. You are going or coming - it's a crossing point for so many momentous moments and insignificant passageways. The thoughts of travelers are stifling; their thoughts of loss, joy, expectation, worry, longing, frustration, sadness, anger; their thoughts of who they are going to and who they are leaving behind. All of this fills up an airport and makes it a unique little pot of human emotion. I can only imagine that the poor dogs travelling in their little doggy cages are happy to be shut away from all the human chaos swirling around.

And so, I find myself in the warm womb of the Admirals Club and looking forward to a bit of travel and a new city. It's good to be moving again.

Absentee Blogism

Yeah, yeah. I know. Something about BsAs (Beez Ayz) makes time disappear and leaves you with, what I like to call, the "South American Shrug." What can you do?

No change at the supermarket, so you have to wait 20 minutes until enough customers buy enough things and they can give you your 10 pesos ($3) change. South American Shrug. I tested in level 4 at the University of Buenos Aires Foreign languages department, but put on my best porteña accent to talk my way into Literatura Argentina (level 6). "¿has leído nunca un libro en español?" "No, nunca. Pero, no problema, peudo hacerlo." South American Shrug, and I was in.

So you see, I shrug a little bit at my lack of blogging.

You have to shrug it off here, or else things will get to you, like they are starting to get to me. I am working 23 hours a week teaching English and I have 26 students, who I love and adore. I make roughly 193 US dollars per week, and spend most days rushing from one class to the next through the smog-filled streets of BsAs. One dinner can blow half a days work, a night out - an entire day. The idea, the goal, of coming here was to work in order to prolong my travel. Earning a little plata would allow me to stay a bit longer in this quasi-reality of traveler's bliss. But, alas, as I'm only earning enough to just get by, and my savings are quickly disappearing, I have decided to move on. I was open to falling in love with BsAs, open to staying longer, possibly living. But as boyfriends go, BsAs is a lot of fun, but often a son of a bitch. He'll keep you out until 8 a.m. dancing and drinking, but he'll also steal your wallet and leave you feeling like you are a little too old for his shenanigans.

I have to remind myself, the goal was never to stay, it was always to travel. So, I shrug and I move on.

The beautiful thing about a timeframe, about an end-date, is you take full advantage of your time left. I will start moving northwards in a month and a half, and so I have 6 weeks to enjoy the food, the culture and my Spanish classes!

And so, I leave with a promise...I will write more, and in fact, already have something ready for you. Please stay tuned for glimpses into BsAs...mi casa, trabajo y el castellano.

¡hasta pronto!

El Asado

(asado = argentinian bbq)

Nico invited the TEFL girls and me to another asado at his house on Saturday night. For those of you that have eaten argentinian meat, you know it´s good. For those of you that have eaten argentinian meat in Argentina, you know that it changes your life. It is, without a doubt, impossibly good. Most of you know that I was a vegetarian for several years before travelling. I started eating meat before my little world adventure because a large part of discovering a new place is through its food. For me, meat has always been okay. I don´t crave it - it usually doesn´t do it for me. But la carne en Argentina...I want to take my clothes of for it. I´m having a dirty affair with meat and I can´t seem to stop myself.

Nico was the asador extraordinaire - I think you have to be born here to really cook meat like this. Seasoned just with salt, it cuts like butter and you are in heaven with every bite.

Nico, and his friend Gabriel, purchased 5 kilos of meat...la morcilla (blood sausage), chorizo, vacío, tire, lomo...

Asados normally start with chorizo and bread, or rather, choripan. Sip some wine, nibble on some choripan and gawk at the mountain of meat sizzling on the grill.Also, traditionally, you have provoleta - cheese grilled on the bbq - another life changing experience. Then the asador serves you meant until, well - you are a broken, former shell of a vegetarian, lying on the floor and rubbing your barriga (belly).

Morcilla - who knew it could be so good. There is no bigger leap from vegetarian to morcilla. I am not even ashamed.

So, hows my barriga? Well, perhaps I´m sporting an extra jiggle here (and there), but another BsAs tradition keeps me in check: walking. I also started running again and found a nature reserve not far from my house where I can run nextt o the Rio de la Plata and prepare for my next dirty encounter with mi amor, asado.

Stay tuned...a portrait of my apartment, coming soon!

Re Rad

Adding ¨re¨ to a Spanish word causes it to be emphasized. Re bueno. Re rico. It´s pretty informal; it´s what the cool kids are doing.

Well, I have decided to introduce Rad to the Argentinian vocabulary and so far, so good. When rad starts sweeping across south America, just remember where you heard it first.

So, here is my Re Rad list of Buenos Aires...I applaud you, I salute you, I muse at your strangeness and I thank you for making me giggle:

1. 1. Maria Panagos, anfitriona extraordinaire: for bringing me soup and an entire bottle of wine in bed when I was sick this weekend. You are re rad.
   


2. To the guy who was walking down Avenida Alem with your headphones on and singing at the TOP of your lungs. You are re rad.
   
   

3. To the dog taking a huge dump on the grass out front of the Casa Rosada. Way to protest. Re rad.

4. To all Argentinians and your strange sense of personal space, and especially to the woman that walked straight into me in the middle of the crosswalk last week. Our little game of chicken was amusing. I respect your resolve. Re rad.

5. To Hugo in my advanced English class and to your advanced knowledge of English. You rattled off at least 4 synonyms for the word ¨pot¨....grass, weed, marijuana, shit. Re rad.

6. To Juan, you close talker, you franglais speaking, bad driver. You are re rad for so many reasons, but I´m going to put you on this list for driving your car from Argentina to Alaska 20 years ago...and still owning the car. Thanks for driving us to the party (and god-thanks for getting us there safely).

7. To the cheerleaders at La Boca football game. You have no shame showing your entire ass. Wow. Re rad.

8. To eating steak at 1 a.m. at my new neighborhood parilla, Desnivel.

9. To my female taxi driver, one of only 40 in Buenos Aires. Re rad, gerrl.

10. To the old lady who weilded a fork at my friend Brittany the other night in the bar....not so cool, in fact- a little creepy. But I´ve always liked a geezer with hutzpah. Re rad, for a goy!

chow for now!

Do you want to make party?

Are you still with me, are you still following along?

My infrequent blog posts are not due to lack of content - trust me, there is enough material. I could write volumes on the young American students I have met and how they only re-affirm my reasons for taking a break from work. I could dedicate weeks of blogs to just food (and perhaps I will). And I am just not yet prepared to tackle some burning questions, such as why milk is sold in plastic bags here, why every Argentinian woman wears purple as a rule and what in the hell is everyone´s staring problem. I´ll get there. But for now, I´ll stick with what is most relevant...the joys and mysteries of teaching English.

Walking down the street in foreign countries often means people will spontaneously practice their English. The people that shout things out, however, usually have a limited vocabulary. In France, for example, a lady walking down the street can be serenaded by ¨Fuck You.¨ In Peru and Guatemala, you can expect ¨Hello, my friend, my friend!!¨ In Italy, they don´t speak much English, so they just grab your ass. But in Argentina, it´s ¨I loves you!¨ There is a lot of love here, apparently.

With this in mind, I have come to educate the masses on a little language we call English.

I started my TEFL course two weeks ago and have been in the throes of learning grammar, lexis, phonology, and practice teaching to a group of lovely volunteers. The course is intense, a lot of work and exhausting. School is from 9-5, then I usually spend my evenings writing lesson plans and researching grammar points. It´s not as bad as I thought it would be, but teaching is hard.

My first class consisted of teaching the past simple to our advanced class (all men over 40) by means of talking about past relationships gone wrong. Whoop dee do. Try explaining the meaning of ¨to chat up¨(for those Americans out there, that means ¨to hit on¨).

Teaching our beginner class is challenging because you have to think about every word that comes out of your mouth and be prepared to ask a million concept check questions to make sure they understand the difference between ¨I want...¨and ¨I went...¨ which sounds very similar to Argentine ears.

Graded language. Eliciting. Concept check questions. Teacher talk time. Student-centered learning. And don´t even get me started on the schwa /Ə/.

I am not a natural teacher...just because I like to talk to people doesn´t mean I have any idea how to teach future perfect progressive. But the volunteers that come to the school to learn English are amazing and make it a great environment to learn, make mistakes and have fun.

I did a listening activity using Bob Dylan and discussing how music can be revolutionary. Hugo is very adamant that punk music is a load of crap, and Claudio swears that Steve Vai is the best guitarist ever born.

I have two more weeks of classes, and then will be job hunting and interviewing to find a job.

I found an apartment for $300 a month, living with a porteña (a person from Buenos Aires) that plays the bass and teaches music. I will have to do a visa-run every 3 months to Uruguay to get my passport stamped.

And just like that, I am an English teacher. An illegal alien. One more expat in Buenos Aires.

stay tuned...

Everything´s coming up steak

Somehow, I am in heaven.

I arrived in Buenos Aires (BsAs) last Thursday and was met at the airport by Nico, a friend of a friend of a friend. Not only did he pick me up at the airport, but he came armed with my very own sign (since I´d never met him before), chocolates and a sweater (it´s winter in Argentina). He took me to my hostel and out to dinner. I honestly thought I had died and gone to heaven. But then, it just kept getting better. I spent a couple of days exploring BsAs with Lily and Chris (some friends from Guatemala) and consuming massive amounts of cazuelas, empanadas, meat and wine.

But wait, it gets better.

My anfitriona (home stay mom), Maria, picked me up on Sunday and brought me to my new home for the next 6 weeks. I have my own room, with TV, phone and dresser. Right next door is my roommate, Jodie from Australia, whose room has a desk and internet for us both to use. Beautiful, comfortable bed. White, clean sheets. Hot water. Maria is wonderful...very chatty and loves having students in her house.

Maria took me directly to a family asado (barbecue), where I met her sister, neices and nephews, and her son and daughter. Her son, Alexis, lives in London and was only visitng for a few days. Too bad, because he is so good looking I could barely contain myself. Honestly, after seeing my new digs and the promise of argentine meat on the way, I thought I was going to pass out when I saw Alexis. Oh well, plenty more argentinians where he came from.

The rest of the family is really nice...it was like being at home. TONS of meat, I mean mountains of it, and wine. We just sat around chatting, they are really funny and nice. I mostly listened ...still have a ways to go with my Spanish.

Since I arrived, I keep pinching myself because it seems like a dream. Maria makes us breakfast every morning, and every night we come home to wonderful dinners, a bottle of wine always corked and ready to go, and great chats.

Everyday is better than before. Today, I visited the Malba (Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires). I stopped for a coffee and croissant, then visited the Cementerio de la Recoleta. The cementary was like a city for dead people. Streets and alley-ways of mausoleums and tombs. Beautiful, minature buildings. It scared me; I kept picturing all the people crawling out of their tombs at night, and populating their little dead city.

Thus far, Buenos Aires seems like a European city filled with laid-back, but stylish people. Not as snooty and à la mode as Paris and not as crazy as Madrid...somewhere in between.

With a couple of friends already made, some newly purchased boots and Buenos Aires yet to be discovered, I have a good feeling...a very good feeling.

Goodbye Guatever

One month, 12 days, at least 30 cockroaches, countless bug bites and many good friends later, I am finally leaving Guatemala. I can't say that I am sad; many of the people I have met, I will be seeing in a couple of months in Argentina. And while I enjoyed Guatemala, and met amazing guatemaltecos, I can't say that I fell in love. We dated, it was nice, but it was never going to be a serious relationship.

Guatemala is a country full of contradictions. The people are incredibly open and easy to talk to, but Guatemala is at the same time a dangerous and tense place. The best teacher, who counsels people in AA, can also sell pot to make extra cash. People may complain about the noise from a bar or club, but don't seem to even notice the roosters crowing continuously throughout the night. The most beautiful vistas and canyons are often covered in trash. The friendliest people will screw you for a couple of dollars. The happiest looking kids will wave at you from their squalid, rundown towns. Robbers will politely take your belongings while asking where you are from. So it goes.

I left my brother this morning at El Retiro, an amazing backpackers lodge in the small dusty town of Lanquin. Shirtless and hungover, he has a few more days of swimming in the river and enjoying their famous barbecues. Dylan and I had a whirlwind tour of Guatemala: we spent 3 blissful days in the jungle, sweating our brains out and kayaking in Rio Dulce; we went on the sunrise tour of Tikal, famous mayan ruins; we met some amazing Aussies, who I am positive will pop up on my travels again; and we finished back at Semuc Champey, swimming in caves and natural water pools in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

All in all, I did it all in Guatemala. As a goodbye, and a type of ode, I present:

Things you can only do in 3rd World Countries
- Ride in the back of a pick-up truck with 15 other people
- Get electrocuted in the shower
- Swim through caves, holding candles and never sign a waiver
- Jump off waterfalls
- Eat a tostada for 50 cents
- See a family of five ride on one motorbike
- Not bathe and nobody notices
- Get shot at
- Ride in a 50-person bus for 6 hours, with 150 people and get dropped off at no dirt road in particular
- Buy a complete chicken meal from a basket on a ladies head, without leaving the comfort of your sweaty bus seat
- Go to a movie for free and get all you can drink wine
-Wait an hour and a half for granola, fruit and yogurt and only yogurt and fruit show up. Then the next day, order the same thing like an idiot and only granola and fruit show up

To the people I have met along the way (Chris, Lily, Barry, Michael, Billie, Anne, Thalia, Emma, Thierry, Nina, Matt, Dre, Tim, Camila, Judith, Laura, David, Victor....), I can only be appreciated of all the amazing conversations and drunken shenanigans. I hope to see them again and can only hope to be as lucky and continue to meet more great people in my travels.

Tomorrow, I am off to Buenos Aires and I cannot wait for a city, clean sheets, clean clothes and a big ol bottle of yummy, delicous malbec. On to the next...

Photos!

Por fin: http://samanthacooper.shutterfly.com/


You can always access my photos by the link on the right!

An Ode to Pedro

From Guatemala, to Mexico
as far as East L.A.
La bromista, Pedro Nuñez
is the man, oralé!

He teaches Spanish, he tells jokes
and puts up with a lot
but he don´t take shit from no one
so- remember what you´re taught

He speaks Spanish, English, Australian
and a little bit Chinese
but pájas is his first language
one he speaks with mucho ease

On relationships, life and languages
pay attention to his advice
he´s always right, or so he says
clearly, modesty his only vice

From one pobre perra to the next
he´s really rather clever
he finds a way to teach us all
in his own style, guatever

And so to future students
I offer the following credo:
everything worth knowing
can be learned from Pedro-dido!

Pobre Perra

As in most countries in Central and South America, wild dogs roam the streets. My first few days in Antigua, a little dog followed me around for about an hour; waiting for me as I went into shops and happily walking next to me. I tried to give it some bread, but it wasn´t interested. Two days later, the same dog found me near my casa and was very excited to see me. I thought it would be best to name her, and so I called her Josafina. She wagged her tail like mad when I called her name, and thus it was done. I saw her in the street hours later, and her entire body wagged her tail when I called her name. That was it, I was in love. She waited for me outside Reilly´s (did you have any doubt that there was an Irish bar in Antigua) and I said my goodbyes. Sadly, I have not seen Josafina since. Where is my pobre perra? Pedro tells me he saw her get picked up by a volunteer agency that rescues dogs. I hope so. I like to picture Josefina, running wild, fat and happy.

There is , of course, another pobre perra to this story. All I will say, is never challenge an Irishman to a drinking contest (unless it involves wine). I imagine Josafina is better off than me right now.

A day in the life...

My day starts as it ends: with el gallo (translation: rooster; also the name of Guatemala´s national beer). El gallo starts crowing around 4 a.m. and continues throughout much of the morning; that´s why earplugs are a beautiful thing. That, and to muffle the sound of cockroaches scrambling around.

Breakfast is at 7 a.m. sharp and normally consists of cereal, fruit and coffee, or eggs and beans. If we have a new student - pancakes! Instant coffee, of course. I´ll take what I can get when it comes to caffeine. The morning is usually quiet because the kids leave around 6:30 a.m. to walk to school. Maria chats a little with us all and her day is mainly cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner for the 8 kids, 3 to 4 adults (depending on who stops by) and the 3 students. She also works 2 hours a day cleaning a house in a nearby pueblo for some extra cash.

La Casa Loca
If you´ve been following along, Maria is Marco Srs. wife. Although they are not officially divorced, Mario lives with his mistress. Marco Sr. (the empire of) told Pablo (a fellow housemate and student) that Maria had sex with him 6 times (thus 6 of his 10 children) and doesn´t like sex, but loves taking care of people so it all works out. Funny how men are completely delusional.

This model of family seems rife in Guatemala. Julio (a teacher at the school, son of Marco Sr and father to 4 of the children in the house) is married to a woman but lives with Paula (also a teacher at the school) and their 2 children. Paula is married to a man in California who lives there with their child and sends money. Pedro, my teacher, also lives with a woman and their 3 children, but is married to another woman in Mexico (who lives there with their son). Pablo says, ¨There´s more illigitimate children in the house than I´ve had bowel movements in Guatemala.¨If someone could only air-drop some condoms into Guatemala...

The kids are great and very used to students coming in and out of the house. I learn a lot from them and I think a lot about their lives and their futures. Dominic´s school doesn´t have enough teachers this year to teach all the subjects so he can´t take enough classes. Alejandra is 16 with a baby due in June. Dominic, Ana, Diana and Valentin´s mom left to be with another man, and left them with their other grandmother (a drunk who couldn´t take care of them). Bruno shares a room with his dad, the tuc-tuc driver (who is rumored to be an addict and drunk, although is a seemingly nice guy that likes break-dancing). The kids are all super happy, friendly and love their family. But it hurts me that they sleep on the couch and that their dad can´t live with them. I know it´s impossible to compare situations - especially when Maria does love and care for them all. I wonder what they think. How can I judge? I cannot. This family, these kids, are doing better than many other familes I´ve seen. Love, food, family - it´s all there. Teen pregnancy, addiction, sadness, corruption and cockroaches - that´s all there too.

Las 3 escuelas
After breakfast, I´m off to school for an 8 a.m. start. The school is also a dysfunctional family (por supuesto, it´s just another extension of Marco Sr.) with all the gossip, drama and intrigue. All the maestros (teachers) are great and friendly and I´m positive that I´ve got the best teacher in Antigua. Pedro and I usually chat for a bit before and after each lesson - about what we did last night, politics, the economy, whether Julio fathered another child yet and what he watched on TV. The Rock of Love and Brett Michaels contines to bring people closer ( and Brett Michaels and his harem of women fit in just fine down here). Pedro likes to talk about las tres escuelas (the three schools): la casa, la escuela y la calle (home, school and the streets). He is a student of all three. He has been teaching Spanish for 19 years and is a person that has a lot of time and patience for his friends, students and people in need. He´s also a bromista (joker) with a bad mouth. I love him.

Spanish books, notebooks and pens, materials in general, are expensive for the teachers and so lessons are intensive one-on-one´s with things written in notebooks and sometimes on scraps of paper. Pedro can write upside down, so he writes out each lesson as we go and I´m slowly compiling a very complete and clear Spanish grammar book. I feel like I am learning a lot, but often get frustrated because I just want to know it already. I am doing 5 hours a day, so by 1 p.m. I am done and off to eat lunch with the family.

Lunch tends to be the big meal of the day at my casa - rice, beans and meat; sometimes pasta and vegetables; always tortillas or bread. It´s a lot of food and I´m missing my runs!

After lunch, I have the afternoon free to study, read and wander around. Mondays and Thursdays I go to a volunteer project in the nearby town of San Mateo to help teach English to kids in a dusty, rundown yard next to the municipalidad. I take a chicken bus to get there (named Samantha, believe it or not) and you just can´t beat pumping electronica acompanied by a hand-rigged flashing light system. Anyway, I´m slowly becoming an expert in card games - a great way to teach English words and numbers (and learn Spanish)!

After dinner, I meet up with whoever is around. Antigua is an easy place to relax, study and ridiculously easy to meet people. A favorite spot is Kafka, a hostel/bar with an outdoor patio and happy hour beers for $1.30. I tend to get there with housemates to have a couple of beers before and/or after dinner. I´ve met a lot of people there and have a rotating group of friends as people come and go. My beloved housemates Pablo and Roberto have moved on, but have been replaced by Billie (English), a couple of boys from Cork and now Ana from Denmark. Antigua is the place to meet fellow travelers and you can easily pick up a travel buddy to continue on with.

I think I chose well coming to Antigua first, to meet people and to ease into the travel. I will, however, be ready to escape gringo-ville and explore the rest of Guate.

I am firmly living a day at a time, the only way you can when countries, towns, travelers, time and experiences stretch out before you. As always, the trail finds you and you find the trail. I´ve met more solo women travelers than any other type of traveler. I have yet to feel as if I am traveling alone. The community of travel is a strange and welcoming environment. You meet and befriend people you may never have had 2 words with in another situation. You laugh at finding someone with the same itinerary, and you change your plans to go with someone with a cooler one.

I don´t know what kind of traveler I am, not yet. But i´ve been inspired by Michael, who talks and dances with any local he can, and gets arrested within 5 hours of landing in Bangkok; Roberto, who sold his house in L.A. and has been traveling since, two and a half years later; Ana, who beat the crap out of 2 guys trying to rob her in Egypt; Sophie, who traveled 9 months from Argentina to Guatemala on her own and fell in love with Columbia.

The funny thing about traveling is you never meet anyone that has just started. So, 2 weeks in and I haven´t yet found the groove - still walking like a city girl, still waking up to perceived urgency (for what?) and not quite used to the layer of dirt. I´m on my way...

esta bien!

A little update for those of you shocked and dismayed by my description of my home stay and Spanish school. Fear not! Todo esta bien!

I returned to my family last night after a beautiful weekend swimming in el lago de Atitlan. (Dylan- I thought of you the entire time: 3 tacos for $1.30 and swimming in the lake). I walked in the door and Valentin and Anna jumped up and gave me the biggest hug and hello! I played cards with the niños and they taught me how to play ¨robopaquete¨and ¨orejas.¨ It was just what I needed and I went to bed happy and looking forward to my first day of class. As I was going to bed, the mother of all cockroaches crawled out from under my bed! I guess you can´t win them all. My efforts at killing her failed, and so I am now calling her Mamacita Cucaracha and she will be my friend (dammit)!

I had a great day of class with Pedro and we are going to go to a museum of music on Wednesday to learn about musical tradition in Guatemala, and also visit a coffee finca and see how coffee is made. You can´t get a good cup of coffee in Guatemala because they save the good stuff for export (Catherine- you are drinking my coffee!) but Wednesday I´ll get a fresh cup!

Tomorrow I am going to visit Pacaya, an active volcano and right now I am off for a Salsa lesson.

See, not so bad =)

Hilarity ensues...

I start my adventure in Antigua by going to the tourist office and checking out some language schools with a helfpul guide. There are about 40 language schools in Antigua alone, so many to choose from and I wanted to check a couple of out before making a decision.

Marco, owner of GuateBueno language school, talked with me and I felt pretty good about his attitude about the school and his friendliness, so I signed up for 3 weeks. Yesterday, I met my home stay family and had my first 5 hours with Pedro, my instructor.

Let me paint you a little picture...I am living with Maria (Marco´s ex-wife), Marco Jr. (Marco´s son) and several other of Marco´s adult children, from different mothers: Julia, Julio, Luis, Juan...um, there are 10 in total, and I´m not sure who lives there or who just eats there and comes by. In addition, there is Alejandra. I believe she is Maria´s daughter, she is 17 and pregnant (but she´s not sure who the father is). In addition, there are at least 7 children also in the house: Anna, Dominique, Bruno, Adriana, Diana, Valentin, a little comedian whose name I can´t remember right now and some others that come and go.

I have my own room, and there are two other American´s (both from Cali) who live there as well. We have our own rooms, and the children seem to sleep on the couch.

My Spanish teacher is Pedro, an ex-freebase addict and ex-manic depressive (he showed me the scar on his wrist from attempted suicide). He used to live in East-LA and was beat up by a gang and lost his front two teeth (he has replacements, not to worry). Strangely, he also happens to be the nicest guy, easy to talk to and I think (hope beyond hope) a good teacher. Several of Marco´s children also teach at the school. Incestuous, to say the least. Pedro was telling me that Marco´s situation is very strange and rare in Guatemala...how lucky of me to have stumbled into it.

So, I have to admit, I didn´t exactly land on my feet. It´s not exactly terrible either. The family is really nice and the kids are friendly (Anna is the Spanish nazi, and we have to pay 10 dollars if we speak English). And today is Marco Jr.´s day to get drunk (I kid you not). I really have no other choice but to stick it out and make the most of it. It´s cheap; classes, food and room included. I just hope that the money helps the ninos. Normally, I wouldn´t want to live with other Americans either, but in this case, they make me feel a little safer with half the town coming in and out of the house. I imagine this sounds worse than it actually is...I have giggled a few times just writing it all down. But I swear to you, it´s true!

It´s hard to know the lesson learned here...all the language schools seem the same, and I did check some out before deciding. I´m wishing I had taken the recommendation for Tecun Uman school, but perhaps I´ll move there after my first 3 weeks, or go to Quetzaltenango (also known as Xela) for more classes. I´m also concerned about if what I´m doing is helping this family or not. I certainly don´t want to have a negative impact or enable Marco´s little empire.

I´m going to Lago de Atitlan this weekend, to get a little r&r before my classes start and also explore this country and bit and get a better feel for it. I feel like my Spanish has a long way to go.

My mantra, today, tomorrow, forever: one day at a time.

!Hola Antigua!

A very quick update, to prove I am alive and well in Antigua.

Arrived Wednesday without incident and found myself in a dorm room with the most fabulous fellow travelers. Chris and Lilly are Welsh, and are now on their way to Nicaragua, but I will be meeting up with them in Buenos Aires at the end of May. Andrea is from Baltimore and is traveling for 5 weeks in Guatemala, taking classes and traveling around. I made them be my friends, it´s nice being a friendly Californian who gets people drunk. =)

I also found a language school and move in with my family in about 30 minutes. Can´t wait to meet them, and despite the normal nerves of living in a strangers home, i´m looking forward to settling here for 3 weeks.

After that, I may head to Xela (shay-la) where I hear the language classes are great. May also travel with my big bad bro, who is now considering coming mid-May.

People are incredibly friendly, and I´m just taking it a day at a time!

Incidentally, we stumbled into a bar last night owned by a guy from Boston. NESN and Red Sox on the TV...i felt right at home, and they show every game there. Kate if that was any reason for you to come sooner...

Thanks to everyone for your messages!

Love to all,
Sam

The night before

I'm packed (almost).
I got everything done I needed to (almost).
And I'm ready to go (almost).

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. Mostly, I am just so effin exhausted! Honestly, quitting your job, selling and chucking all of your personal belongings, moving across the country, saying goodbye to all of your friends & family, figuring out what to bring, what to leave behind, where you are going and how you are doing it...it really wipes a girl out!

I've been so busy getting ready to go, that I feel like I haven't had a chance to really sit down and process this little decision of mine. It's kind of like getting pregnant, planning everything, then looking down at month 8.5 and thinking "Oh shit, I'm knocked up!"

Well, I'm pretty much knocked up by now and there is no going back. And much like new parents (so i've heard), I really have no idea what I'm doing.

My flight leaves tomorrow morning and by tomorrow night I will be lugging my new life on my back and looking forward to 6 weeks of Spanish classes in Guatemala. After that, I will be getting certified to teach English in Buenos Aires and then will stick around to teach. That's as much detail as I have right now, but follow along and hopefully I'll connect the dots.

All I can really think of right now, tonight, is how grateful I am to have so many loving people in my life that are rooting for me, missing me and always inspiring me.

My scoop du jour: I'll never really be ready, I just gotta go.

Boston, a goodbye

Dear Boston,

I leave you in very much the same way that I arrived: freaking out, surrounded by suitcases and having no idea what I'd just gotten myself into. You knew from the beginning that I didn't choose you, that I moved to start my job with EUSA, and I think you always resented that. In the beginning, I didn't have much time to spend getting to know you. I worked 15-hour days and when I wasn't working, I was traveling to other cities across America and Europe. You took your resentment and frustration out on me, however, and bullied me with your idiotic public transportation system (tokens? really?), your angry people that refused human connection of any kind when buying a coffee or asking for directions and the complete and total punishment of negative nine degree weather, only to be followed by mind oozing humidity.

I was a reluctant convert, but you didn't make it any easier either. There are things that I may never understand, such as people's strange affinity for ice-cream, lots of ice-cream, year-round; why the hell you call milkshakes "frappes;" why the entire New England population swears by convenience store quality coffee called Dunkin Donuts; why the green line is the little train that just effin couldn't; and why not one driver in Boston knows the definition of "do not block the box."

But now that I am leaving and saying goodbye to my home of Boston/Cambridge/Somerville, I can't help but look back on the good times. Despite our differences and struggles over the years, I want to let you know that you had me at "douche bag."

Like a grumpy little kid waking up from a nap, I can't help but want to pinch your angry little cheeks. You're angry, bitter and have a New York City sized chip on your shoulder, but you are a beautiful little city and it's hard to hate you when taking the #1 bus over the mass ave bridge. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world when the Red Sox are playing, or on St.Patty's Day and I wouldn't want to train for a marathon around any other river than the Charles.

To the city where where the Red Sox won the world series (twice!), where you can drink an iced-coffee any time of the year, where you can be Irish despite never having been to Ireland and where you can eat a wicked good lobster roll, thank you.

I wear my Red Sox hat with pride.

Until we meet again, I will count the days until I rock once again at Toad, get shitty at Cornwall's and run over the knee-snapping pavement near the Science Museum.

Love,
Sam

Speaking of downsizing...

This website is my new favorite thing:

http://www.onebag.com/

Downsizing

When starting to plan the daunting task of a year of travel, it’s hard to know where to start. For me, I can’t take stock of things until I have a clean space. I can’t even start to create a list, when I’m surrounded, overwhelmed, tethered and drowning in….things, STUFF. So, naturally, I started with downsizing my life.

Throwing stuff away starts as a negotiation, becomes an art, and then quickly dissolves into a complete and utter obsession.

Sam to sweater: I haven’t worn you in two years, you’re outta here!
Sweater: You may need me again. Better to keep me now, than to
risk spending more money to buy another sweater in the
future, when you could have had me all along.
Sam: You bastard!
Sweater: Checkmate.

But once you learn how to play, de-cluttering your life is an art. The key is to get rid of something you really don’t want to part with, something you can live without, but don’t want to. For me, it was a pair of DKNY shoes. I loved those shoes, dammit. But, there is no room for strappy, purple, three-inch heels in Cambodia. So, I consigned them and I got $20 back. After that, I couldn’t get rid of things fast enough. The hardest part is making the decision. But once the decision is made, once those shoes are destined for a new owner, it’s really quite easy to just keep going. Addictive, even. I found that once I started chucking things, I just kept right on chucking. And very quickly, I became obsessed with downsizing my life. My sniper-gaze would look around my apartment, and nothing was safe.

Clothes, shoes, books, furniture, keepsakes, tchotckes, papers, CDs, DVDs, electronics, my amazing collection of wristbands from bars & clubs, every single ticket stub from every movie I’ve seen since the 7th grade… All of it. The more I got rid of, the lighter I felt. It was like a new haircut, or losing 10 pounds. The feeling was addictive and amazing…it all just had to go.

Saying goodbye to my books hurt the most. But like the shoes, once I gave one book away, the rest just followed. It helped to imagine my favorite books with happy new owners. I left my receipts inside, and love-worn bookmarks, to leave a bit of myself in the books I loved so much. I’ve always fantasized of a house filled with books, bookshelves to the ceiling and my happy little friends there to read, re-read or loan. I’ve fantasized more of travel, however, so tough decisions need to be made. Now I imagine an empty house, with empty bookshelves and it feels oddly satisfying. All that space, waiting to be filled; all that space, allowing me to be elsewhere. I feel more free, untied.

We live with so much stuff. Stuff. Stuff. Stuff. And I started to ask myself, what do I really need? Not to just take with me on my travels, but in total. The idea of all my things fitting into two suitcases and a carry-on is very tempting. I can leave at any moment, and travel within the rules & regulations of every major airline. The commitment-phobe in me delights in the thought of living small to live, well, large. Why have a house filled with furniture and shoes and books, when you can have the world as your bookshelves?

I still have some tough stuff decisions to make, and I’m not getting rid of everything entirely – I know my mother is thrilled to inherit an entire jewelry and shoe collection (on loan!) – but I’m happy knowing that I am leaving very little behind.

Looking around my empty room and blank walls, it’s easier to say goodbye. It’s also easier to remember the important stuff. I am thinking much more about the friends and family I am leaving behind, and the friends and family I have yet to meet. Stuff is just stuff, anyway.

Quitting

I'm a quitter. A big, fat ol' quitter! Whether you love your job or not, and the former is true for me, there is no bigger joy than saying, "I quit."

I QUIT!

It's the last day of school before summer vacation; it’s a three-day weekend; it’s waking up and deciding to spend the whole day in bed. You have nothing you have to do; it feels like you’ve stolen a moment, under the covers with a flashlight, happy in your little fort while the world continues to move around outside you.

There is a sick and wonderful joy in just...walking away. Especially when you are doing it to live a big fat ol’ cliché called “Quitting your job and traveling around the world.” Come on, we’ve all thought about it; dreamt about it; threatened it after a particularly bad day (or bad relationship or bad credit card bill). But to actually do it is predictably freeing and oddly anticlimactic.

There is nothing better than sitting down with your boss and saying “I’ve decided to leave, because I just want to take a year off and travel.” Imagine for a second saying it to your boss. There is really no response to this statement. It’s even better than “I quit.” It’s kind of like telling the world, “Hey, eff you, I just won the lottery and what are you gonna do about it?!” What can they do about it, but envy and loathe you for your fabulousness. This is the one time in your life when being a quitter is good, it’s great, people like you for it.

But, is it easy to quit? Not really. Because, I’m not just quitting my job. I’m quitting everything. My paycheck, my shower with hot water, my lovely & wonderful bed, my friends, my routine, my life. Quitting means saying goodbye. For me, I’m not just saying goodbye to my job and my colleagues, but I’m saying goodbye to the me that I am now. People often hesitate to quit a job without having another job to go to. Imagine the hesitation when you are quitting your life, without being entirely sure of the life you are moving towards. It’s exciting, it’s terrifying, it’s completely intangible.

Besides the healthy fear that comes from purposefully flipping off your comfort zone, there is also a feeling of disappointment once the high from quitting fades. It’s a let-down after you’ve told everyone: you’ve got a big “I’m Special” tiara on…that no one really cares about. And honestly, where do you go from there? You don’t just walk into the sunset, effortlessly breezing onto a plane with a humble, Angelina Jolie-esque “I’m gonna change the world” smile plastered to your face. Before I go, I have to: figure out how much money I’ll need (and where the hell it’s coming from), decide on locations, book tickets, organize my bills, research visas, vaccinations, volunteer programs, language courses, wet & dry seasons, insurance, what to bring, what to leave behind, what I want to get out of this, what I want to give…in short, I need a big fat ol’ list. Maybe two.

The point is, quitting is only the beginning. It’s the best start to any journey. My colleague, the wise and wonderful Rebecca, gave me the best advice on quitting and starting my adventure: “Remember us, but forget work entirely.”