Dangerous Encounters

I have had a fair number of adventures that would qualify as dangerous encounters - it's too easy when on the road to set yourself in harm's way, and when you're so absorbed by the view, sometimes it's blinding to the reality of the scenario.

Of the endeavours I have embarked upon, I could easily classify some to be absurd, another handful to be reckless, and at least a few to be downright dangerous.  These endeavours, though the ones I tend to harbor more closely, are the ones that lend themselves to good story telling.

I've never been one to shy away from risky behaviour.  As a teen, my then-friend Tiffany and I set out on what we called the a-BOM-ination walk, taking us to all corners of Mississauga over the course of fourteen hours.  We refused all offers of assistance (taxis, buses, and much later into our journey, the assistance of drunk men in cars) and instead opted to wander the streets haplessly.

It was something our parents would never approve of - two fifteen year old girls out on the city, walking all night - so we did what we had to do, and lied.  Conveniently, neither mother was apt to check on our story, so we slid by effortlessly and into the night, each armed with a backpack, a bottle of juice, and a list of things to wander.  I don't particularly remember what drove us to our walk, but knowing the kids we were then, it took very little for us to go off on a whim.

A few years later in life - finally having moved out on my own - I once again decided to embark on what would certainly count as a downright dangerous situation, leaving my home city (and country) to travel to a place I'd always wanted to go, but never found the means.  Money being what it is, and me having typically very little of it, I had to be creative.  Staying with strangers and relying on the few people who actually knew where I went, I never gave more than a few minutes thought to the potential for things to go wrong.  I might have been young and stupid, but stepping off that plane and heading toward what was completely unknown to me wasn't frightening at all.  I dragged my bag behind me, and set off on a new path, hoping that the adventure would be all I had hoped.

It was.

There were moments when things were somewhat shaky and times when I realized I had bitten off more than I could chew, but then I regrouped, and kept moving.  Of all my adventures, this one felt the most real.

In the past few years, there have been more adventures, and probably more than a few dangerous situations, and though most people would stop and worry that their actions would somehow impede their potential for a long and full life, I very rarely recognize the inherent danger until after the fact.

Walking through Valparaiso, Chile, I guided four women I barely knew, using my own rather tenuous grasp of the Spanish language to guide us.  Sans map.  When we got distracted by something - as we were prone to do - we'd walk ourselves into a new mercado, only to be warned yet again by lovely women selling handmade goods about the dangers in the area.  I was unfazed, and I didn't pass on the warnings to the others.  They didn't need to worry, and I felt certain that all was well.

Stumbling down Broadway in the wee small hours of the morning, barely coherent, and definitely not in any shape to defend myself, I've had rousing conversations with passers-by, and rewarded myself with a handbag purchased from a garbage bag on Lafayette.

I've gotten into arguments at gas stations in seedy neighbourhoods - the kinds of places you see in movies, and don't realize actually exist until you accidentally wander into them - and spent entire days in places where nobody knew I was, content to have my own adventure completely solitary of reality.

And even through all of this, and much more, I've never once worried for my own safety.  In what could only be described as a complete lack of the self-preservation instinct, I live based on the reality that life is what you make of it, and it's far too boring to just sit around and watch the excitement pass you by.

Australia will be a much calmer trip, I suspect.  Jayne and I have slowed down a bit now that Squidge is with us, and as we've gotten older, we've also grown a little more aware of our surroundings.  Late night drives into East Bergen, and stopping for gas in Baltimore are two things which we've struck from our 'to do' list, and we've now moved on to things less apt to require immediate medical attention.  Now, when I get myself into dangerous encounters, I tend to push the envelope and do them alone.

But it makes for incredible stories!

Annual Review - Looking Inside the Window

Having recently celebrated a birthday, I took the opportunity to turn my view inside a bit, and review what had been a rather tumultuous year.  Having had a myriad of adventure, misadventure, and probably more than a few unclassifiable events, I figured this was as good a time as any to do an annual review, right?

Jobs do it - they break down 12 months of actions and then establish what the sum of those months would be.  If you're lucky, you get a cost of living increase (plus a percent or two) and perhaps a little more vacation time.  If you're mediocre, you find something to cling to, and then use that as an action plan.  Usually you can sucker a raise, whether deserved or not, and even if you don't get that extra percent, you still feel validated.

We won't even look at the options for sub-par employees.  For the purpose of this analysis, we're going to strike that option.  (It was a rough year - but not that rough)

If I were trying to action plan my year, I'd say there is definite room for improvement.  First and foremost would be a little more focus on a life outside the four walls.  As nice as it is to look out the window, I think the view is getting a little old.  Nothing against the trees, the grass, or the creek that overflows at this time of year, but watching everything from so far away is getting a little old.

So, what's first?  Maybe getting involved in something - I've tossed the idea around before, but playing the game doesn't work if you only sit on the side lines.  What to get involved in is a whole other issue.  I've stared at lists of extracurricular activities as listed on our very own world wide web, and eliminated quite a few - birdwatching would likely drive me mad, and I'm fairly certain I'd be a public hazard were I to participate in any group craft projects.  The list will continue to be explored - there must be something I'm qualified to do.

Next up on my action plan is to diversify - everything.  When I travel, I'm all about the world around me, and everything I can see, touch, and breathe, but when I'm at home, I'm centered in a much smaller corner of the world, focussed on the very few things that come and go in my daily life.  Looking at the larger picture - opening a few more windows, and who knows, maybe even looking at a few different doors, sounds like the type of opportunity I need to allow myself.

What did I do right?  27 had some good points.  Poor decisions turned into smart judgement calls, as well as good career moves.  There were moments of complete clarity, and I think my grasp on reality has solidified.  With age comes knowledge, right?

If I were to try and establish where my year rated - whether or not I deserve that extra couple of percent - I'd say with reasonable certainty that I'm definitely moving forward.  The things I want to improve are an evolution, and it seems only natural that there will be some stumbles.

28 has begun with a relative bang - the memories I've made in the last week have been of views outside my own windows, and with friends both new and old.  I didn't ring in this newest year of life quite as I anticipated, but remarkably I can't say I'm disappointed.

There aren't all that many weeks left until I embark on my next endeavour - a whole new set of views to be had, and pictures to share as I go.  I'm hoping that along the way I find a little clarity as to what I'm looking for in my life at home, too, though I'm beginning to think it's all so intricately interwoven that I just have to sit back and wait for it to unfold.

Slowly Getting Back to my Life

I'm slowly making my way home, though to say slowly might be an understatement.  The train is at a standstill for the fifth or sixth time since leaving Toronto three hours ago.  We've been delayed, over and over again, though for various reasons.  Firstly there was a pedestrian struck by a train ahead of us, then we had to 'pair' up with another train (which was somehow supposed to make us move faster).  Next up was the delay because the train we paired up with broke down and then we got stopped for a random inspection.  

As I type, we're crawling along the track at a pace that would make Sunday drivers wave their fists in the air in frustration, but at least we're moving.  It's a slow process.  

Earlier, there were views to admire, and a world to see.  I snapped a few random pictures as we went, thinking that there was something comforting about the pace.  Now, as my arrival time approaches (and I'm no where near home) I'm getting more and more skeptical.  

  

For a while we were stopped and I had a lovely view of whatever small community this is.  It was very close to Toronto, though I don't remember much because this was the point at which they began telling us about the backlog.  

Eventually we moved a little further along and found this just outside of Cobourg.  I can't decide if I think this view is extremely beautiful or extremely sad.  A part of me is thankful for just the few last memories of winter, while the rest of me realizes that it will be a while before this all becomes green and beautiful as it should.  

When we finally reached Bowmanville, it was just before sunset.  It was still remarkably clear and bright, and when I looked out my window, I remembered that there was indeed evidence of Lake Ontario along the way.  Somehow this reminds me of a view I once had while in California, but as such a distant memory I think I might instead need to head back and be sure.  

It's completely dark now, and aside from random speckling of light on the horizon, there's not much to be seen.  I've watched two movies (already) and will break open a third at any moment.  The view isn't enough to entertain, and try as I might to pretend I find it of interest, now I am once again thinking of how fondly I enjoy travel by car and by plane.  

TVOtW's 12 Steps to Cultivating Travel Addiction

Everyone travels for different reasons, and though we all embark on unique journeys, we all set out with the intent to have a good time.  Through the years, I've learned there are certain aspects of travel that make me better equipped than other tourists.  For example, I am fearless.  I don't believe in being timid while traveling because timidity only gets you so far - usually about as far as the hotel door.  Also, I quite frequently have no shame, so embarrassment rarely impacts the actions I take.  

I've compiled a list of what I would normally consider my 'rules' - they're the things I try to embrace as much as possible, and to remind myself of if ever I'm concerned about the outcome of a trip.  Although I've numbered them, I would point out that I tend to use them as all equally applicable, so pay no particular attention to the series.  

So, without further ado, I release my rules out into the world.  I should preface this by saying that they have held true in various types of trips, and have never let me down.  I hope that if you embrace them, you too will find them to be beneficial.  

12 Steps to Cultivating a Travel Addiction

1. Travel with someone you love...  There's no such thing as a bad trip if you're sharing it with a like-minded travel companion (who you love).  Traveling can be stressful, and if you embark on a trip with someone you only mildly like (or dislike) you will find the travel to be insufferable - to say the least.  
2. Never be afraid to sound stupid.  I think everyone has hesitantly attempted to mutter a word in a foreign language, if only because we've been convinced there was no hope if we didn't.  The thing is, people will appreciate if you attempt to speak the native language, and will be more inclined to assist you - you'll also be able to stock pile the words in your new vocabulary for future endeavors! 
3. Research.  Know where you're going and what you want to do.  There's nothing worse than learning about a great sight after you get home.  
4. Do things that make you uncomfortable.  Let's face it: it doesn't take much to set out on vacation and then mimic your daily life from home.  There are very few places on earth where you can't find the creature comforts you've come to love, and even fewer where you'd actually have to look for them.  Leave that security blanket at home, and do something that makes you truly uncomfortable - it makes for better stories and you'll have a more interesting trip.
5. Throw away the itinerary.  Planning is good, and it certainly can make a trip much more fluid, however traveling on a tight schedule often means sacrifices you'll come to regret later.  Use your itinerary as a guideline, then when something interesting comes up, fit it in accordingly.  If your vacation feels like boot camp, odds are you could have had more fun at home.  (This rule is closely linked with numbers six and seven)  
6. Savour the sights, but don't dawdle.  Every city has fascinating sights, but don't spend six hours fixating on one place, only to have to skip another.  Things you love are well worth investing more time in, but must you really spend hours sitting at the restaurant you saw in the movie where that man kissed that woman in the rain...?  I have previously been guilty of this; a sense of nostalgia, even for someone else's 'memory' is a powerful thing, but the real question becomes: 'will staying here any longer give me any more benefit than if I leave now?'  Looking studious while examining a memorial doesn't actually make you smarter; wandering to a bookstore afterward and picking up a history book will!  
7. Be flexible.  Your day trip is overbooked/rescheduled/cancelled.  What do you do?  Panic tends to set in really very quickly, especially if you've planned an entire chunk of your trip around that particular item.  The most important thing you can do is to not let it ruin your trip.  There are dozens of things to do at any given time, and often times fate likes to redirect you to something it feels might better suit you.  I've learned that anticipation is almost as fun as the actual adventure - heading out and anticipating a whole new adventure can really make up for the disappointment of the missed excursion.  
8. Stay somewhere unexpected.  I have stayed in more Holiday Inns than I can count, and what they have going for them is that they are consistent.  Consistently the same, that is.  It can be a refreshing change to see the world from a new set of windows - ones that aren't bulk-ordered for their homogeny.  A posh hotel, if fitting the budget, can be a nice mid-trip change of pace, just as hostels, or dodgier hotels can  be entertaining and provide you with a new set of people to watch.  
9. Talk to strangers.  Our parents always told us about 'stranger danger' but traveling in a bubble only makes you feel like a tourist.  Be smart about the conversations you have, but look for the human connection.  Conversations might be as simple as the weather or the nearest restaurant, but can also take a whole new level, and become about the view outside of their window - a whole new perspective on the world at large!
10. Sleep when you get home.  If you're sleeping more than you're adventuring, why'd you leave your house?  (enough said!) 
11. No destination is too small.  Adventure is what you make of it, and at the end of the day a good trip even in your local community can create a whole new perspective on your world.  If a big trip is out of the question (as it, sadly, too often is) then the next best thing is to find something local and new, and to delve into it with the same ferocity as you would if you were a 'tourist'.  
12. Share.  Share your adventures, your trips, your excitement... just share.  The human connection - whether a loved one, someone on a park bench, or a fellow adventurer - is the best part of travel.  I love talking travel almost as much as I love the act itself, and it can be inspiring as well as educational.  

The Dirty Window...

The view outside the train window is pretty standard – snowy fields and highways lined with cars, old farm houses that line railway tracks from a time long past.  There are a few random towns spattered along the line, though mostly from what I can tell we've taken the scenic route, just at a higher speed.  The train travels a little faster than I would typically be accustomed to – my average commute is going smoothly if I get much beyond 60 kms per hour.

This view is particularly unique because I’m in a rear-facing seat, watching everything as if it’s on rewind, as opposed to what would likely be much less interesting from any other vantage point. 

Admittedly, I’ve never been particularly fond of train travel – I enjoy the control driving provides, as much as I like the way planes are able to make you weightless and take you somewhere completely new. 

Trains seem like the strange hybrid brother of the two, neither as convenient as the car (you can’t pull over for a quick restaurant break, nor can you easily detour) but you also can’t cover nearly as much ground – in fact, it often takes longer. 

This trip though, where I was looking for a rare combination of reliable and safe – weather in March can be hit and miss at best, I’ve seen gargantuan storms almost as often as I’ve had the joys of virtually tropical temperatures – it seemed prudent to do something a little off book.  

Train travel is not completely lost on me though – I am enjoying the complete yuppy pretentiousness of sitting here on my MacBook, typing my blog while listening to my iPod and texting using my iPhone – all of which would be completely impossible were I traveling by car or by plane.  In fact, any one of those things, let alone in combination, would likely be an arrestable offense. 

I’ve so far refrained from incurring the wrath of an air marshal.  I don’t trust the odds of me coming out of that in tact, let alone able to continue my travels. 

So I've got music, and telecommunications, a rather surprisingly free wifi connection, and I almost begin to think this isn't so bad, really.  There's a view, and there are people around who look interesting and kind.  Random conversation struck up at first seating tells me that we're all at very different places in our lives, and that's both ok, and exciting.  

The iPod is kicking out various songs, a mega mix of the 1990's giving me a strange appreciation for today's kinder, gentler music.  The tunes are a random mishmash of songs that remind me of my youth.    It’s ok, I figure, because today I’m heading back ‘home’ – to the place where I grew up. 

I don’t go back often, so it feels like a big deal even though it would so rarely be a noteable journey to anyone on the outside looking in.  The truth is, it’s merely six hours from where I currently live, and yet for as many times I’ve traveled further, I very rarely make it back there. 

Home is a nice place – complete with family and friends who remember me when I was younger, more naïve, and perhaps a little more willing to trust that everything would always work itself out.  There's no reason in particular for not going back, though it sometimes seems like it's everything in general and nothing in particular.  

Going back will mean a different view, a different window.  It will be interesting to see who’s changed, how they’ve changed, and if, even all these years later, if we could still be friends. 

Meanwhile, the view is getting dimmer, the orange sunset now casting a fiery glow on the horizon, making this trip seem even more cliché than it had when I boarded the train.  I'm debating the merit of ordering a tetra pak of wine, basking in the extravagance of a elementary school-sized boxed drink, complete with alcoholic properties.  I might even partake in some of those absurdly expensive nuts they keep flogging at every pass.  I hesitate to mention that these would be free in-flight, or that I could easily swing into a local Tim Horton's were it not for my current method of transportation.  

Then again, it might be completely fitting with my current adventure - the endeavor to return home and to check back in my life as it was ten years ago.  When doing something backwards, you might as well be consistent, no?  

Maybe I was too hard on the train.  When you’re doing something completely beyond your comprehension, the best way to do it is in rewind.  

The Soundtrack...

I've always been a fan of the silly things people say.  I admittedly like the way a bad joke is told, and the way people laugh when they think nobody is listening.  I like the honesty of words that are said into the darkness, and the way our bodies betray us with an honesty our words sometimes cannot convey.

The crazy things we say are the soundtrack of our lives and sometimes if we're lucky we say them into the world and someone hears them.  Someone *really* hears them and comprehends, absorbing and digesting the sounds, the sentiment...

In my life so far, the soundtrack has run the gamut from joy to sorrow and everything in between, and often times those words are tinged with a hint of something that can't quite be described as anything less than naked emotion.  The soundtrack is constantly evolving, changing to suit the ever-evolving me, a combination of experience and inexperience, as much as any good top 100 list of fave tunes.

The experiences of travel and the connection with the world around us harmonizes these seemingly disjointed words and brings to them a better context in which to reverberate to those around us.  The ability to see something more than our own lives and to share it is that much greater than any single individual.

I think of this soundtrack from time to time, and liken it to the whirling of a CD in my car, the windows rolled down and the wind chilling my skin.  I think of this soundtrack and realize that the words are all music, completing the experience and waking me to the view outside the window.

Thanks for coming along for the ride...