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!