Backpacking – Thinking Over 30

India

September 26, 2024September 30, 2024Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, India, Love, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, India, Love, meditation, solo travel, spirituality, TravelLeave a comment

High, low, high, low….it’s off to India I go.

Not even 10 days back from my nonprofit trip to Peru, and I was getting the summer travel shakes. I had 3 weeks to spare before I had to be back in Florida for a wedding, and I was frantically figuring out where to fly to next.

Let’s see…maybe Seattle? I’d been pining for another Pacific Northwest summer since I lived there in 2019. Or maybe, Stockholm? I’ve heard Scandinavian summers are a delight!

Or…

Bubbling on the backburner, like a spicy masala chai, was the Indian option. Indeed, my dear friend Rebecca was tucked away in a yoga ashram in Southern India for the summer, and that was a good enough reason to go.

Except…

I was terrified.

Now, as a well-traveled lady, I know better not to let the ill-informed stereotypes of a place deter me from experiencing it myself. But I couldn’t help but feel anxious about the chaos and poverty I’d potentially face.

India wasn’t exactly the delightful summer destination I was looking for.

But, I leaned in and panic purchased the plane ticket.

72-hours later, I landed in Delhi.

And here’s what happened…

The Highs and the Lows

A quick stopover in the UAE to visit my friend James (and to check off Dubai from my “weird, fabricated cities in the middle of the Middle East that I’ll never go back to” list) and I was back on a plane for the final stretch of my journey.

Now, if only I could find my driver…

To calm my nerves and make my solo blitz to the Taj Mahal as comfortable as possible, I decided to throw all my money at the situation and hire all the people. And along the way, I encountered some surprising highs and some unsurprising lows.

My driver safely drove me the 5 hours from Delhi to Agra (high), only to see whole families sleeping dangerously close to the road (low), as the gilded gates of my 5 star hotel opened to reveal marble and gold and white-gloved attendants as far as the eye could see (high). The 8,497 mile journey (and post-colonial guilt) had me utterly exhausted (low), and I was sound asleep by 8:00 pm (high).

The next morning, at the crack of an Indian dawn, my alarm screamed at me to wake up and look alive! I had to beat the crowds to the Taj, and my guide was waiting in the lobby.

The early morning wake-up call paid off. The Taj Mahal was a masterpiece monument that rightly deserves its place in The 7 Wonders of the World list. And bonus! My guide, Imran, was not only my spiritual Taj Mahal guru, but also an exceptional photographer (high, high, high!) And, despite the fact that I was bamboozled into buying a tiny, $120 marble elephant after the master salesman insisted it would bring me true love (low, but maybe high?), and my mad dash through th Delhi airport to catch my next flight to the ashram (low), I was left bedazzled by the day (the highest).

Alright, India. You’ve got my attention. Let’s see what else you’ve got.

The Ashram

I arrived in Varkala in the middle of the night, and, in the middle of a typhoon-level downpour. And I still had an hour drive to the ashram. This should be interesting.

Peering out the rain-soaked window, I kept seeing rather peculiar structures. Enormous Jesus statues atop gaudy, makeshift churches. They were everywhere! In a Hindu-dominant country, there wasn’t a temple in sight. Noted. I will have to investigate this Christian curiosity later.

When we pulled up to the ashram, there was at least two feet of rain to contend with. So, I pulled up my pants, grabbed my bag, and quietly forged up the stairs so as to not wake sleeping beauty. After all, Rebecca was a month into her daily yoga-training regiment that began with 6:00 am meditation. As I took inventory of the very basic accommodation, dried myself off, and slipped into bed, Rebecca rolled over and whispered, “Welcome to the ashram.”

The next morning, Rebecca (having skipped her morning classes) gleefully gave me a local’s tour of Varkala, the hippie beach town perched on top of palm-covered cliffs. As we chatted in her favorite cafe, she filled me in on all the things. The characters she had met at the ashram. The teenage boys that always asked to take pictures with her (if you saw Rebecca, you’d know why), and the unbelievably cheap prices (my breakfast of eggs, toast, fresh juice and masala tea, for example, was $3). This was a welcomed reprieve from the outlandishly high prices of Miami (same breakfast, $40. Easy).

Speaking of reasonable rates, my week-long stay at the ashram, all meals and yoga classes included, cost me $30 USD. Yes. you read that right. A spiritual room with an ocean view, for less than a Miami breakfast. My travel math was mathing. I was saving money by being abroad.

During the week, I decided to indulge in various Eastern wellness practices. This included my first acupuncture experience, performed in the bedroom of an Italian expat whose energy was, well, very off. One star. Do not recommend. And then there was my Indian astrologer who read my birth chart and, through an English translator, declared that I had almost cleared my negative karma (caused by my previous life as a turncoat soldier), and that 40 would be my year- the partner, the child, the inner peace. It was my destiny. I also sat in on some classes at the ashram. From vinyasa, to meditation, to asana philosophy, I was savoring my spiritual surroundings and feeling grateful for my last-minute decision to discover India for myself.

By the end of the week, Rebecca had wrapped up her yoga training and bid her yoga gurus and fellow devotees farewell, and we were off to the next destination.

This time, accomodation wouldn’t be so basic. And Hindu temples would be back in abundance.

The Temple

Earlier this year, I declared 2024 “The Year of Love,” and since then, I have turned my attention to things like hearts and love songs and manifestation workbooks.

So, when Rebecca mentioned the historic Meenakshi Temple, dedicated to the love goddess Meenakshi Amman, I was in. I mean, I’m actively manifesting a man at this point, so why not pray at a Hindu temple of love for good measure?

After a 12-hour overnight train ride (an absolute must do in India), we arrived at our beautiful hotel in Madurai (a far cry from the basic accoutrement of the ashram). We took a moment to take in our 5* surroundings before tuk-tuking to the temple.

On the way, I started to feel moody. Maybe it was the commotion of the streets or my mind, but I couldn’t shake my sorrow.

If I had to guess, I would say 1000 Hindu pilgrims were in line to get a glimpse of our girl Meenakshi and pray for love and prosperity. As non-Hindus, Rebecca and I were forbidden to enter the main shrine, but it meant we got to skip the line. And, the vibrant activities of the rest of the temple gave us more stimuli than we could imagine. There were elders deeply playing in drum circles, women in electrifying saris, swaying and chanting, children hiding and laughing in every corner. Colors on colors on statues on flowers on lotuses on shrines on sanskrit on spirit and on and on.

When the stimuli subsided, I made my way to the steps of the center fountain. It was time to meditate. On love. On life. On whatever decided to surface in that moment.

“Ummm, hey, Meenakshi. Uh. I mean, namaste. Thank you for having me. Your home is lovely. Clearly, I am not Hindu, but hopefully you’re open to listening. Firstly, I’d like to say that I have a good life. A GREAT life. I have everything I need and more. I’m so grateful, everyday. But there’s this pesky love thing. I’m not talking about familial or friendly love, I have an abundance of that. It’s the romantic love. The long-lasting love. The life partner, soulmate kinda love. I’ve experienced that to some degree, but I know that I deserve a partner that…[insert all the qualities written in my manifestation workbook], because I am…[insert all the daily affirmations written in my gratitude journal]. So, yeah. I heard maybe you could help with that. Thank you for listening. Namaste. Byeee.

When I came out of my meditative trance, I left my love sorrow on the steps, then left the temple in higher spirits.

Sometimes, you just have to let go and let the goddess of love clear your karma and guide your way.

The End

This post is getting long, so I’ll spare the specs of the rest of the trip.

Here’s the quickie:

The second half of our Indian adventure consisted of treehouses and tea plantation visits in the mountains of Munnar, and boat rides and spice market splendors in the coastal town of Kochi.

India was magical and chaotic and warm and wonderful. My previous trepidations about visiting were, as expected, unfounded. Yes, there is extreme poverty. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times. But, the country’s diverse and powerful prana (life force) welcomed me with open arms and left me with an open heart chakra.

I only scratched the surface of this sacred place.

So, yeah. I’ll be back, Mother India. After all, I promised Imran, Mr. Elephant Peddler, and Meenakshi that I’d return with my manifested man.

Gotta stay true to my word.

37 & Thriving

April 4, 2023February 3, 2024Posted in Backpacking, camping, Dating, Love, mexico, peru, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, Love, self-discovery, self-love, teaching, TravelLeave a comment

God, it feels good to be back in London.

The pubs, the boys, the tube. The perfect place for a holiday escape.

Indeed, I made a few escapes last year. From Mexico to the Amazon to Brunswick, Georgia…2022 had me discovering life in weird and wonderful ways.

And, as I turned 37 in the middle of the Peruvian jungle, I reflected on how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown.

Boundaries, breakups and medicinal branches…here’s a look back on how 2022 helped this human thrive.

My Work

I kicked off the year with the worst job of my life.

Now, I had no intention of ever going back into a middle school classroom. Ten years of teaching hundreds of students, I had put in my time. Done my due diligence. Survived the insanity. But, after months of contemplation during my hiatus in Peru, I had decided to return to Miami to buy an apartment and finally create a real home base for myself. But this meant getting a job asap so the bank would give me a mortgage loan.

So, I went back to the battle ground. This time, at an alternative school in a low-income, high-crime neighborhood in North Miami.

Dr. H., with all her post-Peru good vibes only namaste energy, was met with fist-fights and curse-outs. Desk-flipping and book-throwing. It wasn’t long before I was experiencing full-blown panic attacks as I ran out of the classroom crying on a daily basis. This was trauma-informed teaching at the highest level, and I was ill-equipped.

I took many mental health days, and set boundaries so I could crawl back and show up. I was determined not to give up on myself or my students (and turns out, all I had to do was a few TikTok dances to completely gain the trust and admiration of my students…bam!). Still, it was the hardest 6 months of my teaching career.

Sadly, the real estate market was just as traumatic, and, after a handful of rejected offers, I tapped out of the property hunger games.

So, yeah. The spring was chaos.

Then the summer saw a classic Holly attempt at giving love a chance and reconnecting with an old Mexican flame only to quickly extinguish the fire and head back to Miami where the fall had so much more in store for me.

I started my first university job as an adjunct professor (absolutely YES to college students!) and I spent the rest of my time chipping away at building a nonprofit idea I have had for many years. And, I actually did it. Like, you can go donate RIGHT HERE to help fund international learning trips for deserving students and be a flagship donor for a worthy program!

So, yeah. My work is back on track. All I had to do was break down with my students, break up with my boyfriend and break out of my insecurities to create the purpose-driven career of my dreams. It’s a work in progress. But I’m progressing.

My Love Life

For a free spirit like me, being single is second nature.

My obsession with newness has led to a collection of love stories fit for a novel. But not for forever.

I follow the fleeting and avoid the available. I’m thrilled by the chase and terrified by tradition. Safe is scary. Risky is sexy. I am a stereotypical sagittarius, after all.

The 2021-2022 romantic season was dominated by two such ephemeral affairs. 2 men, 2 years, 2 countries and 2 chapters in my Book of Love. No happily ever after. But I still got my thrill.

From the outside, it may appear that I’ve given up on settling down. But, actually, I’m redefining what settling down means for me. Maybe I continue to have beautiful relationships all around the world that break me open and bring me closer to myself. Or, maybe I have a love child and co-parent with a partner as we overland across Africa. Or, perhaps, my love life will take an unexpected turn for the traditional with a marriage and mortgage and managing mommy duties.

(I’ve said the word mortgage twice in one post…what’s happening?)

Either way, I’m here for it. Open. Excited. Up for the adventure. Not getting trapped in the worry of age or expectations or insecurities (I mean I have my moments). Trusting the process. Savoring the moment. Leading with love. Loving myself. Starting to truly believe in what I deserve. All the things.

Actually, I have a lot more to say on this subject. My love life deserves its own juicy, gritty, examined post. Stay tuned.

My Awakening

People say you don’t find Mama Aya…she finds you.

But, I decided to go to her house in the Amazon and kindly knock on her door. You know, to make it easier for her to find me.

And, find me she did.

Now, sitting in a sacred ceremony, sipping on ancient plant medicine, and traveling through time and space is not an easy experience to explain. There were divine messages in many forms, a vibrational energy connecting everything, and my inner child narrating it all. It was a mind, body, and soul reset on the deepest level. Indeed, what happened to me in the jungle was the most transformative experience I’ve ever had the privilege to be a part of.

Mama Aya, The Truth, The Source, The Light, God…whatever you call her, honey, she will have you leaving a believer!

But, I’ll leave the details sacred. And, instead, leave you with this post-ceremony pic that perfectly captured the mystic vibe…

My Year Ahead

So, 2023. Back in Miami, doing Miami things. Teaching, fundraising, dating, nesting, traveling, day-dreaming, scheming, meditating, saving, savoring, sulking, integrating, growing, crying, connecting, creating, contemplating, dancing, stretching, writing, being and doing….the best I can.

And sometimes even thriving.

As the world keeps turning…

Following the Flow (Peru Part 2)

December 30, 2021December 14, 2025Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, peru, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, Love, self-discovery, self-love, teaching, Travel1 Comment

So, I went back to Peru to see about a boy.

OK, he wasn’t the only reason, but it certainly didn’t hurt my case to go back.

Three weeks in Florida, and I was already twiddling my thumbs and wondering why I had left Peru in the first place. After all, I had a few months left on my self-imposed sabbatical, and I felt my Peruvian peace slipping away.

So, in an effort to “follow the flow” and continue my journey of clarity and calm and pisco sours, I jumped back on a plane for Peru Part 2.

What happened next was a succession of life lessons that would change everything.

Here they are in 3 acts.

Prologue

I have been living out of a suitcase for the past year and a half.

From mansions to hotels to guest bedrooms to couches – my mind, body and soul have hardly had a chance to catch up to the frenzy that has been my recent transient life. And just as my spirit was starting to break, I got an unexpected break to travel to Peru (see Peru Part I). And for nearly 3 months, I had the privilege to just exist. No anxiety. No pressure. No noise. Just joy. Pure joy.

I encourage everyone to prioritize joy.

Now, back to the play.

Act 1 – A Tale of Two Chicos

There once was a girl who moved to Mexico. She lived in a very big house with a very rich family where she worked very hard to be the very best teacher for the children. But after work she would go to her room and not leave the house for fear she would get sick from a bad virus and spread it to the family. So she stayed safe, but grew lonely.

Then one day she met B. And very soon after, she got sick. B got sick, too. But together they both got better. They started to spend more time with each other. And have adventures together. And very soon after, they fell in love. But the girl was leaving soon, so they made a plan to reconnect when she returned. But the girl was confused. And she didn’t return.

Instead, she went to Peru to find clarity…

Along the way, she also found A. And they started to spend more time with each other. And have adventures together. And this made her more confused because she fell in love with him, too.

And then, something magical happened (see Act 2 and 3) and she wasn’t confused anymore. Instead, she was grateful to have two great loves in one year. What a gift!

The girl returned to the US with a new appreciation for Latin boys, and vowed to always retell her complicated love affairs in the form of a Mister Rogers story.

Act 2 – My Walk With Pachamama

If you don’t know who Pachamama is, that’s OK. Neither did I. Until I met her one day in the Sacred Valley.

“Is there a way to hike up to that little chapel on the mountain?”, I ask the hotel manager in my shaky Spanish. “Si, claro! Just walk up the path to the right and it will lead you on your way.”

I had spotted the tiny chapels the minute I arrived in Valle Sagrado. They were perched on the sides of the magnificent Andes mountains that surround this divine trail. I was told they were built to protect the valley below. So, I set off to explore.

I decided that Oprah and her Super Soul podcast guest Dr. Michael Beckwith would accompany me on my walk. As I started up the path, I immediately felt a phenomenal energy beyond comprehension. It grew in intensity with every step to the point where I had to stop and sit. I was utterly overwhelmed by something unexplainable. I started to cry so deeply, I couldn’t decipher if I was happy or sad. I just cried. And walked. And sat. And cried some more. Everything that surrounded me – the trees, the stream, the stray dogs – was sacred beyond words. The only way I can explain it is that it felt like I was walking with some sort of divine spirit.

Later, when I read more about the Inca nature goddess, Pachamama, it was very clear she was my companion that day in the Sacred Valley. Turns out, she’s pretty good company.

Whether or not believing in a higher power is your thing, there is no denying the higher vibrational frequency in which the Sacred Valley exists. It’s basically science.

I encourage you to visit. If not, at least listen to the Super Soul Podcast. If it doesn’t resonate, it will. Someday. I hope. For humanity’s sake.

Act 3 – “Is that you, Intuition?”

I am starting to learn the beautiful and subtle art of not giving a f*ck.

The book by Mark Manson has a meaningful message that really hit me this year. We don’t realize just how much our lives are dictated and designed by external forces- our family, friends, media, culture, country, etc. etc. And not giving a f*ck – i.e. truly listening to your intuition instead of being influenced by others’ “good advice” laden with their own fears, pains and regrets – is truly an art form.

Personally, when I’m at a crossroads and faced with big decisions to make, like this summer, I take it to committee. That is, I ask my inner circle for advice, and then ask every Sam, Dick and Harry what I should do:

“Excuse me, Starbucks barista? Hi. I’m having an existential crisis on whether I should go back to the States and reenter the capitalist construct in which I don’t fit anymore (or ever did) but is where my friends and family are concentrated, or move to Latin America to take a risk and give love a chance (I’ve certainly done it before), or live in the Andes mountains and meditate for the rest of my days because nothing else really matters?”

I get it. It’s a privilege to even have an existential crisis, and then have 5 months off to figure it all out. But the point is this: Our intuition is silenced by so many other voices, and as long as we can’t hear it, we can’t live out our most genuine life. It took me hiding in the foothills of Peru to understand just how out of touch I was with my intuition, and how much effort it takes to silence the noise and stay true to yourself.

The barista thinks I should give love a chance. Seems romance is always a committee favorite. My intuition is still deliberating.

Epilogue – Lessons Learned

So, what life lessons did I learn from this past year in general, and Peru Part 2 in particular?

Glad you asked. Here’s the top 5. Stay with me.

1. Follow your joy/flow/intuition. You want to moonwalk across the road at a red light and make everyone in their car happy for the rest of the day? Do it, girl! You want to go back to Peru and climb Machu Picchu for a 3rd time and take a spiritual walk with Pachamama? Queen, go! You want to start a nonprofit to follow your heart and maybe not make a salary for a few years? Yes, sis! Our intuition naturally guides us to follow the things that bring us joy. But, we let the things we think we should do get in the way. Life won’t always be joyful, obviously, but the more we prioritize joy, the more we will enjoy our lives.

2. Do this by being alone and silencing the noise. Most of us seek advice from others when we need answers to something. But, what I discovered is that the quickest way to make the best decision for yourself is to be alone, in silence, and connect with what your heart and soul are telling you. Take a walk in nature. Take a bath. Take a solo trip. Shut out the shenanigans. And just listen. I promise you’ll hear the answers more clearly.

3. Don’t fall in love with foreigners. Well, maybe. I mean, I don’t know. This is a lesson I keep trying to learn. As a transient lady, I am very familiar with falling in love in foreign places. It’s exotic and exciting and…a logistical nightmare. But, as a reluctant romantic, I still lean towards staying open to possibilities, even if it means the magic must end. I have a collection of beautiful and painful moments from my love abroad that I wouldn’t trade for the world. This year brought me 2 big loves that brought me so much joy. So, forget logic and location. Fall in love with whomever you want, wherever you want. Life’s too short. It’s all part of the ride.

4. Peace is my new hustle. Being busy and stressed and anxious and overly ambitious is not sexy. Why do we glamorize these things? One COVID blessing was that we were all forced to slow down. And it was beautiful. As a former FOMO sufferer, I desperately needed a distraction purge in order to prioritize peace. Glorious peace! This is my new hustle. Chaos? No gracias. I’ll be on the next plane to Peru.

5. Don’t listen to me. I’m a single lady with no dependents. I actually can be on the next plane to Peru. Might sound luxurious, but it can also be lonely. This is only my journey and my perspective. And writing is my way of sorting it all out. If you’ve made it this far in the post, thanks for sticking with me. It’s a long one. The point is to listen to your own damn self. Follow the things that bring you joy and peace and love – you, your family and the whole world will be better for it.

As I prepare to move back to Miami (my intuition has spoken), I’m looking back on 2021 with gratitude for all the emotional challenges, tremendous self-growth, blissful adventures, unexpected love, and newfound inner peace that I intend to carry with me into 2022.

Here’s to more peace, love and joy in the new year. And pisco sours.

Amen.

[curtain closes]

Peru

October 11, 2021August 12, 2022Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, Love, peru, self-discovery, self-love, south america, teaching, Travel2 Comments

I met Peruvian Aladdin the first day I arrived in Arequipa.

As I was trying to enjoy my rather strange alfresco lunch, a young Arequipaño with Disney character charm stopped to tell me that I…“looked like a person who knew a lot of things.”

Now, normally I would politely smile and say, “no, gracias.” But on that particular day I was feeling quite calm. And, curious. And, I had a plate of soggy papas fritas I wasn’t going to eat.

So, to Aladdin’s great surprise, I invited him to sit and share my lunch with me.

From there we went straight into life chat, took a superb walking tour of the city and ended the day singing on the streets for a few soles from passing strangers. I suggested he learn a song called A Whole New World.

Aladdin knew everyone. Fist bumps and smiles abounded as we strolled the streets of Arequipa and he shared his love for the city. His energy was magnetic, his English was impressive, and he was always available to hang.

As such, Aladdin quickly became my new best friend.

And then, of course, there were the established motorcycle gentlemen, the American-Danish trekking couple, my bachata dance partners and the curly-haired cutie from my favorite restaurant. They all made up a motley crew of new friends that turned my solo session in Arequipa into an unexpected adventure.

They also made this plane ride home a lot harder.

Going to Peru was the easiest decision I had made in months.

When my teaching contract unexpectedly ended in July, I found myself in Florida agonizing over life decisions I wasn’t ready to make. Where do I move to next? What’s my 10-year career plan? When am I ever going to start a family? Who wants to host homeless Holly as she figures all this shit out?

So, when my dear friend Patrick suggested I come with him to Machu Picchu, it was an easy and immediate YES! I had the privilege of time and money, and the overwhelming need to find clarity.

Two days later I was on a plane to Peru.

Patrick and I played tourist for the first few weeks, exploring Lima and Cusco, trekking to magnificent Machu Picchu, hiking up Rainbow Mountain and avoiding the desire to take photos with the overly exploited alpacas (“But Patty, that one has sunglasses on!”).

Along the way, we discussed life in general, and the meaning of travel in particular.

After almost 20 years of traveling the world, there are a few things I know for sure:

Travelling is reenergizing. It reconnects me with my essence and gives me a renewed sense of purpose and zest for life.
There is an invisible weight that is lifted when you are no longer in the proximity of your regular external stressors (ahem…society, family, friends, media…), giving you this lightness and freedom to just explore and live on your own terms. To just exist. To just be.
For those two reasons, traveling makes me feel magnetic. I am open to and excited for new experiences. I am curious. I am kind (usually). I am peaceful and calm (mostly). I’m grateful and joyful and in my element. I am the best version of myself.

When Patrick returned home, I was left pondering these things as I continued my journey solo, trying to delay my own return home (which, at this moment, is a relative term).

So, why did I wake up this morning in a cold sweat?

Because now I’m flying to Florida and I don’t want to lose the feelings of 1, 2 and 3 upon my arrival.

Like, how do you bottle that up, so when you’re back home feeling your old friend anxiety creep in, you can just give yourself a little spritz of travel zest to feel that lightness and freedom and joy again?

(I think if travel were a perfume it would be called Explorer’s Essence…but without the actual scent of an explorer because, well, yeah, that would be a hard sell).

Anyway, this all sounds a little despondent, but you’re catching me at a crossroads. My job, home and future have yet to be sorted, and for the last 6 weeks, Peru provided a haven to hide as I sought clarity on these matters.

Now, as my plane flies further away from my Peruvian refuge, I am left wondering how I can maintain this state of serenity when I’m back stateside.

Cue the collective head shake from all my favorite spiritual sages. I know, I know. Happiness is within me. I don’t have to go far to find peace. But, sometimes, it sure does help.

So, what clarity did I find in Peru?

Well, I’m clear that I want to build something of my own. A business? A basecamp? A book? A boyfriend? A better life? We’ll see. Vamos a ver. But what I know now more than ever is that travel will continue to be an important part of whatever I do. As I eloquently put it…travel is my shit.

I’m also clear that I cannot have more than 3 pisco sours in one sitting. Let’s just leave it at that.

Peru, you gorgeous mujer. You provided peace I didn’t think was possible. You were a trip I didn’t know I needed. And now that I have a little posse of Peruvian compadres, I will see you again very soon. Hasta luego, mi amor. Until next time...

Africa

September 15, 2017July 31, 2020Posted in 30s, Africa, Backpacking, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Africa, Backpacking, overlanding, safari, Travel3 Comments

I wasn’t expecting the Serengeti to be such a sausage fest.

From willy-willies to dik-diks to actual sausage trees, these endless plains of Africa were lush with male members.

But of all my wild encounters with giraffes and zebras and gazelles and cheetahs and elephants and ostriches and warthogs and wildebeests and hippos and every damn creature you can think of, there was one male member of the animal kingdom that was markedly absent: The Lion King.

His female counterpart, however, was always around. You could find her meticulously mothering the cubs, gracefully napping in the bush and savagely hunting for the pride.

But The King was nowhere in sight. Probably philandering with other felines.

As they do.

And then there was Tuk Tuk Tom.

After three days in the Serengeti, I arrived back at camp to a very unusual sight. Parked up on the grass was a zebra painted tuk tuk with a sleeping hut built on top. I saw a figure laying in the hut and thought to myself, “Now, that guy has the right idea!”

Turns out, the carpenter behind the contraption was Tom from England. He had been traveling through Africa for the last 8 months on his motorbike, having his existential, Ewen McGregor-style life journey, and he was planning to take his newly customized tuk on the next leg of his trip.

I decided to introduce myself.

After all, my tour group consisted of couples and single ladies, so an opportunity to say hi to a cute boy traveling alone was not to be missed.

The next thing I knew, I was having a beer with Tuk Tuk Tom and deliberating whether or not I should jump on the back of his motorbike to hitch a 400-mile ride to the next stop on my African itinerary.

The next morning, I took him up on his offer.

After signing a waiver stating that if I died whilst gallivanting with a stranger in Africa, the tour company shall not be held responsible, and then waving goodbye to everyone as Tom and I moterbiked on out of the campsite (essentially playing out the greatest cliche of my life!)…we were finally on our way.

The first 5 hours were exhilarating! Here I was, zipping through the tiny villages and gorgeous landscape of Tanzania on the back of a motorbike with a cute British boy (pretty good going for having only been in Africa for 5 days!).

What an adventure! Everyone surely must be jealous of my alternative mode of transportation as they trudged along in the big yellow tour bus!

But then…

My back started to ache, my legs started to cramp, I couldn’t feel my ass anymore, my eyes started to burn…and it started to rain. Like, soak to the bone and everything you own, rain.

When we finally stopped for the night, had a hot shower, enjoyed some masala tea and inhaled a delicious curry, I was feeling much better. And, after a few hours of solid life chat, I realized Tom was much more than just my dashing driver.

34 hours later, I rejoined my group on the ferry to Zanzibar, dodging questions about my two-day escapade and trying to conceal the smile on my face.

“It was fun,” I said, casually. “I’m glad I went.”

And then I had a meltdown in Malawi.

That is to say, after 42 hours on a bus with my 23 loud and smelly travel companions (spending 12 of those hours puking in the Tanzanian/Malawian bush), I had reached my physical and emotional limit.

So, when we finally got to our destination at Lake Malawi, I immediately upgraded to a single room where I could spread out, chill out, and meltdown in peace.

Which is exactly what I did.

Good thing Lake Malawi is one of the most peaceful places on the planet, and for the next three days I rested, rode horses, and recovered just in time for another 2 days barreling through the total length of Zambia to get to the next stop on our route.

I was on a houseboat in Zimbabwe the day my ex got married.

As the boat slowly floated past bathing hippos and towards the sunset in the distance, I allowed myself a very brief moment to mourn.

And then I remembered I had a bottle of rum.

So, I smiled at the sky, thanked the universe for my blessings, grabbed the bottle and followed the music to the upper deck where I proceeded to dance and sing and get joyfully tipsy with my new friends; acutely aware of the far distance from the shore and the forward motion of the boat.

And then I fell in love with a rhino ranger named Ian.

Dressed in a full Top Gun onesie with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Ian proceeded to debrief our group about the game drive he would take us on the next morning.

With fiery passion, he explained all things rhino conservation in Africa and I found myself grabbing for an imaginary checkbook to give all my money to Ian and the rhinos.

The next morning, I was geared up with my safari chic attire, lipgloss and sass. And, when Ian offered up the front seat next to him in the jeep, I nearly broke my camera as I threw down my bag to claim the coveted spot.

The magnetism of this man had me glued to his side the whole day! A person so passionate he makes you reassess your purpose in life.

We spent the day crouching down 10 feet away from mama and baby rhinos, climbing caves to discuss ancient bushmen paintings, and soaking in the stunning surroundings of Matobo National park and the glorious Zimbabwean bush.

This was a day of magical, mystical, otherworldly proportions. A day that will forever be filed in my best days memory bank.

And, Ian? Well, he will forever be filed in my sexy, middle-aged man crush bank…

A girl can dream.

If you haven’t found God yet, go to Victoria Falls.

That is all.

And just as I was really hitting my traveling stride, I had to say goodbye to my new, fabulous, tour group friends.

After 33 days of exploring some of the most beautiful places on earth together, and bonding over things like…

Bush pees
Sharing Maasai blankets because, yes, Africa gets cold in the winter
Pitching tents in the pitch dark
16-hour bus rides, 3 days in a row
Spiritual moments interrupted by loud, Cockney accents
All kinds of bodily malfunctions

…we had finally become a little family.

Oh, but my African adventure wasn’t over yet.

With 2 more weeks left on the agenda, I was gearing up for Part II:

Namibia → Cape Town

Who drives 918.6 miles to pick someone up at the airport?

Tuk Tuk Tom does.

But this time his chariot of choice was a tiny gold Toyota Etios – one of those weird models that don’t ever make it to America.

But, it was perfect.

And, for the next 11 days, Tom and I traversed the great deserts of Namibia, visiting smelly seal colonies, climbing unforgiving sand dunes, camping under magnificent African skies and hiking around the various canyons and rocks that define Namibia’s dramatic landscape.

Most of our time, however, was spent in the car.

We passed the time by taking naps (me), drinking wine (me), sharing life stories and blasting power ballads (I didn’t realize how much Tom loved Celine Dion, but I sure wasn’t complaining!).

Tom even taught me how to drive a stick shift!

Uh oh.

Now, I was doing just fine for the first 20 minutes. We were the only people on the road, not a lot of gear changes, and I was feeling confident.

And then I hit some gravel and we spun out of control.

As Tom yelled to, “keep the car straight!”, I overcompensated, and several 180 degree spins later, we skid to an abrupt stop.

Tom was calm as a cucumber – I think he even laughed. I, on the other hand, had seen my life pass before me and was sure I was dead.

Luckily, we were fine, and for the next couple of hours, Tom and I picked pebbles out of the rims of the car, with tent pegs, in the middle of the Namib desert.

Not a soul in sight.

And then I laughed at how random and fortunate my life was at that exact moment.

I nearly lost my shit when we crossed the border to South Africa.

Cape Town was on top of my “cities I want to visit” list for years, and it had been the catalyst to my amazing African journey. Now, it was only a stone’s throw away.

With a bag of biltong and a bottle of Pinotage between my legs, Toto’s Africa on full blast, and the sun-soaked South African wineries out the window, just beyond Tom’s man bun, I started to have a happy panic attack.

It happens sometimes – when life hands me a bunch of amazing things all at once.

That was one of those times.

After several more magical days of wine tasting and Cape Town exploring, my time with Tom was over and my African adventure was coming to an end.

Sitting in my sweet little studio in Camps Bay, I reflected on the summer I had just experienced…

10 countries, 2 months, and more miles clocked than the circumference of the earth!

At 31, I had managed to pull off another backpacking adventure for the books! (Shout out to the splendors of single life and summers off!)

Africa was epic.

With its storybook narrative – adventure! romance! memorable characters! – it reminded me of why I’ll always keep exploring.

I did finally see The Lion King at the end of that first safari.

He was sitting very far away, alone, with his enormous golden mane framing his (possibly post-coitus) contemplative face.

That’s how I’ll remember Africa.

Wild and graceful. Golden and free.

I will see you again soon, Mother Africa, you gorgeous Queen.

Oh, yeah. And as for Tuk Tuk Tom?

Well, let’s just say I haven’t completely put the lid on my African box. That sounds dirty. But, you know what I mean. Wait, do you know what I mean? Do I even know what I mean?

I guess it means stay tuned…