Travel – Page 2 – Thinking Over 30

The Bubble

May 12, 2021December 28, 2021Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, mexico, self-discovery, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Dating, Love, mexico, phd, self-love, teaching, Travel1 Comment

As I laid in bed in my Mexican condo, beside my Mexican lover, watching Narcos Mexico on my Mexican TV, it finally dawned on me...

Oh yeah. I live in Mexico.

You see, I’d been stuck inside a bubble for the past five months. Granted, this bubble was a multi-million dollar mansion on the Sea of Cortez, equipped with a private chef, butler and anything my little corazón desired.

Everything except…privacy.

That would come after a vaccination and some negotiation.

OK, let me back this bubble story up a bit.

Last September I signed on to be a traveling teacher for a jet-set family. It was a wild and wonderful opportunity that came at an amenable time. The world was still recovering from the pesky pandemic, so why not wait it out in the lap of luxury and pile some pesos while I was at it? It was a no-brainer. I packed my bags and headed to the West Coast.

The caveat was that I’d be living with my employers. Not the worst thing if your employers provide all the aforementioned living amenities. But, for a 35-year-old single woman, this was going to be quite an adjustment.

Nevertheless, I committed.

And for the next five months, I found myself holed up in what I lovingly called the Cabo COVID Convent. I took full advantage of the all-inclusive set-up as I spent every non-working hour plugging away at my 200-page research paper.

If I wasn’t going to have a social life, I would at least finish my dissertation.

And, I was actually starting to get used to this swanky, solitary lifestyle. In fact, I took a solo Christmas sojourn around Baja that turned out to be one of the most blissful trips I’ve ever encountered.

But a social creature like me doesn’t last long alone. And, although I was enjoying my time with the “gente de la casa,” I needed a life outside the gilded gates within which I resided.

So, when the first vaccine shot presented itself to my arm, I gladly took it.

This was my freedom card.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

Oh, Holly. You jumped the gun, girl.

You know that Mexican lover I mentioned? Well, five days after my first shot, he invited me to dinner. The truth is, I sometimes snuck out of my bubble to feel like a pre-COVID person who has drinks with friends.

Now, before you lecture me on how my antibodies wouldn’t have kicked in yet, trust me, I was aware. But, alas. An innocent dinner with an infected friend turned into a 2-week quarantine as I recovered from the virus that has pestered us all for the past year.

F*cking COVID.

I had lived in an airtight bubble for many months, and it finally got me. Perfect timing, too. I had the biggest presentation of my Ph.D. life, and I couldn’t get out of bed. No smell, no taste, no hope. But, with all the time in the world, I powered through and defended my dissertation in the confines of a small, sullied Mexican hotel room.

I celebrated by taking a nap.

You can’t make this shit up.

So, what’s the silver lining?

Well, after my quarantine, I moved into my own condo. I had also started spending more time with the person that put me in quarantine in the first place. We started exploring Cabo in a way that made me feel like I actually lived there. And, I eventually got to spend a glorious week celebrating my graduation with family, friends and so much love.

So, yeah. Another example of life’s little rollercoaster shenanigans that always end in lessons learned and life lived.

And, as I prepare to leave the community I just started to feel comfortable in (we’re only in Cabo for the season, daaaling), I am reflecting hard on what commitment means and relishing my brief time with beautiful new friends.

Stay tuned for notes on my summer in San Diego…

The Lost Year. Here’s What I’ve Found.

September 27, 2020October 4, 2020Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, covid, life, Love, self-discovery, self-improvement, self-love, teaching, Travel2 Comments

You will love San Diego. Trust me. You will see. You will love it here.

It’s late and I’m trying to be cordial to my enthusiastic Uber driver. He’s originally from Iraq, and he regales me with reasons why he moved to San Diego. Fleeing from war and religious persecution in his motherland, yes, but…

the weather, mostly.

It’s been a weird year for the world – a lost year, if you will. And, in this moment, with this Uber driver, on my way to quarantine in the pool house of a very wealthy family before I start a 4-day working interview for the role of private teacher, fits perfectly in the nutty narrative of 2020.

But as much as we’ve lost this year – jobs, lives, our minds – COVID, for many of us, has been the catalyst for self-discovery. From unearthing buried burdens, to unpacking past relationships, to unscrewing the cork off of many a wine bottle, I’ve actually found a lot of useful things in this bizaar year.

Here’s some of the most important.

I am the sum of all my romantic experiences

Now, I’m not great at math, but I’m pretty sure that if you count up all of my heartbreaks, plus my disappointments, divide by all of my fabulous flings, subtract by the number of almost lovers, solve the slope of my first love, approximate the linear relationships of all the difficult dudes, and multiply by the power of 2 beautiful Brazilians and, well, that pretty much sums me up.

Indeed, I have found that all of my romantic relationships are a reflection of me and my flaws and my patterns that need adjusting. They’ve played a huge part in discovering who I am and what I want from a partner. So, I truly thank them. No resentment, only gratitude.

Speaking of…

Writing in a daily gratitude journal is totally transformative

Seriously. I know it’s kind of a life coach cliché, but that shit works. I bought one back in July when I started to feel a complete nervous breakdown coming on. As someone who has been actively trying to avoid such a personal catastrophe, I decided to give the gratitude journal a shot. Besides, I had the new privilege of leisurely mornings where I could make an elaborate breakfast and write down what I was grateful for.

And, so I did.

I’ve found that this simple ritual has transformed my mindset (and green smoothies have transformed my skin!). Starting each day with a focus, an affirmation, and a gratitude list has started shifting my anxious attitude to a more positive and productive perspective. It’s given me space to reflect on all the good things in my life and focus on staying calm, cool and collected, even if the rest of the world is falling apart.

In other words, I’ve started to…

Stop worrying and start living

Dale Carnegie’s 1948 practical guide to living a more joyful life has never been more apropos than right now. This guy knew that worrying will always be a disease of the human condition. So, he wrote a book to help cure us of the sickness that is stress, worry, anxiety, panick, etc. I’m halfway through, and, let me tell ya’, I’m starting to turn into a zen buddhist.

Most of our worry is made up of scenarios that haven’t even happened yet. We agonize over uncertainty until we literally make ourselves ill. For me, stress lives in my gut and, earlier this year, I couldn’t eat most foods, including my favorite COVID companion, wine. Travesty! I had to sort my stress out fast. Yet another catalyst of my self-care kick, and my discovery of Carnegie’s wisdom on combating worry.

Continuous self-improvement is a life-long game, people. I’m just glad I’m finally starting to learn the rules (and, shout out to some badass chicks that have been doing the work for years and are now dedicated to spreading the love and throwing some free life advice my way! – Marina and Poppy 🙂 )

These are only 3 of many eye-opening discoveries I’ve made during this lost year. It took a global pandemic to stop us all in our tracks and force us to sit with our demons and reassess our lives. For me, it meant working through past traumas, letting go, taking responsibility, staying gracious and embracing uncertainty. Because, shit. You just never know what life is gonna throw at you, do you?

I certainly didn’t think I’d ride the Covid wave to San Diego to start a new gig. But, here I am, polishing off this post with a glass of chardonnay in the rose garden, and processing just how wild 2020 has been.

As I start this new chapter (which will probably fill the pages of a book), I’m grateful for how far I’ve come, and excited for the work ahead. I will miss my Miami life and all who made it memorable. But, it was time for a change.

And a new adventure awaits.

OK, admittedly, this was an emo post. But, don’t worry. I will soon have tales of private jets and pool boy affairs. I just need to review my NDA to see what I can get away with…

Stay tuned.

–

Cuba and Other Curiosities

March 10, 2020October 11, 2021Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, cuba, Dating, explore, Love, Travel1 Comment

Sitting on my balcony, savoring the cool, Cuban breeze and the ¡Oye, coños! of the people in the plaza below, I’m curiously reflecting on how I ended up in Havana.

And, I’m drinking lots of rum.

Actually, there’s been a few curiosities that have presented themselves in 2020. And, as this blog goes, I feel compelled to contemplate these curiosities here so I can continue decoding life and all its puzzling glory.

And, it’s cheaper than therapy.

So, here we go. Vamanos.

Curiosity #1 – Cuba

I flew to Havana to see about a boy.

This in itself is a curiosity worth explaining. But, I’ll save it for another day. Let’s just say, this last minute Cuban rendezvous was 8 years in the making. And, although my trip might have caused a bit of a commotion, exploring Old Havana with an old friend was a new adventure worth taking.

Fresh off the plane, I found myself being driven to meet with the Cuban mafia. OK, that’s an exaggeration. But, shady business was immediately being conducted as my USD was being exchanged for CUC. And, me? Well, I was sipping my mojito and laughing with my new Cuban-American companion whom I had met on the short, 1-hour flight. He was treating me to lunch and rum and taxi rides. And, as it turns out, great exchange rates.

When I finally arrived in Havana Vieja, I was almost 2 hours late to meet my handsome companion, M. He was waiting outside with a concerned look on his face. But as I jumped out of the taxi and greeted him with an enthusiastic hug (thank you, multiple mojitos), he seemed to lighten up.

And, for the next three days we walked and talked and reveled in the vitality of Havana. The abuela on the balcony hanging her clothes and greeting her neighbors. The niños on the street playing a game of baseball with a wooden stick. The vibrant colors of the crumbling, colonial architecture. And, of course, the glorious old cars echoing Cuba’s glory days.

All of it felt alive in a way I’ve never experienced in other countries. But, at what cost?

I left Cuba curious about Communism and the sentiment of the Cuban people. But, I was grateful to have been let in to briefly experience our small, spicy neighbor to the South (before a pesky virus or a new government restriction shut that dream down!).

Curiosity #2 – The Secluded Life of a PhD Student

Dear God, where do I start?

This is my 5th year of my PhD program. And, although I knew it would be challenging to leave the comfort of my classroom to work for my university in order to fast track this degree to fruition, I could have never imagined the physical and emotional toll it would take.

Let’s start with sitting.

Most days, I sit for hours. After nearly 8 years of standing and dancing and doing backflips to keep my students engaged and entertained, this new, sedentary lifestyle has been a shock to my system. Is it a blessing to have the time and silence to read and write and work on my pending 200-page research paper? Absolutely! But, does my body now feel like that of an arthritic 80-year-old lady? Yes. Yes, it does. Honestly, how do you desk job people do it?!

And then there’s the unexpected emotional reaction I had to leaving the classroom.

I now wake up every day (NOT at 5:30 am, glory be to God!) feeling this void that was once filled by the dependency of my students. Before, I was needed. I had a deep sense of purpose. I could give my time, energy and effort to the betterment of my kids. I got my maternal rocks off.

I didn’t realize how much I needed to nurture, until no one needed my nurturing.

(Which left me open to start a curious codependent relationship. Oops. See Curiosity #3).

Finally, my research. Oh, the bureaucracy and paperwork and deadlines! All of this – a mild form of torture. But, wait! I have been buried in books that have boosted my brain, I’ve already written half of my dissertation, and I’ve helped develop the first international student teaching program at my university. All of this – a dream come true.

So, fine. I’ll take the lower back pain and lack of dependency if it means I can soon make my career great again. #PhD2020.

Curiosity #3 – Friends with Benefits

Once upon a time, I would lecture my guy friends on the unfairness of carrying on a relationship that they knew had an expiration date, but was a good “filler” until the next thing came along. I could not wrap my head around knowingly investing time and energy into someone that wasn’t going to stick around. No sir. I’d never be someone’s filler!

And then I met L.

Actually, it was my mom who first broke the ice. Turns out, Charlotte is the best wing woman one can have. As my biggest fan, she has no fear sauntering right up to the cutest boy at the bar to roll out my resume and all my dateable assets in a smooth, 30 second pitch. I stand behind her, acting embarrassed while the ~~unsuspecting victim~~ nice gentleman looks over my mom’s shoulder to check out the daughter in question.

It’s endearing. It’s unexpected. It works like a charm.

One such encounter last May turned into the last 5 months of me navigating new relationship territory commonly known as friends with benefits (or, more accurately known as codependency).

Now, this is a land that I’m not familiar with. Nor did I start hanging out with L with the expectation that this road would have a dead end. Instead, I didn’t really think about it too much. He was available. I was vulnerable. And, my mom approved.

So, we hung out. Like, a lot. And, we became friends. Like, for real. And then there were, you know, the benefits.

But L took up a lot of space. He was disruptive. Together, we were fiery. And, what sparked my interest at first turned into constant heated debates that often left me utterly deflated.

Soon, I found myself on an emotional roller coaster that I wasn’t sure was worth the ride.

So, when that all important 3-month mark came along, and I wasn’t feeling much push in a more long-term, romantic direction, it dawned on me. We cared for each other. We appreciated the convenience of each other. But, in the end, we were just friends.

Not ready to give up the benefits just yet, I signed up for a few more months with L.

But as my feelings grew sensitive and my self-worth grew impatient, I realized that a friends with benefits set-up just wasn’t for me.

Spoiler alert! I’ve never been the cool girl that can do the casual dating thing without getting her feelings hurt. And for my ladies who can? Congratulations! You’re robots.

For now, we can put that curiosity to bed. Alone. No friends or codependents allowed.

So, what has come from my curious contemplations?

Well, understanding the power of being present.

L was not destined to be the father of my children, but when I stopped thinking so much about our fate, I started understanding the meaning of his presence in my life. He taught me a lot. Mostly, about the critical need to protect my heart. And, to not sell myself short.

This secluded PhD life ain’t easy for a socially needy extrovert. But, as I connect with my colleagues and banter with my professors, I’m learning to enjoy the everyday interactions that make this isolating experience tolerable.

Finally, my reservations about my Cuban affair with M were quickly replaced by his calm, shielding presence and my gratitude for the many moments that made my trip so memorable.

So, yeah. Be present, connect with and learn from the people in front of you and read Mark Nepo…he will change your life.

Stay tuned for more curious contemplations…

The Seattle Experience

September 18, 2019September 20, 2019Posted in 30s, Backpacking, camping, Dating, Love, seattle, solo travel, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, camping, Dating, explore, Love, pacific northwest, seattle, Travel, washington stateLeave a comment

Gnawing on some beef jerky, within grabbing distance of my bear spray, I wondered if choosing Campsite 13 would prove to be unlucky.

Forest Ranger Jen, with all her tree-hugging enthusiasm, assured me that I was actually very lucky to have even nabbed a campsite, and that 13 was particularly lovely given its proximity to the creek. She also told me to be “bear safe.”

I hoped that just meant spray.

This camping trip to North Cascades National Park would be a solo one. I couldn’t convince any of the other interns to join me, even after commandeering a car and gear, so, I set out on my own.

After all, it was summer in Washington State, and I was determined to soak in all the Pacific Northwest glory I could get my Floridian hands on.

I had moved to Seattle for a dream internship at the Bill and ~~Holly~~ Melinda Gates Foundation.

After kicking a few doors down to get there, I had finally reached the mecca of all work places.

State-of-the-art facilities, free snacks and catered lunches (the “Foundation 15” is a delightful souvenir I got to take home), flexible work hours (“We trust you’ll do good work, Holly, so do it on your own terms”) and anything else you could possibly need to facilitate an optimal work-life balance.

Oh yeah, and then there was Lumber James, the gorgeous giant on the strategy team whom I stalked every day during lunch in the atrium (and whom I had to ultimately avoid after he ghosted me on Bumble. I guess he didn’t want to get caught fraternizing with an intern. Or, maybe it was my strong opener about stalking him in the atrium. Nevermind.).

Speaking of Bumble…

After a string of good fortune back in Miami, I was ready to hit the Seattle dating scene hard.

I envisioned a suitor who would enjoy all the splendors of a Seattle summer with me. And, bonus! I would only be there for 3 months. No strings attached. Every dude’s dream.

So, I started swiping right.

The flannel! The height! The educational backgrounds! These Washington boys had me in burley lumberjack/nerdy tech guy heaven!

And, that’s how I met Matt.

As we sipped our beers on my spectacular roof deck (thank you, Bill and Melinda), I learned that Matt, a boyishly handsome Seattleite, had been the lead singer of a band for many years and was making the excruciating transition into the corporate world as an Amazon intern.

A smart, sensitive, local boy who made me laugh and was nice to look at? Jackpot.

But, as our hangouts became harder to orchestrate, and our time together seemed vaguely disconnected, it was clear there were differences in time and emotional availability.

In true Holly fashion, I said YES! I showed up. I was keen and made concessions. (It also didn’t help that I was becoming a fangirl of Matt’s band, and, therefore, let a lot of things slide). Matt, on the other hand, was navigating a major identity crisis and didn’t have much bandwidth for a summer fling.

Although there were some bright spots (Live music! Log cabins! Laughs over libations!) my hope for an available affair did not exactly come to fruition.

At least, not until the end of my Seattle stint…

Meanwhile, back at the Foundation headquarters, I was navigating a whole new world of, well, everything.

After 7 years in my sheltered classroom, I was shell-shocked.

Those first few weeks were perplexing. Listening to my fellow interns drop their MBA jargon bombs – Upstream? Deep dives? Low-hanging fruit? – I struggled to keep up with the conversation. And, not to mention learning the Foundation lexicon and all the acronyms that come with it…PBD, SPO, BMGF (took me an embarrassing amount of time to get that one).

As a result, I kept my mouth shut. I absorbed. I processed. I did a lot of positive self-talk to shake the daily feeling of being a complete and utter imposter.

Like, seriously. What was I doing here?

I was surrounded by some of the world’s smartest people, commissioned to strategize on how to solve some of the world’s biggest problems.

…The biggest problem I’ve solved in recent history has been resetting the code on a lockbox. And, obviously, YouTube did most of the heavy lifting.

The ivy-league titles of the interns didn’t help either. Masters in global health at Harvard. PhD in biochemical engineering at Princeton. MBAs at Yale, Booth and Wharton. Aaaah!

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my university. And, in Miami, I’m basically Einstein. But, this was next level stuff. Although I managed to get a seat at the same privileged table, I still felt like I had something to prove.

Luckily, my exceptional intern friends not only inspired me to think harder and be better, but they reminded me just how worthy I was to be there.

It turns out, being an educator for a decade has its place in high-level strategy meetings where high-stakes investments are being made to help serve the communities you’ve been working in your whole career. Aha! My value-add.

Speaking of feeling valuable…..

Enter New Rob.

I met New Rob (named such because Old Rob was my work husband whom I’d met New Rob through) a month before I left Seattle. He was an engineer between jobs, and had taken the summer off to explore the glories of Seattle and beyond. He hiked almost every day. He went out at night. He said YES! He was available. He included me in everything.

In one breath, New Rob said things to me that I’ve hardly heard in my decade of dating.

So, just as I was feeling defeated by my recent dating deficits, New Rob showed up and made me feel like a million bucks.

I looped in one last solo camping trip before I left Seattle.

Armed with my gear, I walked the .7 miles through enchanting Douglas-fir trees to get to the sacred Second Beach on the Olympic Peninsula.

For the next 24 hours, however, I was consumed by deep, melancholy thought. I blame it on the intense beauty of the rugged coast I was experiencing by myself.

(Just FYI…when I post wistful photos on Instagram, accompanied by folk songs that have the words “seaside” or “coastline” in the lyrics…know that I’m in emotional turmoil).

When I finally managed to break my contemplative spell, I brushed the sand off my feet and expressed my gratitude with a reflective prayer:

“Dear Universe, thank you for the following blessings…”

-Having the privilege and able body to experience the world’s most spectacular beauty

-Meeting inspiring people that make me better and show me my worth

-The view of Seattle from my roof deck

-Guys named Rob

-The Pacific Northwest

-My mom’s cross-country visit and our subsequent mother-daughter adventures

-Free lunch at the Foundation

-Not being eaten by a bear at Campsite 13

So, yeah. That’s it. My summer in Seattle.

A privileged job, amazing new friends, nature for days, and a few more life lessons learned.

And, as I ease my way back into Miami life, I am still dreaming of mountainous national parks, tall boys in plaid shirts, and coastlines that make you cry.

Seattle, you gorgeous Space Needle lady, I’ll see you again soon.

Falling for a Fantasy (And Other Bad Habits to Break)

April 24, 2019November 8, 2019Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Dating, explore, Love, Travel5 Comments

When it comes to romantic relationships, you wouldn’t exactly call me a pragmatist.

You see, my track record with the opposite sex consists of dates with arms dealers, flings with foreigners and agonizing, forever, over ancient affairs.

I even moved to the other side of the world once after a single Skype call.

These bad romantic habits (along with some recent run-ins with some former flames) have got me all reflective on my tendency to avoid picking practical partners for the thrill of falling for a fantasy.

This proclivity, as you can guess, has not been productive. In fact, it’s been downright self-sabotaging.

So, as I cool off after my latest flame, my thoughts are once again turned to the trials and tribulations of dating in my 30s.

The first reminder of my impractical dating patterns came last fall when I ran into my Mystery Man.

After a couple of quiet years, the snake-charming, figment of my imagination popped out of nowhere and serenaded me just long enough to remember how much of an emotional sorcerer he actually is. And how easily I can fall back into my feeble fantasy where we live happily ever after in the motherland with our beautiful Lebanese-American babies, eating baba ghanoush under dancing cedar trees.

Trust me, if you met Mystery Man, your fantasies would be cut from a similar cloth.

And then came the winter. And with it, a very brief affair with a boy who happens to have the same personality type as my ex. In case you were wondering, that’s not exactly a good thing…at least not for me. Still, I entertained it long enough to stir up my PTSD and kick my ass into better dating decisions gear.

Which led me to my recent spring fling.

I reached out and reconnected with a former flame whom, for 3 years, I had lauded as “the good guy I wish I had pursued.” He had shown up for me in the past but I had been under another’s spell (damn you, snake charmer!). But, alas! The stars seemed to finally align, and, after a month’s worth of frequent Facetime, sweet texts and provocative pics, the fantasy of a prospective West Coast relationship started to take shape. After all, I would be moving to Seattle for the summer, so this actually seemed like a realistic pursuit.

And, this guy was actually worth pursuing.

But after all the hopeful, exciting, anticipatory build-up of our next encounter, the fantasy didn’t quite match the reality, and our reconnection turned into something of a misconnection.

As it turns out, distance, timing and high expectations can ruin romance before it even starts.

And, just like that, my bubble burst, my ego was checked, and I was back on the hard ground of reality yet again.

So, what exactly is that reality?

Well, it’s the reality that, at 33, my romantic life has been somewhat disappointing. That love has often let me down and dating apps have created a cold world of casual connections. That the pressure to settle down has now started to come from me and not my fretful family. And that broody feeling thing? Yeah, that’s happening.

As someone who airs on the side of open and optimistic, I’ve got to admit, momma is starting to get skeptical.

Luckily, I’m on a feverish path to self-improvement and, as I reflect on my recent romantic faux pas, I’m asking myself a few probing questions:

#1 – Do I hang up my fantasy hat for Craig the accountant?

#2 – Do I say no to professional prospects in order to keep myself more domestically attractive?

#3 – Do I slow my travel roll in order to cultivate more locally-grown lovers?

#4 – Do I trade in my independence and sass to play the part of the damsel in distress?

The answer to all these questions, is, of course, a resounding hell no.

All my world travels and lofty pursuits and fantastical romantic reveries may not have quite led me to my life partner yet, but they sure have made life fun.

And, my stories much more interesting.

So, as I unpack after my most recent trip to fantasy land, I know this to be true:

The best love will come as I’m living my best life. It’ll be easy, right, and, dare I say…realistic!

But with a pinch of magic, of course. Because, what’s life without a bit of magic?

Onward and upward and all that.

Plus, I hear Seattle guys are cute, so…

Since Turning 32

June 13, 2018July 31, 2020Posted in 30s, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Travel1 Comment

I’ve been in Beijing for over 48 hours and I still haven’t had a full conversation with another human being.

Instead, I’ve been roaming the Hutongs (alleyways, or what I like to think of as the Chinese version of my last name) and waiting patiently for my tour to start. Similar to last year in Africa, I’ve opted for a 2-week guided tour to give me a little Chinese taster without all the fuss of organizing it myself. Because, yes, comfort and convenience have become good travel companions in my 30s.

In fact, I’m eating an American breakfast as we speak.

Relax, people, I’m sure I’ll eat my weight in dumplings before this trip is over.

It turns out China’s internet game is not strong.

Of course, if I had done my homework, I would have remembered that the Great “Firewall” of China is as mighty as ever. Google, WhatsApp, Instagram…they are all my ostracized friends that are not welcomed here. As a result, I have plenty of time to read, write and practice what I preach to my students – “I will not die without the internet!”

So, today is a writing day. Or, what I like to call catching up on the last 8 months of my life, since turning 32.

Tuk Tuk Tom came to visit me for my birthday.

And, even though my real world Miami life-with its 6:00 am wake-up calls and $20 cocktails- would be a far cry from our African adventure, I wasn’t going to pass up a sweet birthday treat in the form of a handsome British man.

Tom’s trip kicked off with a week-long classic Florida tour, complete with gator-hunting, manatee-watching and mermaid-creeping. He even got to spend his first American thanksgiving with my family!

Unfortunately, the last British boy I brought home left my family slightly skeptical. But, Tom did a great job charming them with his cello-playing, mom-flattering, dish-washing ways.

Back in Miami, I gathered my crew, threw on some shoulder pads and white pumps, and rang in my 32nd year with a Miami Vice-themed birthday party.

Everyone was on top form, especially Crockett-obsessed Tom who really got into the Vice City groove. It was a memorable night, indeed.

Two weeks later, Tom was gone.

But, it was ok. I was ok. I had managed my expectations, understood the different paths we both were on and enjoyed our time together for what it was. I guess that’s 32.

And, yeah, maybe I still like to tell our epic “how we met” tale. Can you blame me?!

I took a trip to Spain for Christmas.

It was an impulse purchase based on plans that all fell through. And just before I thought I’d be walking the Camino on a solo journey to Catholic conversion, my friend Alex impulsively booked a ticket too.

Phew, that was a close one.

Flash forward to New Year’s Eve. Standing on the rooftop of our random hostel in the small Medieval town of Toledo, I heard someone shout, “Ms. Hutton!”

“Oh Dear God,” I said. “Why? How?! Not on my vacation!”

Turned out to be the lunch lady at my school, which, still is a lottery-odds chance of happening. But at least I wasn’t caught by a student in the throws of my NYE’s champagne merriment.

Phew, another close one!

From there, we proceeded to eat and drink our way through Madrid, Toledo, Sevilla and Lisbon. Along the way, we met friends and tour guides like Javi and Oscar, partook in magical moments like sleeping in Portuguese castles, and indulged in instantly regrettable decisions like dying my hair dark.

YOLO does not apply to your hair, Holly. Remember that.

One morning in March, I woke up to what sounded like the collective buzz of a million bees.

But before I could contemplate a My Girl demise, I realized that these little buzzing creatures wanted only to feast on the cacti blossoms that surrounded the romantic retreat I had booked for myself somewhere in the mountains of Mexico.

The next day, I found myself shotgun in a beat up truck, hitching a ride with some hombres (presumably the “good” kind) to a private members club in the middle of the desert where I threw back mescal with a famous Mexican movie director and a best-selling American author.

Back at my retreat, I sat with my Modelo and a million-dollar view…

…just me, the bees and my reflections on how random and wonderful my life continues to be.

And now, it’s summer again. And Asia is my home for the next two months.

Perhaps, I’ll have another random summer romance. Or, I’ll simply enjoy the company of my Asia-residing friends. Either way, one thing is for certain…another adventure awaits and a new blog post is already starting to brew.

Stay tuned…

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…