Think Red Baron

July 29th was our fifth anniversary, and we wanted to do something really special to celebrate the day. We’ve done helicopter rides, we’ve summitted Denali in a small bush plane, oxygen masks and all, we’ve been dog sledding on a glacier, we’ve been horseback riding, we often ride rollercoasters, and we’re getting married in a hot air balloon. Erin has even been skydiving. One thing that we’ve often seen advertised, but had yet to do, is take a ride in a biplane. Think Snoopy. Think the Red Baron. Yeah, that seems special, right? What could go wrong?

We showed up for a romantic sunset biplane ride over Martha’s Vineyard and got strapped in. Something feels fundamentally wrong about sitting in front of your pilot. Maybe that should have been Erin’s first clue that this would not be her dream come true anniversary celebration.

We put on our leather caps (yeah, because those will protect our skulls, right?) with the cool goggles connected to them, and they pulled the seatbelt tight. All was secure, and before we knew it, we were off!

Taking off in a flight on a grass runway is interesting. In fact, the Katama Airfield, where we got our biplane flight, is one of the last remaining grass airports in the country. There may be a reason for that.

Begee was instantly in heaven, laughing and smiling in that weird way that he does even on rollercoasters when everyone else is screaming, while Erin was instantly terrified, clinging to Begee for dear life. That was not the reaction she expected.

There’s something fundamentally wrong about feeling the air on your face while in a plane. That’s two strikes.

Our pilot, Mike, flew us over South Beach, out over Katama Bay looking for great white sharks (think “Jaws”) – luckily (or not) we didn’t see any because the water was too choppy. We went up and over Chappaquiddick Island, where we got our first glimpse of the Cape Poge Lighthouse. We zoomed up and down, all around, to meet the other biplane, and Erin’s fingernails dug deeper into Begee’s poor arm. He was still giggling and enjoying every second, not even minding that he couldn’t see the pilot or the fact that there was nothing but a leather cap between his head and the sky. Unfortunately, Begee wasn’t able to take as many pictures as he might have liked, as there was no way Erin was letting go of his arm.

Mike had asked before we got in the plane if we would like to do some fun stunt stuff – rolls and dives and the like – for free. He’d throw it in there for us. This is an experience people usually pay extra for. “We’ll see when we get up there,” Erin said. “Sure, sure,” Mike said. “Most people calm down once they’re airborne. They see how stable biplanes really are.” Erin has never been in the category “most people.”

“You alright there, Erin?” He kept asking over the headset radio. He was sitting behind us, but still could tell how terrified she was. Was it that obvious? Maybe it was the fact that with every right turn, she turned as far left as possible without leaning out of the plane. Maybe it was the fact that her head never left the forward-facing position. Maybe he could just smell the fear.

We flew over David Letterman’s house, Meg Ryan’s house (who we later saw at the grocery store – Meg, if you read this, you’re too skinny for your lips!), the “Jaws” and Ted Kennedy bridges, the beautiful coastline all around the island, and the resort where we’re working this summer. Mike even slowed down and turned back a little so Erin could take a picture of the resort, but that meant she had to move her head from the forward-facing position to one facing directly to the ground below, so no picture was to be taken. Oh well. We’ve seen the resort. We know what it looks like.

We flew low over the ocean. Begee especially enjoyed this feeling. Erin especially did not.

Once we circled in for landing, Begee became the sad one and Erin the happy one. She was never so happy as to see a grass runway! Begee was sad the flight was over so soon and wanted to do more, especially the loop-de-loops. Erin just wanted to kiss the ground.

Once we got out, we couldn’t wipe the smiles from our faces – Begee because of the amazing and exhilarating flight, and Erin because it was over. Mike said, “Look how happy she is to be on the ground again!” and then discussed with us how to conquer such a fear of flying in a biplane. He said Erin was by far his most terrified passenger. Great – what an accomplishment. He offered to take us up again when Erin is ready. “You’ll know when you’re ready,” he said.

As we write this entry almost a month after, she’s still not ready.

Begee, however, is anxiously awaiting his second flight, leather helmet, cool goggles, and all.

Mountain Musings

My last blog was written around the time I departed Thailand, so these first couple of paragraphs are an abridged chronological catch-up.
After brief visits with family and friends in the States, I spent two months working at Yellowstone National Park. That was followed by a month hiking in the Sierra's, and two days ago I arrived in China.

This blog was written in the Beijing airport, and is being sent from a hotel in Urumxi, the capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region. The content is not about China, however (that'll come next time). This entry is the consolidation of scribblings from my time in the Sierra's. So if at times the use of present-tense makes it sound like I'm still hiking, don't be misled. The article's rough draft material came from the California mountains, but the finished product (like so many other products) was MADE IN CHINA.

With every wilderness experience there is a continual dance from the mundane "survival" mode (soggy beloging on a rainy morning that need to be packed, charred pots that need to be washed, chapped lips, cat-holes in the woods, stiff stinky socks) to the "sacred" (singing, dancing, praying, panoramic views, a special place, panther tracks) and back to survival again (cold feet, protecting food, blisters, shelter). Every moment is an integration of being a human of culture, lugging a 50-pound backpack up and down hills, with being wild and at home, frolicking in a swift river like a beaver. -Renee Soulee, "Wilderness Ecopsychology"

This article is mostly concerned with the mundane, but don't get the wrong idea. So fresh from my wilderness experience, I feel my words inadequate to describe the depth of the sacred. But it was there.

The John Muir Trail is approximately 220 miles, and runs between Yosemite Valley and Mount Whitney in the California Sierra's. This is the fourth time that I've hiked this route, although the last time was in 1987. The first time I was only 14, and that stretches back time even further.

The trail has changed some since then, but not considerably. There are more people now, and more regulations. For example, now hikers are required to pack out their used toilet paper. Fortunately, extended time in Thailand has given me alternative methods. "Toilet paper? I don't need no stinkin' toilet paper." Emphasis on stinking.

There are more flies on the trail also, maybe the result of more dung from horse and mule trains. It's a bit disconcerting, but these flies who thrive on waste and filth won't go within inches of my bare feet. I guess it's a good thing I'm not sharing a tent this trip.

Anyway, enough elucidation about elimination. Scat, scat.

Another development on the trail has been the emergence of the 'go-lite backpacker,' hikers who have made a science of minimizing the pounds and ounces of their packs. The plus side to that, of course, is the pleasure of a lighter backpack. A downside is that the minimal food they carry forces them to rush very quickly from point A to B.

This is all well and good, for there are many different ways to walk through these mountains. However, there is a sub-species of the go-lite hiker whom I personally find a bit tiresome. This is the go-lite fanatic, who not only believes that his way is best, but that it would be better for you as well. Within minutes of meeting them on the trail they have informed you of the weight they started with, how much they're carrying now, and what their pack will weigh tomorrow. In the same breath they recite the distance they covered so far today, and how long the trip will take them in total. But most irritating, is that while they are offering this unsolicited information, they are also sadly and superiorly eying my own bulging backpack. They may give lip service to nature's beauty, but 'stop and smell the pine trees' just isn't a part of their philosophy.

On the other end of the spectrum, at least for this trip, lies my own inclinations. My typical day begins with an early wake-up, and then lying comfortably in my tent until it gets warmer. I close my eyes and recapture my dreams, maybe read a bit... When I actually emerge from the tent I leisurely make breakast and begin breaking down my camp. Then I wander on through some of the most enjoyable scenery on the planet, ready to encounter whatever flora, fauna and interesting hikers present themselves. Why hurry? Where am I going? This is it, right here and right now. I hike slowly, with plenty of stops. When the time feels right I find a sweet spot, set up my tent and make dinner. Sometimes I endulge with a small campfire to accompany my nightly hot chocolate. The stars appear and create my canopy, and in the morning the cycle begins again.

But for the most part, go-lite hikers not withstanding, the people I meet on the trail are great. One family has taken a year off from their normal lives and after South America, Europe and South East Asia, are capping things off by hiking the John Muir Trail. A wonderful family, finding a wonderful way to live.

I was enjoying my meandering pace so much, that with two weeks left I restudied my maps. If I exited the trail at Kersarge Pass, I could slow my pace down to 6 or 7 miles a day. This would allow me time for side-trips and layovers.

Maybe if I hadn't done the trail before, I'd be more gung ho to reach its ending point. As it is, I have no trophy to bag, no hiking partner to negotiate with, and no life crisis to solve. I am simply, as Bill Bryson might say, out for a walk in the woods. Ah, have I convinced myself? Yes, I have. Keersarge Pass it is.

I also have the time while hiking to think of numerous things, both weighty and trivial. For example, I calculate that at this point in my life I have had 59 jobs. If I count the year that I did magic shows and temp jobs across America, the total raises to 91 (boy, that was a year for the W-2 forms). For all that employment you'd think that I'd have a small fortune by now.

I'm also seeing alot of ghosts as I hike. Not tangible scarey ones, but the friendly memories of past times on and near this trail. There's even the ghost of a 14-year-old boy, on his first geographical steps into adulthood and independence.

The body's doing ok. No blisters, which is either a tribute to better boot technology or my increased knowledge of foot care. I had an earache for a few days, which led to sudden occurences of vertigo (an unfortunate affliction when crossing logs and mountain passes). But I stuck a piece of cotton in my ear, and both the pain and dizziness abated. A lost filling causd me some nerve pain, but I was able to address that with a temporary filling mixture. How many go-lite hikers carry temporary filling mixture? Ha!

As with most long hikes, I began this one out of shape. By the time I finish, I will be be in perfect condition to begin a hike. Then begins the gradual physical decline until my next wilderness sojourn.

Of course, I'm getting older now. Maybe I'll take this renewed body and maintain it. Maybe I'll eat more nutritiously and incorporate an exercise regime. Yeah, maybe I'll do that. Probably not.

Inspite of increased conditioning, the uphill still gets me at times. Mountain passes are like some people. They can be beautiful and still be bitches.

The mountains are tamer now then when I was 14. To a city-raised kid, the John Muir Trail was a path through remote wilderness. Now I'm familiar with mountains, and I've wandered through areas much more remote. The beauty is still here, but at times it seem like some of the magic has departed.

But at other times, if my mind and spirit are in the right space, all the magic comes rushing back and I realize that it's my consciousness, not the mountains, which determines my experience.

The capacity to experience the natural world as sacred is one of the ordinary privileges of being human. It is our birthright. We need only transcend the limits of human-centered thinking. Beyond these limits lies the wild - the far boundaries of home. -Elizabet Roberts, "The Soul Unearthed"

I took two books with me on this trip; some quotations of John Muir and the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Muir felt that it was his duty to entice others into the wilderness. He considered himself unable to depict the beauty and majesty with words, and could only urge people to come, come, experience it for themselves.

I agree, and as previously noted have foregone the attempt to describe the beauty and spirit of this hike. As a treasured friend once told me in a sublime moment, "words suck."

As to our Nation's founding documents, I urge you to read them for yourself. But first, wash your mind out with metaphysical soap. Use whichever process you employ for that; fasting, meditation, ritualized cognition... Try to reach that open awareness that Suzuki Roshi called 'beginner's mind.' And when your mind is unfilled enough to truly listen, take a read through our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution.

It seems as though we have strayed so far from our original premise in this Country.....

But this is not the time for negative thoughts, at least not for me. I will turn off my light, look at the stars, and fall into a peaceful sleep, protected by the spirit and presence of these mountains that surround me.

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. -John Muir

PHOTO OF JOHN MUIR (or me)

TAKEN BY ANSEL ADAMS (or me)

Better don't escape

After San Pedro we needed a change. We have had enough desert, and were longing for green. Since Augustas got another website project, and Argentina is definitely a cheaper place to work in Internet cafes, we decided to head to Salta. We were lucky since two days after making a call on www.autostopargentina.com.ar website for needing a place to stay, Federico from Salta invited us to his house. Off we went.

Our hitchhiking to Salta did not start successfully. After three hours waiting on the road towards Paso Jama, the most Northern border crossing from Chile to Argentina, we figured there was no traffic at all. When finally a private car stopped, we thought about a marvel, but it turned into a nightmare. Suspiciously watched by a Chilean couple we embarked upon following dialog.

"Where do you go?"
"To Salta, like you." We did not seem convincing. "We are two Europeans travelling to Salta."
"Do you have passports?"
"Yes, we can show them to you." I was about taking mine out, when the driver said,
"Do you have your exit stamps from Chile?"
"No. We will get them on the border of Argentina."
"No, you won't. You have to go to the building of Customs (Aduana) in San Pedro to get your exit stamp. On the Argentinian border is no Chilean immigration office. You need this one here." He showed us his exit paper. We swallowed.
"Well then, it seems we have to go back... Thank you, though."

That happens if you do not read travel guides, nor sleep in hostels. The car left, and we walked back to the Aduana building.

Getting our stamps was not easy. Since we were hitchhiking, we would not get the exit stamp before we did not find a driver to take us. That was quite a task, which we were not used to. But anyway, we tried. Somewhen, a fat, about 55 year old man told the Aduana his destination. We listened. Salta. I came up to the Italian, who was actually Argentinian, but reminded me an old Italian chef. He agreed to take us. I run back to Augustas, he got quickly our stamps, and fore we run to the car of our Italian driver. Once we passed the tourist bus, which blocked the view onto his car, we saw him driving away. We sped up. Instead of stopping, he went into a small side street, and waved something unclear. He disappeared, but we still run, because we thought he wants to make a visit to the small shop around the corner. We were wrong. He was gone. Was he hungry? Did he mean to come back to pick us up? Should we wait at the Aduana building or better head to the main road towards Paso Jama, where he would later pick us up? Was it that what his arm waving meant? We did not know. I was for heading to the road, but Augustas thought the Italian might be confused if he does not find us near the Aduana. The italian finally escaped half an hour later sneaking silently away from us via the main road to Paso Jama. No chance to catch up with him. We were depressed. Well, I was.

After a while of bad mood, we found peace again. While waiting we enjoyed the company of our new dog friend, and just let the day be the day it was. Around six sun set and it became terribly cold. I needed to put my long undertrousers and shirts for not freezing to death. I asked the Aduana to help me find a room for changing my clothes, since the public toilet was locked for no water was available. It turned out an odysee of our modern world in which no one seems to understand the need for a woman to undress in a closed room. "What a shame for humanity!", I throw them in their stupid faces, left, and undressed right in front of the Aduana building. That is what they wanted, that is what they got. For the change of the upper part of clothes I prefered to disappear out of sight. Still visible, indeed, but not from the street nor any Aduana worker, rather from everyone living around. Our little dog friend was then the one who cheered me up. He accompanied me, hoping I would never leave him alone anymore. It broke my heart, and turned my madness into love. If I only could have adopted him...

Around 7:30pm, after 8 hours waiting, Lisandro, a biochemic engineer, appeared. He was going much further than Salta. At the same time a French couple appeared, needing a ride for the bus would not take them with their strange luggage (a huge wooden box). We had to be quick. Good for us that the soldier watching the Aduana building all day long connected us to Lisandro before the others were close. At around 8pm we finally turned our back towards San Pedro.

It was a long night. Windy, terribly cold, and with altitudes up to 4.600m. Good, that we were sitting inside a comfortable pick-up. We reached Paso Jama. Entering the Immigration office the first thing greeting us was a sign "Smoking forbidden". Right beside the sign sat two Aduana officers smoking on their desks. We were in Argentina, that was for sure. We continued into the second room, where five immigration guys surrounded the tv, concentrating on a football game. Calling for attention did not work right away. When we finally did get the attention, we got too much. The computer system stroke when Augustas passport was read. Result: Lithuanians need Visa. It was not true. Half an hour of discussion, madness from the officer's side, educational hints in contra from my side, praying that the Internet connection would re-establish soon, and finally Google as our savoir for providing the right information, lead to the entrance stamp for Augustas. Lots of officer's sorrys, he even kissed my hand, an extraordinary visit to the officer's toilet, and the picking up of a new passenger, we were back in the car on the way to our destination.

The passenger joining us was actually the Italian, who broke his promise and escaped from us in San Pedro. He was altitude sick, and now needed urgently someone to deliver him further downhill. Funny indeed. Escaping does not pay off, a lesson he for sure had learned that day. Lisandro was amused. We left him finally in Susques, a small town about 130km far from Paso Jama on the Argentinian side.

Our search for a bank machine brought us to Purmamarca. Once we found the cash dispenser we decided to forget about Argentinian Pesos. The reason were three travellers wound up like worms in their sleeping bags, laying criss-cross on the ground of the cash dispenser room. There was no way we would enter and wake them up. They have had the perfect idea for surviving the difficult weather conditions in this town.

In San Salvador de Jujuy Lisandro invited for tea and sandwich. Since all sandwich have either meat, sausage, or cheese inside, we got cranola bars instead. It was a great feast, at three in the morning. We felt warm, since Jujuy has much milder temperatures than the heights we had traveled through. The gas station where we stopped felt like back home in Europe. Toilets where you do not have to pay, a nice area to sit and eat, prices untypically low for gas stations, simply fantastic. Our spirits were lifted up, staying awake was easy now.

The last 1,5 hours went fast. Lisandro left us in the central bus station, we ordered a fresh, hot egg - green salad sandwich with mayonaise, and soon hit the table with our heads, sleeping until the morning. Or at least trying to. Around 8am we finally decided to call Federico, hoping we will not throw him out of bed. His reaction, "You should have called when you arrived (4:30am). I would have picked you up, no problem." Well, it was too late, but anyway sweet for our minds, making us feel come home to an unknown part of this world.

Notes of a Restless Wanderer- "2001"

I've been sharing with my friends and family selected entries from the journals I've filled over the years. It seems people enjoy reading them and I'd like to share them with readers here.

April 3, 2001 (from Amarillo, TX):
I've yet to find a location that can harness the incredible energy that I feel inside. I don't like to slow down. I'm ready to act and react. I feel the music moving inside of me. It's as if the wind is grabbing my feet and forcing them to move at an incredible pace. My feet just go, legs never tire. My lungs struggle to keep up and strangely enough, they seem to succeed. My body works like a machine, as if it's been programmed by years of endurance. It knows no limitations, for such boundaries do not exist in a world of endless opportunity. It's not that people like me don't want to slow down this tiring pace. It' just that sometimes if you want to reach out and grab everything the world has to offer, you have to keep up with the wind.



Nov 23, 2001 (From Hilo, Hawaii):
The first few days of this trip were absolute bliss, a fairy tale as I like to say... I was blown away- completely overwhelmed- my mind opened to incredible new sensations- my senses completely alert- my mind spun with new thoughts, ideas, realizations, questions- my emotions so calm and pleasant- my demeanor so posed and astute- my every muscle yearning to work and explore- my spiritual being enlightened and aware for the first time in how long?

I'm proud of myself. I've never traveled like this before. In three years of this, I have never had to rely on hitchhiking for my means of transportation or camping as my only option for sleep. I've never stayed at a hostel, but here I am smack down in the middle of one in Hilo and a beautiful one at that! The diversity that this trip has allowed me to experience- the amount of well-cultured, intelligent people that I've met- to learn the ways of people from England, Germany, Ireland, Arabia and so forth after being sheltered for so long from the rest of the world. Knowing now the condition of our/my country's culture and the degree to which we are sheltered, mininformed and uneducated as to the ways and occurrences in other areas of the world. People in Europe watch (and understand the language for that matter) other countries news on their televisions. We in America are not ever informed, except on the back pages of the newspaper in one paragraph columns, of the news outside of our own. How selfish. Ignorant. Sad. Why not toss out the fucking "Life" section one week and educate the American people on the rest of the world instead. Just one day out of the week, kick the movie times to the curb and tell the people about news in Asia or Africa that is of importance to world relations. Cause we don't care. I need to care.


Nov 26, 2001 (From Honokaa, Hawaii):
This trip has taught me so much already. I learn so much from the people I meet and the situations I keep falling into. I'm finding traveling to be an education, and not just recreation. The places speak to me in so many ways. With all the natural beauty I encounter, the people I meet and the things I get to experience- I learn something new. I am finding out so much about other cultures and the differences that makes us all so special. I am finding the worth in the ways of other countries and the beauty which their people, cultures and religion holds.

I really am lucky. The past two weeks have been absolutely amazing. From the moment I stepped off the plane everything has just fallen into place. The key words of this trip may be divine intervention. I truly have been blessed by this place and its people. Never have I seen things happen so randomly- forcing me to recognize that each step is being created by something far more powerful than myself. It's as if I'm being looked after at all times. With each ride I catch, I look forward to a new experience, but most of all I anticipate the learning. I have been blessed with immeasurable experiences. The past two weeks I have gained insight into the people and cultures of many different nations. I have learned about ecology, forestry, agriculture, farming, astronomy, culinary arts, botany and stone masonry. I have learned about religion, architecture, history, sociology, linguistics, international customs, travel, work, school and weather. I've met people from Germany, England, Japan, Arabia, Africa, Russia, Switzerland, Australia, New Zealand, Alaska and countless islands of which I've never heard. I've learned to interact with people of all nationalities and religions, and strange mental problems too. I've heard stories that would fill books for generations to come. I've eaten the most exotic foods I've ever seen. My mind has been opened to so many new things, so many wonderful opportunities. My soul has been touched in every way possible. I open my eyes and listen and everything peaks to me. The people I meet open up to me in such wonderful ways and I sense the satisfaction they experience in my presence. In just being open to the world, I find I am able to relate to people from every walk of life. They trust me and open their lives to share with me. I feel as if they're taking care of me, and then I realize it's because I am bringing a blessing to their lives with my enthusiasm and sincerity. I feel like a bright shining star out here. But just a small twinkle in that great big sky.


Nov 30, 2001 (From Waimanu Valley, Hawaii):
To realize that in this hurried, crowded world, one person can still find the peacefulness and serenity of seclusion in the presence of Mother Nature's greatness, and that for the moment, that one person is the ruler, the single controller of his/her destiny; that no other person may ever limit me, harm me, or make me into something which I do not want; only the vastness, the great ruling power of nature may ever control us or put limitations on us, for it is this Earth which is truly in control. And together we may all understand that though we as a young, naïve people must entertain numerous religions in order to give explanation to our doubts and questions, in the end it is truly this thing we have dubbed nature, Earth, space. It is our gift. It is our mother. And only through living in tune with the cycles which does us in. The depletion of the ozone layer and global warming, the pollution of our lands and waters, the depletion of our natural resources… these things are choices. Ignorant, ridiculous decisions made by the guests of this Earth. It is not the animals that cause this natural destruction, but us. I have seen substantial evidence on this trip of ways in which we could live in harmony with the Earth's cycles. Small, simple changes and choices that we could all make in order to prolong the existence of mankind on this Earth. But something tells me that in the end, the animals will be saying a great big goodbye to mankind. I guess it sucks that everybody won't have the opportunity to sit on the shores of Waimanu Valley and look out on the ocean, feel the wind in their face, only the sound of the waves to be heard, and to be completely alone with Mother Nature.

Open if you want it to be

"To two men living the same number of years, the world always provides the same sum of experiences. It is up to us to be conscious of them." Albert Camus.

I read a book this winter by Colin Thubron, a British traveler and historian who recently bummed rides and rode derelict buses from Xian, China to Antioch, Turkey. The ancient Silk Road. Of his many reflections during his journey, one has continued to stick with me. While traveling alone through northern Afghanistan en route to a safer Iran, Thubron suddenly realized that he was in an unspeakably dangerous situation. How did he get there? What made him think that a British man traveling alone through Afghanistan in mid-violence was a good idea? His self-evoked answer was as clear as day: danger is cumulative. One puts oneself in a situation of relative discomfort until that situation becomes comfortable. Once comfort is found, then the next rung of discomfort is pursued until it, too, becomes comfortable. Eventually, something seemingly inconceivable to one person (such as traveling alone through Central Asia and the Middle East) becomes relatively comfortable to the next.

Thubron's realization that danger is cumulative is not a new idea. But his putting it into words gave me a profound sense of clarity. The idea that danger is cumulative can be analogous to just about any type of experience, danger or no danger. Traveling, climbing, working, socializing, reading, cooking, whatever. Once the first level of discomfort is met and overcome, the next level of discomfort can be challenged. Over time, one will be doing and seeing things he/she previously thought were impossible.

I'm not comparing my travels with those of Thubron's. He speaks Arabic, Mandarin, and a sufficient amount of Russian. He's spent numerous tenures in Syria, Lebanon, Iran, and China. I speak broken Spanish and haven't spent more than a few months at a time overseas. His travel tales include being quarantined by Chinese military, attempting to sleep in ramshackle rooms in Afghanistan while hearing gunshots in the streets below him, free climbing and bivouacking in the mountains of Iran. Mine include difficult (yet manageable) border crossings in Serbia, being chased by an angry dog in Ushuaia, Argentina, and being consumed by bed bugs in Puerto Montt, Chile (for anyone on their way to Puerto Montt, do not stay in Casa Gladys!). It is safe to say that his comfort levels have been stretched much farther than mine. Which is understandable... he has three decades of experience on me.

But what is of note is how quickly comfort and confidence can accumulate. The first few days in a new country or on a new continent can be overwhelming. Intimidating. Not knowing how to acclimate to local customs, fearing the inevitability of having to attempt a foreign language. Yet within a matter of days, these intimidations and discomforts become manageable. Within a few weeks, they are non-issues. Before you know it, you're doing things and visiting places you might have previously assumed were inaccessible. It's amazing.

This has happened to me on every trip I've taken. Before my first trip overseas, to Eastern Europe, I had media-influenced preconceived notions of the Balkans. Civil war of the 1990's, instability, organized crime. Totally unsafe. Totally inaccessible. Yet as I sat in a café in Budapest talking with a petite, blonde haired Slovenian-Australian girl who had traveled across North Africa, Israel, Lebanon, Turkey, Greece, Albania, and Bosnia by herself, I realized that my options were much more open than I previously thought. Talking with more travelers who had just arrived in Budapest via Moldova, Serbia, and even Kosovo opened my eyes and my mind even wider. Before I knew it, I was eating Bulgarian trout in a remote monastery in the Balkan Mountains. I was in front of the Hotel Moscow in Belgrade, a building that was frequently shown in the news when covering the civil wars in the former Yugoslavia. I was inquiring about bus schedules to Sarajevo. And although there was a certain amount of intimidation involved, it all felt normal:

-Do you want to go to Croatia tomorrow?
-Yeah, that sounds good. Let me run down to the train depot and check the schedule.

The same thing happened in South America. Before I left, I had no idea what to expect. I imagined I would visit the major stops in Argentina and Chile: Buenos Aires, Mendoza, El Calafate, Torres del Paine, Santiago. I would hang out in the apartment I had rented in Bariloche and see what there was to see in the immediate area. Yet within a few days, any hesitations I may have had about traveling in Patagonia disappeared. And although I did visit some of the famous sights and cities in southern South America, I also found myself becoming friends with travelers from Holland, Israel, and India and making plans with them to visit remote Andean villages, virgin seashores, and cities I previously didn't even know existed. It all felt normal. Exceedingly normal.

-Do you want to check out Trevelin with me?
-Where's Trevelin?
-I'm not too sure, 100 km south of here I think.
-Sure, I’ll go.

Or:

-Where should we go next? Chiloe or Temuco?
-Well I've heard Chiloe has some interesting architecture and amazing birds, but I've also heard that Temuco has a pretty unique feel to it. Let's go check the bus prices.

Normal. Comfortable.

There are hundreds of thousands of people that travel similarly in every corner of the world. And many of them are much more adventurous and courageous than I am. (Take a look at some of the Cool Works bloggers, for example… they have reached incredible levels of comfort and confidence while traveling abroad). What is exciting to realize is that the world is accessible if you want it to be. With all of the speculations and fears that the world abroad is filled with terrorism and anti-Americanism, it is refreshing to know that, for the most part, those fears are unfounded. Sure, there are regions that I would not visit at the present time. I would not encourage anyone to travel alone to northern Afghanistan like Thubron did. And I wouldn't advise anyone to cross North Africa and the Middle East alone like the Slovenian-Australian with whom I had coffee. But I am certainly encouraging anyone and everyone to go exploring. You'll be amazed at how natural it will feel and how quickly you will become comfortable.

Jill nailed it on the head with her latest blog: traveling is addictive. Once you start, you never want to stop. You want to see it all. You want to experience everything. Everywhere sounds interesting and exciting in its own way. Thubron nailed it on the head as well: experience is cumulative. Once you start to experience the world, you realize that it is much more accessible than you may have previously thought.

If you're tossing around the idea of traveling this fall, I say go for it. As Mark Twain put it, "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the things you did... Explore. Dream. Discover."

As for me, I'm already tossing around my next travel ideas... Namibia? Morocco? Armenia? India? They are all realistic options. The world is open.