somewhere between champagne and backpacks

I like to make movies in my head.  I also like to sound insane by admitting really strange things and blabbing them somewhat incoherently on a blog that I have managed to trick countless readers into following.  Yeah, so, movies... I like to close my eyes while lying in bed and listening to the sounds of the city and imagine myself in places halfway round the world.  I imagine myself, for example, in Dubai, running my fingers along the sleek glass of the Burj Al Arab Hotel as it glitters under the UAE sun.  I begin to feel the hot sand seep into my sandals as I wander the beaches and take in the slight, compassionate breeze.  I listen for the Arabic, Malayalam, and Urdu words that float through the air and into my ears like foreign lullabies that sing to sleep my worries of the unknown.  I breathe in the smells of nearby shishas being shared by friends and colleagues, smells of grape, peach, and apple call me to come inhale and taste their sweet smoke.  Shawarmas, ghuzi, hoummus, and lamb cause me time and time again to overeat, as the taste is too compelling to not have just one more... 

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. –Martin Buber

I see myself walking around markets and trying new foods, sharing experiences with new friends, and writing home to old ones.  Then, I remember where I am at that moment.  Whether I am lying in bed, riding the bus to work, walking through a park, or sipping wine on a patio... I am in Quito, Ecuador.  Six months ago, I was making movies in my sweet little hometown of Corona, California and dreaming about things I didn't even know that I would miss one day.  I dreamt of salsa dancing with Latin men, eating succulent chicken and steamy rice dishes, learning to speak Spanish, drinking ice cold beers in tiendas, and being surrounded by the bohemian spirit.  

I must constantly remind myself to be grateful for what I have, as I am not only currently living my dream but living another soul's dream, by chance, and how dare I take that for granted.  However, this fact will not keep me from dreaming, but will keep me grounded.  I find, once again, my life is a balancing act.  I refuse to let anyone tell me (or anyone else) what balance should be stricken, but I will concede that there need be one.  Some people are unable to live in the now and bury their heads in the sands of the future, finding themselves, one day, middle aged and no better off than they thought.  Some individuals refuse to look at any day but the one they reside in, giving no thought to what lies ahead.  I see merit in both of these approaches, but cannot help but dance slowly around both until we all are swaying together.  The dichotomy that both defines and frees me is what keeps me with my heart, mind, and eyes open.

I just celebrated my four month anniversary here in South America and have had a few revelations while lying on the grass watching the clouds move or cooking eggs and vegetables while listening to the rain fall... I have a gypsy spirit. I am always looking for an inexpensive plane ticket or some special on a boat or train that can deliver my spirit somewhere new and enriching.  I have lost almost all attachment to the things I have left behind in my parents' home and find myself missing people (and food) above all other worldly things. My gypsy spirit beckons to me on the regular, though I cannot honestly say that I always understand what it is she wants from me... However, I try and nourish her as often as I can.  The question has now become, "What nourishes my gypsy spirit?"

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.  -Marcel Proust

I find that when a backpack is strapped to my back and the ground moves at my discretion beneath my feet, that is when I am the most free.  I find myself dancing on the inside.  I live for the feeling of the unknown, the rush from adventure, and the newly sharpened perspective of a place or culture.  I love the independence of the road, the freedom of the sky, and the defiance of the sea.  I know what I take with me is all I need, the music that I find along the way will guide me as a soundtrack, and wherever I land there will be someone to share a cold beer and a story with. 

There is a small part of me that misses some of the comforts and, dare I say, luxuries... I am a sucker for a cold bottle of champagne and a hot bubble bath.  I don't care if it borders on a cliche from a Julia Roberts movie; I will surround myself with candles and soak in bath salts until I am drunk and pruned.  What is it about champagne and all that is associated with it that plucks at my heart strings?  I am not accustomed to luxuries, so it cannot be that I am spoiled or entitled... Is it security?  Perhaps.  The last 10 years have been more inconsistent than stable, by far, and the concept of stability is a folly, at this point.   

I have found that I now crave change more than ever, which contradicts my initial beliefs of stability being the answer to my pseudo-problems.  After just a few months in Ecuador, I was searching for mini-vacations to satiate my lust for travel and going to different bars and restaurants in an effort to diversify my days.  Instead of getting to know new friends over coffee, I prefer to take day trips with them or try something new and crazy.

I went to Colombia for Carnaval this passed February and stayed in a sweet little hostel a few minutes walk from Old Town. The freedom I felt as I rocked in an old, wooden rocking chair with my bare feet on the mosaic tile floor of the community courtyard was liberating. I am so fortunate to be sipping fresh Colombian coffee on the Caribbean coast, exploring one of the most misunderstood countries
In the world, and living, not only my dream, but countless others' as well. The beds were mediocre, but acceptable, the family running the hostel rarely wore shoes, and there was no hot running water. Why on earth was this heavenly to me? Where were the big, white fluffy bathrobes? Where was the huge jacuzzi tub? Where was the massive, luxurious bed? Why was I not missing any of those things?

These questions are not limited to this experience, nor my travels. I have little preoccupation with marriage and zero concern about my biological clock ticking. According to society, that makes me a gypsy and a weirdo... I'll take both with a smile. Though I truly miss my dryer, I have grown accustomed to hanging my laundry to dry. I feel as though my newly adopted lifestyle has altered my perception of what is normal and what is a luxury. A few years back, normal was having a fridge full of food, having a bathtub, and being able to flush toilet paper. All of those are now luxuries. I count change now, saving every coin I find, knowing it could add up to a bus fare or an almuerzo, whereas I used to give all my change to the neighborhood kids or into the family's communal beer bottle bank. I've not become money-hungry by any means, but I am definitely more careful than ever with my spending.

So, I've fallen in love with my backpack. I've traded my dreams of grey walls and throw pillows for dreams of conversations in a foreign language and stamps in my passport. What of my champagne? I am still a classy broad in need of romance (of my own, personal definition) and a a human being in need of comfort. Can I love both my backpack and my champagne? Must I choose? I believe that it can be both... I can stand on the top of a mountain, backpack in tow, and sip my champagne with sweet satisfaction. I have spent the majority of my adult life bending over backwards for people in my life, sacrificing career and self, it's my turn to find the balance I desire: I want champagne and a backpack.

My life is befitting of dichotomy. I work hard and I love harder. Dressing up and going out for a night on the town is as enticing as watching movies in bed while eating pizza. I find contradictions within my dichotomy... I feel at home in cities I've never been before. I find some of my best friends are people whom I spend a few hours speaking to while lying in a park. My favorite things to write about are experiences that leave me without words. Perhaps, my home lies somewhere between champagne and a backpack.

xx.a