Are you a traveler or a tourist?

"Tourists don't know where they've been. Traveler's don't know where they're going." - Paul Michener

Thailand has shed some light on the backpacking whirlwind I was caught up in for the two months before I arrived there. I almost forgot what "normal" tourism was like. I almost forgot what Americans were like. Backpacking creates an entirely different environment than short-term tourism, and expat lifestyles.

G.K. Chesterton said it best, "The traveler sees what she sees. The tourist sees what she came to see."

Travelers and tourists lead essentially different travel experiences. The traveler or backpacker is a tourist and expat in one. We have a budget and we have an extended period of time - like an expat. We do this while we are foreigners trying to experience a new land and get the biggest bang for our buck - like a tourist. However, for some obvious reasons, and not so obvious ones, tourists and backpackers live very different travel lives.
So here are what I find to be the major differences between tourists and backpackers;

1. Time constraints - a backpacker is usually not in a hurry, usually doesn't have a place to be, and usually only makes his or her own time constraints when there is a sudden desire to go or do something different - or that sad day is approaching when they return home to work their ass off for the next adventure (or their visa expires). Backpackers travel on island time (we can meander and wander), not city speed (trying to fit everything in to the day at lightening pace). A tourist basically has a small window of time within which to fit all of his or her hopes and dreams of the place visited. A tourist is banging out the main spots, seeing and doing as much as they can while they can. We all are, really.

2. Money constraints - backpackers have this, big time. We want to see the world and we want to do it slowly, taking as much time as we want, and have a little bit of money left to survive when we're ready to settle down. The backpackers are looking for that local price. What you might spend on a weekend out with your buddies in the States, Australia, New Zealand, or Europe, seems pretty reasonable for those nights when you're off from work and want to spoil yourself. Well, that is every day for a backpacker, and "spoiling" yourself while traveling sometimes just means you are paying the tourist price for something that locals get the same of for cheaper. We are not about to "spoil ourselves" every damn day and still manage to travel the world for months or years.

3. Accommodation - Due to money, and sometimes personal need, tourists don't typically stay in backpacker hostels, or homestays. Anyone traveling less than a month is more than likely going to lay on the beach at a resort with Mai Thais being served to them by some guy who makes 2 cents an hour. I'm not knocking it, you're on vacation, you deserve to de-stress and have someone wait on you once in a while. No way in hell are you sleeping on a top bunk bed during your precious vacation time from your stressful life. As a backpacker, however, I am feeling pretty damn spoiled if there is air conditioning, an in-suite bathroom, a proper locker, and bread with jam for breakfast. Damn, sometimes you just want that American style buffet brunch, even though you know you wont eat half of the food offered, its there and that is luxurious in and of itself. I'm surprised I haven't peered through the window of the Marriott to watch brunch like its food porn. Window seat is free.

4. Transportation - again, money is a factor, but then again so is time. Buses take time, and are cheap - sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes overnight, sometimes the air-con leaks on your face, or the person next to you smells like they lived in India for 5 months without showering. I have been on overnight buses that were too short for my legs, so I stretch out over the top of my recliner kicking my neighbor in the head occasionally (that's how Vietnam introduced me to valium). Then there were overnight buses that were beds for two, and someone else with a ticket got to be my bed buddy (like in Laos, or Myanmar). One memorable trip was the overnight bed-bus in Laos, sweating without air-con and trying not to touch the sweaty body laying next to me for fear of sticking together and producing more heat. Then there are bus companies in some countries that are under the delusion that they are bigger and better depending on how loud they show a full-length feature film in the middle of the night (Myanmar with their Burmese soap operas, and Thailand with their blockbusters). I want to thank whatever Thai bus company it was that decided to show the second Hobbit film at the highest volume from 11pm to 2am. Sometimes earplugs are completely useless. My favorite buses are the ones during the day that play local music throughout the entire ride (Cambodia, Vietnam, Nepal) or slow down so that other locals can jump on the moving vehicle and we don't waste too much time by stopping (Nepal, Myanmar). I could discuss at length the sort of transportation I've used just to save a dollar. Motorbike for three with 5 bags of luggage. Overnight boat that was one giant bed for 100 people with insects falling in my face, and rain sweeping in from the window. Lots of times, when I'm on your average 5 hour mini van trip, the van would stop and all of the locals would get out, and I would have no idea what's going on. The best was when bathroom rest-stops in Nepal meant stopping at the jungle while the ladies go in one direction, and the men go in the other. There was always someone sharing tissues or hand sanitizer. I had a good laugh that time that I hopped on the wrong overnight bus at a rest stop and had to bang on the driver window, waking everyone up at 2am, so that he opened the door and I could jump off as it was moving to go and find my assigned bus. Thank God that was not a day that I indulged in a sleeping pill. Theres the time that the tuktuk driver didn't realize that I climbed on the roof of the car during a drive through the forest, so that I could take in the beautiful view of the mountains. Or that time 30 of us sat on the floor of a long-boat on our way to a no-name abandoned island for the day. -- Its interesting to hear about right? The reason I had these experiences was because I didn't want to pay for anything that would run my budget dry, and I had the time for it.  Unfortunately for tourists, these experiences are few and far between, simply due to the fact that land journeys take a lot longer than air, and a short term vacation usually means being able, and needing, to afford a domestic flight.

5. Tours - theres the kind of tours that are advertised at the Marriott, and theres the kind of tours advertised at the central backpackers hostel. This is when tourists can really lose out, paying double or triple what a backpacker would pay for the same thing and actually getting the same thing. Then there's times when you really truly get what you pay for, and the backpacker is lumped into a van or boat full of people hoping for the promised adventure and soon learning that they were all mislead about what they were paying for. Mainly its the difference between private tours and group tours - flower pedals on your clean bed every day, versus a leaky sink and stained towel. Sometimes its a roll of the dice, but always, as a backpacker, you have spirited people with you on the adventure!

6. Food - Well, really this also depends on the degree of openness that the traveler has. Sometimes it takes time for tourists to open up to the idea of eating on plastic patio furniture in the street with only a metal cart of food in baskets with flies all around, and a wok frying pan as the kitchen. It can take time for a foreigner to learn that this is what locals call a restaurant. I remember as a tourist in Morocco it was particularly difficult to choose a "local" place to eat based on cleanliness, since food poisoning was so common. Backpackers, expats, and sometimes locals, call the local run-in-the-mill restaurants "street food", and backpackers live off of it. I can pay $.50 in Myanmar, $2 in Cambodia, $1 in Laos, $1 in Vietnam, $2 in Thailand, $1 in Malaysia - and for that price I can have a delicious, home-cooked, all natural, local meal. Tourists are usually going where they are sent or recommended, and not looking around in order to stay in their budget. A tourist wants "local food" they go to a proper westernized restaurant and they get it, the same enormous plate I got for $1 in the street, they will get for $5 in a restaurant and it will be smaller and not like mama makes it. Of course, like I said, there are tourists who know better, have traveled much before, or are open to all of these new foods that you come across in travel. However there is no necessity to find cheap local eats, only desire. Backpackers have both the desire and the necessity.

7. Language - being a backpacker does not mean lower standards, it means no expectations. Hostels may not be concerned about how much English their staff speaks, and guesthouses and homestays definitely involve language barriers. As a long-term traveler, a backpacker can pick-up some crucial local words, or even learn the English words that a local could understand easier. For example, instead of saying "can you wait for me?" And repeating this over and over with sign language, I simply say "you wait me." It's almost always understood, and communication is more efficient. I have found that the poorer my English is, the better I am understood. Suddenly I am saying to friends back home things like "no have" and "wait me." This is not to say necessarily that tourists lack this skill, or even that all backpackers take the time to learn how to communicate, however, being in the same place for a long time and traveling at a slow pace creates an openmindedness that simply may not feel necessary for the traveler who is passing through. Sometimes learning is hard work, and people don't want to do it while on vacation.

"When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not meant to make you comfortable. It's meant to make its own people comfortable." - Clifton Fadiman

8. Attitude - One thing I have learned, for sure, the longer you stay in one place the more time you have to fall in love with it and the more tolerance you build. I have met negative backpackers, negative tourists, as well as tourists who are openminded and backpackers who put a sincere effort into loving and learning from every experience. Of course, after traveling for a while, the backpacker usually evolves into having a "backpacker ideal" of simplicity, fun, understanding, open-mindedness and ease. After traveling so many countries, and seeing how different people can be, the only way to truly live and love is with an open mind, and patience. Unfortunately this is when tourists often fail to take the time to grow from travel. There are so many people who go to a country for a short while, unfamiliar with customs and culture, expecting things to be accomplished in the same manner as it would at home. I have seen tourists yell at locals for making them wait because the bus was late. I have seen tourists insult locals, for the quality of the work that they do, to their face. Rather than comparing or observing customs, I have seen time and again the judging of them. The savvy tourist will have the open-mindedness and patience of a backpacker. Unfortunately not all tourists are savvy, and neither are all backpackers. However, backpackers will often flow with the culture and what is going on. I suppose this is also freeing for some people. Tourists, even the openminded and easy going ones, often don't have enough time to travel so that their stress is completely released and their need to control and plan dissipates. The ability to "flow" is much more difficult to obtain. It took me months before I was able to release all of my stress and float through some places, rather than force my plan and not create worry in a situation that is out of my control. It took me time before I was walking at a local pace. In some places dogs would bark at me like I was a threat to their life when I was moving quickly or breathing heavily - when I slowed my pace it was as if I became one with nature. The fact is that backpackers can simply show up, and have the freedom to figure things out as they go, and to do so at the pace of their choosing. Tourists don't have that luxury.

"If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion, and avoid the people - you might better stay at home." James A. Michener

9. Meeting locals and making friends - it has mainly been while traveling that I have experienced the natural connection between people. Often times back home, the person sitting next to you will observe and experience the same thing, and still no one will communicate about it. On hundreds, literally hundreds, of occasions while traveling it has been the norm to turn to the person next to me and start a conversation. Where are you from? We are more connected to where we are from and where we have been than the person sitting in front of us sometimes, as a result this questions is often asked before the person even introduces themselves. It is because of this that I make a conscious effort to ask people their names first. Then, there's the backpacker questions of: how long are you traveling for? Where have you been? What was your favorite place? Where did you start? I can now list off the countries I've traveled at lightning speed.
Backpackers get more in your business than tourists too. After all, we have been sharing rooms with strangers for months on end, and we understand the difficulty of budget travel. So backpackers don't hesitate to ask: where are you staying? How much does it cost? Even more so, how are you affording this? I have come up with my standard answers, and in doing so have realized that tourists don't really ask these questions, not unless they are desperately curious for the same thing and always with the prerequisite of "i hope you don't mind me asking." Tourists are more likely to keep to themselves, also more likely to be traveling or meeting up with other people. The tourist wants to talk enough to have share a moment, but not enough to make a travel companion. The backpacker is the same, we are all in constantly changing environments as travelers - when we meet those special people who are worth traveling with its really a gift. However, when a traveler is with a companion, or on a fixed plan, it is harder to leave their bubble and expand to new people and alternative plans.

10. The party - we all pretty much party the same. I think that tourists do this the right way, and backpackers could learn a bit. Again, it depends on the person, but when I am traveling in a conservative country I am mindful of that, and often times I look around and see backpackers and tourists in revealing clothes, publicly drunk, and yelling every which way to their friends. In this case, maybe we're all doing it wrong. But when it comes time to party, we can. We dance to the crappy electro music and Pitbull songs from 10 years ago, we get sweaty, drink buckets of alcohol (literally), and are completely open to meeting people.

I'd be interested to see if other people who have traveled can understand and agree with these points or not. Being a backpacker has made me feel as if I am a part of a secret society that understands something that others might not. We are well-rounded, but by accident, through travel osmosis. We have tasted it all, from the BBQ rat, to the luxurious air con hostel, to camping on a deserted tropical beach, to fried scorpion, to invitations from complete strangers to go on overnight excursions, and on and on with all of the awesome and weird travel opportunities we get, learning from each of them all along the way.

Cheers

Mahem in Myanmar

With political fighting currently going on, the army run-government, the corruption of Buddhism, millions in foreign investments, and a newly adapting backpacking culture - Myanmar/Burma was more than a change of scene from the easily backpacked and modernized countries like Thailand, and Vietnam. Traveling from city to city was almost the same as traveling between timelapses.
My first goal was to understand the difference between Myanmar and Burma. Locals debate upon which name they prefer, however "Myanmar" is the Burmese name for Burma, and Burma is the English name. The change in name only occurred within the last 20 years. All locals have an opinion about the political situation in their country. Some are excited about the development, the freedom, and the money coming in, whereas others are concerned about what this will mean for their culture, their children, and their country. These folks are more up-to date about the happenings in their government than I am about my own government. Between student rallies being seized and arrests being made, to fighting from state to state within sections of the country, to monks begging on the street - Myanmar is a quickly developing, heavily confusing place.

The typical backpacking circuit in Myanmar begins in Mandalay or Yangon, and goes to Kalaw for trekking to Inle Lake, and also to Bagan for ancient ruins. Traveling outside of this circuit is easy, however there are parts of the country that tourists are still not allowed to go to because of fighting. I'll be honest, I don't know much about the fighting in Myanmar, but I do know that there are several different states and ethnicities within the country, and each of the 16 ethnicities have their own army. Since the British relinquished control of Burma to the Burmese government in 1948, all of the ethnic armies began to oppose the central-government. Since then, fighting has occurred between all varying parties, and the agreements appear to be far off. At any rate, Myanmar seems to be developing rapidly to join its famed fellow Southeast Asian countries - like Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam - known as easily accessible, safe, affordable, and totally worth going to. The overnight buses are great, the people are friendly and patient, and when the power goes out it comes back on as planned (more like Nepal, and parts of Cambodia in that way).

I had read about some of the fighting in Myanmar and had been hesitant to go alone. I only knew people who had traveled there in group-tour style fashion. Sufficed to say Myanmar was another country, along with Laos, that was not on my "to visit" list before planning to come to Asia. People change, circumstances change, and somehow my attitude became so I had stopped putting shackles onto my own plans by creating concrete ideas. It was time to go with a feeling, and my feeling was that I shouldn't miss out on Myanmar. I would love the serene life temples and reflection.

The experience of backpacking solo there was freeing. There was little to no internet, so even if booking online was possible, it didn't happen. The best way to travel was to show up, fingers crossed. After showing up, fingers crossed, first I would walk hostel to hostel seeing what the condition of the rooms were. Accommodation in Myanmar is the most expensive that I have seen in all of Southeast Asia. I have stayed everywhere from a private bed capsule with an aircon in Yangon, to (almost) paying $10 to sleep on the floor of someone's living room in Bagan.

Yangon is the capital of Myanmar, some call it Rangoon - just as some say Burma instead of Myanmar. There are enormous pagodas, lakes and rivers to see here. On the street where I stayed there were no sidewalks, and everything appeared to be under construction. Locals were always excited to wave at any non-local possibly western looking person walking in the street.
The only thing I did in this friendly big city was visit pagodas, and drink at a local tea shop. I spent 3 hours at the enormous golden Shwedagon pagoda where I was invited to join a Burmese family for lunch. I motioned to get food, meaning it more as a question for where to get food, and they invited me to join them. Myanmar was one of the places in Southeast Asia where I found it most difficult to communicate. It required a lot of patience all around the country to voice questions properly, and I am sure that my English became extremely simplified by the end of my visit.

I made a lot of friends by laughing and pointing.

As friendly as the locals are, I found the tourists in Myanmar to be the opposite. Since the backpacking life in Myanmar is not accommodating for people to meet one another, I found myself alone most of the time, or taking notice of other solo travelers and locals who could speak some English. In Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam and Thailand, it was sometimes hard just to find time alone while backpacking - in Myanmar, it was the opposite. Most tourists traveled in couples, or groups - and other solo travelers, I noticed, would sometimes cling to each other for dear life. This offered me a lot of time for meditation, and visits to temples.

I saw all kinds of temples in Myanmar. In the desert city of Bagan, I climbed ancient ruins to view the sea of temples that remain there.

In the seaside capital of Mawlamyine I saw the largest reclining Buddha in the world, and a Buddha made of bamboo.

The largest reclining Buddha in the world was literally the size of a laying down sky scraper.

I climbed mountains in Hpa'an to find pagodas at the top, visited monasteries inside enormous bat caves, and I saw giant rocks balancing on one another, with pagodas on top that were only accessible by a bamboo ladder.

Between the mountains, the pure sunsets and sunrises over lakes and rivers, and the authentic pagodas all over the country - I have to say my favorite part of Myanmar was the children.

Being a celebrity looks something like this

In Yangon, I encountered a Hindi festival celebrating the Day of Happiness, and while there I came across dozens of fathers and mothers asking me to photograph there beautiful children. No English, just a hand expression and some pointing. I was stopped everywhere I went all over the country in order to take pictures with locals. Of course, my response was "yeah of course, but I want one too" - with some pointing and pretend clicking. Once someone asks for a photo, soon after a crowd forms around, and I feel like a celebrity.

Would you like me to kiss your baby? Lets make a peace sign. You want to make a face together? You want me to have a picture with your children? Monks took selfies with me. People stopped in prayer at pagodas to find me for a chat. The temples in Myanmar didn't tend to be very somber or peaceful, so a loud chat was hardly opposed. Often I would see couples hiding out around corners to have family-forbidden-private-time. Conservative countries like this tend to have strict cultural rules about dating, cultural rules that almost everyone seems to "secretly" break. Families bring picnics to chill with Buddha while they eat their rice and noodles in between hourly meditation. The mellowed out men and women light up cigars while they sit in silent reflection.

Me, Piopio, and little Chu. Precious

In Bagan I had an interesting encounter with a little boy named Piopio. He wore my sunglasses, and I thoughtlessly told him that he could keep them. It turned out, since a dear friend of mine gave me the glasses, that I had a sentimental connection to them. Shortly after giving them to this boy I began to cry. The story turns into a funny adventure quickly. A little 5 year-old pops up behind Piopio saying "dont cry! don't cry!" and Piopio says he still wants to keep the glasses. So I told him I would give him other glasses, I would return tomorrow. When I arrived a few hours later with glasses for all of the 5 children who were outside of the temple earlier, I began to give them the glasses and suddenly there was a sea of children saying "give me give me." They have multiplied. I forgot one of my travel guides telling me not to give things away. Classic tourist mistake.
Well we've already begun... so I played a little game with the children for them to win the glasses fairly, and when all was said and done I walked back to my motorbike rental. Suddenly, happy with myself having cleared my conscious and kept my glasses, more children and one elderly woman crowded around my bike asking me for more gifts. I told them no, of course, but I couldn't help but laugh at this old lady. There are children begging, yeah kids always want free gifts from anyone who will give to them, but lady, what are you doing here. I laughed to myself and left before my heart was taken by these kids and I gave them everything besides the clothes on my back.

"You take photo me"

From Bagan I took an overnight bus to Inle Lake, where I thought I would spend several days. I stayed one night and two extremely full days. The lake is beautiful, and the surrounding nature was fantastic. I spent 24 hours without sleep, going on a lake boat-tour to see how the local cigars are made, and joining in on how to make them. I saw how lotus silk is made, and got to weave some of a scarf, and then I went to the market and a cat-themed pagoda. After this I felt I had seen all of Inle Lake.

The next day I went trekking to a village through the mountains with a lovely little man named Mau Lau. At the village I met an old woman who smoked Burmese cigars with me, and talked to me about her children and growing up in the village. She was 61 and told me she was very old, and would probably die soon. I said NO, but realistically, since Myanmar is so under developed the lifestyles of people are rewound a hundred years in time. Life expectancy is in the 60s. Children are working beginning from 5-12 years-old, getting married before they are 22, and having many children by the time they are 30. Dancing in public is not accepted. Touching children on the head is not accepted. Women don't usually travel alone. This is all customary in the complex  Muslim/Buddhist mixed country. For some reason day drinking and blood red chewing tobacco is widely accepted, even by the monks. Myanmar is so weird - nothing is allowed or "okay" but then at the same time anything is possible and perfectly okay to do what you want. Take your time.

I even learned from locals, that although Myanmar was the safest place for me - as a tourist - to travel, it is not necessarily safe for locals traveling between different states. Sometimes women are raped, and often people keep to their own state and culture for safety. The people are good, the money is enough, and there are no worries from day-to-day life within ones comfort zone.

After my day of trekking I took a night bus to Yangon followed by an early morning bus to Hpa'an, where I spent a majority of my time in Myanmar. The capital of Kayin State is underdeveloped like anywhere else, yet developed enough so that I stayed in a nice motel for a low price and was able to travel by motorbike to neighboring villages and mountains.

I met an enormous amount of people in Hpa'An. I became friends with boat drivers, children who swam at sundown by the nearby pagoda every night, and the people who worked at my hotel. I had the great opportunity to communicate with a lot of local people.

The dogs however, were some of the meanest I've come across. I found a lot of parallels between Myanmar and Nepal, like power outages, dog gangs, and incredibly friendly people.

One thing that came as a sort of culture shock to me, was the way of Buddhism in Myanmar. I expected monks to be quiet, middle aged, simple people. What I got was monks with tattoos, chewing tobacco, selfie sticks, cigarettes, and eating anything they can get including meat. The monks live entirely off of donation, and aside from the daily rice donations that they receive, the monetary donations can go towards whatever they wish or need to survive. Also there are different ages, from 5 to 500. I saw monk children playing football, older monks smoking long cigars as they give blessings. Many of the children choose to be monks because of who they admire, or maybe their parents are monks - it doesn't necessarily mean that they are at an age of understanding. As it is, monks can become monks, and stop being monks, then become monks again up to 3 times in their lives. As I spoke with a local, he explained to me that most children are sent away to be a monk early in their life for a week or two before returning home. He told me it is like going to camp. That's cool! I worked at church camp, so I get it. I could probably use a good retreat to monk-camp once in a while.

One of my favorite monk-moments was during my trek at Inle Lake. Mau Lau and I took a detour in our trek to go see the local monastery for prayer on the day of the New Moon. When we arrived a monk was sitting in front of the Buddha facing outward towards the worshipping people who came for the day. The room was silent, and the monk was sitting cross-legged in a meditative position. I bowed to him and began my meditation along with everyone else. As I bowed I heard a loud sound like a whale. When I looked up, everyone seemed unmoved. Thats when I saw it, the monk, in his seated position, gracefully lifted one of his butt cheeks and - while making an intensified pooping face - let out an enormous fart followed by a forced burp.

Thanks for the memories Myanmar. I'll never forget the meditating monk pushing out his farts in the middle of prayer.

Aside from the unique ways of Buddhism in Myanmar, children in Hpa'an were my favorite thing about the country. Since I rushed through most of the country, I didn't have enough time in some places as I would have liked to completely emerge and anamor myself with the people or the city. The reason was that the waterfestival - Burmese and Thai New Year, also known as Buddhist New Year - was quickly approaching making travel difficult and expensive. I wanted to return to Thailand before everything shut down for a week in Myanmar, and I wasn't sure how the border crossing by land would turn out. The land crossings are still somewhat new since Myanmar opened itself to tourism.

During my time in Hpa'an, I took a tour on a tuk tuk for a day to see caves, and temples that I had intended to see before arriving. Chugging along the bumpy dirt roads, around mountains, and through small villages, was one of the highlights of my day. At one point the tuk tuk stopped, and the driver with his limited English turned around and said "Camera! No!" I thought maybe it was because the villagers were out and wouldn't want their photo taken. I asked why, needing to be in the know about all, and he pointed ahead and said "wet wet." At that point we looked in front of the tuk tuk taxi and saw that about 100m in front of us was an enormous crowd of children playing with water. Celebrating the new year a little early no doubt.

Water fight action shot! These kids are precious

No one in the tuktuk really understood what was going on, other than those kids up there have water. While everyone packed up their cameras, I took my waterproof camera, jumped out of the back of the tuk tuk and ran to the children with my arms open yelling something like Yaaaaaah, I've come to play! Immediately I was attacked by the tiniest girl, chased her around while buckets were thrown on me, and I began tripping all over myself on the slippery muddy road. As the tuk tuk drove through after me with the rest of my group still on it, all of the children lined up on either side with a bucket and threw water inside the open sides of the truck. Everyone was soaked. After realizing that there was no point in not joining in the fun, the rest of the tuk tuk unloaded and we all began playing with the children. I really just wanted to play. Water fights are my sort of thing.

After this uplifting play-time I decided to buy a water gun at the market the next morning.

The temple team

My last day in Myanmar was spent riding around on a rented motorbike squirting children with water. I went to the temple where crowds of children joined in throwing water from their bottles at each other. One little girl started directing me towards who I should attack next. Afterwards they all wanted to take pictures with me on their phone or my camera, whatever was nearby. They were adorable children.

I stopped at another house on my way towards the city, slowly got off my bike towards a few children playing with their mom, and went straight for it. Normally, where I come from, if a stranger gets off their motorbike and approaches you, chases you and sprays you with water - it just seems like the parental response would be more alarmed than the response I received in Myanmar. With the festival approaching, and the heart-pounding heat, most people embraced the water as part of the celebrations. When I ran towards these children, the mom clearly directed them in Burmese to get water and attack me back - yelling all of this while she takes out her cellphone to capture photos of the strange westerner coming to play with her kids off the street.

Nothing like being welcomed. I think maybe I am just weird enough to make it in Burma.

The Tourist Hustle

Lets talk about being a tourist. My experience, having now reached country #32 in my world journey, has given me an opportunity to fully see the tourist hustle in all of its poor and fortunate qualities. Today I’m hoping to share with you a little bit about what I’ve learned.

For some reason, just because I am a tourist, people tend to assume that I am Bill Gates rich. It’s apparent that I have enough money to get to my location, but I don’t see that as a humane reason for exploiting me for every cent I possibly have.

Setting aside all of the judgments I receive as a tourist every day, being a tourist in and of itself – especially on a budget – can be wild! Traveling is constant chaos, planning, thinking, adapting, etc. I have to know the map, and I remember it almost by heart sometimes because my brain now sees map memorizing as a survival skill. Thus my memory has improved. I have to know what’s in my bank account – roughly. I have to know what’s in my pocket. Do I have x y and z? Where are my things? Have I booked the flight, checked the bus schedule, figured out where the bus stop is, found out the address of where I’m staying, where will I sleep next, will I be getting back at night, is the vibe safe, does my door lock, will the hostel do last minute booking, is there really 24/7 hot showers, 24 hour cancellation policy, how do I get to these ten thousand places I’m recommended to go to, what are some cultural laws here, how do I say hello, goodbye, thank you, and enough – and on and on and on. Not all the same questions every day. Of course, I always become familiar with a new place after a day or two, and I always figure out when, how, and what exactly needs to be done. Sometimes when I “figure it out” its really me, just stumbling upon an adventure, reminder, or good fortune.

Asking the right questions, as a tourist, is very important. Sometimes, the person I’m asking doesn’t understand me. Sometimes they lie to me unbeknownst or on purpose. Sometimes my American phrases make no sense in a different culture. Sometimes my direct question is answered – but a lot of the time, all of the helpful information surrounding the answer is omitted. It would be overly dutiful to divulge every bit of information that could be helpful from a local or experienced stranger to me. Then I have to be more specific, asking a thousand questions and getting all of my answers. My thousands of questions are usually directed towards someone who is doing their job by answering them. What time do we get up? What is included? Why does it cost this much? Where do we go? What should we wear? What do the locals do? What is culturally appropriate? Why is the plan like this?

When it comes to bargaining (which is common in many African and Asian countries) I pull out all of the stops. Most of the items sold using bargaining are from China, mass-produced and poor quality. I have to know my product, so that the salesperson can’t trick me. I know how to tell if its real leather, real wool, cotton, silk, made in China or locally – I know all of the tricks. I didn’t always know all of the tricks. I’ve met honest salespeople, who taught me, or I remember something arbitrarily said in my vicinity and recall it as currently useful, or I do a little research. Sometimes strangers are the most helpful tools and sometimes they are deceptive.

I cannot recall how many times I have been lied to on this trip. Even with directions, I might ask 4 different locals the same question and receive 4 different answers. I never go with my first answer. I must have research or several unrelated opinions to support the answers that I receive.

People who are selling, or have any possibility to gain from tourist money, are usually people that I am hesitant to trust. On more than one occasion I have called out salespeople for lying to me. I say, this isn’t made here, and I explain why, and then I ask why their price is higher for a less genuine quality item. I have no shame. They are the ones trying to trick me, and I am the one with the money to spend. Sometimes, I say it loudly and they don’t like me deterring other people from their store so they tell me to go to another shop instead. I gladly leave to spend my money somewhere else. How a person responds to me can sometimes tell me if I should be giving them my money or not. Especially in poor countries, if I give me business and my money somewhere I want it to be with good genuine people. I don’t know them right away, but I know if I feel lied to or if I feel connected and happy with someone.

Basically, any time I am asked to pay over $20 for something– I have to ask questions. Where is my money going? If all of these shops and hotels are the same, then I am not going to the one where the person working there is creepy, or rude.

It’s the same at hotels and hostels. Whenever someone books something on my behalf, there is some kind of commission taken – so I need to compare costs with other companies or, book it on my own (if its even possible). It’s nice when people, places, or companies make decent sounding offers for tours or adventures – but I never take my first offer. Not unless I’ve already seen what else is out there. Some countries set up their tourist systems so that I have to book through a company. Then the prices get cut throat. I could spend more than $50 extra just because I didn’t ask around. That’s 2 – 5 nights in a hostel. I like places with no commission.

Trust no one, when it comes to money, especially as a tourist in a foreign country.

Even the ATMs, I always remember to check for cameras and cover up my card when I insert it, or block my pin number when I type it in. On more than one occasion I have seen illegally placed cameras just above the screen of the ATM, and commonly there are cameras in the room or stall where it is kept.

The tourist hustle is that of exploitation. Everyone wants a piece of the money-cake. Have money will travel, therefore people who travel have money. Maybe not everyone has a ton, but they have enough to get where they are. So the recommendations tourists receive from locals, restaurants, hostels, or hotels have to do with promotion, advertisement, tips, tax, and whose hand is in what pile of cash. Nice hotels typically recommend fancy restaurants, or just higher class restaurants where the toilets are clean, there are white tablecloths and the manager always takes care of you - too expensive for me. Tour guides send me anywhere that might make them money, unless they genuinely want me to experience the culture (that depends on the type of people I meet and at what point in our relationship they start giving me advice). Often, people who freely throw advice about where to go and what to do, are either overeager tourists who think that their good opinion will probably be universal, or locals who are trying to send me somewhere that will make them or their family money. Sometimes, at least while I’m traveling, when I throw in my two-cents without being asked, it is simply because I want someone to talk to. People who only give advice when it’s asked, sometimes after chatting for a little, those are the ones who usually have genuine quality opinions and experiences to share with me, and aren’t doing it in their own self-interest.

Finding a unique local experience can be difficult. In fact, sometimes I know where I am in a city simply because I followed the tourist-looking-whiter-people. It was often fairly obvious where the tourists were. Even without any visible differences between the locals and tourists, its easy to find the hotspot locations – the prices are higher, the amount of people is denser, and there is someone on the side of the road selling souvenirs (sometimes in a near-harassing manner). Sometimes, if I am lost, I can just follow the increasing prices to get to my tourist location – when I was in Helsinki, that is how I stumbled along the fish market. The cafés along the crowded main street I was walking along (lost and bored) continually charged 3, then 5, then 8 euros for a coffee. Smells like I’m approaching my tourist destination.

The recommendations I always received from hostels were often a thousand times better than any hotels. While youth backpacking, I have met people of all ages and backgrounds. Usually the recommendations are for - where to get a free something, a cheap but awesome meal, and good local beer. Then I’ve relied on all of my random interactions along the way to show me what to do next. I usually don’t know what I will do in a place until I get there. The locals know the best, and the cheapest ways to do things. Other tourists do too. Usually the tourists who are leaving have the most interesting feedback to consider. Consider, not follow. Listening is important, and I usually listen to what people recommend to do or not, but everyone has different preferences, so consideration is the most I can do. Sometimes if something sounds amazing, and I know nothing about it, I do it anyway – going in blind. Sometimes if something sounds terrible, I look it up first, and then I do it anyway after determining my own opinion. Only a few times has my last-minute spontaneous planning not worked out, mainly because something I wanted to do was a “touristy” thing, and I needed more than a days notice to book it, or sign up. I missed out on the original “Last Supper” by Michaelangelo, I didn’t do a tour of glaciers or fjords in Norway, and I never hiked up the Eiffel Tower. But, I have a lot more, memories of what I did do than what I didn’t. Instead of seeing the “Last Supper” I saw all of the art museums in Milan. Instead of a tour of Norway, I took a 6 hour train ride across the country seeing fjords and glaciers. Instead of hiking the Eiffel Tower, I partied underneath it, and walked the entire city of Paris. God always seems to have a better plan for me than I do. Often, missing the touristy adventure means going on an alternative adventure for me.

Tourism truly is a hustle. The broker I am, and cheaper I am living, the more genuine help and less hustle I deal with. Staying somewhere nice - or revealing in any way that I have some money in my pocket - usually means I have to deal with some exploitative bullshit.

Here's my little anecdote to illustrate how complicated something simple can be, just because of tourism.

When I was in Kathmandu Nepal, I was looking for a wool scarf to give as a gift. I had already bought one with the same make, style, and genuine quality wool in Pokhara, Nepal where it was 1,500 Rupees. In Kathmandu, I finally stumbled across a salesman who offered the exact scarf I was looking for. He told me 3,200 Rupees (of course this is the start of the bargain, so I know that is what I will not pay). I counter the offer with 1,000 Rupees. I know this is far too low, since the salesman I had bought from in Pokhara paid 1,400 and sold it to me for 1,500. When I offered 1,000 Rupees the shopkeeper laughed at me and said he can’t sell it to me for that price. I expected that response. When Nepali salesmen say they can’t sell it at that price, they mean it, and they look genuinely sad when they say it. I told him, look I have this exact thing at home, and I bought it in Pokhara for 1,500. I’ll give you that, and we can be done. He didn’t believe me, because bargaining is a lying game and he hasn't learned yet that I am a genuine person and on a budget. I said, really, I’m telling you the truth. What are you buying your scarves for?? 1,500 is a good price, a fair price. He tells me honestly, and I believe him, that there is no way he could buy that scarf for that much money and therefore sell it to me for less. Unlike some shop owners, he persisted in explaining it to me rather than taking the scarf out of my hands dismissively. I persist, how much did you pay for these (the scarves) then? Because you know, and now I’m sitting and looking him in the eye so he knows I’m just having a genuine casual conversation with him, I say if another salesman can sell this same thing to me for less then your price, then I think you’re paying your distributor too much. He bought his for 1,800. I knew I wanted the scarf and it was hard to come by, so I said to the guy, listen, I know you want to sell this, and you know I want to buy it, so lets come to an agreement where you give me a price that is fair and not ridiculous, and I give you a price where you can make a little profit. This type of patience and honesty is necessary in human connections, particularly with someone who is in the position to constantly rip-off tourists and exploit them. Those people may or may not have an interest in knowing the tourist, but if they can see a little humanity instead of a giant dollar sign on my forehead, then I feel like the interaction is far more enjoyable. I entered into a great conversation with the salesman about business sales, and distributors that charge less. After I told him it would be better if he had a fixed price, and sold based on the concept that he is making X amount of profit on every item, with no bargaining, then he would increase sales and not annoy tourists. It was a revelation to him that tourists don’t like to bargain. When he expressed that to me, I vented a little bit. No, I don’t like to bargain! Every time I bargain I feel someone trying to rip me off, cheat me, or lie to me, and all I want is a damn scarf. It’s not a good feeling to be always cheated or lied to. He laughed, but I think he also understood my sincerity. I imagine these people get just as sick of being scammed as the next person. The man thanked me for my advice and said something about our destiny's colliding so that his business would improve. I thanked him for the scarf that I bought for 2,000. ($20 is pretty good for a hand embroidered wool scarf I’d say.)

Anyway, that’s the tourist hustle as I have experienced it in Europe, Africa, Central America, and now Asia. It’s not avoidable. Coping with the feeling of always being lied or cheated (as a tourist) can be exhausting and can cause negativity or impatience when encountering new locals or businesses. Even when I know someone is overcharging (and I am well aware they are trying to exploit me and fellow-travelers) I always remember to have patience and kindness towards them. Sometimes its just the culture that makes things that way. Sometimes its just a poor country, and people are just doing whatever they can to survive. Usually, its easy to tell within the first few minutes of a conversation whether someone is cheating me or not, whether they are genuine or not. However, I sometimes find it difficult to understand whether people are genuine when I am encountering them within my first few days in a new place, with a new language – before I’ve fully grasped the tradition and way of life in the new place. But I’ve learned to cope with the feelings of being lied to or cheated. By having the kind of empathy that helps me to understand why one might want to exploit me, talk to me naggingly, or over-charge me, I can learn how to love them anyway and detach myself from any offense. I have made the tourist hustle bearable, and I am comfortable navigating the exploitative environment by:

1)   Knowing my facts and my research so that I am concrete in my opinion and understanding of how things work and cost wherever I am.

2)   Swallowing my pride and having patience to a degree that I am comfortable with.

3)   Being honest and empathetic.

4)   Loving people no matter what, and always making sure to part on good terms. Burning bridges and people creates a bad karma that I don’t want. 

5)   Trusting myself and standing my ground.

Norway in a Nutshell

Talk about beauty in the world.

On my 9 day journey throughout Norway I witnessed some of the most breathtaking scenery. Fjords, mountains surrounded by lakes and rivers, covered with sporadic snow patches from the previous winter, and houses all along them - scattered or in rows zigzagging all along the cliffs and hills. The mountains were like Croatia's rock cliffs, with less cliffs and more fully formed mountains. Or like Greece's mountains, but covered in beautiful forestry with no dessert-like surroundings. Or like the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, but again, the forestry winter-mountainous look rather than the desert-mountainous look. Even, at a distance, appearing in the backdrop as the Appalachian Trail through New Hampshire and Maine, or the White Mountains. Real breathtaking, untouched, natural beauty.

My first stop after leaving the paradise of Greece was Oslo, Norway. Furthermore, my first stop in Oslo, Norway was to the Huk (pronounced "hewk") nude beach on the Bygdøy ("big day") peninsula of the city. My first day was spent in the 60-70 degree weather, in the 50-60 degree water. It felt like swimming in the middle of Boston harbor on the last day of the summer swimming season. And it was. The days to follow would be brisk. A layer or two of jackets would only reduce the breeze to a cool shutter.

Despite my having rested thoroughly for the last 10 days in Greece (a time and place my mind is still fixated on), each day in Norway has been quite physical and quite tiring in its own way. In order to pace myself and self-care the way that my body is screaming I should, "Sleep you idiot! Do less! Do less, please!" - I tried my restless best to do less and less. So this week I did one, maybe two activities a day.

 When I arrived at Huk on the shore of the North Sea, i took one look around to see the few men and women there, in their 50s or 60s most likely, and stark naked. I thought, with all of these sagging butts around me, what do I have to lose? Without a second more, I dropped my things, dropped my trousers, and went straight to where I belonged - the sea. It wasn't so bad, the coldness of it I mean. I immediately had goosebumps all over my naked brown and white body. Mind you, I was the only person on the beach with extreme tan lines. I had never thought of appearing - so obviously - as a foreigner, simply because below my waist is currently the whitest full-moon any Norwegian has ever seen, particularly in contrast with my Grecian brown legs. 

When i got out of the water, it wasn't so terribly cold that i would have to dress right away. So I sat on the beach drawing the landscape in my sketchbook. I am no artist, but creativity is a coping mechanism - music, dance, art, writing, cooking - i crave it because it makes me feel at home. Its good to know how to be comfortable and make every place feel like home. Even better to do it. So i began to draw a childish interpretation of far off mountains - me in my bareness pretending to be Rembrandt or Da Vinci. Suddenly, the ugliest seagull I had ever seen made a wretched crow, and shit all over my drawing and on me and my things.

I couldn't tell if it was vomit or poo.

I trudged slowly and gently to the sea, as I noticed locals did - probably in order to not make too much jelly shake, if you know what I mean. I laughed while I washed off in the water among the seaweeds. Either I am really lucky - and this is a sign, as everyone says about bird shit landing on you - or, and this is most likely, Norwegian birds are harsh art critics and my Da Vinci attempt was just as shit as the actual shit that landed on it. Either way, I laughed at circumstance. Luckily I wasn't wearing clothes, or it would have been a bird shitty day all over the back of my shirt.

All in all, my broad daylight public nudity debut was quite the event. No regrets. No embarrassment. It may have been the most carefree I would ever feel while naked in public. Not that this is a regular occurrence. I wish it was. I may have found my calling as a nudist.

On the bus ride back from Huk I met a retired Norwegian professor. He interjected himself into my studies as I was reading and practicing Norwegian phrases silently under my breath. He sat next to me and heard me studying, and laughed at my pronunciation. He was quite helpful and taught me key phrases while we rode along.

On day one, I hadn't learned yet that speaking Norwegian was not necessary in Norway. Everyone not only spoke English, but spoke it well and with a clear accent - even though most people said "I speak a little bit." I learned that those responses were because they don't want to speak English. I earned respect from people simply by acknowledging that. I said, I have no choice but to speak English, please help me, I don't mean to disrespect the Norwegian language or culture - I said this indirectly by saying in Norwegian, rather than outright in English, "I don't speak Norwegian, do you speak English?" I feel it does make a difference, even if only a slight difference. It doesn't work because its some brilliant idea of mine either, it works because it evokes different responses in people, the warmth and welcomes, rather than the rush to get away. I have tried it both ways, and using the local language, - even a little bit - always gets the better response.

The following days I walked about a bit - along a river leading to the city center with waterfalls and thick brush, zigzagging through boroughs and universities on paths and back roads covered with runners, and bicyclists. Along Sogsvann, a lake at the  last stop of one of the city train lines, I lost myself on a hiking path in the woods, sat by a freshwater stream for a picnic and fell asleep on a dock in the middle of the vann (lake). It took me a while to find a dock that was not loud with playing children or the trudging of hundreds of feet on a dirt path. It was Sunday, and because nothing other than expensive restaurants is open on Sunday, everyone was out walking, biking, or running, at this lovely lake.

Everything I have done here has been slowly paced, and truly peaceful. I think I have felt drained because Norway puts a lot of stress on the wallet. Although the exchange is 7 Norwegian Kroner for every 1USD, everything is priced in the 100s. What would normally cost $20, costs 300-400 Kroner - the equivalent to $50-65. When I am paying 59 Kroner ($10) for a street vendor hot dog, that's when you know - this country ain't cheap. 

The universe must know and feel my concerns, because the people I have come across here have been hospitable and free-giving. In Greece, I was cared for by family or friends of family and they were always giving. Here in Norway, it has been tens of people, complete strangers who sometimes don't even know my name, giving me free food, more free food, free advice, free transport, free this, cheap that. It has been a real gift and - like every time so much fortune and hospitality comes my way - I find myself wondering what did I do to deserve this? But then, reasons don't matter do they? I just try to be grateful... maybe the bird shit really worked.

On one occasion, I made friends at a bar. I don't normally go out at night when I am traveling alone, nevertheless to a bar, but I wanted to make a point to try Norwegian beer and I did so when the sun was still out. After all, it was the last night of the weekend. During weekdays Norwegian law does not allow the selling of alcohol after 3pm. I went to an Irish pub, of course, and I ended up meeting some people, of course. After chatting a thrilling conversation with a jolly couple who laughed and smiled about everything (how fantastic! I found myself laughing and not knowing what I was laughing at) they left and I continued the conversation with the man next to me who had joined in. I found myself complaining to the man at the bar about the cost of food. I try hard not to complain when I am traveling, but this one thing irked me. I found myself thinking how rude! The nerve of the Norwegian government to really think they can charge this much for bare necessities is really just a cruel joke. Petroleum independent UNESCO World Heritage Site Assholes. The government, of course, not the people. One thing I've learned is that most people don't like their government. Maybe they like the school system, or they like the way taxes are, or they like a few things here and there - but disagreeing with some aspects of the way the government does things is not considered a direct insult to the culture. So I freely say, it irks me that the Norwegian government has the nerve to charge so much money for things.

One of the things I was so excited to come to Norway for, was to eat lots of seafood. Low and behold this self-sufficient seafood exporting country has some of the most expensive local fish I have ever seen. Too bad - I've been making cheese sandwiches for days. After complaining about cost of food to the man at the bar, he told me poignantly, "well, I'm actually quite wealthy working in the Petroleum business here, and there's this posh restaurant around the corner I would like to take you to, no pressure though." I thought for a moment. I was direct in return to his poignancy, telling him that I don't want to accept his offer and imply anything further. He was understanding, generous, and kind. "No pressure." He kept saying. Anyway, the restaurant was right next door on a busy street and not less than 4 hrs earlier someone I had met gave me the wise advice to never turn down an invitation for food. 

When we sat down to order, I took one look at the menu and my jaw dropped. He asked me what I wanted, and feeling slightly uncomfortable at choosing between such expensive things (and truthfully wanting all of it), I told him to choose for me. Well, he didn't really. Instead he said, "we'll have two of the 5 course meal you have here." Jaw dropped again. But cheerfully, of course. Even though he and the waitress spoke Norwegian, he insisted on speaking only English while I was around, and I felt grateful for his consideration.

Thanks to Arne, that was his name, I delighted my way through long and meaningful conversation - complete with impressions of Sean Connery, Clint Eastwood and even some singing, while we both childishly played at being "posh" for the night. And oh the seafood! Some of the most tantalizing seafood I have eaten. Octopus! Eal! Cod! Delicious stuff that was completely new to me just because of the unique Norwegian methods of preparation and the fresh flavor. At the end of dinner, and practically closing down the place, Arne was a perfect gentlemen by walking me to a taxi and paying the cost to send me on my way.

Such generosity, and friendship truly is touching. Even on bad days, or days when I don't give a damn. Countless people have been kind to me and generous. I try to pay homage to them in this blog by recognizing the beauty in their souls that is expressed through their generosity, but I really am only touching on the amount of people. Sometimes they pass quickly in and out of my life so that I can't learn their names, but I try. The generosity has been so touching that a few days after dinner with Arne, when  I befriended a cafe clerk who, upon parting, sent me on my way with all of the leftover pastries of the day - I cried as I walked out the door. A happy, grateful cry. In Norway I have hardly been able to afford food, which I had not anticipated. And this 20-something man just gave me enough pastries for 3 meals.

The luck of bird shit does not come short of the delivery of friends and food. Alas, disgusting seagulls - my deliverers it turns out!

The rest of my time in Norway was somewhat of a rush. While leaving the hostel in Oslo, I twisted my ankle with all of my backpack weight pulling me down harder than a normal fall. It would have just been a stagger for walking crooked. Now, my ankle is wrapped and due to that, and not being able to afford a tour, I have been quite limited to what my day has been full of.

Luckily, the pain didn't kick in until after my long day in Lillehammer, Norway. There I stayed with a sweet Norwegian girl named Helle. She was kind enough to take me in for two nights, and help me to get where I needed to be. Staying with Helle was like staying on an old friends couch, or a buddy that I see often and feel right at home with. 
The morning of my one and only full day in Lillehammer, Helle took me in her car to the bus station as a meeting point. Once I was left on my own, I learned quickly that to access any of the hikes I was interested in doing, I would need a car. "Buses don't go there" the information desk lady told me. It was unfortunate, but I was also relieved, because I started feeling like my body was tired again. My head was heavy. 

Instead of my original plan, I hiked from the bottom of Norway's largest lake, to the top of Lillehammer's 1994 Olympic ski jump. From far away the ski jump looked like a green slide made for a giant, or aliens, or God, and it was sitting with fields of hay at the foot of it that made it look like the slide went into a sandbox. On my walk up the road twisting and turning I started to hear the sound of water off in the woods behind the guardrail. Curious of course, I jumped the rail and started off into the woods. After only a few minutes of searching I came across waterfalls on waterfalls on waterfalls. Untouched! Although there was the occasional old tent stuck in the trees - of course locals must know about this - there was still the river and it was left as is, despite all of the surrounding development beyond the woods. There was no bike or walking path - no path at all. I climbed up the side of the waterfall. Testing my feet on the rocks so as not to slip. I slipped at a freshwater stream only two days earlier and was stuck in cold damp pants the rest of the day. We will not be fooled again Mother Nature!! When I reached the top of the waterfall I felt triumphant! I looked around, sat, and listened to the water. How soothing it is to listen to water rushing, falling, landing, and doing it all over again thousands of drops per second. I sat with my feet hanging over the edge and enjoyed the scenery until I couldn't sit anymore. Little did I know, my little nature hike would be followed by a 936 step hike to the top of the 1994 Olympic ski lift (its important in Lillehammer to always mention that it is the 1994 Olympic ski lift, not just a ski lift.) From there, after sitting and reading a book at the top while professional skiers practiced their jumps, I enjoyed a brisk run down the mountain and back to Norway's largest lake (also important to mention that it is Norway's largest lake, not just a lake.) I didn't learn until the pain kicked in later that I was running and hiking on a damaged ankle. 

At the end of the day, Helle picked me up and we had pizza and watched a movie. It really was like hanging out with my old buddy - and so relaxing because of it!

The next day I left early to journey from Lillehammer - Oslo - Bergen.

On the 5am train I slept.

On the 8am train, I slept some more. In fact I sprawled out on two seats and pretended like I was a sleeping giant.

I was awakened suddenly, when something in my mind said "get up! get up!" I sat up instantly, took a look around, and when I looked out the window there it was. Fjords upon fjords, and a glacier in the distance. I could see the snow caps on top of these colossal perfectly formed stone piles. Some of the patches of snow reflected the sun so brightly that I couldn't tell if they were lakes on the sides of mountains or leftover snow.

It was breathtaking. I tried to soak it all in, as I definitely wouldn't be able to afford a tour once I arrived in Bergen on the west coast of the country.

[My internal alarm must know when I want to be awake for something.
I learned later that immediately after my train had passed, there was a dynamite explosion on the tracks and all other trains for the day were detoured 2.5 hours on bus. It was at exactly the time I had awakened that the explosion occurred 2 hours away. Three rail construction workers died. No passengers or civilians were harmed, as trains were not passing through at the time. A terrible tragedy from a faulty dynamite. Thank God that it was an isolated incident, the deaths could have been far greater if a train were passing through. The death could have been mine, if my train were passing through. When I heard the news my heart pounded and my next breath was deep - I felt immense gratitude for it, followed by sadness for these men and their families.]

At 4pm I arrived in Bergen. I learned from the information center that, I was right, I definitely wouldn't be affording any tours. What would have been 50pounds in England, or 30Euros in Greece, was 1400 Kroners in Norway. It was unfortunate. I had gone to Bergen to do hikes, tours, see glaciers and fjords - with a bum ankle and an empty wallet I was limited to walking around the cobblestone fish market town. I was grateful that I took the 6 hour train to the town because that was the best tour I would have afforded, and free with my rail pass.
It was not so unfortunate to be forced to stay in Bergen. It is a beautiful town stacked in layers on the hills, and pouring into the sea where countless boats dock for fjord tours, and boat travel. The buildings are close together, different colors, and the year-round "fiskmarket" is held in tents in the city center for all to see... and smell.

After gaining hindsight, I realized that the universe was giving me a real gift. Sitting around and doing nothing in a beautiful seaside town in Norway! I had been exhausted, I had been worried, I had been in pain - and now all of that is gone because I have nothing more to do than to care for myself, sleep, do what I like on a slow-paced day. And also be reminded of the gift of life that I have, while some people lose theirs in tragic accidents. My diet has been restored by eating very little (due to affordability) and now, in the next week, when I am back to paying semi-regular prices in Sweden, Finland, Estonia, and Russia, I will not feel so stressed. I am finishing writing this entry from Stockholm Sweden, and already I have no stress, feel completely rested, and thanks to an ankle brace and taking it easy, I almost have no pain!

Norway really was a place to remind me of generosity, and humility. There had been times before when concern for money left me hungry, but never to the degree that I experienced these last 9 days. Even so, I had only a glimpse into that world. The world where people are always worried, always begging, starving. I noticed in many countries like Norway, Greece, Turkey (and a few other places) that beggars and gypsies are given money more frequently, rather than treated indifferently or looked down upon. People see them and know in their hearts I have a coin, and this woman will surely starve herself before her children. She could live with my coin and die without it. Maybe it's not that grandiose... but then again, maybe it is - and I have seen a great amount of generosity in the last month. In New York, it is common to see a mentally ill person in the street, or an addict begging for money - for that reason the approach to the homeless there is drastically different. People are often cautious or indifferent. I'd be more likely to call 911 for someone than give them money. I'd be more likely to give them food or talk to them than give them money. My mom - with her big heart that she inherited from her smiling loving parents - she goes by the rule of keeping Dunkin Donuts gift cards in the car for giving out. They are chains that only serve food and non-alcoholic beverages. The same with Subway. In Norway and Greece those aren't as big concerns. The concern is getting fed. Surviving. Even surviving to the point of being able to live a little.

Norway, in nutshell, is grandiose in its natural design, but humble, and generous in its people.

Add this to the "Revisit" list, underneath Morocco.