A Cultural Lesson on Borneo

There are four main sections of Borneo. There is Brunei, which is its own well-oiled machine of a country, and is so small that it takes only an hour and a half to drive from one end to the other. There is Kalamatan, which is the southern Indonesian side of the island of Borneo, far less touristic and therefore less tourist accommodating, and then there is Malaysia which is split into the two states of Sabah in the northeast, and Sarawak, in the northwest. All of Borneo is a rainforest lovers dream. It has it all. On the north and eastern coasts of Sabah are majestic paradise beaches - perfect for diving to see authentic underwater wildlife. All over central Sabah, and all of Sarawak are the most lush green rain forests that I have ever seen. There were waves of green stretching out as far as the eyes can see, home to rare wildlife, some of which can only be found on the island. An untouched and unexplored land - a well respected and preserved land. Here is one of the only countries I have been to in Southeast Asia that fights - hard - to keep their jungle sacred.

Religion-wise all Malaysians, are pretty much Muslim, and many of the Chinese-Malay are Buddhist. However, much like when Singapore broke off from Malaysia to be its own country, Sabah, and Sarawak have cultures, languages, and traditions of their own. They even require their own immigration stamp when entering or existing the states. The Sabahans and Sarawakians are very proudly separated, ethnically, and culturally from their mother in West-Malaysia. Although development is slightly better in most parts of West Malaysia, all of the money that fuels the Kuala Lumpur Shopping Mall fire comes from the tourism, jungle, and oil resources in Borneo. Sabah, and Sarawak could easily be independent of Malaysia, just as Singapore now is, however that would leave their Malay brothers fending for resources to export. There are ongoing talks of this desire for independence and how to achieve. Usually it is front page news on the Borneo Post newspaper. 

The proud Sabahans have 32 tribal communities in the region. There are at least six main languages that are widely understood, Bahasa - which is how locals refer to the Malay language in both Indonesia and Malaysia - also Mandarin, Cantonese, Hakka, Kadazan-Dusun, English, and many other languages. The average person speaks three languages. In Kota Kinabalu, where I spent most of my time in Sabah, the most common tribal language was Kadazan. It was completely different from Bahasa, and every time I got a ride from locals I had a lovely Bahasa versus Kadazan language lesson. Religion-wise, Sabah is still dominantly Muslim, however they are far more laid back in their traditions than in west Malaysia. Prime example, at the harvest festival I attended, the main event was drinking. Malaysia doesn't even have a national beer because of its religious status. Sabahans had to resort to local rice wine and imported Tiger beer.

Sarawak has a whole life of its own as well. The people are Muslim, Christian, Taoist, Buddhist, Confucius, and there is an array of tribal groups collectively known as the Orang Ulu, essentially meaning "locals." The Iban culture makes up the largest ethnic group in Sarawak. Ibans speak their own language, and are mostly Christian people. In fact, in my opinion, Sarawakians tend to speak the best English because there is so much mixing of tribes and languages that it's not uncommon for the language spoken at home to be English. Common ground. I had the pleasure of learning about the combination of ethnicity and religion that created the Iban festivals, like the harvest festival (Gawai Dayak), festival of the dead (Gawai Antu), and hornbill festival (Gawai Kenyalong). I had the pleasure of celebrating Gawai Dayak during my rural experience in the rainforest of Mulu. All of the country of Malaysia celebrates the harvest festival - how it is celebrated can differ dramatically between ethnicities and religions. 

Of Borneo, I traveled around Sabah, staying at locals houses, hitchhiking my way from day to day, visiting orang utans and probiscis monkeys in the jungle, island hopping one day, whitewater rafting the next. The nature and wildlife adventures in Borneo are broad and endless.

White Water Rafting down Level IV rapids on Padas River in Sabah (I'm the one in the front with my eyes closed)

My little oasis for a day on Palua Manukan

Visiting the Orang Utans in Sepilok, Sabah

Seeing these sexy Probiscis monkeys in Lebok, Sabah

The Gawai Dayak/Harvest Festival in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah

The hospitality of Malaysia does not stop with Sabahans and the Sarawakians. If anything, they kick it up a notch. I stayed at a guy named Fez's house for a whole week in Kota Kinabalu (KK), in between traveling to Sandakan to see the wildlife there, and returning back. I hitchhiked daily from his house to the city center, even to the airport the few times that I was taking domestic flights. The conversation during my hitchhikes was never short on comparing Bahasa to Kadazan and discussing local practices.

I was privileged for Fez to take me to the harvest festival on my last night in KK. He wanted to show me how the Sabahans celebrate. The festival was a carnival with tents of people singing karaoke and enjoying laughter and long conversations. I was invited to join a local family where they fed me one beer after another, and hooted and hollered with me when I sang a karaoke version of Adele while toasting loudly in Kadazan.

The celebration in Sarawak was very different than in Sabah. Arriving in Mulu, it appeared as though the plane might have landed on the jungle itself, with no cleared patch of land in site. It was so small, that while I was waiting for my flight on the day that I was leaving, my friends invited me into their home across the street where we watched Finding Nemo until we heard the airplane land. Once the airplane landed I casually strolled through security and hopped right on. 

The look of the land upon decent into Mulu, Sarawak

The smallest airport known to man, helped me to arrive at the smallest "tourist" village I have ever seen. No wifi. No electricity. No running water. Just pure jungle and cave adventures for the next four days. The harvest festival here was small, maybe 20 people and no one dancing or singing karaoke until my friend, A, and I worked to get the party started. We drank local rice wine and ate wild boar. It was the first time I had ever seen a kind of pig served in a Muslim country, simply emphasizing that I am now in the Christian part. Most of my meals consisted of sautéed wild fern, or crushed tapioca leaves. By the end of my stay I had become friends with every local and every tourist in town. On the last day, when the festival took place, my tourist friends and I shared a bottle of rice wine, given to us by the National Park manager, with a group of local guys consisting of the firefighter, the airport security, the church musician, and the freelance tour guide. My friend the airport security guy, was named Aidel, so of course I sang Adele for him during Karaoke, followed by lots of toasting and hollering in Iban - "oooo haaaaa!"

The typical sunset from the rain forest in Mulu, Sarawak.

Incredible wildlife and insects seen during a night walk in Mulu, Sarawak.

The mountain scenery of Mulu, Sarawak

Swimming in a lagoon in the rainforest of Mulu, Sarawak

Being completely disconnected in the rainforest was possibly one of the highlights of my experience in the last several months, and I have had an amazing and wild ride. Between trekking through jungle, flicking off leeches, swimming in waterfalls and lagoons in the middle of the rainforest, hand climbing through caves with my headlamp guiding my way, and enjoying the peaceful sound of nature on my solo-walks through the trees. I hadn't felt so at peace in such a long time.

Adventure Caving in Clearwater Cave in Gunung Mulu National Park in Sarawak. Notice the enormity of the cave's mouth and how small the bridges are from this distance.

Now I am making a stop in one more Sarawakian town, called Miri, before driving to Brunei and inevitably beginning the next month of adventures in the Philippines!

No Excuses, No Complaints, Just do it and Love it

“Judge not the speck in your brothers eye when you have a plank in your own.” For if you see a speck in your brother’s eye, than it is more likely that you have a plank in your own.

Sometimes I have plank eyes, and it keeps me from seeing the beauty in others. It keeps me from loving the beach, and the breeze, the smell of the rain, and the coffee seeds. It keeps me from seeing warmth in someone’s eyes, because all I smell is garbage and all I see are flies. The goal however, is to see everything as it is, everyone as they are, and love it all.

 Life is so much simpler while traveling. It's just as easy to look at something and see that it is ugly as it is to look at something and see that it is beautiful. 

I’ve learned a lot about what to expect in Southeast Asia – things I used to be uptight about, or need to control that I can understand now are not meant to be in my control. I am not meant to waste energy on caring about what functions as I think it should and what doesn't. In Southeast Asia, I expect everything to move more slowly. I expect to need to simplify my language and adapt to new languages – and never ever ever brush away someone just because we aren’t finding communicating easy. I expect to get what I need when I need it according to my plan, another plan, or some miraculous plan – all of my needs will be met. I expect the mini van to show up on the deserted road, for there to always be a ride whether I paid a $50, $2 or nothing at all. There is always food, a toilet and accommodation near. I expect detours and the unplanned plan – the plan that everyone who speaks the local language knows about and doesn't tell me. I expect beauty, and beauty finds me.

I’ve learned that this is an essential attitude in life, and travel. Love the goodness of the experiences, the adventure, the newness, the oldness, the faces, the colors, the smells, and savor the feeling of it all.

On several occasions I have been invited to travel with people I had just met, and in my mind I usually had apprehensions. Am I really going to agree to go with these people I don’t know, to a place I don’t know, and having intensely personal experiences without having any idea how they react to their environment or how we will travel together? Yep. Sometimes I didn’t join, because I knew I needed to take the time to do some things for myself. Other times, my heart screamed at me to “just say yes!” despite whatever apprehensions I was feeling.

Following intuition, and ignoring the ego that creates fear, doubt, and limitations can open up someone’s heart to new people, new experiences, and all of the in-between that most people say “I can’t” to, “I’m uncomfortable” with, or the experiences that people complain about. I’ve learned to stop and think about why “I can’t," why something, someone makes me feel “uncomfortable,” or what is in my head telling me to complain. More often than not, it has entirely to do with my feelings about myself, feelings about my capabilities, willingness to try new things, my adaptation to authentic experiences and people – and sometimes it’s instinct.

People tend to like their comfort zone – it’s comfortable. It’s when wanting “comfort” becomes an excuse that keeps from a new experience, that it is no longer about comfort at all – it’s about fear. The comfort level becomes a “no trespassing” zone. Most people don’t realize that saying “no” or wanting to stay in their “comfort zone” may be because of fear, and/or self-doubt. I think about Americans I know, and I can see how many live inside of their space and make excuses using words like “comfort” or “can’t” to stay in their space, or complain all along the way no matter how brilliant their lives are. They choose to watch through their window rather than go outside and join in. I can see how this is good for some people, but it is imperative for everyone to take a step back to determine if their decisions are being made out of doubt, or fear, and - if it is so - to go on doing exactly the opposite of what the fear says.

Overcome, heal, and face your own fears, especially the ones that have put limitations on life in seemingly insignificant ways - the ones that say you can’t climb that ladder, get to that appointment, make that jump, find that key, replace that flat tire, cook that meal, enjoy that day, attract that guy etc. You will see that cutting down the red tape around the “comfort zone” will add to who you are. Parts of yourself that you didn’t know existed, let alone were missing, will shine brightly and attract others like a moth to a flame. You will feel joy and love.

Things I do that I always said “no” to before, or thought within limits about, have now become second nature to me, to the point where I find it difficult to understand people who don’t embrace this freedom. The intellectual freedom that comes with knowing anything is possible brings an embracing love to oneself and to life.

That’s what makes leaving the comfort zone so crucial. That's what makes traveling so awesome! Constant new experiences help people to reflect on themselves, and when they do they will see that something can change, and life is always beautiful. 

I think that going anywhere alone brings more attention to the workings in the body and mind in this way. Traveling alone has given this gift to me. I notice the world more, I observe interactions deeply, I can recognize my feelings and reflect before responding. Moreover, I can see why feelings arise and what within myself may need healing or growth. I have all the time in the world and it is all mine. That doesn’t mean that there is no struggle. Some days I am battling off my internal complaints, and fighting away negativity, trying to allow myself the freedom to feel sadness and anger without permitting it to take over completely. Sometimes its hard for friends back home to understand that traveling is my life now, they are not interrupting me by being a part of it by staying connected. Its not a vacation that i need a break from everyone for. Lack of connections from home or other travelers can make traveling solo feel even more alone on some days. Other days I am full of joy for everything and everyone I come across. I am focused, calm, and able to let go of any and all need for control so that I embrace whatever finds me. On those days good people and adventures always find me. 100% guarenteed.

Releasing the “no” and cutting down the caution tape around my comfort zone has been an enormous release. I can see a giant spider in my room, and instead of jumping on my bed and yelling for someone to come kill it, I take a closer look and tell it how beautiful it is – and ask it nicely to leave my room. It’s silly, and I laugh at myself, but then the spider always does leave my room.

I've grown so that all I expect is love, and goodness. I don’t expect people to think, live, or love the same as I do either. When I come across people who don’t behave lovingly, I can see that maybe they are not at the stage of thinking where loving others and themselves is something they can fully comprehend – so I can love them for where they are and be happy that they are on their own journey. Love is conceptual, so that everyone knows what it is and that it is good, however learning how to love takes time.

 Just as showing love to myself, can change the way others show love to me. I encourage you to look within yourself and beyond yourself. Get rid of the “no” and think about the reason for it, don’t allow fear, doubt, or imaginary limits, to rule you. Don’t judge, lest you become the judgment you have made, and that includes judging yourself and creating limitations. Explore! Go on adventures! Makes lists of things you’ve never done but always wanted, lists of ways you want to be treated, lists of things you are afraid of - and then what you do is you DO the things you wanted, HUG your fears, and SURROUND YOURSELF with what makes you feel good. And you do it all by loving. Then watch in awe while your world is rocked.

Even if you don't travel, you can still open yourself up in the same way. Anyone can have the heart of a traveler. 

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.

Why I travel

Following all of the interactions I've had up to this point in my trip, having my brother by my side is bringing together all of my reasons for why I travel. I don't think I fully knew why I so desired to travel - other than I want to - until all of my recent experiences and interactions slowly, but surely, brought all to fruition.

It's hard to explain to someone who maybe hasn't traveled, or someone who maybe doesn't think of people like I do - someone who doesn't think beyond their sight, or beyond their ears. Perhaps it would be a challenge if you never left your home state, or maybe you focused on the designated "priorities" of life that culture has laid out for you. Maybe you never were told that you could look outside of your box - that it is completely possible to live in a whole new world and to create your own entirely unique traditions and lifestyle.

I was told that the best response for someone who asks why I travel is silence. If they need to ask why one travels, then perhaps they could not understand the answer. It feels the same as someone asking me; Why do you know what you know? Why did you ever want to know it at all? Couldn't you unknow it so that you can move about your life with simplicity? Why do you have to complicate things?

I know what I want, and I am doing it. To me, that is simplicity. To me, that is natural. So many people don't do, even when they know their hopes and dreams. Step 1 is knowing, step 2 is doing, step 3 is learning.

I think it has become clear that I travel, for one, because of people. I want to understand more than anyone I have ever known. I crave to sit down and listen for hours about the woes of history, the triumphs over oppression, the ever-present opinions of a person living and breathing their own culture and beliefs while surrounded by differences. I crave to end stereotypes about American travelers, although I find myself behaving ignorantly at times - half-hazardly paying attention to the effects my behavior has on the people around me. Maybe I will never see them again, but then, maybe they will shake their heads or hiss and go on telling all of their colleagues about the obnoxious American - the inconsiderate pricks that we are. That's not to say there are not other cultures that have poor travelers. Nor does it mean that all Americans are poor travelers. It does mean, that there are splendid travelers and there are poor travelers.

The splendid traveler is who I aspire to, and how I speak about travel. It's the empathetic person who is eager to meet locals and hear differing opinions without judgment. To know the culture - to know the language or be familiar with it. Its as simple as being able to tell the difference between Dutch, and Deutsch, Swiss and Swedish, Spanish and Italian, Malay and Indo, Korean and Japanese, Farsi and Arabic - an Australian accent versus an English accent versus a New Zealand Accent. To know that an American accent is an accent - not a baseline from which all accents have stemmed. The splendid traveler knows that she is out of place and tries not to disrupt the environment she is in, rather, join it - or at least show desire to, and respect for the members. The plain fact that I can say hello in every country I go to changes the response of the people I speak with - even when I can't continue the conversation in their language. I tried. And we then respect one another. I, already entering with respect for the culture, and I, often needing to prove my respect and earn theirs as an American traveler - a byproduct of respect and trying is to feel safe, I'll be it comfortable, with foreign concepts and people. Americans do have a reputation as travelers - a terrible reputation - and I entirely understand it as I find myself, at times, being tested by eager young travelers around me.

The splendid traveler does not complain. She smiles. She knows when not to make eye contact. She does not give distasteful opinions about the culture she is in, and certainly not to a local. She knows the difference between disliking a tradition, and disrespecting one. She understands social cues. She understands that traveling alone is better because she is solely responsible for her own interactions. A splendid traveler has never been anywhere without creating a friend, and she understands that a friend does not necessarily mean a companion. She loves even when she is not loved. She knows when to ask questions, and she does. She knows when to be silent, and she does. She is choosey about when to be a child, and when to be an adult. Choosey about when to be spontaneous and when to be planned. This girl, has done her research - she isn't going in blind and so she knows what questions not to ask, and what places not to go. She is safe by herself because she is smart about all of these things. She has skills, but she learns others' and observes silently. Her opinion and experience is only important to her while she is traveling - and so she seeks the opinion and experience of others. Everyone likes to talk about themselves - the splendid traveler knows, however, that although everyone likes to talk about themselves, not everyone likes to listen about others. Silence is wise.

When she leaves her travels, maybe she has seen sights, and maybe she has spent money to climb on top of a tower for a view - being a tourist does not make anyone a poor traveler. Being only a tourist does. When she leaves her travels, although she may have toured (as she should to know the culture) - she also experienced the culture, the people, the language, the food, the tradition, the nature. And therefore when she leaves, she is able to love completely her counterparts and when she loves them completely she can be understanding beyond measure. International respect is extraordinarily powerful in human interactions and relationships.

Never seeing someone again, is not what is important. Leaving a handprint on their heart, and theirs on yours, is what is. A gentle handprint from a warm embrace is just as memorable, as a red handprint from a forceful slap. Sometimes when we are quick to hug - to get the hug out of the way - we squeeze too hard and our hug becomes painful. We must hold on, gently as a mother would, and we must breathe life into the hug. The shock of a warm unexpected hug, or a slap, are the same. Both can bring you to tears with their power, both are beyond measure in your heart. You will remember this, and although the slap or the hug may not have existed for anyone other than you and the other, it is now your truth and theirs. You share it.

For one, was because of people. For two, is because of me. All of what I said, about being a splendid traveler, and leaving your mark on a person's soul - all of those things make a person observant, stronger, better for herself and for others.  And her soul becomes marked as well. It enlightens. It's true that travel enlightens. Never again will you be forced to be so aware, so keen to your surroundings, who you are, how you behave, and what you believe. You cannot lie to yourself about anything, because you are your only companion. I notice that so many of us lie to ourselves rather than looking at who we are, rather than accepting our truths so that we can be the best. We can be the best but only with all of our flaws. No inward lies that blind our growth - only beauty in flaws and gifts. Many of us don't realize we lie about ourselves - to ourselves. Sometimes I see the truth of others even when they don't and when they speak I hear their lies - but they believe the lies. They havent yet realized their truth. Truth is necessary for enlightenment, and yet we often choose to feel other things instead, not realizing that it is only a distraction from your truth. Shame is yours only. Guilt is yours only. Embarrassment is yours only. You feel them because you choose to, and when you are completely honest with yourself, and love you anyway, all of those other negative things go away and you become wise.

I suppose in that respect that when I travel for me I travel for truth. Truth is the key to all of the mysteries of life, ourselves, humanity, God - enlightenment is the door in which the key can be found, and gratitude is the manner in which we pass the threshold. I'm not wise enough to tell you what is over the threshold, however, I imagine it is a place where there is no need for questions and no need for answers.

And so I travel for truth. At least for now.

London, England is the Heart

Today is a day for interludes - a shorter more cynical entry awaits you. Our spirits will lift after we leave London and if you continue to read you will understand why.

London is such a simple, overpopulated, tourist attraction of a city, and therefore it requires an interlude. After less than two days I grew tired of this bustling city. I lack gratitude for the melting pot of cultures, the accessibility of the tube, and the overpopulated walks through S. Kensington Park, Hyde Park, and the S. Bank. Buckingham Palace, though a site to see, still but a disappointment since onlookers are no longer allowed to approach the guards to play the game of trying to make them break position. All I wanted to do was wave my hands quickly in front of his face to make him blink. To my disappointment we are separated by a gate, or a rope, or a street performer dressed as Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings saying, "You Shall Not Pass" as he bangs his staff. I played make-believe as I stood in front of the gate disappointed: maybe years of thousands of tourists waving in the guards faces has forced some of them into retirement with post-traumatic stress disorder. Now in their retired lives, no one can wave to them, swat flies around them, or come within a foot of their face without them reliving the trauma of tourism. Hah

 I would appreciate the culture of London, if it had one. Unfortunately fish and chips are much to be desired, along with English beers, and eye contact after 8pm. I would say to steer clear of all of the above. 

The English drink Pimms is quite popular and tasteful. Its a fruity cocktail with vermooth, juices, and fruit. The English Sangria - it's much sweeter (in compensation for their terrible tasting beers.) Of all English foods and beverages, thats all thats worth talking about. Imagine leaving Spain and the only thing you had to say was, well the sangria was pretty good.

I have walked this entire city, and I disappoint myself that I cannot seem to find anything that I have grown to love about it. I just think, at least they make fried eggs better than the Irish. I like to crack my yolks not crumble them. I have a tendency to crack a yolk sometimes. Ho!

Despite my cynicism, I hypocritically say that I could imagine myself living here. It is easy to live here. There are so many walks to be done, and outer cities to be seen. Scotland is but a skip away. Everything is accessible, as it is in New York City, except for maybe 24 hour accessibility. Perhaps I can imagine myself living here because I have lived there. A fantastic city to live in, a somewhat obnoxious city to tour.

But then again, I'm not touring am I?

 ... am I?

Its an insult to New York, however, to compare the two. The Londoners and Europeans like to think that London is the European New York City, with its mimicking shopping districts, broadway shows, even an M&M factory in the center of Leicester Square. London, however, is not nearly as exciting, not nearly as spontaneous and organized, and not nearly as proud.

I'm learning quickly my likes and dislikes - I do not like cities, unless there are numerous views and walks along rivers or parks with plenty of personal space. In New York it was always easy to avoid crowds and live, at times, as if I was not even in a city.

---- Now heres where I switch gears from cynical to passionate. You'll notice - although I didnt do it on purpose and am only inserting this as an afterthought to reflect on my own self - that my writing instantly becomes more engaging and thoughtful. As with life, cynicism poisons our senses and makes us dumb. Read on and watch me gradually become smarter and for beauty to unfold. ---- 

Although I see London in wicked contrast of NYC, sadly they are similar in that London too has its fair share of racism. After a long day of rest, my brother (who has joined me for the next few weeks), a new Latino friend named Andre, and I, went to the Soho area to see what the nightlife of London was like. While walking about on a hunt for bars that didn't require a cover charge, we stopped suddenly at a street corner stood and watched. In front of us, a police car blocked the crosswalk, and I noticed that suddenly the white male officer was yelling at a group of black twenty-somethings who had just crossed the road behind the car. "Hey! What did you say to me?! Did you just call me a dick?" And he jumped out of his car with a swiftness, grabbed one of the young black men by the shoulder and said "what did you say to me?" The young man said, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He had an American accent. The officer spoke closely and loudly to the mans face, and the man respectfully denied any such behavior. The officer then handed the young man off to a female officer who gave them all tickets. I felt ashamed for not saying anything - but weighing out my own risk; I do not know if the young man actually did anything (though I doubted it), and I cannot afford to be arrested or ticketed in a foreign country. Although, if I were kicked out of England for any reason and never to return, I might not mind it terribly. For a moment I thought that because I had white skin, I could say something and not be arrested. Sometimes we aren't meant to know if we did the right or wrong thing. Sometimes life just plays its film and we watch and we watch and we watch until we learn and we do things differently during the next scene - when it's our time to act.

Having also walked by Arab restaurants with smashed glass windows - one does not give naïve excuses for these observations.

You'd think in a "melting pot" such as London, that racism would be less, not more. After that, my opinion of London solidified, and I reflected on my own judgment. I am my own best critic. I always have a critique. A good critic never says "flawless" and never says "hopeless." I am neither, yet I am both.

After that it was time to leave London. My brother and I have made the most out of our experience having walked over two hours a day - every day - throughout this city. We've seen monuments, recognized the differences in cultures - the tube not the subway, the lift not the elevator - our biggest challenge being to make sure to look the proper directions when crossing the street, and to not throw toilet paper into the toilet. We can both navigate without a map now, and we both decided that an interlude from London to Brighton Beach would bring us to the true English culture and away from the city that we were growing distasteful of.

We woke up early, packed, and headed to the train station. After areiving in Brighton & Hove we walked down to Brighton beach, and passed dozens of Kebab shops - i instantly thought Yes! An Arab community! Unfortunately the racism of the city was a challenge to escape, with one of the Kebab shops locked up and closed due to several rock holes in the windows. Ignoring coincidence would be naïve. 

My brother and I sat in silence; tanning, drinking, eating, and laying on the pebbles that made the beach ground. My brother chose to rest, and take pictures of me while I rented a paddleboard for the first time in my life, on the rough and rocky English Channel. I was not so successful in standing for long due to the high white trulls, however, I did get to do some yoga on my board in between push-ups and paddles. I made sure to make it as much of a challenge as possible.
The water was a diarrhea brown color, and not very welcoming. "Merky" would be a compliment. Despite my efforts to avoid it, I fell in at the very end of my hour rental. At the end of the day, around 4pm, the water color appeared to be a clear green and blue - and so the color changed with the tides. I wondered if on the opposite side of the Channel - in Normandy, France - they received England's shit colored water with the incoming tide.

The Brighton Pier was fantastic. Down the stairs from the street to the beach, we immediately came across a boardwalk lined with shops, restaurants, a hookah lounge, merry-go-rounds, carnival games, and bars. I tried a cockle (sea snail) and sang Molly Malone to myself as I did, with cockles and bottles alive alive-O! Of course my brother and I ended our afternoon at the hookah lounge. After saying only a brief word in Arabic to the Egyptian owner, Adam, we sat and talked about his hopes and dreams. He was one of those people who had a hand in everything - he was a chef, a financial officer, a marketer, a shop owner - and all successful within the year that he immigrated away from his family in Egypt. From Egypt to England. I had instant admiration and curiosity. I wondered about his experience of Egypt at present, and why, perhaps, he was not put-off when we said we were American. I purposefully did not ask about Egypt - I did not dig deeper as I normally do. My brother suggested to me later that Adam became more open to us only after I entered into the conversation speaking Arabic. I thought; of course, everyone gets excited about their people, especially when they are far away from home. Its one of those universal responses.

On the Pier were two arcades where adults can win money and children can shoot make-believe characters and drive make-believe cars. There were dozens of snack and candy shops - apparently Brighton is known for their cream fudge, and rock candy (in all shapes and sizes). "Rock candy" is simply what they call rock hard candy - ho! At the very end of the Pier were the most exciting carnival rides I have ever seen at a beach. Akin to Coney Island. There were two rollercoasters with loops and all, along with several other fly-in-the-air-while-ya-twist-and-spin rides. The English Coney Island.

The prices for everything were fair, the people were enjoyable, the sun was out, I exercised - I could have stayed at Brighton Beach for the next week. Unfortunately, we hadn't planned on going at all let alone staying a night, so our day ended when the sun went down.

 We learned through locals and firsthand experience that when the night falls upon Brighton the "trashy white bloaks" come out, getting drunk and fighting whoever looks at them, or doesnt look at them, or breathes near them. Just as we began to experience some this, we woefully returned to London.

Suffice to say, Brighton Beach saved my perspective of England, despite the local reckless drunkenness. It was a fantastic day journey - and my brother now loves my spontaneous travel ideas and will follow me into whatever darkness or light I lead him. It is amazing to have him by my side even just for a moment, to experience what I experience, to know what I know, and to understand how I think about the world. And vice versa.

If I ever come to England again, I will go around the coast - everywhere but London. The beauty lies within the eyes, not within the heart. The heart is an organ, after all, it doesn't have emotion - the eyes do. The eyes are the window to the soul of a country the same as of a person.

London is the heart of England.