Inaugurations

Last night I arrived home late from a weekend away in the coastal town of Almeria. Hannah (the same American friend who cooked Thanksgiving dinner with me) and I caught the bus from the train station into town, feeling weary after a long, sunny day whizzing around the stunning Cabo de Gata, a wild national park full of desert mountains and crashing waves. It was late, and the bus was empty save for us, the driver, and one other rider, a young guy who looked like he was probably arriving for another week at the technical university here.

The hum of the radio provided a pleasant white noise background for the first few minutes of the ride into town, but then I caught the words 'la casa blanca' in a news report--the White House-- and heard a recording of President Obama taking the oath of office earlier in the day. I turned to Hannah in surprise. "Was that today!?" I exclaimed; "Man, I totally forgot!"

For just a moment, I was transported to the east coast of Australia. Four years ago yesterday, I was just starting my trip around the world. I stopped for a few days in Elliot Heads, a small town huddled around a sandy strip of blue water, famous for its relaxed RV community and nesting sea turtles. The second night I stayed awake late, walking the beach looking for laying mothers under a sky I described in this blog as 'incandescent' with stars. The next day, I went into the town's small general store to buy breakfast and found the front page of the local paper festooned with Obama's face. I remember feeling a strange surge of emotion: pride at my country's step forward, plus the sudden weight of distance, the importance of all those things, large and small, happening while I was asleep.

Yesterday, four years later, I felt that same weight, as well as another pull, one of time. It's hard to believe that four years have elapsed since the beginning of my 2009 trip. And thinking about President Obama and his new beginning has me considering everything I've 'inaugurated' in the last four years: new friendships, new jobs, new apartments, new languages. These four years have taken me to more than 30 countries (just typing that feels momentous.) They've brought me incredible adventures (snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef, dancing with Aztecs at the equinox, and visiting Stonehenge just to name a few.) I've produced radio segments that aired on more than 20 radio stations in the USA. I've had articles optioned for translation and international publication. I've grown comfortable speaking another language on a daily basis. Who knows when I'll have another four years likes these?

Even further, who knows where I'll be for the next inauguration? Will I have to be reminded of the news in some other radio broadcast in a language I'm still learning? Will I wake to find the new important face on some strange newspaper's front page? What new adventures will I have faced? What new challenges will I be navigating? What new friends will I have made? It's easy to forget that, really, every day is an inauguration.

2/3

Today, which I spent wandering the lovely streets of Vienna, Austria, marks 8 months of traveling for me, the 66% mark. It was a good day to reflect on my travels in the larger picture, and there's something on that topic that's worth saying.

I've met a lot of people during these 8 months and a lot of travelers. And I've talked to even more travelers than that, through internet forums, Twitter, etc. Many of these travelers spoke about fatigue, about burning out. Three, four months, they'd say, then they need a break. They get exhausted. They stop enjoying themselves. They are homesick or culturesick or actually sick.

But here's the thing: 8 months in, I still get a travel high every day. Literally, a day rarely goes by without at least one five minute period when I can't wipe a goofy, profoundly content smile off my face; when I am just so damn glad that I am where I am doing what I'm doing. Tonight I had a light dinner--cheese and ham toast and a tiny mocha, sweet and strong, at a gorgeous Viennese cafe that also happened to be one of the sets used in "Before Sunrise" (which is one of my favorite movies.) The atmosphere of the cafe was so perfect, and when I came out into the lane there were all sorts of other open air cafes packed with people eating and drinking beer and chatting. The sky was glowing with the last part of sunset, and when I got to my metro stop there was a free wine drinking event happening sponsored by a bank and someone just... poured me a glass of wine for standing and gaping at it all, smiling goofily, like I always do.

I sometimes think that I've been happier this year, even with just these daily bursts of travel high, then I was for a long time in my life before. That might be true, and it might be that I can't compare lives that are so profoundly different. But keeping in mind this legendary travel fatigue that I just don't feel and these daily sublime moments, here's something important: I know this is the right thing for me to be doing this year. Readers that know me are aware that this trip might not have happened if I had not had a series of failures Spring 2008, several fellowships that fell through just before the last step. Yes, I sometimes think about what would have happened if I had surmounted those last obstacles that kept me from a Watson or a Fulbright. I don't doubt I would have had amazing adventures on those paths as well, but when I go down that road I don't wish for anything different than what I've made for myself this year. And for me, the perpetually regretful, the one alwazs wondering what if, that is no small thing.

Eight months in. I have ups and downs, sometimes big ones. I had a short period this summer where I was happy but missing that everyday high, but something in Turkey brought it back for me. I'm looking into these last four months now, with trepidation, sure. It won't be easy, it will be tiring, it might be lonely or disappointing. But I'm so glad I'm here.