This World Traveler

Shock can be an incredibly positive experience. Sure, it runs the risk of hurting you mentally, if not physically, especially if the shock is completely unexpected, but it can also be a true awakening. Shock can be the moment that provides the jolt out of your rut, and open up a perspective not previously seen. When it comes to Culture Shock, with an open mind it helps you respect and appreciate new locales and people more, or at the very least provide you with a newfound appreciation for the way of life that you currently enjoy.

Case in point, it's mid morning in Brazil. Bleary eyed, I stumble off a Delta jet, on my own looking to find my way to Rio de Janeiro. In a country that I've never before seen, and with a language completely foreign to me, Culture Shock hit me hard, strong and in a way before that I've never felt. Riding through the giant metropolis that is so dangerous to the well off that the rich use helicopters instead of cars to avoid kidnapping, it was hard not to feel intimidated as the hundreds of thousands of tin shacks sprawl out to either side of me. In a city that looked both decayed and somewhat attractive in its seeming lawlessness, I sat in relative comfort on a motorcoach filled with mostly Brazilians traveling the same route. The disparity wasn't lost on me, and I felt more than my share of guilt as we sped down the road, with a backpack in the bowels of the bus worth more than a lot of the riders probably made in a week or more.

As I fought off sleep, to catch my first views of South America, I ended up wandering through a truck stop to grab some lunch. My complete inability to communicate at this point making even the simplest meal a chore to grab. Even "Thank You" seemed impossible to say, but slowly, over the bread and meat, I started to grab my bearings. I started to notice the differences and similarities. I started to find my rhythm on the road. I started to love the country I found thanks to a week's vacation and a sale on airfare. I felt hopelessly lost and at the same time endlessly grateful. There was so much to see, so much to learn, so much to do. And as I stuffed the last of the greasy sandwich in my mouth, I was ready to do that. Just as soon as I figured out how to find the restroom.

This post was inspired by a book review, I read at Knife Tricks this week.

Labels: brazil, culture shock, travel

Hangin' with the Worldbeaters

My friends think I'm a bit of an adventure traveler. However, the more places I see, I don't know that this is actually the case. Quick to eschew the hotel for the hostel and generally seeking the less worn path. I'm not pioneer, but I'm not exactly Hawaiian shirt and fanny pack material either. At least I don't think so anyway. But after meeting some really well worn travelers, I don't know how sure I am of that anymore.

Lounging in a dank, poorly lit spot in Granada, I ran into a group of people who can legitimately called worldbeaters. Every single one of them has been on the road for months. One of them has just a week left before heading home to New Jersey... but it turns out that this is just for the holidays. In January, she's planning on living in Dubai for some time. We talk about our travel, and I sheepishly admit that I can only squeeze out a week on the road at a time. "Oh well..." the response comes, "at least that's something." When the state of the dorm rooms comes up, I mention that I upgraded to a private room. "Oh, well I'm sure if I only had a week, I'd do the same."

What the hell? Was that derision? Jealousy? Or were they looking down their nose at me for taking less shitty accommodations than them? Honestly, I'm not really sure. From memories of my months in Europe a few years ago, I know that a short budget means being long on patience and politeness... otherwise the meaner you get, the quicker your wallet empties. At least with one or two of the people I'm talking to at this hostel, there does seem to be this passive-aggressiveness to their tone, but I let it wash away though. The conversation is the best I've had since I left the states and they seemed otherwise nice enough.

The next day, we're all headed to San Juan del Sur, a little beach village on the Pacific Coast. Dreading the infamous chicken buses, I had plans to take the direct shuttle that a travel agency offers for $20. The van never showed up though, and the agency didn't even open. Which left me the option of a chicken bus. We ended up on the same chicken bus to Rivas, there are no direct routes to the beach from Granada. Although these buses aren't exactly comfortable, I wasn't as scared of that as I was figuring out how to get out of the market in Rivas and into San Juan.

After two hours of being compressed by about 30 Nicaraguans in a school bus meant for half as many kids as there were adults aboard, I got my bag from the roof of the expreso and I get hit with culture shock. There is nothing touristy about the Rivas market. There is very little to help you, and without a knowledge of Spanish, panic started to take over. Fortunately, the people I got to know, saved my ass and got me in a collectivo with a few other Nicas to get me down to San Juan del Sur.

It's funny how things change. I came into Nicaragua thinking that there would be very little that I couldn't handle, I quickly realize that there's a long way for me to go. These travelers who I first got intimidated by, became fast traveling friends - and I was quite sad to leave them when my week ended and I was off to the real world. It has only been a couple days and I miss them already.

Pictures: Mural on the side of the Northern Coridor Highway in Managua, cattle drive seen on the highway from Managua to Granada.

Labels: buses, culture shock, nicaragua, transportation, travel