The Trip

The tentative list:

Dec 25 to New Zealand for New Zealand English
Jan 23 to Indonesia for Indonesian
Feb 21 to India for Hindi
March 22 to Japan for Japanese
April 21 to China for Mandarin
May 20 to Russia for Russian
June 19 to Germany for German
July 19 to Turkey for Turkish
Aug 17 to Iran for Farsi
Sept 16 somewhere for Arabic?
Oct 15 somewhere for Spanish? or Portugese?
Nov 13 somewhere for French? or Italian? or Swahili?
Dec 13 back to Vancouver

I stress tentative.

A small story:

It happened fourteen months ago, on a chilly October evening in Vancouver. I was sitting with my fellow grad students in a low-ceilinged classroom, half-listening to the professor lecture on language acquisition and doodling in a notebook. Onto the page fell an idea.

Some ideas need time to gestate in dark caves of the brain; you peek in and watch their progress. This one was different. No sooner had I thought it than I saw it. The idea took the form of a book cover bordered with moons--thin crescents and fat circles--and had a tongue sticking out in the center. And at the same moment it was a book, it was a trip: 12 Moons, 12 Tongues.

Just as some ideas need time to grow, some ideas need time to grow resilient. Exposed and passed around too quickly, they get sick or hurt, curl up and die. This one was again different. I told people right away. All the right ones said, "Yes!"

Some favourite responses: Sarah, several hours after viewing the cover, texted me to reiterate, sincerely, her belief that I should do the trip. Second, my dad. The man immediately retrieved a world atlas and then consulted the internet to know the most-spoken languages by number. Finally, Hedy, an adult ESL student. Upon hearing the idea and seeing me point to China on the map, gasped, and, perhaps not knowing how best to express her emotion, shrieked, "Welcome!" Another student mentioned Marco Polo and two said that if they could, they would do the same. Which brings me to gratitude.

I have a passport (two, actually--from Canada and New Zealand) and I'm welcome in most countries. Both parents support me and give me tools to construct the life I imagine. They also welcomed me to live at home this year, without which I wouldn't have saved enough for the trip.

How did I save enough, other than by living at home, you might ask. I worked (as a teaching assistant for Japanese geography students at UBC). I worked (as an academic tutor for students with learning disabilities). I worked (as an ESL teacher for adult newcomers to Canada). I worked (as an ESL tutor to a Chilean engineer, a Brazilian bricklayer, a Japanese paper exporter, a Saudi newspaper editor, and a Polish rebar tier). I made up a job and worked (as director, coordinator, trainer, and handbook-writer for a program to pair language-learners at UBC). I bussed and biked. I schlepped around Tupperware. I made and drank homemade wine. I rediscovered endorphins--cheapest drugs around. I didn't go out much. I bought half my winter clothes at Value Village. I discovered the, "Oh my god, a whole pineapple" thrill of dumpster-diving behind Choices in Kerrisdale. I fell for a fellow anti-materialist.

And voila! End of December spits me out of an intense work-study-family-love waterslide, with $13,000 and a ticket to New Zealand. This is $4,000 short of my $17,000 goal, but that figure was based on a particular list of countries, and a particular series of flights, trains, and buses necessitated by that list of countries, and $30 a day.

I don't have to visit that particular list of countries, I don't have to take those particular flights, buses, and trains, and I don't have to spend $30 a day. Through Couchsurfing, WWOOFing, and being open to the offerings of the universe, I can travel for a year for much less.

Which brings me back to stressing "tentative."

Another story, this time shorter, I promise: While living in Morocco, I took my 10 days of Christmas break to travel up through Spain and France. On the first day--nay, on the ferry on the first day--a Spaniard offered me a stay with his family near Madrid and a German orchestra conductor offered me a room in his villa near Cadaques, where he lived with his Italian wife. To both I had to say, "No. Sorry. I have a plan." The more I reflect on traveling, the more I remember this ubiquitous phenomenon: People suggesting or offering amazing places, jobs, activities, and opportunities. A stewardess gig on a Turkish yacht. A place in London. Surfing lessons. The least-planned trip--a week in the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, taken to get away from the 24 million cold-infected inhabitants of Istanbul in the winter--turned out to be the most interesting, most serendipitous, and most though-provoking of all. I think it was also the first time I really used another language, and thought, "Oh! I can do this! This is a do-able thing!" So thank you, Northern Cyprus.

And here's to having a tentative list, but being extremely open to the offerings of the universe.

Thanks for reading the blog!

*I'm not traveling with a computer of any kind, so the updates will be as infrequent as a week apart, and editing will be weak. Ah well!

Preparing to Travel

I look at the corkboards, the stapler, the speakers, the copy of Born to Run, the red coat, and the yellow Moroccan bowls. I know I can’t take them with me. I look at the unifinished comics about a bike ride through Vancouver, the unfinished paintings of miniature roses, and the reminder to send Abderrahim some writing for our art collaboration. I know that it’s too late to devote time to these projects. I see Kath for the last time and we don’t know how to say goodbye, because “goodbye” is so quotidian. Kai and Robin text me to say it anyway. Liam comes by to say it in person. My brother calls and adds, just before the hang-up, “I love you.” Unexpected verbalizations of feelings and opinions slip past the lips of friends and acquaintances. I eat my last meal. I take my last bath. I have bouts of joy and bouts of fear. My mother might start crying at any time.

Preparing to travel is like preparing to die.