tips – Diario de una Aventurera

Teaching with Compassion

Being a mentor is not always easy. As an English teacher of students across a broad spectrum of ages, levels, and interests, I have been tested consistently and found that being patient is sometimes easier said than done. I would like to share some of the keys that I’ve uncovered during my last 6+ years of teaching and tutoring to maintaining my composure and making authentic connections with my students (that I hope could last for a lifetime).

Compassion. If we are compassionate with others, we become more compassionate with ourselves — and vice versa. Throughout my life, I have struggled to find and cultivate self-compassion. This difficulty comes from being a perfectionist, a busy-body of sorts, always wanting things to go smoothly. Always wanting to be right. Always wanting to feel competent.

As my good friend and mentor Uncle Iroh once said, “Pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source.” When you are compassionate with yourself, you forgive your own mistakes and short-comings. You are more patient and ultimately, more humble. And if we cultivate a strong compassion with ourselves, it is not so hard to transfer that compassion to our relationships with others.

Empathy. Being able to see things not only from your own perspective, but contradicting perspectives, and recognizing which of those perspectives applies to the person you are interacting with. As a teacher, empathy cannot be stressed enough. Like humility, if we lack empathy, we easily can become a caricature, the angry, exacting professor sneering down at their students without a drop of remorse or interest in the perspective of those they are teaching.

Empathy can only be built from humility, by understanding that we all make mistakes. There was a time when we were learning. Ideally, we are still learning everyday. And how do we like it when encountering someone supposed to be mentoring us who talks down to us and makes us feel dumb every time we have a question or make a mistake?

We don’t. We shut down. Shame leads to anxiety which can ultimately affect the functioning of our brains and memories. This is why it is so hard for someone that has been abused as a child to recall information and be present in other realms of their lives.

Be an example. As a teacher, we are in a special position. We are learning, just as our students are learning. However, our students oftentimes act as a mirror, holding up our own best and worst traits. (This is also true for parenting, but since I’m not a parent, I realize I can’t really speak to that relationship directly)

When you want to teach something, you must talk the talk and walk the walk.

I know I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said before, but I’d like to use my own successes–and failures–to illustrate what I mean.

When I started out teaching fulltime in Colombia, I felt an immense pressure to establish myself as an authority figure in the classroom. As a younger woman (I was 24 when I started out), many assumed that I must be trampled by my students.

All my life, I’ve had a terribly great tendency of taking these sorts of assumptions personally and using my disgust at them to fuel my success. You know, to be the best to prove others wrong. Spite, however, led to feelings of anger, defensiveness, and isolation…and that’s what happened to my professional relationships at the outset of this journey. I never wanted to be wrong or be confronted about being wrong. I didn’t like for my authority to be questioned. Because I focused more on what I didn’t want to be instead of the sort of teacher I would admire and choose to be.

Laugh at yourself. The more I let go and got taken off guard, the more I learned that the best solution to any tension or mistake is to laugh at oneself. If a student does or says something shocking (and trust me, they will) sometimes instead of letting yourself fall into the role of vindictive hell-bent teacher to prove a point — imagine how you would handle this situation if you were an actor or person you admired or felt inspired by (in my case, Uncle Iroh obviously ranks high on my personal list). Putting yourself into another role and viewing things as humorously and impersonally as possible keeps the classroom fun and also hides the buttons that your less-than-nice students might try to prod at any given opportunity. Also, it helps maintain that whole humility thing.

Don’t jump to conclusions. Assumptions are the enemy in any human interaction. Students will often speak impulsively — and parents as well — especially when they are under stress. The best thing is to shut up and listen. Don’t assume you know what’s going to come out of their mouth. I’ve realized I prevent fires that could have easily sparked out of a simple misunderstanding. As teachers, we have to be slow to process and react to things. In other words, get all of the information and then respond.

Take responsibility. This goes back to being a good example to your students. When you take responsibility without assigning blame or excusing your own mistakes, your students pick up on how genuine you are and how strong your character is. Hypocrisy is a double-edged sword — it hurts the bearer and those in its path. Being a hypocritical teacher is insidiously easy, but it will not gain the respect of your students, and worse, their behavior will reflect your worst moments.

When I was in the hot-headed phase of hating my job and holding onto my power and control by the skin of my teeth, I let my emotions get the better of me. At times, I would preach about treating each other with respect and following the rules while simultaneously humiliating a student in the middle of class to teach a lesson. Little by little, bullying became a problem among that group of students. And some part of me, unfortunately, realized with great dread that it was my fault. I had taught the wrong lessons, and it was my actions, not my words which the students had picked up on.

Luckily, each year and group of students, while bringing its own challenges, offers new solutions and opportunities for growth and self-examination.

During the past year, I have been working with students to promote a growth mindset. The moment I realized that I myself had lacked this important principle and quality was not a blow to my ego — it was a wake-up call. I often felt as though in order to be an authority figure, I had to be direct and firm, brooking no nonsense. But acting that way was as rigid as outlawing fun in the classroom — and I’m a fun person. But under pressure, I felt less and less like myself and more and more fragile. And I didn’t forgive myself enough to realize how much I was growing and changing everyday.

Change doesn’t happen the way lightning strikes — it’s gradual like the tide, ebbing and flowing, sometimes pleasant and rewarding, sometimes painful and unsettling. But it happens, whether we are aware of it or not.

While teaching online, I’ve gotten the chance to step away and reevaluate Ms. Amanda the Teacher. I’ve recognized how my posturing in the classroom often did not create the environment I wanted to see — but I did have some important breakthroughs along the way. I forgave myself. I celebrated how much I had grown and changed. I celebrated the growth of my students. That’s how a relationship is formed. No one is perfect.

When working abroad in particular, it’s so easy to blame every little thing we don’t like on the culture. We romanticize our home countries, thinking that this level of disorganization would never happen there. Everything flows more smoothly through the rose-colored lens of our memories. I’ve spent hours venting and ranting with other English teachers who are frustrated with their jobs, hate their students, disdain their students’ parents, and reminisce on how much easier things were or had been or would be in their own countries.

After talking to teachers in other places and honestly reflecting on my past experience teaching as a paraeducator in the states, I realized that these idealizations simply aren’t true. The difference between myself in the States starting out and Ms. Amanda the Serious Teacher was that I used to have far more compassion. I used to have more perspective, because I often was not in the spotlight. I was a supporting cast member helping to allow things to go smoothly. Yes, things seldom went smoothly. There was administrative pressure, just like I experience now as a homeroom and primary teacher. But with a fresher perspective, I enjoyed teaching more. And as I adapted to the culture shock of living in another country and region with stigmas and stereotypes and ways of communicating, some part of myself became more closed and less excited to absorb everything, to take in new information. To grow.

So that’s what this experience has taught me. I’m far from a perfect teacher (much less a perfect person), but I have been feeling satisfied with the results as I have fine-tuned my online class experiences. The importance of a plan, working with the end result in mind, while being spontaneous and unafraid to improvise and roll with class discussions and fun, has finally imprinted itself on my sporadic, easily-disillusioned mind.

And I’m enjoying teaching. In spite of the new challenges and hiccups, the exhausting days and the never-ending flow of planning and paperwork. I’ve found within this profession a way to evaluate and assess without judgment and to accept criticism and laugh without being too self-defacing and awkward. I’m growing. Reminding myself always to teach with compassion.

What about you? Have you been challenged as a teacher or a mentor? Have you lived abroad? What have you learned?

P.S.: It seems appropriate that this blog go full circle since it’s officially been 4 years since I started it — 4 years of teaching in Colombia.

Epic Semana Santa: Cali y el Eje Cafetero

April was a busy month for me. It was full of my greatest aspiration: traveling! I made lots of new memories and travel friends along the way. I also made a lot of mistakes and I learned a lot of lessons, which I will be sharing with you guys, free of charge, today! After all, as you may recall, another one of my great aspirations for this blog is sharing information and experience gathered while traveling, as well as my general experiences teaching and living abroad.

This year, Holy Week (or Semana Santa), a Catholic holiday which marks the “Spring Break” of Colombian schools, fell between April 14th and 21st. Most people take this time to travel and detach from work as much as possible. During this week I was able to visit 5 different cities and many places in between. So where did I begin my week-long excursion? Cartagena de las Indias, the capital of the department of Bolivar. Where was I supposed to begin my trip? Barranquilla, Atlantico.

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The first leg of the journey^

Cartagena: Misadventures and ProTips

How did that happen? Because I didn’t pay attention to my itinerary and got mixed up with my flight to San Andres out of Cartagena (a trip I took 2 weeks later). I ended up going to Cartagena instead of Barranquilla. Oops.

Sometimes mistakes end up being big wins. I can’t complain because I got to spend a day with two of my best friends. We went to the closest (if far from the best) beach, Bocagrande, located conveniently in downtown Cartagena.

I stayed the night at Folatún hostel, a hostel right next to San Felipe Castle in a neighborhood called Mango. This area is pretty touristy. During that weekend they charged only 21.000 pesos for a bunk in a shared room – a great price when lodging costs usually go up during Semana Santa. They have good ratings because of their low prices compared to other options in Cartagena, but I wasn’t too impressed with the space. It’s a pretty small hostel, located on the floor above a salsa restaurant called La Colonia in a bright green colonial house-style building. The view looking out on the city isn’t that great either considering there’s construction going on in the area. But, true, for the price – and the delicious breakfast it included – it got the job done.

Bear in mind, the historic part of Cartagena is super touristy in general. If you go, even just for a layover, and you want to go out, expect to spend. One of the two friends I met up with had lived there teaching English for several years so he was able to keep the price reasonable with the taxis, but as a rule of thumb, be wary of taxis in Cartagena. The drivers are not the friendly, serviceable type. In every city I stayed in I could tell you volumes just by how the taxi drivers treated me and how much money they tried to get out of me – not to mention their methods for doing so. The taxi I took from the Cartegena terminal drove around in circles groaning about not knowing where my hostel is based on the address. Of course he wouldn’t hear that I couldn’t do much more as I’d only been to Cartagena briefly twice before…and yet I had to be the one to suggest that we stop at a nearby hotel and ask for directions to get to the hostel. Then he tried to overcharge me. Note: make sure you confirm a price you’re okay with before getting in the cab. That’s what saved me.

As an aside, if you plan on taking a taxi in ANY city in Colombia, I 100% recommend you download the In-Driver app. While it may seem sketch, it’s just as legit as the uber app in my opinion, but the major difference is you set the price. I didn’t pay more than 10 mil for any taxi I took during my whole trip thanks to it, even in routes where the taxi drivers naturally up the price (airports, long treks downtown, terminals, etc.). It’s yet to steer me wrong.

During my visit to the beach with my friends we had lunch (McDonald’s – I know, so Colombian, but it had literally been almost a year since the last time I had McDonald’s) and had to head back in time for me to get a taxi to the bus terminal and take off to my actual departure point, the airport in Barranquilla. Luckily Barranquilla is only 2 hours (3 max with traffic) from Cartagena, so I left in the afternoon and had just enough time to make it to fly at 8:30 pm.

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Cali

I loved Cali. If I could go back and stay even a month, I would (and I’ve met people traveling for months in Colombia that ultimately go back and stay in Cali indefinitely). I would even be so bold as to state that it is my favorite Colombian city that I have visited so far, Medellin notwithstanding.

That being said, I suffered a relatively drastic misfortune during the beginning of my stay there. I arrived late Monday night only to realize the bag I had checked wasn’t my bag. I thought, “Surely this must be Avianca’s fault!” But no, it’s more bizarre than that.

I was riding on a bus in a rush to get to the airport, because, you know, I went to the wrong city to begin with. When I got off the bus, it was dark, we were stopped in the middle of the highway, and the bus guy literally threw a bag that in the dark bore a strong resemblance to my grey backpacker’s bag (it was even mostly the same color). The only clue I had at the time was that it felt…heavier. But I was in a rush and had to call a cab right away and basically threw it in without stopping to study it closely. When I got to the airport, I had to run to check the bag and run back to withdrawal money and pay the taxista. Throughout all the running, I never realized I had someone else’s bag.

It took me getting bombarded by likes, messages, and a friend request from a girl that had been on the same bus for me to realize what had happened. I had left her bag with Avianca, assuming the mix-up had happened post check-in. And that was the story I was sticking to so that Avianca would play a major role in switching our bags back.

After lots of calls and stress (and wearing the same clothing I had traveled in for almost 2 days straight, the real nightmare), I finally had my bag sent to me (no easy feat and not cheap as the other girl basically used the argument that she had no money to send me my bag and refused to take equal share of the blame). All of the stress and having to return to the airport was worth it to get my clothes back, though.

The moral of the story? Be careful on those smaller colectivo-style buses in Latin America. Most of the big buses will tag your bag. This bus did not, and ultimately cost me some stress, time, AND money.

In spite of all this background stress, I went on an excellent Street Food walking tour organized by a tour company called Callejeros (wearing the same clothes I had arrived in the day before and sweating my ass off in jeans and a black shirt, no less). Cali is pretty ideal for walking tours as it may get hot around midday but is pretty mild in general and quite cool in the morning and at night, especially when it rains.

The Street Food Walking tour was guided by a Cartagenero, so we got to discuss some differences between Cali and the coast. Turns out Caleños favor ¨cachaco¨ slang like chimba even though they are practically on the coast too – albeit the Atlantic coast. The Caribbean coast is just special I guess. The tour guide and I both agreed that costeño Spanish was a million times more vulgar (backed by lots of evidence which deserves its own post), and we had a good laugh which other tourists probably found hard to understand.

We made our way to the big market, Galeria Alameda, stopping along the way to try ceviche and local mini empanadas, all the while discussing Cali identity, safety, salsa culture, and art found around the city. Once we got to Galeria Alameda, we started by sampling lots of fruit. I loved it. Some I was familiar with but new for a lot of the Europeans and gringos on the tour (like lulo) and others were totally new to me or avoided because it looks weird but actually really good. We also had samples of dishes like sancocho (a typical stew also eaten in the coast), ceviche, and samples of morcilla (blood sausage), yuca, catfish, and a Colombian-style corn meal tamale called “bollo.” We also stopped and tried juices like borojo which I had tried before but not love nearly as much as I did in Cali. Last but not least we had some delicious coffee and gelato on the way back to the hostel.

Now as far as Colombian cuisine goes, most foreigners I know find it bland. I like it, but I also have a low tolerance for spice due to my dear friend Acid Reflux. Colombian spices tend to revolve around cumin and salt. But Cali people seem to enjoy a good deal of peppers (called aji in Colombian Spanish) and spices. Most of the us on the tour were quite impressed, even me after living so long in Colombia. The tour costs 30.000 (aprx. 10 dollars) which when you consider all the food you try and the places the guide shows you and the great information, it’s totally worth it. I could go on more about this tour but it practically deserves it’s own post.

Thanks to the tour, I made some cool friends from South Africa. We got together from the beginning when we were both waiting to go on the same tour. We grabbed a cab together and started talking about what travelers usually talk about – where we had come from, why we were there, and where we were going. They were two girls, both in their early twenties, who had done so much that I honestly was not expecting to be so much older than them. I love meeting people while traveling. They told me about how safe and serene it is to travel in Africa, at least in non-conflict zones and all they had seen. They were coming from Boulder, Colorado and just barely learning the basics in Spanish so I was happy to give them some mini lessons and translate when needed.

That night, they invited me to go out and even gave me a change of clothes. I had decided to do another walking tour to learn about the history of Cali and see some of its major landmarks, so I was feeling really tired. Once I laid down, I knocked out fast. Oasis hostel is nice because it’s in a calm part of the city but still not that far from the center. It has a slight party hostel edge – a nice patio, a jacuzzi which never got used while I was there, and space for travelers to congregate and swap stories – yet noise winds down at a reasonable hour. The girl working the majority of the time I was there was also from the Caribbean coast and was super helpful in all things, especially when it came to retrieving my bag and avoiding getting over charged by taxis.

The next day, I struck out on my own to explore. I went to the famous Parque de los Gatos, a path lined with fantastical painted cat sculptures – a real cat fanatic’s attraction. I meandered around downtown and had lunch before deciding to grab a taxi up to the famous Cristo Rey, a 26 meter tall Jesus monument overlooking the sprawling city of Cali. The air was cool, and leading up to the statue there was a cute park and a marketplace full of religious and Cristo Rey paraphernalia and dulce cortado, a treat Cali is famous for. The panorama view made the 15 mil I ended up paying the taxista more than worth it – and that was a big bargain considering he also waited for me and took me all the way up.

The same taxista was kind enough to make some recommendations for what to see from there. He told me about Caliwood, a museum honoring Cali and Colombia’s cinematic history. This was a treat, and more so because the owner happened to be there. We started talking as soon as I walked in. It so happened that he had visited New Orleans and was a well-known director in his own right. The tour started with an explanation and showing of 6 original short films and included an audio walk-through (via headphones) of the history of cinematography in Colombia and in general.

Afterwards, the owner gave me his card and tipped me off on where to go next in my journey. I told him I wanted to go to Valle de Cocora but wasn’t sure where to go after that. He suggested Manizales and its hot springs. He also told me about the other museums I went to see once I left. This was another one of those moments that have taught me in recent years that it’s better to take a chance and talk to strangers than keep to yourself when traveling. That’s how you can get the most out of your journey!

From there, I walked to the closest museums he pointed out for me on my tourist map and got to explore La Tertulia. La Tertulia Museum of Modern Art impressed me because in every room, there was an art expert or historian available to explain each piece displayed. Sometimes art is not just about interpretation – talking to the experts, I was able to realize that even a plain dirty canvas had volumes to say about the social and historical climate of Colombia. If you enjoy art and history, it’s worth the visit.

Now, I’m sure at this point thinking: Hang on, you said you were in Cali, right? So what about the salsa? Well that night, thanks to my Couch Surfing App, I was able to experience Cali night life and squeeze in some salsa dancing before heading out to my next destination. I had taken a free salsa class at the hostel in the evening once I got back from my tours and was ready to try my new moves! I messaged a few people before finding someone that was free and willing to go out and show a foreigner the ropes. We went to his favorite salsa club (can’t remember the name right now, but it was not the one everyone always goes to – that one had an endless line out front). We, on the other hand, enjoyed live salsa music and danced a few songs. Seems like I’m not half-bad at salsa, but don’t take my word for it!

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Salento

As I said, Cali was a real catch. Like all Colombian cities, it was easy to get to the terminal de transporte and take off the next morning on one of the earliest buses and begin the next leg of my adventure. (*only downside: Cali’s terminal is one of the few I’ve been in with no source of wifi)

Many towns were recommended to me, but if you want to be close to the mystical Valle de Cocora, Salento is the one. The downsides: it was full of tourists. Semana Santa is high tourist season for pretty much any attraction in Colombia. The colorful colonial streets were full, I found myself wandering through elbow-to-elbow with people.

The weather was chilly and the atmosphere quaint. In the end, I was happy to have picked one of the last available hostels in the town – Coffee Plantation Hostel. Just as the name suggests, the hostel is connected to a coffee farm in the outskirts of the city where most people go to see how coffee is grown and produced. At my hostel, coffee is harvested regularly and sold to guests who can then roast it themselves. I watched the process but didn’t partake as it was already late at that point and there was no coffee left to buy.

The highlights of Salento were the beautiful colonial architecture and a charming, majestic lookout point on the extreme end of the city opposite where my hostel was. The walk up the winding staircase was steep, and as I mentioned, crawling with people. But the view at the top was worth it – the only bad thing? My phone was dead. Just like it was in La Tertulia. Sadness. But the image captured in my mind of the rolling green, a river and tons of palms off in the distance, past the mountains, marking Cocora Valley will not soon be erased. I learned from a local (creep – but I won’t get into that here) that the palms and trees are unique to the region, and there are several different species which produce woods and cocos. The area has been incredibly preserved, unlike other parts of Colombia. That along with its cool and temperate climate make this region the most comfortable and beautiful part of Colombia, on a practically objective level.

I spent a night bundled up in the cabin-like room of the Coffee Plantation Hostel, going to bed early in spite of the distant drumming of the Holy Week celebration. That was Good Friday, the night when they commemorate Jesus’ death on the cross. I didn’t feel like walking far in the cold to watch because the next day I had to wake up early to go back uphill into town to find a Landrover that would take me to the Valle de Cocora.

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Valle de Cocora

This had been at the top of my to-visit list. I had seen pictures and one night, I even dreamed about visiting the misty, enchanting Valle de Cocora. It’s a valley full of the some of the tallest palm trees in the world. I took a horseback riding tour, a typical tourist trap (40 mil or so to enter – it was way more if I wanted to do an entire runthrough “recorrido”), but I have to admit, it was fun and I got some excellent information about the palm season.

One drawback to keep in mind: April and the middle part of the year are rainy season months. I knew this going into it, so I was smart and took the earliest 4×4 Jeep to get there (thanks, Liz, for the heads up!), but many wait and get caught in the rain. Clouds started to push their way in around midday, and 1. I was out of there and out of the town by 2, just when it was starting to pour, and I regret nothing. Since I got to the park around 8 am, I had a solid 4 hours to walk around, hike up and down the path, and take loads of pictures of the otherworldly landscape.

So, protip: Go early to avoid the heavy fog that would ruin your photos and rain that would cause you to get stranded in the tourist-heavy area. Ask a local or the hostel people if you aren’t sure what season it is.

4×4 travel was super cheap, 6 mil or around that (I might need to go back and check). I was able to catch a ride in the first Jeep I saw on its way out, no hassle. It left me at the entrance of the city, so all I needed to do was walk back to the hostel, grab my things, check out, and head to the little bus station. As fate would have it, a bus was just heading out of the town. Most of these local buses and colectivos have a super low cost, anywhere between 4 and 8 mil depending on the distance. This one was heading for Armenia, which I had been advised to go to in order to catch a bus more easily to my next destination: Manizales, Caldas.

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Manizales

I booked a hotel once I had decided the route I was going to take in Cali. The Eco-friendly hotel is tucked away in the mountains, a bit far from the bus terminal, but the view is absolutely breath-taking. It was the priciest of my accommodations because it was an actual single-room hotel, but that was what I was aiming for. I decided after so much hiking, I would need a space to relax before making the 14+ hour bus ride back to Valledupar.

The 80 mil that I paid (only ~$35 USD so still VERY cheap) did not include the meals I ate there, but the additional cost was low, $10 mil a meal. I practically had the open-air hotel to myself, so I was able to enjoy the tranquil sounds of birds chirping and rain falling. It rained a few times while I was there, adding to the soothing atmosphere. The ladies that worked there made me feel at home and readily provided me with details when I asked about the hot springs, my biggest motivation for stopping in Manizales to begin with. They hooked me up with a taxi driver they knew and trusted (taxista de confianza) that gave me a ride there and back and also to the airport the following day.

I was charmed by how polite the people I encountered in this part of Colombia were. Nobody was trying too hard to get every last penny out of me (a regular thing living in the cost), people were calm while also eager to help out. Even the conversations I had with the taxi driver and hotel staff were pleasant. I truly felt a sense of hometown hospitality.

I didn’t get to see much of Manizales. Most of what I saw was from the taxi window on the 45 minute ride to the hot spring. In spite of how long of a distance it was, I was able to arrange with the driver a pretty reasonable fair – $30 mil roundtrip. He picked me up at the time I said and even pointed me towards the spring with the best deal: Termales de otoño. The entrance fee was only 25 mil. I also reserved a meal and had a delicious canelazo while enjoying the three levels of pools that were included. Once paid for, I could stay as long as I wanted, so I decided since I arrived at 6 to stay until 9.

This was the perfect plan to relax and contemplate everything I had done and seen in only 5 days. Colombia is truly an amazing country with a diversity of landscapes and activities. The best part is traveling is so accessible, and if you travel like I do, avoiding pricey things you can get cheaper, you are able to enjoy some luxuries here and there. My stay in Manizales was my luxury, my peace and quiet, my retreat before the long trek back to Valledupar. The warm, steaming pools were the ideal contrast to the chill of the region and the remedy I was hoping for to sooth my aching feet after all of the uphill walks in Cali and Salento.

The next morning, it was back to the terminal – which YES, does have wifi. Unlike the two buses I had to take to get back to Valledupar which did not. The return was my least favorite part, naturally, because neither one of the buses I took was spacious or nice, and the trip was long. Long. There was construction on the highway from Manizales to Medellin, causing a regularly 5 hour trip to take almost 7 hours due to lots of stops along the way. Then, I had to take a bus from the Southern terminal to the Northern terminal in Medellin – yes, that’s how big of a city it is. From there, it was a full night on the bus to get back to Valledupar. That usually has a length of 14 hours. I got lucky in that it was an hour or so less, but man was it a relief to be back.

Seeing the Eje Cafetero gave me a different view of a Colombia, a green, scenic, peaceful side I would not mind spending more time exploring in the future. I will definitely be going back in 2020!

Day 1: San Antonio, Laredo, Monterrey (aka the longest day ever)

It’s officially been over 24 hours since I began my journey, and let me tell you: my body feels every second of it. I’ve now been on 4 buses, so far, with another one to go to get to our first major stop: Mexico City (CDMX). Right now we’re resting at our 3rd pit stop in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, Mexico, about 12 hours away from our final destination.

Let me back up. The travel delirium is making my thoughts spin. It started at 5:15 yesterday morning. I was awoken after what felt like the fastest 5 hours of sleep of my life – blink and you’re awake. Time to go to the greyhound station, a grimey gas station/run down casino off of the highway in Lake Charles.

Word to the wise: greyhound SUCKS. You pay over $100 for a 7 hour trip in which you’re guaranteed nothing more than discomfort 100% of the trip. I had experience with greyhound before this, but getting used to Colombian bus companies of superior quality and cheaper cost made me somehow less prepared for the experience. Somehow it always smells like someone forgot to bathe. The seats have no cushioning. The TVs are just for looks. And there’s zero leg room. Now I have long legs. I felt like I had been stuffed into a tiny box for the past 4 hours when I finally got from Houston, the connecting city to San Antonio.

Luckily, Natalie and I met pretty soon after that. Her flight arrived about an hour after I did and then it took her almost an hour to get to the Starbucks where I was freezing waiting.

Another word to the wise: store your bag if you want to walk around and sightsee. I feel so clumsy with this thing. It’s not that it weighs too much, but it takes up space, and I hit people without meaning to which led to a very tense situation at my first McDonald’s pit stop in Houston. So yeah, it’s like having a person strapped to your back. Look out for that.

San Antonio is beautiful especially downtown where we decided to kill time before making our way to the border city of Laredo. That was 36 dollars, not so bad, but again, greyhound. We left from Houston at 9:30 pm after spending the afternoon wandering along the river walk looking for cheap eats before realizing that on Sunday most everything is closed and settling for the cheapest thing we could find open near by – McDonald’s. Spoiler alert: my stomach was not happy after the last 2 bus rides. I think I know why.

In line in the greyhound station, we quickly made friends with some Mexican people planning to cross back into Mexico. They explained that there are two or three ways to go about this: cross in your car or a taxi (*expensive* – around $60 – NOPE) or walk through on foot.

So once we got down, we immediately set off on foot with two older women and a young man towards the border customs building. It was a straight shot from the station – no taxi required. We finally crossed the border at 12 am after converting a dollar for a moneda in pesos, slipping it into a slot, and walking through one of those turnstile things. Easy as that.

As we made our way down this sidewalk, closed off from the cars crossing back and forth on the road, the other lady that was walking with us pointed out all of the people seemingly camped out, thrown on the walkway on the opposite side. All waiting to cross the border. It’s not as crazy as you might think, she said, but that’s the reality. I couldn’t help but think about the children at this point that have been taken from their families and isolated just for daring to look for a sanctuary. Since being here, I can only imagine why. Just like in Colombia, the corruption and dangerous parts are clear, well-defined boundaries. But there is a since of warmth and solidarity that I feel in both places and have felt so far as a simple outsider in Mexico so far. If only we shared that solidarity in the states, a place where hostilities are so high that even walking into a McDonald’s in the poorer side of a city can lead to suspicion and tension.

So, it wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Our guide of the moment, who fortunately was a lawyer, informed us having our bags quickly scanned in customs that we needed to take a cab to Migration to get our visas. Yes, you have to pay a visa fee in Mexico – $533 pesos or $30 dollars. The process was easy, but I would recommend getting money changed sooner rather than later, even though people are more than willing to accept or even exchange dollars for pesos. Also have the exchange rate present, which I didn’t. I didn’t even know there was a visa fee. Shame on me.

Luckily, it wasn’t a big deal. We waited for the taxi to come back after taking the lawyer lady back home. Our original companion was waiting for us, a very kind woman from Monterrey. She’s basically the reason we came here. We wanted to see the Mexico vs. Brazil game, which is currently happening, and then continue our journey from here.

In the bus station, we found out the trip with the lady would cost us $23 dollars to travel about 3 hours away – much better.

While in the bus station in Nuevo Laredo, we realized that (just like in Colombia) toilet paper was not supplied in the bathrooms. Make sure if you are traveling in Latin America to always be on the safe side and *bring toilet paper*! BYOTP. Because most buses don’t have it either, and trust me you don’t wanna go hours without wiping. Luckily, another kind lady gave me a big wad of hers in the bathroom when she saw I didn’t have any.

The Senda bus company was literally world’s superior to Greyhound. We even got a bottle of water and chips included. We left at 2 am and got here around 5:20, pure sleep in some of the softest seats with the best leg room I’ve seen on a bus like that.

Since arriving to Monterrey, we have been taking it easy. Initially we were totally lost – no pesos even to just go to the bathroom (Yes, you have to pay to use the restroom in most large bus stations, it was 6 pesos, so pocket change – Colombia and Mexico have this in common), confused about the public transportation system, and exhausted (at least on my end – Natalie sleeps surprisingly well on buses. I never feel rested). Thanks to being surrounded by helpful strangers though, the confusion aspect resolved itself quickly.

So take away since we’ve been here: people are your friends. Leave your bags if you’re going to even just walk around to take pictures because these bags are bulky and awkward. Make sure you know the details on where you’re going. Monterrey has a good metro service that connects the city with a fare of only a few cents, and we had no trouble getting to the downtown historic district near Barrio Antiguo, a must see according to our acquaintance from the bus. Still getting in this area before 7 is not ideal. Nothing happened to us, but I still felt very uneasy. We talked to another local that clearly was confused by our presence with these bags at 5:40 am and gave us some good advice to avoid losing all of our things.

Welp, that’s what led us to where we were chilling for several hours, VIPS, a Mexican American-ish diner where we got some good eggs, bread, and coffee (and even refried beans and nachos). It’s a bit expensive, so we got the cheapest possible thing, around $45 or 4 dollars each.*

We watched the game, which started exciting and hopeful but ended in silence and disappointment as Mexico lost to Brazil 0 to 2. Oh well, it would’ve been great to see them win, but frankly I’ve never been a big fútbol fan anyway. It was just cool to see Mexico play among their paisanos.

From there, we walked around exploring Barrio Antiguo and the historic district. There is plenty to do, make no mistake, you could spend at least a weekend exploring Monterrey – the palacios, teatro (theatre), multiple museos (museums), and even a lovely river walk with a boat tour akin to that of San Antonio called Paseo Santa Lucia. The truth is colonial San Antonio and Monterrey are rather similar.** Both cities have the same Spanish colonial origins and charm. Monterrey, being the capital of the state Nuevo León, literally has lions and references to the colonial heroes of Mexico everywhere. I spent a good while perusing the statues and getting a feel for Mexican pride towards its history and origins. There’s art and a strong respect for history in this area – not so useful to visit only to glimpse inside because it leaves you wanting to spend more time. We went past the Museo de Historia Mexicana, and my intrigue nearly led me inside but my aching feet and back stopped me.

Did I mention it was really hot?! And we were walking around with all our stuff. Mostof the bars and clubs in Barrio Antiguo were closed up, so it was really just wandering until finally I had to stop, sit, and change into more comfortable shoes.

Final recommendation: Monterrey is worth a day visit but probably not great to explore on foot if you haven’t had a proper sleep in 24 hours.

Now we’re finally on the bus headed to Mexico City after waiting for 4 hours for our bus in the terminal. We were debating after getting back from downtown if we should take the first bus heading to the capital or not. In the end, after weighing our options, we decided that it would be better to wait in order to arrive when our host would be more likely to be waiting for us and we could hopefully get a full night’s sleep on a comfortable bus. We chose Futura Select, a cushy luxury bus replete with wifi, large reclining chairs, screens on the back of each chairs, and even free snacks included (a drink, sandwich, and dried fruit snack combo). We could not complain, as we got this amazing setup for a 13 hour trip for a mere 90 dollars/1200 pesos. Truly better than anything you get with Greyhound in the states – but okay, that’s not saying much.

You would think with such luxury I would be sleeping. It’s 3:12 am. Despite the comfort, my body is sore from being in the same position sitting down for so long. I feel exhausted and driven to finish this post.

Here’s hoping our arrival in roughly 3 hours is a success! And that we’re finally able to shower and lay down. The rest for me is secondary at the moment.

*The exchange rate is mostly a dollar to $18 pesos, which I found up to $20 or down to $10 to convert in my head, but still it’s been a bit awkward to figure out if I’m spending a reasonable amount or not.

**Later I will edit and post pictures to compare the two.

Preparations: the Eve of Central America Mochilero Trip 2018

I’ve been meaning to write for a while now. Preparing for my Central American adventure (which will include hopefully all 7 countries + Mexico) has my anxiety through the roof, which carries the unfortunate consequence of making it hard for me to focus on any one thing for long periods of times – and that includes writing. That being said, I don’t associate this sort of anxiety with negative things. Yes, I become more irritable, not so different from my 70 year old grandparents that get frustrated at the slightest hiccup caused by technology – little things get to me, one of the most unfortunate symptoms of my anxiety. But I’ve been trying to put things in perspective and focus on what’s really important: the excitement aspect underlying these anxious feelings.

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One of the things that’s particularly therapeutic for me is doing just that: refocusing and reframing my pre-travel anxiety to interpret as excitement. Anxiety and excitement have similar symptoms after all. I figure if I can see it as one big adrenaline rush, it makes me feel a little less crazy and a lot more optimistic of the journey I’m on.

I wanted to share some of the preparations I’ve made. It’s been no small task for me preparing for a month-long backpacking excursion. The truth is, I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never traveled for such a long period of time, much less while depending on websites like couchsurfing and a single companion.

Now the good news is I do have experience traveling in an improvised way. I’ve slept at a person’s house that I met on CS and I’ve even hopped on a bus and went somewhere completely unknown in another country alone. I have no doubts that I can do this and it will be amazing.

But still. Let’s be honest. It’s not all rosy and adventurous. Anxiety is real and it is a biatch.

So I’ve learned that making lists kind of calms me through this process. I’ve been steadily documenting what I need and how much I need to spend in order to get it. Make no mistake, just because I might be sleeping on some couches and taking all of the public transportation options we can find, that doesn’t mean this hasn’t been and won’t be a cheap trip.

Here are the three most essential items I’ve selected to help me on my journey:

THE Mochila – I don’t think a mochilero trip would be right if you don’t get the key accessory. This decision was excruciating for me, as are most big decisions where there are lots of options. Go compact and risk not having enough space or go big and risk being weighed down and not packing light enough? Go economic and risk it coming to cheap? Go expensive and…spend a lot of money? Buy online or in person? At the end of the day, I asked around, sweated about it a bit looking on amazon and mercado libre, before finally heading down to my nearest mall and slipping into a Totto store. Totto is a solid, reliable brand. Considering I’m planning on taking another trip like this in South America next year, I decided to go big or go home. In the end, I settled on this kirat 90 liter bag – basically the biggest, most expensive bag they have. However, I regret nothing.
The camera – After pooling recommendations from my photographer buddies, both casual and professional, the most reasonable yet quality camera I found was the Sony Alpha a6000. I went with this beautiful model, and since testing it out this week, I can say I know it was the perfect purchase for the documenting I want to do during this trip both for travel vlog vids (coming soon!) and insta photography (@foto.explora – shameless plug, I know).
Hiking shoes – I wasn’t sure if I was going to buy new shoes for this trip. After all, as you can see, the previous items add up to a lot, and I didn’t even go into accessories for the camera (bag, memory card, tripod, etc.). But while wandering around Academy with my dad yesterday, I found myself in the shoe section thinking about how horrible having sore feet is and how much I plan to hike – mountains and volcanoes with rivers, no doubt and rocks and – you get the picture. The last thing I need is aching feet and shoes that are falling apart. So, I made the decision – $50 for waterproof, odor free, slip-resistant hiking shoes.

Really, the only other things I’m investing in are the tickets and lodging, along with other incidentals along the way. All in all, I feel good about these purchases because I know they will make the experience more convenient and less stressful.

Traveling is an investment. Nothing more, nothing less. As you will see, a lot of what I bought is kind of pricey. But I realize this won’t be my last time using these essential items, and really, if you’re going to buy something you plan on using a lot, you need to make sure it is quality so it lasts you. You don’t only invest in a great experience and memories when you travel, you also invest in the stuff that makes it a quality experience.

This investment involves my own ambitions to write more, share more, and blog more – not just as a hobby but hopefully as something that can help others and maybe even make people more passionate about traveling and exploring. I want to spark people’s curiosity, to make them realize that traveling is a worthy lifetime investment – that it can change the way you see the world, and yes, even change you. I’ve loved photography and writing for as long as I can remember, so beneath all of my anxiety and worry, there’s an eagerness to learn and grow, about and from others and about these skills I am so excited to grow and share with others.

The final list, of course, has everything to do with packing. So what’s in my bag?

Leggings, at least 3 pair, for comfortable hiking and lounge-wear.
Underwear and socks, lest our mothers don’t remind us of their importance. I’m going on the safe side, 7 pairs just in case I’m not able to wash clothes during the week.
A pair of jeans – because it’s a necessity but I also don’t think I’m going to want to be wearing jeans all the time. Also you can rewear jeans multiple times before they start getting noticeably dirty.
A few pairs of shorts for the days I want to free my legs on those hikes
A good mix of t-shirts and tops that can be used for city or nightlife outings.
3 dresses, including a beach dress to go over my swimsuit
The swimsuit, because the beach is definitely on our list of destinations.
3 types of shoes: sandals (for the beach/going out), standard tennis shoes, and the hiking shoes
A makeup bag with the general essentials (ponytail holders, deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, sunscreen, powder, basic makeup/beauty items, etc.)
Tech stuff – chargers, a backup battery for the camera, cleaning supplies, all that jazz

Add a jacket in case it rains or gets chilly, and I think that pretty much covers it. I tried to pack light with the fact that I don’t want to have a heavy burden and I want enough space for some memorandum to bring home too. I also didn’t go so light that I end up wearing the same 3 outfits for a whole month. You know, practicality and fashion don’t have to contradict each other.

So here I go! Sharing what I’ll be doing, what I’ve done to prepare, and all of the little insights along the way. Tomorrow, at 7 am I set off for San Antonio to meet up with my friend. Then we begin the first leg of our 30-day journey to Mexico City. It’s going to be a long day…and night. The journey starts now.

Looking Back: (Mis)adventures in Parque Tayrona and Santa Marta

Finally I had my Colombian adventure. I set off on Tuesday around 1 pm thinking I wouldn’t get a bus until 2:30, but to my pleasant surprise, when I arrived at the bus terminal I was immediately led to the bus leaving at that exact moment. The trip was a bit uncomfortable. Initially, I thought I had the best luck – the back seat to myself. Then this entire family climbed onto the bus, and to my dismay, there were no free spaces other than the ones next to me. So the mother and father sat next to me with their three children piled on top of them. Not the most pleasant of scenarios, but it only lasted about 3 hours. Then I was told to get on a smaller bus that would take me straight to Santa Marta. Again, another cramped voyage. Imagine me, a relatively tall white woman in the last row of a roughly 25-seat mini-bus packed with Colombians of a darker complexion. I was like a sore thumb stuffed in a box of sardines.

But before I knew it, that leg of the journey was over and I was in my hostel, Solaz, in Santa Marta. I had a really neat conversation with the taxi driver who picked me up in front of the terminal about ignorance that leads to hero worship of even the most deplorable figures – in this case, Trump and Maduro. I never considered that there were Venezuelans that admired and even worshiped him with a certain fervor. My taxista, a Venezuelan, understood it just as much as I understand the fervor people in my own family have towards Trump. He left me with his number, saying if I ever needed anything in the city to let him know. A man who had been a successful detective with several houses, for the first time, reduced in a way to a solitary life working in the public sector of Colombia. Now that would make a novel – but that was his life. The whole thing struck me as quaint.

I can’t lie, I had some unrealistic expectations for this trip, particularly for seeing my friend. After all, his posturing of things was pretty ideal. We were to go out wandering around Santa Marta talking and then later drink and dance the night away. I even imagined us traveling a bit afterwards together as well.

Well, suffice it to say, it didn’t happen that way. We all ended up being to tired to properly drink and dance, so I retired early. And honestly, that’s okay. Everything was fun but not life-altering. I kept finding myself getting quiet and pensive because it didn’t feel like I felt it should. And I realize that’s the danger. Thinking too much and figuring yourself into a story that isn’t yours. All the same, I generally enjoyed the experience I had, all because a relatively new friend had the nerve to tell me “ven” – come through.

The great, and frankly unexpected, part of this adventure was the connections I gained along the way. That night I met Clari and Dani, two incredible Argentinian girls. They were both planning on going to the same destination that I had in mind from the beginning: Parque Tayrona. My friend introduced us, and we hit it off fairly well. They are both biology majors from Buenos Aires with a myriad of other skills between them: both cook, sing, dance (tango!), ride horses, among a million other little things aside from being extremely intelligent. It’s not that often that you meet truly formidable people in life, but I felt like they could definitely be described as such.

I got to know them a good deal in Santa Marta, eating out and hanging out in the hostel and going to swim and sunbathe in Rodadero (oh, did I mention they’re both great swimmers too?). But I really saw what made them tick on our trip to Tayrona.

We went into the trip with the entrance tickets to the park pre-bought – a must to avoid long lines in peak tourist season – and (supposedly) lodging already a given. That part ended up being wrong, though, as when we arrived to the camp site with extremely over-priced food, there was actually no tents available for us to rent. It got worse considering the guy that worked there wouldn’t even help us. So not long after, it was put our bags back on our backs and hoof it to the next campsite.

When we got there, we were so relieved to have made it through this jungle of hills and sandy hikes: rivers, ant-trails, and muddy clearings we had to cross by balancing ourselves on logs – so relieved that we didn’t even consider if we were getting a good deal. $35.000 a person for 2 big tents and one little one, in a seemingly less crowded campsite? We’ll take it!

Unfortunately, when we returned from hiking along the beach that afternoon we discovered that not only was the place very crowded (so crowded in fact that the kitchen ran out of meat and there were few chairs to spare for our group of 5 to sit at), but that it was also extremely unsanitary and the food sucked, was overpriced, and lacked variety! There were 2 bathrooms on the entire campsite. One had a shower. One. Fast forward later that night when I’m trying to wash myself off while another person is dying in the stall next to me of food-poison-induced diarrhea…not pleasant. Not to mention the tents were practically on top of each other, plus hammocks outside of them and all around. And this to the fact that most people were loud, intoxicated, and sick, and you get a really big headache. I think we all learned a valuable lesson: always book ahead. And book Cabo.

Backing up a bit, the hike along the beaches were to die for – almost literally – exhausting but definitely worth it. Despite some inconvenient physical circumstances, I managed to get in the ocean, hike up all of those fun jungle hills, and make some incredible memories. I just felt very…unsanitary while doing so. And crampy.

That day, we explored Las Piscinas, la Laguna de los Caimanes, and half-hiked to Cabo before realizing it would be dark on the hike back because we left way too late (we’re talking about starting an hour-long hike around 4/5 pm – not a great idea). So after discovering how fucked up our campsite was, we decided to go to a different, more family-oriented campsite to eat and enjoy some music. Colombia is not Colombia without music (especially blasting Vallenato).

We convinced the lady cooking to make us pasta which was pretty decent (and huge so almost worth the $21.000 we spent on it). We also broke out the aguardiente and beers. I discovered that night that in reality, Argentines don’t drink as heavily as Colombians. Andres and Julian, both from Bogota, were all for passing out the shots. We started during our walk to the other site (in the dark under an absolutely incredible starry sky unsullied by light pollution) and continued once we were mostly finished eating. Food was accompanied by beer, of course.

Then, we started playing some hilarious drinking games. One involved using a specific letter of the alphabet to describe your genitals. I learned a lot of new vulgarities and adjectives in this one, and I actually didn’t do so bad! Another was Pregunta, Pregunta which was literally Question Master – each person can only ask a question and respond with a question. This led to more shots then you would think, but possibly not as much as the categories game (another concept I was familiar with from King’s Cup – ohhh college). Somebody picks a category and each person has to say something within the category. The Argentine girls also taught us a game involving crossing arms and tapping the table in an unbroken chain. Way harder than you would think, especially while walking the knife’s edge of tipsy and fucked up.

We were accompanied by a French girl, Alice, who we met in the shitty campsite earlier that day. Exploring with her was fun, although she also wasn’t much of a heavy drinker. I think Colombian culture has exacerbated my own party-loving spirit. When she and Clari were ready to retire, the fun had only just begun for me. I was tipsy and dancing with Andres, and Dani and Julian had coupled up as well. I’ve noticed that this coupling off to dance thing probably has a lot to do with the hookup culture I’ve seen here. Nothing happened out of the ordinary that night, but it does tend to happen under those circumstances.

When you travel, you learn so much about other people, and from them, you also learn about yourself. I suffered a couple really major crises during the trip. I went back to the party after promising to go back with Andres to walk Julian and Dani back from the site and “take care of them,” which doesn’t work very well when you are well liquored up yourself. I unfortunately forgot that I was carrying my cellphone in my purse – while crossing the laguna de los caimanes – Alligator Lagoon. On the way out of the campsite on the hill, I made an Olympic-metal hop across a log that connected one side to another. Beaming with accomplishment, I turned to share the light with my friend coming behind me. The log was not totally level of course and my foot slipped and – bam! I slipped straight down into the lagoon. Of course, my own welfare wasn’t the real worry for me in my intoxicated state – the damage the water did to my brand new Moto g5 as I scrambled to get out and continued to fall, eventually pulling Andres with me was the real tragedy of the moment. New cellphone – dead. Pride – also dead. I cried so much that night, it was ridiculous. Andres did his best to comfort me, but I was pretty distraught, so we sat by the side of the ocean for at least an hour leaning against a log of sorts, him trying to distract me from my tech tragedy, me trying to rationalize the situation and failing and just being angry at myself.

After the wild, regrettable night, I woke up in the big tent with a pretty shitty hangover, exhausted from barely sleeping, sore all over, and just generally blah. In spite of that, we decided to carry on and hike down to Cabo. We had a breakfast at the same place we had partied the night before and hurried on our way. Hiking in sand, by the way: don’t do it. My shoes were soaked and dirty, which meant soggy feet after spending what seemed like hours in beautiful aqua blue oceans and shiny, gold-flecked rivers. Cabo was a dream, and the hike there and back really was not so bad. We passed the time by swapping stories and singing Disney songs both in Spanish and English. We unanimously decided that next time, for sure, we would have to stay there. And book in advance. Just go Cabo.

What I was not prepared for was the hike out of the park. 2 hours or more, not including the 1 hour hike back to the main campsite from Cabo. My feet were soggy and blistered. Every step slowly became more painful, and then, like fools, we decided to finish the last leg of our hike (which could have been cut shorter on bus) on foot instead. The sensation of stepping on knives stabbed through me with every painful step. At first, the trip didn’t seem so far. Just a little bit further…but after each turn that did not seem to bring us any closer to our destination, I began to bitterly lose hope.

Clari was patient with me, as was Andres, who took my bag to help lighten my burden. Clari distracted me with engaging conversations about past lives (”Muchas Vidas, Muchos Maestros” was a book she recommended me that I must remember to read). We talked about the permanence of energy in the universe and strange dreams and uncanny knowledge of things one has not directly experienced. Andres thought we sounded high, but it was just the mixture of our shared mysticism and hiking delirium. We got on to plan other potential trips, Spain being a shared interest. She assured me that I could go visit in Argentina anytime.

Finally, that little adventure was over. The other tragedy came after deciding recklessly to go out and drink cocktails and tequila shots while suffering from severe exhaustion – and eat meaty, heavy street food. The stomach virus I had the next day was so severe I was unable to even smell food without becoming nauseous and vomited pretty much everything in me that diarrhea didn’t wipe out. Andres and Dani had decided to move on to La Guajira, leaving me in the hostel with Clari and some kind German girls that had taken up residence. Clari helped me get the strength to go to the clinic to get some shots and a ton of drugs to deal with the poisoning. I lost that Saturday in Santa Marta sleeping, and the next day, it was time to go home.

So, big takeaways from the trip:

Don’t take your cell with you on midnight treks over alligator lagoons while intoxicated. Just…don’t do it. Hindsight is a bitch.
Don’t let shit that is over and done with affect and ruin your present.
Don’t be afraid to open up to strangers. They might end up becoming some of your best company.
Don’t overthink the reaction of others to that essence which is you – any negative reaction is their problem.
Street food involving meat should be avoided at all costs. Eating in places where conditions are unsanitary, regardless of how tempting the cheapness of that place is must be avoided.
And finally: don’t wait – buy your entradas (tickets) to the park and book your campsite or hostel in advance. Make sure you have all the facts. Don’t be like me.

In the end, I don’t regret any of it, even the misadventures and all of the callouses my feet acquired. The trip represents life in a big way. It was a microcosm of the wins, losses, and connections one experiences when they dare to live without limits and open themselves up to people. It’s not always going to be pleasant and epic, but it will teach you something if you let it. Those lessons will stay with me, buried away in my consciousness. This is the year of autonomy and letting go of fear. This trip was part of the autonomy. And it was only the beginning. Bring on the next adventure: Central America!