Warning: infectious wanderlust within
A few months ago, I let you all in on my dirty travel secret: I have no desire to do a RTW trip.
Am I allowed to change my mind? After reading The Lost Girls—a birthday gift from my mom, confirming that she sometimes knows what I want better than I do—I’ve been struck with a serious case of wanderlust. I’m still a bit hesitant about trying to see the entire world in a year, but my mind is racing with anxiety about so much to do in so little time.
The book tracks the journey of three girlfriends around the world—three twenty-somethings who left behind the dream lives of our generation. Jobs in publishing and entertainment, serious boyfriends, great apartments in New York City. They took a year to travel around the world: backpacking South America, volunteering in Africa, going to yoga school in India, bungee jumping in New Zealand and roadtripping Australia. While the book’s emphasis on how traveling together improved their friendship was a bit foreign to me as a solo traveler, it did make me yearn for a travel partner-in-crime.
I’ve always been a bit Euro-centric, which I blame on my Western Europe-focused general education program at my university. I like exploring countries where I’m familiar with the rough outlines of the political evolution, where I can recognize art movements in the museums–I seriously get a bit giddy when I can recognize an artist and the movement by just looking at the piece. I’m also a bit spoiled: I like having a plug for my straightener, hot showers, the absence of bugs. I also like the feeling of safety, knowing that I won’t necessarily need to bribe a police officer for justice.
But reading The Lost Girls made me realize just how much I might be missing out on by avoiding “dangerous” or underdeveloped countries. Reading about climbing Macchu Picchu, tubing in Southeast Asia, crowding into trains in India, living in rural Kenya made me realize that the world is not confined to North America and Western Europe. Sure, the thought of a train car crawling with cockroaches makes me squirm–OK, more like scream–but if the Taj Mahal is at the end of the rails, it might be worth it.
So what now? Herein lies my problem. I’m simultaneously dreaming of learning Spanish while backpacking through Mayan ruins in South America. Working in a bar and learning to surf in Australia. Eating as much spicy food and enjoying as many cheap massages as I can handle in Thailand. Becoming a certified yoga teacher at an ashram in India. Embracing my inner adrenaline junky with bungee jumping and river rafting in New Zealand.
Before leaving for France, I promised myself that I would focus on the experience–that I wouldn’t worry about what I was doing in November or what my next step would be. But now I’ve been struck with a serious case of wanderlust, one that causes me to play the numbers game on Kayak, figuring out how far away I can go for the cheapest ticket.
I know it seems silly, but all of a sudden, it seems like the world has opened up. There are countless possibilities and opportunities–and heck, I’m young. I haven’t run out of money yet and I don’t have anything tethering me down. I still think that slow travel is the way to go, particularly after reading the girls’ accounts of travel fatigue and of cramming entire countries and cultures into just a few days. But all I know now is that I want to go.
My point? I guess I’m a lost girl too. And come November, your guess is as good as mine as to where I’ll be next.
