A Instagram account + GoPro ≠ does not equal travel.
It's the Instagram. Instafame. It's a GoPro. The handholding, while the girl is leading. The staying in Bombay Sapphire colored hotel pools, drinking Rosé and and eating elaborate expensive meals. Jumping into a waterfall in a 400 dollar swimsuit.
My first few weeks on land after two plus years of traveling and being on the ocean, I could have collapsed into the ground at the airport, like they do in movies and kissed the ground.
I decided in a tiny fishing town in an even tinier library in Southeast Alaska: “That's IT! I'm going to go to Tokyo!”
So I bought a round trip ticket for a month in August.
At this point I can feel the bitchy American hospitality industry person in me freak out. I'm not going to be her. Oh no. I'm going to tranquila. I'm going to Pura Vida.
The author leading the discussion looked liked Stellan Skarsgard. I couldn't stop thinking that. He offered insight regarding literary agents, beginning publishing and the highs and lows of being a writer. People asked him questions like he held the mystery to being published. I just soaked it all in.
He was educated. Attended Iowa University and Oxford. He spoke of an endless list of credits, appearances and publications he rattled off like he was reading the back of a medicine bottle.
This was about five years ago, so naturally I have found myself back to having too many things. I realized this when I was in Tokyo hauling around a 50 lb. bag on my back of clothes I wouldn't wear. My shoulders were bruised and bleeding. I was literally carrying my burdens on my shoulders. I couldn't believe it. I thought I had changed into an enlightened guru, when I was just carrying around my belongings like Quasimodo.
I ended up leaving that bag locked away or storing it somewhere, and carrying one change of clothes with me, and cutting what I had on, to survive the crazy heat and avoid purchasing new stuff.
"Open your eyes. Open you eyes."
Everything is unscathed by a city. Wildlife is wild here. A bald eagles snatches a salmon from a raven with it's claws.
I’m sitting at the Maryhill Musuem staring at the iron laid tracks of the Oregon Trail.
He laughed. My face flushes. I would never have had the nerve to talk to anyone before. Not even the bus driver.