The Journeyer

Corfu

At the tender age of 18, I was sitting in a taverna on the island of Corfu, off the coast of the Greek mainland.  I was camping up the hill in an olive grove, and spending my days down at the beach playing in the massive waves and waterfall.

One night, I was sitting around with the group of young folks from various parts of the world, watching TeeVee and eating some magnificent mousaka, when the show “Vegas” came on.  It was very popular toward the end of the 70s and early 80s, with the character Dan Tanna running around being a PI, or something like that.  At any rate, the show had been dubbed into Greek.

I suddenly felt this wave of terror, realizing just how far from home I was.  I looked around at the kids there with me, from Germany, England, South Africa, Italy.  I had this sinking thought, “What if something happened to me?  What would I do?”

Of course, the feeling soon passed with a fresh bottle of Ouzo, but I never forgot that moment of near-panic.  At that point, I had been living overseas for over a year, and had already been through more than a dozen countries.  Why should it hit me right then?

Several years later, I was reading the brilliant book, “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” by Douglas Adams (an experience that started a multi-decade love-affair with his work).  Near the beginning of the book, the main character, Arthur Dent, looks into the eyes of Ford Prefect and is nearly scared out of his wits.  As the author explains, the farther a man is away from his home, the more distant and wild the look in his eyes.  Naturally, that look in an extra-terrestrial’s eyes would be unnerving.

That passage reminded me of that feeling of being so far from home.  It’s a very unsettling feeling to know that you can’t walk home, no matter how hard you try.  Conquering that fear is what separates travelers from tourists.

A tourist will go to extraordinary lengths to make sure their trip is ‘safe’ and ‘secure.’  They’ll buy traveler’s checks and bring the credit cards and pack every conceivable item they might need.  A tourist leaves an itinerary and contact information with a friend or family member.  A tourist has reservations.

When I moved to Indonesia, I had a week’s worth of clothes, a portable water filter, a bottle opener, a multi-purpose tool, a hat, and (because I read Douglas Adams) a towel.  I carried my entire life in one checked bag and one carry-on, for what I considered to be a permanent move.

I had no itinerary or reservations, just some friends with an open spot on the floor in the living room.  I had a plane ticket with open return for nine months, and a two-month visa that I had picked up at the local consulate in Houston.

Three years later, I have a wife and family, and the last time we moved, it required a two-ton truck and five men.  It wasn’t easy.  About three months into this fool’s errand, I had very powerful thoughts about giving up and walking into the jungle, hoping cannibals would make a feast out of my carcass.  I’ve had a few things stolen, including all of my ID, but I managed and got to a point that is relavtively settled in my new land.

The point is, if you want to make the jump, you have to be willing to let go of everything.  I cashed in pretty much my entire worldly belongings.  I let go of nearly every relationship I had (those that are real stick with you, no matter the time or distance).  I cut off nearly every zone of comfort I had to follow my dream of living and traveling in Asia. 

In fact, as the title of this column says, I live pretty much on the exact opposite side of the world from my home.  If I move in any of the cardinal directions, I am going closer to home, since it is physically impossible to get further away without leaving the planet.

I think most people are tourists.  They don’t mind seeing new places, as long as it’s not too exotic and they can maintain all the comforts of home, with plenty of back-up.  Nothing wrong with that.  Certainly, there are times when I crave routine and the security of repeatable experiences.

There are a few people who are travelers, though.  They lust for the challenge of pitting themselves against the unknown.  Some relieve this feeling by bungee jumping or sky-diving.  But, for a few of us, the only relief comes in the form of increasing as many variables in life as they can, and then trying to survive them.

Some might call it insanity, and perhaps it is.  Insanity comes in many forms.  I tend to look at those who spend their whole lives chasing ‘security’ as being insane.  They use up their precious lives grasping for vapors and ghosts.  At least my insanity involves real, physical goals.  And I get some great stories to tell.

The big difference between a tourist and a traveler, is that the traveler realizes that he is just as ‘safe’ and ‘secure’ 12,000 miles from home as the person who never ventures out of their living room.  One only trades this set of variables for that set.

In some ways, I’m much ‘safer’ from certain variables than the couch potato, because I am much more on my guard being far outside my home territory.   When you are on familiar ground, you tend to relax your guard a lot more, and so are vulnerable in many ways that I am not.  And I don’t have to surrender my dignity and privacy on a regular basis here, as I would at home.

When I get on a plane here, I walk through a metal detector, and in some cases not even that.  I am just as ‘safe’ on that airplane as I am after TSA has had their way with me.  In fact, I’m safer, since I didn’t have a bunch of yellow-shirted goons with their hands down my pants.  If the government tried that here, there’d be a revolution in short order.

Recently, I read where a movie star died over a year ago, and the neighbors and friends she had known for years didn’t notice.  I read where a man drowned in San Jose, while the cops and ‘first responders’ watched and joked about it.  I read several articles about peaceful home-owners being raided and gunned down by police/SWAT for no reason, because that’s how cops are these days.  I read every day about people being groped and fondled by ‘security’ agents, in ways that would have a regular person lynched.

Germany is one of the cleanest places on Earth, and yet hundreds are sick and dead from e. Coli.  For the past three years, I have eaten at little street restaurants and food carts that are completely unregulated and have yet to get sick once.  In fact, I’m safer since halal meat is free of antibiotics and hormones, and the vegetables are GMO- and radiation-free.

Sure, I’m on unfamiliar ground, and I have to jump through a few hoops every year to get my work visa.  Sure, my daily commute to work is a world-class crap-shoot.  Sure, I’ve got hornets the size of hummingbirds, millipedes as long as my foot and a half-dozen strange lizards running around the house, but I still have my dignity and self-respect.

The thing is, there is no such thing as ‘safety’ and ‘security.’  There are only different sets of variables, and we much choose which ones we are wlling to give up worrying about, and which are important.

Even if someone has your itinerary and contact information, if you’re dead, it really doesn’t matter, does it?  You can have all the cards and traveler’s checks you can carry, but if no one will cash them or the  ATMs are down or you are over your limit, it doesn’t really matter, does it?

‘Safety’ and ‘security’ are illusions.  They can not be had at any price.  The only people who are ‘safe’ are those already dead, and those yet to be conceived.  Everyone else is fair game.  You can let TSA crawl into your pants and the plane will still crash.  You can stay in your living room and still die plugging in the TeeVee.

The way I see it, the only thing we take out of this world is our memories and the only thing we leave to others is memories.  I want to remember that I stuffed as much experience into my life as I could fit.  I want others to remember that I was willing to step outside the comfort zone and live a full life.

Many years ago, I read a book called, “The Journeyer,” by Gary Jennings, which is a fictionalized account of Marco Polo’s travels.  It left me with two thoughts: 1) People remember Marco Polo because he stepped far outside the bounds of ‘safety’ and ‘security;’ and 2) At the moment of my death, I don’t want to have regrets that I wasted my life out of fear of the unknown.

I also think about Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn.”  The only time he and Nigger Jim were really safe and secure was when they were traveling on the river.  As soon as they got down on the land, that’s when the trouble started.  I often feel that way.

Maybe a child feels the need for the safety of his mother’s arms, but I long ago outgrew the need for that.

A Tourist And His Money Are Soon Parted

Into the great wide open
Under them skies of blue
Out in the great wide open
A rebel without a clue
-Into The Great Wide Open, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Years ago, my second wife and I came up with an international symbol for 'tourist,' hold the left hand in front of you with palm up and with the right hand, pantomime handing out loads of money while smiling wanly.

It seems to be a given that tourists are simply prey, waiting to have their bones plucked clean by every passing carnivore. It's the reason American slang refers to 'tourist traps.' Entire nations spend billions of dollars to lure unsuspecting tourists to popular (or at least centralized) locations, where they can be easily fleeced.

Some prime examples include things such as the Eifel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, Red Square, the Glockenspiel, and of course any red light distrct you care to name anywhere in the world.

Things are no different here in Indonesia. They have what I call harga bule (foreigner price) and harga biasa (regular price). The foreigner price is guaranteed to be a minimum of 200% to 300% higher than the regular price. Things are generally so cheap in Indonesia that tourists think they're getting a deal, and in some ways they are. But the fact remains that tourists will pay more for everything, always.

Take for example the Eifel Tower. For all intents and purposes, it is the skeleton of an unfinished building with a grossly over-priced restaurant on the mezzanine level, and for a price, you can ride to the top and see, what else, Paris. In fact, you get a much better view as part of your ticket price while on final approach to Charles de Galle airport. Continuing with the Paris theme, you can pay to see Notre Dame, or you can go out of the city and visit thousands of similar late Gothic cathedrals for free with fewer tourists. The only thing missing is the bubious myth about a hunchback and his unrequited love.

Heck, while you're in Paris, you can visit the Statue of Liberty's twin for free, sitting right there on the bridge over the Seine river. No crowds (no one knows about it), no charge and no New Yorkers.

Some things, like the Louvre, St. Peter's basilica in Rome, the Grand Canyon, and the like, are just worth the price. So don't get me wrong. There are things worth paying for, although standing on a glass platform over a mile-deep hole in the ground with no visible means of support in NOT on that list.

When it comes right down to it, though, my best travel experiences are all from places far outside the well-trampled tourist paths.

For instance, there was the night Richard Nixon died. I was with my buddy Larry in the middle of nowhere in Bavaria, in a village that consisted of a guest-house, a couple of other buildings and a square. We spent that night drinking copious amounts of beer, snorting snuff, telling jokes, and generally having the time of our lives. The gang leader was a forty-something man named Ignatz. He kind of looked like Santa Claus on his day off, had 12 children and sat that the head of the table like Falstaff as master of ceremonies.

There was getting stuck near some Mayan ruins where tourists never go on the road between Belize and Guatemala. Once we got the Guatemala, we drove down a road with opposing sides of a civil war on either side of us.

There was standing on the dike in the Netherlands with the strange sight of the ocean on one side, and the tulip fields on the other, the the ocean was higher than the land.



There was sunbathing in the top of a tower connected to an ancient castle in Ireland while watching some people play lawn bowls down below us. Having to swim for my life after getting trapped by high tide at Dover. Getting bucked off a bus with two goats in the middle of a God-forsaken desert in Liberia. Sitting in an opium den in Bombay (now Mumbai...again).

None of those experiences would have been possible had I stayed on the well-trodden paths. You really gotta get out into the hinterlands to get the stories no one else can tell. And one of the advantages is prices are lower and you are less likely to get robbed.

That's the thing, if there are mobs of tourists, then there are people preying on them: pickpockets, con artists, souvenier salesmen. Prices are higher, also. And all of that only buys you a story thousands of other people can tell. Getting away from that, out in the backwoods, costs less, fewer predators and you get stories that likely no one else can tell. You see things that few foreigners will ever see. You meet people who might just turn into life-long friends.

There's a book in my Amazon store (right column) called 'Blue Highways.' It's all about the philosophy and practice of taking the roads less travelled. There's another book there called, 'The Journeyer,' which is an incredible fictionalized account of Marco Polo's voyage. Both those books inspired my travels from an early age. Both extoll the virtues and adventures of getting on the main road and getting out into the great unknown. I know this kind of travel is not for everyone, but if you feel drawn to it, then these books will push you over the edge to get out and do it.

Every single regret I have in my life occured when I was at home. There is not a single moment I regret from traveling. One of the single best decisions I have ever made was to backpack around the world when I was 18, between high school and university. Books can teach you scads about the theory of life, but travel teaches you the roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-your-hands-dirty version. It puts a little perspective on things. Sometimes it puts a lot of perspective on them. Your day-to-day problems seem a lot smaller when you're 10,000 miles outside your comfort zone.

When you're watching static discharges from the peak of a volcano on a cool, cloudless night somewhere in the jungles of Indonesia, the electric bill just doesn't seem all that important.

And you'll never get that experience out of a book.

To Jump or Not to Jump

Thanks to my colleague George Ure of UrbanSurvival promoting my blog in one of his columns recently, I have been receiving some excellent and thoughtful letters from new readers, including folks here in Indonesia.

One in particular, from B.H. in The Panhandle State, got me to thinking, which is frequently a dangerous thing to do. What followed was my characteristically long-winded response, which seemed to lend itself to a post of my own. I don’t know how helpful I was, but perhaps I added some perspective that will help with his dilemma, to whit:

Dear Mr. Grover;

I am living in Oklahoma on a small ranch with the wife and 4 kids. We departed CA. 3.5 yrs. ago, knowing what was coming and now have a small but practical eco-farm. We have zero debt. being 63. getting SS for who knows how long (kids get checks too as long as they are under 18....

I was born in the Philipphines, my dad being american and I have lived there on the island of CEBU before as recent as 2005. Kids are 4, 3, 11,13......

Question is this:

should I even consider living abroad with a large family like this.? I know full well just how you describe life there in Indonesia as being ditto in Cebu for example, w/0 the ramadan factor....

Just give me an "if I were you".......answer. Being here is great, nice piece of property, productive but still with all the changes going on here and the proximity to the Gulf (not as close as Ure though) I think changing locations (going north) is only a partial fix..........Living abroad is very different, simple and the lack of trauma (that's going on here) is not benign but different in many ways.

Thanks for your reply, I just put your blogsite in my favorites.

First of all, thank you for your thoughtful letter. I have taken a little time to consider my reply, so please pardon the delay. I deeply appreciate your support in adding my blog to your favorites. i will endeavor to keep it interesting and entertaining for you.

With regards to your question, first let me say that what I tell you cannot possibly fit all people and all times, but perhaps I can offer a little insight with my own experiences that will help you along in your decision.

As far as living abroad with a family (one or ten doesn't really matter, I think), I have always been of the opinion that a day's worth of travel is worth weeks in the classroom. So just from a purely educational standpoint, I would think living overseas would offer your family a unique and valuable educational experience that can never be had from a textbook. My father moved us (six children and wife) to Dublin in 79-80, and for me it was the eye-opening experience of a lifetime. Even now, 30 years on, my siblings and I reminisce fondly about the experience. Some of us still speak a little Gaelic, others have friendships that we have maintained there, and for me, it launched a year and a half backpacking tour of the world that was my coming of age experience. The value of the experience to your children is incalculable in terms of the opportunities and memories they will receive.

In terms of the reasons you gave for ex-patriating, that very reasoning figured heavily into my own decision to leave. As you say, you left California because you saw the writing on the wall, and I felt much the same when i left to take up residence here. I have very deep misgivings about the direction and leadership of the country, and I felt that staying was tacit complicity with all of it. Furthermore, my work horizons were quickly narrowing and leaving has proved to be a great way to expand once again and try new things that would not be available to me at home. I have gotten into businesses that would have been closed to me in the US, as well as met people in both casual and formal situations that most likely would not have been in my social circle otherwise. This fact alone has made the move more than worth it for me.

Not that it has all been a bed of roses. There have been both real and spiritual crises that would not have existed in more familiar surroundings. Certainly, going blind and nearly going bust a couple of times has made for some serious situations. However, being so far from home has also given me the motivation to push ahead where I might have given up otherwise. Having no reverse forces you to figure out how to go forward. Or put another way, that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

In the end, my choice to come to Indonesia was based on one primary factor. You see, when America dies, it will leave a vacuum that will suck the whole world in. No part of the world will be unaffected when such a large hole is left in the balance of power. I chose a place where most people are survivors. They know how to survive because they must do it every day. They are used to hardship and doing without. Americans are spoiled and lazy, and when they don't get what they want, there will be major trouble. So many people I know will devolve into a chaotic state if the electricity goes out, or the water doesn't come out of the tap, or the shelves are empty at the store. They will panic because in their entire lives they have never faced such a thing.

On the other hand, most Indonesians have a month of food in the house and tanks of water everywhere for both drinking and washing. They are used to not getting things easily and having blackouts regularly. They do everything with nothing. People still have skills and on my block alone, there are women who make clothes (and I mean starting with making the cloth), men who build things and an attitude of neighborly assistance that has long since died in America. When TSHTF, I want to be surrounded by people who know how to cope. Additionally, Indonesians are practical and realistic, unlike many Americans who refuse to see the obvious simply because it is too terrible to contemplate (it can’t happen here!).

So I guess all of this is to say that I cannot make your decision. I can tell you my reasons and my experience, and I can assure you that, for me, it was the very best decision I have made in a while. I can tell you that on the worst days, the schools here are better than American public schools on their best days. Yes, there is a steep learning curve when entering a new culture, but if taken as a challenge rather than a hindrance it becomes an exercise for your mind and keeps you alert and fresh. You will make mistakes and wrong decisions, but for me it is another reason I came: to learn. In three years, I have learned three languages, the customs and cultures of a dozen different peoples, and had amazing experiences that I could never have found in the safety of my homeland. For every bad experience, I have had a dozen good ones. And in so many ways, I am more free here than in the Land of the Free.

Do the classic test. Make a list. On one side, label it Pros, and the other label Cons. Start thinking of every reason you can to do and not do something. If you find your Pros getting longer, then maybe you should seriously consider it. If you decide to jump, have a Plan A, B and C. You WILL get to Plan C, so having one means success. In some areas, I am already on Plan G. You can cover many variables, but never all of them, so at some point you will have to take a leap of faith. That part gets easier with every leap. Certainly, the bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But if you have one scrawny bird and there's an entire flock in the bush, it might just be worth it to go for the gold.

I have offered you what I can. It's not much, some platitudes and experiences, and there's no magic bullet here, but to paraphrase Thomas Paine, I prefer the animating contest of freedom to the shackles of illusory safety. The one thing that finally kicked me in the seat of the pants was the thought that I will die, of that there is no doubt. So, do i die with my boots on or pass quietly with tubes in every orifice and regrets on my mind? Many years ago, I read a book called The Journeyer, a fictionalized tale of Marco Polo's adventures, which left me with something of a lifelong motto: I don't want to die with the regret that I didn’t go there or do that. Fear of the unknown is a killer, and from the other point of view, something is only unknown until it is known. There is really only one way to know if you can do something, and that is to do it.

One test I learned a long time ago that has seemed to serve me well is this: if you want to choose a path and all the doors swing open in that direction, then it is the right path. If on the other hand there seems to be nothing but obstacles, then Universe is giving you sign posts. When I made my choice, everything fell together like a thousand-piece puzzle. If you find yourself being drawn in a certain direction, then it may be the one you are supposed to take. Listen to your gut.

I hope my lengthy rant has helped some small amount. i wish I could offer you The Ultimate Answer, but really that lies within you. As the leader of your family, you must choose what is right and good for your family and you. The kids will gripe a little at first, but the adventure will grab them eventually. Your wife may worry about having food and shelter, but you know you can provide that. So, what else is there? Air conditioning? A car? A mortgage? Friends and family? Everyone will think you are crazy until you succeed, but they do that already. How many reasons not to go are real, and how many have you built around yourself like a fence? The thing about fences is that they keep things out, but they also keep things in.

My prayers go with you in your choice. If I can help with connections or information, please let me know. I will give whatever help I can. If you decide to leap, you will find many of us out here that form sort of a support group. We offer each other information, advice and connections to people and services. We all know what it’s like and why we are here, and we all stick together. Believe me, no matter where you go, you will find ex-pats already ensconced. You won’t be alone.

One reason I didn't choose the Philippines, is they are a magnet for typhoons. So, I chose an island in an earthquake zone surrounded by volcanoes instead. LOL!

Sampai jumpa!
Bernard

PS-I have attached an article you may find helpful. Also, with your kind permission, I would like to post your letter and this response. Maybe it will help others, as well. Thanks!