PART TWO
There is another side to this blog.
Tied to my story of addiction is the path to recovery. I didn’t take twelve steps, nor admit I am powerless in front of God - my healing occurred through the time-honored tradition of travel and exploration. My steps were throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, and Central and North America. There is a quality to travel that I believe can heal, and that is the element of trust and connectivity.
When I was in Ghana, almost twenty years ago, I couldn’t believe how many bystanders stopped in their tracks, while they were carrying groceries, to help me out. A women decked out in her orange adrinka dress with half-moon eyeglasses walked me twenty blocks to find my hotel. I was so lost and confused that I tried tipping her for the assistance. She laughed in my face, then said, ‘Slow down, how about a handshake?’. I had to place my trust in a complete stranger and it built a connection between us. One that I have never forgotten and my heart feels warm when I think about it. My experience with Ghana was that the people ate fufu and hammered cassava, I drank bootleg gin with a fella in his backyard, and elephants marched next to the hotel swimming pool—nothing like America, but I would hope that somebody in the USA would behave as someone from Ghana, helping a poor soul find their hotel.
One of the problems I fear today is that we are losing touch with the community of travel. Around London Bridge, there are Group Leaders that stand on the steps. They have a microphone over their mouth like they are singer from N’Sync, reading off the day’s itinerary. Not a single member of that group would stand befuddled in front of the “the tube” map, nor tap somebody on the shoulder asking for directions. Because of that, they are not connecting with the locals. Seeing the sights, sure, but when do tour groups schedule time to get lost, confused, and require interactions with locals to get directions? When does a tour leader turn around and say, “you figure it out”?
One of the great aspects of travel is how it bridges gaps between cultures. It forces us to interact and meet one another; look into each other’s eyes and admit that, despite all the superficial differences, we are not so different on this earth. We all have job stresses or anxiety about our girlfriends cheating on us. None of our social media profiles get enough likes.
It is my aim to publish stories that dive into the heart and soul of travel, to show that there is still more to explore and connect with out there. I feel I owe a debt to the world I have taken so much from, traveling to locations like Spain, Italy, Brazil, and Japan, and as I continue today with a trip to Nepal on the cards. (That’s right, even as a husband and a father, I still sneak out for adventures in the world alone.) When it came time for me to actually need something from the world, not just want… the world was there for me.
Readers of my Instagram will no doubt remember my old war stories. The 2400 character count pieces on slaughtering a goat in Afghanistan or crashing my motorcycle in India. That was the birth of my storytelling career. These travel pieces that I will continue to mix in with my story of addiction are aimed at showcasing how the world can help discover something inside of us. Without the inspiration of adventure and travel, my dream would be little more than a fleeting thought while I sucked food through a straw. I don’t know how else to say it: I fucking love cultures, scenery, and pretending I am a 17th century adventurer. I have a deep psychological need to stand swaying on a Himalayan bridge, but there is also a connectivity that I believe the world needs right now.
Hand to god, I’m not judging those of you who take organized tours. My parents take packaged trips, too, and I don’t give them any shit because they are like seventy-five years old and my dad can’t move without canes. But, to the rest of you, don’t let a tour guide tell you what to do all day long.
