Familiar feeling with great strangers...

There is no real travel significance to writing this…it’s just a really good memory. 

Tonight was my final class of “French 2” from a local community college here in Seattle.  Post class my fellow students suggested that we all popped over to a local bar for a celebratory drink…certainly seems common enough.  And I suppose in actuality it really was…what amazed me was how diverse we were and how well we meshed.

There were four of us who stayed to the end to shut the bar down.  Phillip – a Chinese born guy who lived in Hong Kong until the transfer where he relocated to New Zealand and attended high school and university.  He did his PhD in Yale before working for 5 years in London.  He is currently in Seattle working as an Immunology Scientist specializing in Lupus.  Amelia – an American who has recently graduated University who studied abroad part of the time in India.   She is departing within a month to work as a teacher’s assistant in France.  And Lieopold, a stunningly gorgeous German woman who temporarily relocated to Seattle with her husband, a Microsoft Employee. Four of us, from four different countries, with four very different upbringings and spanning probably a 20 years age bracket spent hours talking about politics and current events.  We shared travel stories, teased each other and then openly shared our individual hopes for the future.  I felt completely at home with this group of virtual strangers.  The one thing it definitely did was fuel my desire to get out in the world and meet new ‘old friends’.   

If you come to work today, you can hold a prairie dog....eventually

 

I don't know how I end up where I do sometimes. People ask "why did you pick Peru/Cambodia/Egypt?" and I generally shrug and just say "I hadn't been there yet. " However for this trip...I can tell you that a decision to work an extra shift 5 years ago in an ER in Seattle is what lead me to the East Texas Town of Odessa today.

On this shift I met a nurse named Kristi who offered me the opportunity to volunteer with a medical team in Guatemala in 2007. On this adventure I was bit by a monkey, arrested and burned by lava - I also met an amazing pharmacist named Gary. After the disaster of the 2007 trip, it was the only chance to work with Gary caused me to sign up for the 2011 trip. And here I met Charlie, Megan and Jimmy - also from Odessa, Texas. Not wanting to go another 4 years without seeing them again, I returned to Guatemala in 2012.

It was a conference in Dallas that originally brought me to Texas...the desire to see my favourite pharmacist is what caused me to head to Odessa.

All the locals were in on the visit...except Gary. With Facebook and texting and tweeting and whatever else is out there that I am not cool enough to know about, it really is hard to surprise anyone. But the look of startle, shock and surprise on Gary's face when I popped out from behind the pharmacy shelves...truly something I will never forget.

After a day of visiting with classic kind Texans, a delicious Thai dinner and a drive to see the iconic pump jacks that litter the countyside, I ended the day on another amazing high...playing with a prairie dog.

The world is made of colourful charatcters and one of the best lives in Odessa Texas. Jimmy is an avid hunter, San Francisco 49er fan and does electrical work - he a true "good ol' boy from Texas. His is unbelievably kind and is that guy you could call to help in any emergency. But my favourite thing about Jimmy is his large selection of pets. Any wildlife encounter makes a great trip a fantastic trip - this includes pets.

So as I sat there, chatting with Gary and his family, dancing with the stars on the TV in the background and a prairie dog in my lap I couldn't help but think that if I hadn't agreed to work that extra shift 5 years ago, I wouldn't be holding a prairie dog now...

Earning the title of 'travel extremist'...

I was once described as a "travel extremist". This is a funny expression to me - it makes me sound way more bad ass than I really am. My CEO recommend a book to me that describes all the dangerous ways that exist to travel in the world from overcrowded ancient buses in India to overcrowded boats in West Africa - and the rate of death that go with them. He thought I would like it, and actually it was pretty good - but it certainly made me feel pretty wimpy after reading it...and I started to reflect back on some of my more terrifying travel transport stories.


The van in Peru that almost went off the road during a mudslide...the boat that declared S.O.S in the Sydney Harbour...Brazilian budget airlines...but one of the scariest and notably absent from the book...Greyhound - specifically the route between Baltimore and Philadelphia. We all agree to things that seem like a good idea at the time. For the record - at no point did I ever think this was a good idea, not onece, not ever. But I have a hard time saying no to some people and Jolie, one of my best friends for several years, is one of them.

And so it was with the full realization that this was going to end badly that we proceeded to the bus station, purchased a one way ticket and joined a long queue of people who did not appear to be suburban Canadian girls.

Similar to trains and planes, buses seem to run late as well. With the news of the delay, the accepted behavior seemed to be leaving a bag on the floor to save your "spot" in line and then having a seat. As the delay stretched on for over an hour, everyone seemed to have accepted this method and eventually a long stream of bags snaked through the terminal.

I hate line-cutters. I hold them one rung above serial killers...maybe even below as, for the most part, serial killers are quite clever. But line cutters are just thieves - space thieves. As the promise of a bus was coming, or maybe just to combat boredom, Jolie and I lined up with our possessions again. This gave us a front row seat as the drama started to unfold.

Despite the obvious 'random bag on the floor' system we had developed, one lady dragged her kid to a spot behind Jolie, where other bags were already stacked and then preceded to attempt to occupy the spot. That was not well accepted by others. Yelling and name calling swirled around us to the point where the Baltimore PD were called (maybe Baltimore has such a high crime rate because the police are breaking up line-cutting fights at the bus station). I will credit Jolie with saving me here as I was ready to jump into a rumble if one had ensued to defend the women who lost her spot in line - yes, I undoubtedly would have gotten my ass kicked.

But I guess all that training at the police academy was being put to good use and the situation was defused enough for all to board the few buses that had arrived. However now there were no seats together for Jolie and I...probably because of line cutters. I ended up sitting with a guy named Lamar who was struggling with which of his "baby mamas he should give child support to this month". (I swear I am making none of this up).

Lamar was a nice guy who had ridden this route several times while travelling between these two cities – I know this because anytime I drifted off to try and sleep and dream of a happier place, he would rouse me from my slumber to alert me to his concerns as to the drivers route choices. Turns out, Lamar was correct.

I knew that the Greyhound Bus station was in downtown Philadelphia. I could see downtown approaching…tall buildings, brightly lit…and then I saw it pass as we inexplicably drove on by. This of course had Lamar all up in arms. I was being optimistic – surely the bus driver knew the way to the bus station…this was probably just a shortcut. It wasn’t until we pulled off the freeway, into a dodgy area and the bus driver came over the loudspeaker and asked "Is anyone familiar with the layout of Philadelphia?" that I lost further faith in Greyhound. I literally got out of my seat and used my iPhone to give directions to a guy that was sitting next to the driver – he helped guide him through an area of Philadelphia that was colourfully commented by our fellow passengers; “THIS IS THE F*CKING HOOD”, “I have lived in Philadelphia my whole life and I have never been here” or my favourite,”I’m black and I wouldn’t even come to this neighbourhood”. Splendid.

Through dumb luck and not even slowing for the stop signs in the sketchy neighbourhood we reached the downtown bus station…and I bid a fond farewell to Lamar. Upon reflection I realized that I can earn that title of ‘travel extremist’… after a few more Greyhound rides.

Never rely solely on a cartoon map. Never.

I stared down at the crumpled cartoon map in my hands and wonder when and where it all went wrong.  One minute we were cruising through the scenic Kansas countryside, next we were sitting in a field, covered with ticks, hopelessly lost.  Barry, my travel partner had stumbled upon a map at an information booth – “Barns of the Smithsonian” was plastered across the front with a crude, not to scale, map in the interior.  It seems that the Kansas countryside is littered with historical barns and the only way to access them all is to follow this map through random country roads, down lane-ways, paths and in one case an irrigation ditch. 

We found the first barn with very little difficulty.  By the time we located the third barn, we were all turned around; no idea which direction north way, no clue what road we were on, in fact we were so close to the Nebraska border (at least we were the last time we were oriented) that we weren't even sure what state we were in.  My coping mechanisms tend to fail as the severity of a situation increases.  Granted the situation was far from life threatening but I was tired and my sense of rationale was deteriorating. 

Barry and I were now engaged in a lively debate as to the best way to extricate ourselves from nowhere, Kansas.  I turned Jetta down one dirt road with the sense that it would at least take us back to a paved, populated and signed road.  Not ten meters down the trail and we encountered an orange “Road Closed” construction sign.  Logically I should have turned around and proceeded back to the safety of our previous dirt road…but I did not.  Barry calmly gestured to the sign as if I had somehow missed this GIANT orange sign in the middle of the corn field.  I kept my eyes forward and my jaw locked with determination as I proceeded forward ignoring my travel partner who in my opinion was responsible for this mess – what with his “barns of the Smithsonian" cartoon map and all.  Barry then switched a patronizing tone, querying as to whether or not I was hormonal today?

He clearly seemed oblivious that it was indeed his actions that lead to our current situation...this naivety was my rationale for snapping some retort at him that indicated his navigation suggestions were no longer welcome.  It would be nice to say that it was bravery that drove me on, or even a strong sense of karma that we were finally on the correct path.  Sadly it was just a petty reluctance to admit that I was wrong – so we pressed on, the poor Jetta lumbering down the trail that was formerly a road.  Barry just sat there, tight lipped staring straight ahead, to be honest I think by this point he was hoping that we were going to plummet into some deep ravine and die.  It would be a win-win for him; he would be free of the road trip hell that he was currently on AND he would have an entire afterlife of “I-told-you-so”.

At least it was the dry season.  It seems as though the road was closed because the bridge was out.  That’s it…no cliffs, no raging rivers…in other words…no match for Jetta!  I deftly navigated my sedan down the dried up river bank and up the other side as if I were cruising down the highway.  Barry and I sat silently during the entire episode, the tension still palpable…until the other side.  Then we got out of the car and briefly ran around, cheering our amazing luck and German engineering!

Rejuvenated and optimistic that things were turning around we chatted as we finished the last of the trail/road off and crossed upon a paved road!  I tried not to be smug about my finding but I know there was a smirk pasted on my face.  I glanced over at Barry and realized that he too wore a self-righteous grin.  I sat quietly wondering what he had to be so satisfied about...and then I heard the “thud thud” that was clearly the cause for his facial expression.  Hmmm...a new noise that was clearly the result of the riverbed incident.  The car was still moving forward, and with no dealership in site, I choose to handle it the same way I handled many of life’s crises – complete disregard.  The car would either stop working or it wouldn't, nothing could change that now and there was NO way that I was going to publicly acknowledge the noise!