Between The Cracks

Recently I was reading a novel by Ernest Hemingway called “The Sun Also Rises” in which a bunch of American ex-pats wander through Europe from city to city drinking and searching for a happiness they never truly find. It was a rather depressing read, and in the most Hemingway-ish way possible, the story, devoid of much textual details or conversational depth, has a hidden richness buried deep between the lines that would be easy to miss if one wasn’t careful. The basic human need to be loved and to feel adequate is found on each page. The superficial nature of their conversations showing their desire to avoid uncomfortable topics or to pretend that their ‘best’ self is their true self. Unpleasant, uncomfortable things happen, but are rarely ever talked about. I couldn’t help but see the parallels between these fictional characters and our own self-made portrayals of our lives on social media. We see the highlights of each other’s lives, or at least the parts we choose to put out there, but we don’t really interact. There is so much life that happens outside of these brief glimpses that often gets lost between the cracks. We like to lead with the good and pretend the bad doesn’t happen. With this missing human element of raw emotion and interaction, we are starting to lose touch with each other. I feel it most often when I share photos or stories of our tours with people that weren’t there. You can see a picture, or hear an account of a story, but if you weren’t there, there are large gaps that are missing. It’s hard to find the words to relay how it really was. We recently returned from a 12 day journey through the Spanish, French and Italian countryside with some of the best people I’ve had the privilege to know and I desperately want to be able to share the experience with those of you that weren’t there. I’ve shared pictures, I’ve invited you to join us in the future, but I haven’t given you a real taste of what this was like.

It’s hard. How do you describe in words an experience that’s only defined by the emotions it has sparked in you? Like how we struggled for four days to learn the names of everyone on our tour. We came from different parts of the country, we had different interests and we were all fighting jetlag, but we took it upon ourselves to learn everyone by name and have an introduction ceremony over dinner—a large feat for a group of 40 plus travelers. I’ve never laughed so hard as when, in an introduction, it was revealed that one traveler had been sneaking food onto the bus. Watching our animated bus driver Giovanni’s delayed reaction upon hearing this translated into Italian, with all his loud, boisterous hand-waving, was very comical, especially given his previous warnings about what would happen to us should we dare to attempt eating on the bus. In truth, he took it fairly well. He was everything we American’s stereotype the Italians to be. Once we watched him pull the bus onto the side of the road and jump out of the driver’s seat to give another bus driver, who had gotten stuck in a toll lane, a quick driving lesson. He looked him straight in the eye, waving with his arms and hitting himself on the head to make an “are you stupid?” gesture, all while shouting “Mama Mia!” Or the time our bus blew a tire and he was covered to his elbows in grease trying to fix it so we wouldn’t miss a moment more than we had to in his beautiful city. These are the moments you don’t see in the pictures. Sitting speechless on the beach in Nice as we stood in awe of the most beautiful sunset we’ve ever seen. There are no words for that. We couldn’t do anything but sit and look. And, like so many times in life, our silence said so much more than our words ever could. Together we were changed having seen the sun set on the opposite side of the world. We touched exhibits that the Spaniards had made for the blind—laying out the architecture of the city so they can experience with their hands what we were seeing with our eyes. We are now all connected, the blind, the seeing—anyone who has stood in that square or felt the smooth edges of the model city’s display. We’ve shared in something special together. Going to a bullfight in an effort to immerse yourself in the local culture only to bawl your eyes out when you realize the reality of what it entails. It made us fall even more in love with Barcelona when we learned that it is the only Spanish city that forbids bullfighting. I watched as a weary traveler requested to sit out the day of touring because she was tired. A few other travelers encouraged her to push through and while it was a tough day of walking to be sure, during that morning’s tour of Park Guell, she serenaded us with an a cappella version of “How Great Is Our God” that moved me to tears—a moment that would never have happened had she chosen to sit that day out. Sharing a collective laugh as someone drops a pile of birdseed beneath a couple French- kissing on a park bench. It quickly became a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie—one I’m sure the couple did not appreciate—but one that made us belly laugh and will be the source of many a “remember that time in Barcelona” story. One evening at dinner, while were still all getting comfortable with one another, the song “We Are Young” came on the radio. Slowly a couple people started mouthing the words until eventually every single one of us was shouting “So let’s set the world on fire!” at the top of our lungs, drawing stares from waiters and guests alike. I doubt I’ll ever be able to hear that song and not remember that night, over our pasta, bonding over a feeling. Playing musical chairs on the bus and basically drawing straws based on who was the most car sick for who got the privilege of the window seat. Passing around the magical French nausea medicine between the few of us who couldn’t handle the winding cliff side streets of Monaco without losing our lunches. Or the other feeling of sickness—realizing your brand new GoPro camera is nowhere to be found, and as much as you’d like to retrace your steps, it is time to leave for another country. Watching as people dared each other to order frog legs and escargot while in Provence and actually finding out that they loved it. Seeing walls come down and understanding start to form, one snail at a time! Eating the best gelato you’ve ever had in your entire life in a small gelateria in Florence, prompting the immediate purchase of one more for the road. Or the panic we collectively felt in the Sistine Chapel when we realized two of our travelers were no longer with us. The Vatican guards were shouting at the crowd and herding us through the exit door like cattle. It was a challenging situation for sure, but one that, once resolved, brought us all closer together as a group. Seeing people that mere days ago were strangers have genuine concern for each other and relief when they are tearfully reunited was a beautiful thing to experience. These are the moments that fall between the cracks of the facebook album. The moments that bond us to one another and tell our stories—one that can’t be told scrolling through a newsfeed—one that requires interaction and shared experience to understand. I hope, in a small way, that you felt like a part of our journey. I genuinely want to make a more concerted effort to live life to the fullest. To share in real-life face-to-face experiences with people and to bridge the gaps between the moments that fall through the cracks. I don’t want to end up like Hemingway’s Brett and Jake, throwing out a false version of myself that, while fun to facebook stalk, isn’t the real me. In “The Sun Also Rises” their story ends in Madrid upstairs in the world’s oldest restaurant, Botin, over a plate of suckling pig—exactly where our journey began, but our experience was something else entirely.

Mystery Man

Somewhere out there is a man who has no idea how our chance encounter has altered my life (and maybe a few others too). I don’t know where he lives, what he’s doing now. Hell, I don’t even remember his name—but I do know I’m grateful we randomly met.

He was assigned the seat next to mine on a 9 hour flight to Rome. I felt bad for him. I’m sure he hadn’t bargained for such a long-haul sitting next to a 5-month-old and a stressed-out new mom covered in baby puke. Poor guy. Naturally we got to talking and I asked him why he was traveling to Rome. Turns out he wasn’t. It was just a stopover on a trip to Amsterdam to see the Tulips—he and 30 other passengers. I was flabbergasted. It got better. Not only was he traveling with 30 other people, they were senior citizens and he was LEADING them through Europe. I didn’t even know people did that.

He was raised on a farm, got married young and naturally became a farmer himself. He saw that as his bread and butter and his way of life until noticing a huge void in the senior community in his town. He was from somewhere in the Midwest and wanted to make a difference so he started by hiring buses and taking seniors on day trips to get them out and about. From there it grew into a full-fledged tour company and he had entirely devoted his life to connecting people with the world around them, personally escorting them every step of the way. I’ll never forget what he said. He said, “I was a farmer. I have no education, but I’ve seen the entire world and now I get to share that with other people. Do you have any idea how fulfilling that is?” Talk about living your dreams, right? He asked me, “What are you doing with your life?” I took a hard swallow and said I was a high school English teacher, feeling suddenly unimpressed with myself. “Perfect,” he said. “You need to start sharing the world with your kids. If someone like me can do it, what kind of an impact can someone like you make? You have your whole life ahead of you.”

He praised me for my bravery in taking a 5-month-old to see the world and encouraged me not to stop there. At the time I was embarking on what I believed to be my last trip to Europe. I’d been once before in high school and had high hopes of becoming a world traveler. I promised myself that one day I’d go back. But one day turned into one year and slowly life began to happen. Before I knew it I was married and had a baby on the way. Society told me my chance was gone. We praise the young unattached twenty-somethings, encouraging them to seize the day while they can and explore and so on, but once motherhood calls, we are supposed to kill that hunger to roam and replace it with an urge to compete with other mothers about who’s birthday party was the most pinterest-worthy, who breast-fed longer, and who sacrifices more for their children. It’s a great calling, don’t get me wrong, but I never considered that there was an alternative way—that I could (with more bags and more work) wrangle my own children and traipse through foreign lands. I especially didn’t think I could do it with other people’s kids. Was it a lot of work? Totally! Was it worth every hassle? 100%!!

The mystery man and I exchanged pleasantries the rest of the flight, but his words stayed with me. What was I doing with my life? Is it really possible to share the world with kids like that? Senior citizens, sure, but students?

It took me a little over a year to work up enough courage to take my first trip, and also a gentle nudge from a colleague, but I took the leap and it has turned out to be one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done. I used other tour companies as a crutch at first, believing that I needed them as a security blanket, that I was just some frail little woman who needed their knowledge of all things travel. It didn’t matter that I had over 15 years of travel experience or that I’d lived abroad for a year. One day, with another gentle nudge, this time from my husband, it hit me. They are just dudes in a cubicle. They are no different than I am. The only thing that separates me from that man on the flight is that when my dreams come knocking, fear makes me ask them to come back another day. I was tired of paying big bucks for someone else to do something I enjoyed so much—the planning was the fun part. Deciding where to go, what untouched gems to discover, local traditions to learn from, flavors to taste for the first time—these are the things I love, and things I totally didn’t have a hand in when I was outsourcing tours to someone else—I was petrified that I wasn’t worthy.

Sixteen countries later and my very own tour company and I can’t believe I ever worried that one trip was going to be my last. But collecting stamps in my passport is hardly the best part. By far the travelers are what make the experiences so worthwhile.

Watching travelers is hard to describe. It warms places in my heart I didn’t even know I had. I’ve witnessed many beautiful moments while traveling. Here are a few of my favorites. I had the privilege of watching a dear friend of mine come alive after heartbreak, realizing her life isn’t over just because her marriage was. She took a huge leap in coming on the tour and watching her take the reins of her life—refusing to be a bystander--was a beautiful thing to witness. Another great memory was watching a couple on the brink of divorce rekindle their love for one another while on tour and rebuild a strong and healthy foundation for their family. I’ve seen strangers take on other travelers as their own children when they were in a tough spot or low on money. I’ve seen beautiful friendships (that would NEVER happen in a traditional school setting) develop and blossom as a result of travel. I’ve seen students who receive special services absolutely flourish with self-confidence and adaptability as a result of travel.  Barriers are broken down. People are challenged, and they ALWAYS rise.

I could go on and on, but I promise I won’t. I have been able to truly realize how blessed I am because of the experiences and connections travel has helped me form with students, friends, family, and strangers who become some form of all of these things. If you have traveled with me or entrusted your children to my care: THANK YOU! You guys are amazing! I truly believe that giving your kids the experience of travel is setting them up for a lifetime of success. Also, those that invest in themselves and travel know what life is all about: people, history, culture, connections—you name it, travel does it!

I wish I could find that man and thank him, but the likelihood of that happening is slim—believe me, I’ve spent hours randomly searching “Midwest Senior Travel Company” and scouring pictures on the internet hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. My students, friends and anyone who has traveled with me and benefitted from travel have him to thank! I wish I could tell him to his face, but since I can’t—let’s honor him by living our own lives to the fullest every day. Whatever that means to you, get out there and DO IT! For me, that’s sharing the world, one person at a time. If that sounds like your cup of tea too, come with me! Seriously. No catch. Just us making the world our oyster. We may know each other well, we may just be acquaintances, or total strangers, but I know after traveling we will all feel like family.

Taking Flight

I've yearned to travel the world for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is on an airplane. I remember the bumpy circular patterned-floor of the airplane aisle and the massive chairs of the airport lobby. I'd scoot to the very edge of the seat and stretch my feet out, but, like most three-year-olds, I had a long way to go before my stumpy legs would ever reach the floor. I remember the flavorless pretzels the air hostess passed me right after she pinned a shiny silver set of wings on my shirt. I felt so important.

It was a memory that was to stick with me for a long time.

I don't know where we were headed, but likely it was to visit family in North Carolina or maybe this flashback that I can't seem to shake comes from the long trek back home. We were living in Hawaii at the time--a long way from my parent's childhood homes and far from the tight-knit families they both came from. Neither of my parents are big travelers so it's still surprising to think that they ended up on Oahu--and even more curious that they spawned a child like me. In many ways I'm an anomaly. I don't have the laid-back personalities characteristic of my family, preferring details, deadlines and organization, over their go-with-the-flow approach to most ventures, I don't have their beautiful tan skin, after a bout in the sun I have a lobster tone that no one would ever describe as 'sun-kissed', but even more odd is the fact that I have always felt an insatiable urge to roam.

Maybe I keep going back to this early memory because it was so unusual for us--our family trips consisted mainly of long car rides to places we had friends or family, never flights--or maybe it was because my best friend would come home from choir trips with exciting stories of riding trollies through the steep streets of San Francisco or buying knock-off purses in Manhattan. Whatever the reason, the desire was there--unfulfilled. That is, until my Aunt Julie invited me on a trip to Arizona with her family when I was ten years old. We had long since returned to the East Coast permanently and they were going on a family vacation with three of their children. The boys had each other to pal around with, but their daughter was solo--enter moi! 

It was incredible! Not only did we have the most amazing vacation--riding through the desert on horseback, dune-bashing in a hummer, line-dancing with certified cowboys, and swimming until we were wrinklier than prunes--I got to fly again!

It lived up to every childhood fantasy I'd imagined it to be. I watched as the buildings got smaller and smaller, my face glued to the window watching the ground below. It mesmerized me as the scenery below changed from green and fertile to dry, mountainous and brown. The fact that I ate breakfast on the east coast and would be having dinner in the desert was exciting. I imagined myself jumping through the cotton-candy clouds like a trampoline and sat in awe at the blueness of the sky above and below. From then on when planes would fly overhead it would blow my mind to think that those tiny little moving dots were filled with people just like me. I wondered where they were going and found it hard to fathom that enough people flew every day to keep the airlines in business--flights were still a pretty foreign concept to me. I remember hoping that I would grow up and have the kind of life that required air travel. I made a vow that if I ever had children I would take them on a plane and show them how exciting the world was. I wanted them to know what I now knew--that life wasn't the same for everyone. Unlike the large oak trees I climbed and the crawdads I fished out of the creek, some people saw roadrunners, scorpions and cactus blossoms when they walked outside. I knew that other places were different than my little east coast world, but now I had seen it. 

I really haven't changed all that much. Instead of quenching a thirst, that trip lit a fire--one that can't be contained. My desire to explore this world has become like a wildfire--starting with me but rapidly spreading to my friends, family and students, one by one. I still get thrills from travel, but now the strongest thrill of all comes when I see that spark lighting in someone else. When I see someone else coming to the realization that life as they know it isn't necessarily "the way"--that through experience we shape how we view the world. I hope to have as many experiences as possible before I exit this Earth. I hope my own children are blessed to see people from as many walks of life as possible--to learn that just because people have different philosophies than they do or alternative lifestyles that contrast with "their way," that we are all just people. Travel does that. It makes us realize how small we are in the grand scheme of things and how we are all connected to one another. 

Don't stay in your tiny corner of the world with only like-minded people your whole life. Be a pioneer, a game changer--travel, experience, taste, and do as many things as you can. You'd be surprised what you'll find.

And so it begins...

Like Martin Luther King Jr., I too have a dream. While the impact is different, and my reach far smaller, I believe our purposes align. 

There is a lot of hatred being spread nowadays. Parties are divided, bombs are being dropped, and more and more it's becoming socially acceptable to attack each other based on our differences--differences of opinion, differences in political alignment, worship practices (or lack thereof) and a multitude of other hot button items that we let divide us. Somewhere along the line we have forgotten that what makes us different from one another is beautiful and cause for celebration, not a reason for ridicule and division.

My dream is a simple one. It won't draw large crowds around our nation's capitol. It won't be written about in the papers or taught in the classroom, but it's driven by love. I believe that by simply exposing ourselves to the very things we know so little about, we will gain an insight and an understanding to the very differences that divide us, and maybe, just maybe, we will see that we aren't all that different after all. 

My dream is to show people the world--to connect them with cultures other than their own. Maybe they are fascinated by them, maybe they are frightened. Whatever the approach to diversity, I want to bridge the gap. My favorite fictional character, Atticus Finch, forever immortalized in Harper Lee's groundbreaking novel "To Kill A Mockingbird" urges his young daughter, Scout, to try to put herself in someone else's shoes. "First of all" he said, "If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view [...] until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." 

Travel has allowed me to have the experience of walking in someone else's shoes--and somehow I find it impossible to leave unchanged. Experiencing life the way the locals do forces you to see the world through their eyes. I've left pieces of my heart in all corners of this world. 

In Romania, left with no alternative but to converse in what little French we each knew (I spoke no Romanian, she spoke no English, and we both studied French in school), Itsa and I bonded over her love of all things Leonardo DiCaprio, or was it a passion for pistachios? I probably should've paid a little more attention in Madam Macias's French class. The family shared a one bedroom apartment, raised their own chickens and fed us goat cheese from the family goat and strawberries fresh from the garden. Men went to town in horse-and-buggy carts, and gypsy women in brightly colored silk scarves begged on the street corners. It was a way of life completely opposite of my own, and yet, it felt like home.

Spending a year in Micronesia had me eager to immerse myself in the local culture. I would ask the island children to teach me Pohnpeian slang. "How do you say goodnight?" I would naively ask nine-year-old Abuk. I later learned that the "Pwisen en Malek" I had been greeting everyone with had quite a different meaning. Instead of 'Good Evening' I had essentially been calling people "Chicken Sh*t". Abuk would laugh at me for weeks. I learned that the Micronesian people believed themselves to be descended from sacred Eels. I climbed Sokehs Rock and scoured the mysterious ruins of Nan Madol. I watched as tribal leaders made Sakau from the root of the kava plant and looked on as Nole tediously carved fish hooks out of ivory nut. Mr. Benjamin taught me how to tie a piece of coral to a water bottle with fishing line and I caught my first fish with no rod. I decided to forego the traditional eating-of-the-fish-heart that locals said would cure seasickness forever.

 Yannis taught me how to twirl konboloi, Greek worry beads, when I'm anxious. Biagio introduced me to fried cheese and I've never been the same.  Mario taught me that French men find beauty in a woman's ankles and that not repeating "Bonjour" back to someone is considered incredibly rude. Jose explained to me that the reason Spaniards hang pork legs upside down in their shop windows is to pay homage to their past--a time in history when Jews and Muslims did this to prove they'd converted to Catholicism. From Bianca I learned that no one in Austria has actually seen the film "The Sound of Music"--it is a completely American phenomenon. Sabrina told me that given the history of Nazi Germany, many German's struggle with patriotism. Sailing across the Nile, Taha taught me that the according to the quran, Moses had to have his brother Aaron speak for him because he burnt his tongue on hot coals as a young child in a test given by the Pharoah.

Travel made these connections possible. Sure, I could've purchased a Groupon, strapped a camera to my neck and taken a selfie in front of the Statue of David, but instead I chose immersion. It's so easy to feel like we are connected to the world because we have access to the travel channel or we've stepped foot on a cruise ship. The truth is, you have to get out and see it for yourself. It isn't until you meet the locals and experience what life is like for them that you start to understand the similarities we all share. Sure, their terrain might be different than yours, they might speak a different language, or even practice a different religion, but at the heart of it all we are all human beings with the same struggles, the same goals and the same common denominator--this world we live in.

First of all I encourage you to get out there and see this world as often as you can. It has so much beauty waiting to be discovered--so many meaningful connections are at your fingertips. Don't just listen to other people talk about travel. See it for yourself. Once you've taken that leap, and it is a leap my friends, look for enriching travel experiences. Find ways to interact with the culture and people. It's easy (and tempting) to hop on a Royal Caribbean cruise or hit an all-inclusive resort, but are you really experiencing the true culture? NO! 

If we are ever going to bridge this wide gap that's forming between so many of us, we have got to take steps toward understanding one another. Travel is that step my friends. I know it can be scary. I know there are a lot of what ifs. But what if, instead of letting fear consume us, we seek out the things we don't understand in an effort to find clarity? We may just find ourselves out there too!