Today the trip begins: five weeks in Asia, starting and ending in Beijing, with stops in Taiwan, the Philippines, and Thailand. Finally, a time to change time zones, live out of a suitcase, break the routine, and taste a little travel adrenaline.
But by adrenaline I don’t mean hand gliding or roller coasters; I mean the low-level, steady drip, two parts per million adrenaline of being immersed in a foreign language, staring cross-eyed at foreign money, and using that foreign money to negotiate prices (and always paying too much).
But even before I get to China I expect to enjoy the trip. Overcoming small challenges is fun, and that includes getting to the airport on time, various hang-ups at the airport, getting past immigration, and not getting completely hosed by the shark taxi drivers waiting for you on the other end. On this trip, I’m not even excited about my destinations. The Philippines will be the only new place for me; I’ve either traveledto or lived everywhere else. So the focus will be especially accute on the details.
Admittedly, those of you who do enjoy hand gliding off the face of K2 may find my writings milquetoast, but if you’re low-energy like me, you’ll perhaps recognize that you and I travel with the same focus. Traveling through a different culture means every detail (the weird brand of toothpaste you buy, the typo in the road sign, watching people work) are all moments that might surprise you; you notice something and want to remember it, recount it to your friends when you return. But your friends may think you’re long winded. You’ve got their attention for one, maybe two anecdotes, then they’ll start to drift off.
Which is why I write stuff like this. It’s a license to to prattle on, explore some tangent, get reflective.
So even if no one’s out there, here goes: my trip, in detail, from the ground level, edited down to a highlights reel, a single handheld camera, interactive communication, Smellovision super deluxe sensory description.
This afternoon, my flight from JFK is scheduled to depart at 4:30. Whenever possible I avoid morning flights, even if they’re a hundred bucks cheaper. Any time before, say, 1pm, means I’ll barely sleep the night before, plagued by dreams of oversleeping. I’ll jot awake once an hour, clutch at the sheets, muscles tense, check the alarm clock (did I set it properly?) and realize it’s only been twenty-three minutes since I went to bed; I curse myself for being cheap with the plane ticket.
So 4:30 depart time is comfortable. Leave the house at noon. Leisurely pace. I’ll have an hour-and-a-half padding to play with. If a magnetic storm knocks out all electronics in the greater metro area, I’ll get to JFK on horseback.
I’ve taken the subway to JFK many times; from where I used to live in Queens, the E train to Jamaica Station was fast and essentially free, but from my new apartment in Brooklyn, it’s much more convoluted: the M to the G (and possibly to another G – they often run in two segments) to the E, with one long-assed transfer at Queens Plaza, flights of stairs, possible/probable service delays (especially with the G); doing it “pure subway” might involve hours of underground time; adrenaline levels could spike if anything goes wrong.
However, I’ve heard that the Long Island Railroad is a faster alternative, plus it runs on a schedule. Trying a new route will add 2 difficulty points, but could pay handsome dividends for future trips. And, doing something for the first time will kickstart the adventure engine before I’ve even left the ground.
Yes, a taxi would be the simple, but tourism has already become almost too easy. In a taxi I could just take a nap, or read People magazine, or call up a friend and make them keep me entertained for twenty minutes (ah, friends).
Thirty years from now, sure, I’ll probably be too snooty to even take a taxi. “Have the limo at my townhouse by three. Or perhaps we should take the company jet.” But for the moment, I call myself a mid-range vacationer: a few notches above backpacker, but many notches below the all-inclusive resort, fruit basket in the morning, chocolate mints on the pillow each night, and staff calling me Mr. Stow. I’m happier as a mid-range guy, no longer so painfully frugal, enjoying clean sheets and a pillow stuffed with feather or poloyester, but not straw. I take hot howers, but am still close to street level. Kids playing with an empty water bottle, open air butcheries, a guy selling baskets from a mule-drawn cart: those are the subjects of good photographs, the memories you might hold on to for a while
Uh, actually I shouldn’t start talking about pictures. As you might see, I’m really, really lame with a camera. My sense of humor just doesn’t translate into photography.
Anyway …We’re here. Today. It’s go time!
As for packing, I’ve never understood people who pack days in advance, or even the night before. I don’t have that much stuff. Packing too early just means I’ll just have to look in my suitcase for some underwear or a toothbrush. My style is to wait until almost the last minute, until I’m nervous about missing my flight, then use energy to get things done; packing days before might require a whole evening (while, I imagine, sipping white wine and carefully folding underwear), but do it on the day of and you’re reduced to grabbing anything clean, making rough estimates about how long you want to go between laundries, stuff the lot into that suitcase, stretching its limits, nothing folded (the humidity should take care of wrinkles, right? Is it humid in Beijing?), and use your bodyweight to get the zipper closed. Ten minutes, max.
I planned to leave the apartment at noon, but packing took forty-five minutes (live and learn), then I got distracted by technology.reddit.com, almost forgot to shower, and suddenly it was 1:30. How did that happen? Adrenaline was building in the base of my spine.
Ten minutes later, I’m yanking my suitcase out the front door, sweating and grunting, double then triple checking that I’ve got the absolute essentials: passport, plane tickets, credit and ATM card (who uses travelers checks anymore?), and laptop. I’m halfway down the block when I re-consider my decision to not bring my favorite leather jacket. Beijing’s cold, right? My friend Bill says leather jackets are dirt-cheap in Beijing, but does dirt-cheap mean really tacky? Do I trust the Chinese to be hip to fashion? I imagine shops filled with cheap, Thriller-era Michael Jackson leathers, triangles of red and blue with lots of zippers that do nothing.
If you’d been on my block this afternoon, you’d have watched me hurrying towards subway, then stop, rub my chin. I was caught in indecision.
Don’t worry abou. Buy a jacket on the first day if you’re cold. But what about that first night? I’ve be hugging myself all the time.
No! Why spend the money? Besides, you love the jacket you’ve already got. And you live in New York; those Chinese won’t be as hip; no way.
So after maybe a minute of this internal debate (see why I travel alone?), I went back for my jacket, thus making me later and more nervous.
Twenty minutes later, I’m at the Atlantic Avenue subway station … my mind racing like a rabbits, constantly checking the time, have to get upstairs, bag is heavy, but hey! The elevator has just arrived. Sweet! Small crowd is waiting for it, I’m the last in line, or, rather, I’m the polite one who doesn’t try to cut in on the side. I’m about to get on … there’s just enough room for me, and my stuff, but the guy in front of me turns around and decides it’s reached capacity; he won’t move in. “Next car,” he says, and everyone’s watching me. So do I try to push myself in? Would you? In Asia, many parts of it, at least, people would make room, chuckling, and motioning for me to squeeze in; they’d see this crowded elevator with the pale guy and his luggage as some funny moment. Ha ha. It’s crowded, but we’ll make it.
But I’m not in Asia yet, and am feeling pretty good, being on the move and all, so no need to dwell on this bad point. A Buddhist lets this pass. This guy whose chosen to not help me out is probably on his way to Brownsville or Bed Stuy or Crowne Heights, or wherever, and I’m going to China. He can have this extra shoulder room on the elevator up one flight. Okay, maybe my thoughts aren’t exaclty those of a good Buddhist, but I’m a mixture of many things.
My train to JFK leaves in five minutes; waiting for the next elevator will mean missing it, and I would risk dropping into uncomfortable, super-heightened anxiety mode, sweating scalp and fidgety hands. As a traveler, you must regulate adrenaline. Slow drip.
Time is now precious.
I turn around, and run up the stairs, around slower steppers, hauling suitcase and squash bag with the strength a firefighter pulling a child from a burning building.
Jogging now, I weave through the commuters, down more steps, back up steps (no time for elevators), and reach the ticket machines with one minute left. LIRR trains leave on time; I know not to expect any wiggle room. Must buy a ticket without any mistakes; no ‘start over’ option – insufficient time.
But I’ve used ticket machines in Tokyo, where everything – the maps, buttons, and ambient noise were in Japanese – no Engrish, just squiggly lines and chicken scratches; I had to watch other people pushing things and inserting money before I dared to try myself (That’s how you manage when you’re suddenly illiterate. Or you ask for help, which I never did.).
I approach the LIRR ticket machine wide eyed, fingers poking quickly, insert ATM card, security code, please take ticket and receipt, and it all goes well on the first attempt (the joy of being able to read), and better yet, I find my train right away, confirm this with the conductor (the joy of speaking the language). Sit down, relax. Breathe.
We start rolling out of the station twenty seconds after I drop into my seat, wiping perspiration from my forehead and neck.
See? With proper procrastination, your entire trip – fourteen hour flight, five weeks away from home – can all boil down to a single minute.
Of course, I could have skipped the ticket machine challenge and just paid the conductor directly, but that would have incurred a five-dollar penalty. Spend five dollars to ensure the whole trip goes off without a major catastrophe? Nah. Too easy.