Although this is a rather late post, I feel it is necessary to record. Over fall break, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit my friend, Jen, in Bogotá, Colombia. It was a wonderful experience and much different than I had expected. I pictured something that would be a product of its environment, the one with drug lords, political upheaval and guerrillas. Instead, it was completely different. It was cosmopolitan, big, beautiful, safe, friendly, passionate and delicious. Everyday I found myself experiencing something new and eating something new. I still dream about rose petal ice cream, tamales, roscones. But what amazes me is that no matter where I am and who I am with, I always go through the same feelings while traveling. It's like a cycle that I am sure some super smart psychologist has already defined. First, while waiting at DIA (usually in the security line) there is an immense feeling of excitement and almost a hint of envy--not from me, but from all of the people not traveling abroad. As I look around, waiting with my passport in hand, I notice everyone else with just their IDs. I wonder where they're going and feel sad for those going to funerals or traveling with children. But I always assume those poor people going to Disney Land must be envious of me.
As the plane takes off, I feel calm, knowing that I am headed in the right direction (the flight attendants confirm my flight several times over the PA). As it lands, I immediately feel rushed--will I make it to my layover? And then a sense of calm as I take off again. Once I have arrived at my final destination, anxiety overcomes me. Questions that circled my head while taxi-ing into Bogotá were:
Why didn't I write down Jen and Roger's address?
Why can't I get any service on my phone or Kindle, aren't these things supposed to be global?
Will I make it through customs without an address? Probably not--should I write down an address of a hostel from my Lonely Planet? Yes, yes I should.
Usually, the anxiety fades throughout my trip and turns into something wonderful, no matter how long the trip is. Small things make the transition tricky, like the Colombian pesos, Spanish that I don't understand, and wondering if I should continue talking to the guitar player on the bus or if I am giving too much information about myself. But mostly, leaving is just the same. Will I make my connection and will my luggage? Will I get a stamp on my passport when coming back into the US? If flying through Miami, no to the luggage and yes to the stamp. From now on, I only fly through Houston. And then the last plea: Take me home!
No matter the destination and the length of stay, it is always this cycle. And it is always followed by nostalgia. Oh if only the nostalgia would go away--but at the same time, I never want to lose it. Losing it would mean that I would forget what it's like to travel, and then maybe I would be stuck. No one wants to be stuck.
In the end, like every where else, Colombia was fantastic--a nice break from the chaos that has become my life. I have recently interviewed with Invisible Children to teach former child soldiers in Uganda this summer. I can only hope that the experiences I have had thus far have prepared me to have this opportunity. I can only hope and can only imagine the magnified feelings that this journey would bring.
As the plane takes off, I feel calm, knowing that I am headed in the right direction (the flight attendants confirm my flight several times over the PA). As it lands, I immediately feel rushed--will I make it to my layover? And then a sense of calm as I take off again. Once I have arrived at my final destination, anxiety overcomes me. Questions that circled my head while taxi-ing into Bogotá were:
Why didn't I write down Jen and Roger's address?
Why can't I get any service on my phone or Kindle, aren't these things supposed to be global?
Will I make it through customs without an address? Probably not--should I write down an address of a hostel from my Lonely Planet? Yes, yes I should.
Usually, the anxiety fades throughout my trip and turns into something wonderful, no matter how long the trip is. Small things make the transition tricky, like the Colombian pesos, Spanish that I don't understand, and wondering if I should continue talking to the guitar player on the bus or if I am giving too much information about myself. But mostly, leaving is just the same. Will I make my connection and will my luggage? Will I get a stamp on my passport when coming back into the US? If flying through Miami, no to the luggage and yes to the stamp. From now on, I only fly through Houston. And then the last plea: Take me home!
No matter the destination and the length of stay, it is always this cycle. And it is always followed by nostalgia. Oh if only the nostalgia would go away--but at the same time, I never want to lose it. Losing it would mean that I would forget what it's like to travel, and then maybe I would be stuck. No one wants to be stuck.
In the end, like every where else, Colombia was fantastic--a nice break from the chaos that has become my life. I have recently interviewed with Invisible Children to teach former child soldiers in Uganda this summer. I can only hope that the experiences I have had thus far have prepared me to have this opportunity. I can only hope and can only imagine the magnified feelings that this journey would bring.
