This blog was born nearly ten years ago. By my definition, “Adventure” would be any activity where something hangs in the balance, either good or bad, gain or loss and it could go either way: Adventure. In 2012 I had several (adventures) going and my house had a stranger living in it so I could stay out on the road. It was a really good time in my life. My stories were either from the road or decompressing at home after a road trip or organizing to get back under way again. Blog post #1 came from Nova Scotia, from a light house where I sat on a great granite boulder with waves crashing below my feet. The sun came up on me there and off to the southeast where the horizon met the sky I imagined, if I could see far enough, the nearest shoreline would be the coast of Morocco. Marrakesh and the Atlas Mountains were on my bucket list even then.
Nearly a decade before that I emailed my kids and amigos with stories and my coordinates. Every small town in Patagonia had an internet cafe and 400 Chilean pesos (about 50 cents) would get me half an hour on line. A hostel bed and breakfast cost about 3,200 pesos and often that included a slow, weak internet connection. From Santiago, Chile to Ushuaia, Argentina I walked or rode a bus everywhere I went.
A friend who retired a year before me advised: If you want to have a great adventure or do something on a grand scale, do it right away. It was a caution, there are no guarantees. I felt obligated to all of my amigos who ‘adventured’ vicariously, not given to wanderlust. The destination took a while to decide. It began by creating a long list, then by process of elimination. Español had to be the native language and not much Ingles. Then it had to be affordable (to walk-about) and a safe place for Americans. The list shrank down to two, Chile and Argentina and I could do both.
I discovered how the world opens up when you leave what you know behind and start again with another culture and another language. I confirmed what I already believed, how the world caters to tourists but embraces pilgrims. I’ve spent time in other countries since Patagonia in ’05 and granted, one cannot help but notice the pleasant absence of American hubris. I have loved my own country with cautionary reservation since my days in the army. That was when it occurred to me; I didn’t choose my country, it chose me. When someone asks (and they always ask) "Where are you from?" I often answer, “I try not to be.” Where you come from is a tribal remnant that we should have been able to shed. I prefer a global (human) identity. Sharing that revelation with people still immersed in, (God Bless America & We’re #1) can make them uncomfortable or worse.
I didn’t set out today to be critical of my country. Maybe if I reframe the idea, that I am more lucky to be a citizen here than I am proud it won’t discredit me. After all, I think Proud and Pride are perfect subjects for the metaphor, “Lipstick on the pig”. But that’s another story. I am remembering that rooms full of young people used to get up early just to listen to me, but time flies and things change. If I can stir up an adventure, even a little one I can share, it feels like I have work to do. A few folks still come here to check out my story. It’s not the same but it’s not bad.
Nearly a decade before that I emailed my kids and amigos with stories and my coordinates. Every small town in Patagonia had an internet cafe and 400 Chilean pesos (about 50 cents) would get me half an hour on line. A hostel bed and breakfast cost about 3,200 pesos and often that included a slow, weak internet connection. From Santiago, Chile to Ushuaia, Argentina I walked or rode a bus everywhere I went.
A friend who retired a year before me advised: If you want to have a great adventure or do something on a grand scale, do it right away. It was a caution, there are no guarantees. I felt obligated to all of my amigos who ‘adventured’ vicariously, not given to wanderlust. The destination took a while to decide. It began by creating a long list, then by process of elimination. Español had to be the native language and not much Ingles. Then it had to be affordable (to walk-about) and a safe place for Americans. The list shrank down to two, Chile and Argentina and I could do both.
I discovered how the world opens up when you leave what you know behind and start again with another culture and another language. I confirmed what I already believed, how the world caters to tourists but embraces pilgrims. I’ve spent time in other countries since Patagonia in ’05 and granted, one cannot help but notice the pleasant absence of American hubris. I have loved my own country with cautionary reservation since my days in the army. That was when it occurred to me; I didn’t choose my country, it chose me. When someone asks (and they always ask) "Where are you from?" I often answer, “I try not to be.” Where you come from is a tribal remnant that we should have been able to shed. I prefer a global (human) identity. Sharing that revelation with people still immersed in, (God Bless America & We’re #1) can make them uncomfortable or worse.
I didn’t set out today to be critical of my country. Maybe if I reframe the idea, that I am more lucky to be a citizen here than I am proud it won’t discredit me. After all, I think Proud and Pride are perfect subjects for the metaphor, “Lipstick on the pig”. But that’s another story. I am remembering that rooms full of young people used to get up early just to listen to me, but time flies and things change. If I can stir up an adventure, even a little one I can share, it feels like I have work to do. A few folks still come here to check out my story. It’s not the same but it’s not bad.
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