My heart is pounding as I peer over the heads that make up the crowd at the consulate office. I wiggle and squirm trying to get closer in line. I am surrounded by the most diverse group of people, everyone from men and women in traditional Indian clothing, complete with extravagant nose rings and turbans, to young mischievous looking American girls, like myself. In all my travels, this is the first time I have ever had to apply for a visa in order to enter. It is someone of an insulting prospect, to think that someone would want to pre-screen me before allowing me to enter their country. It was hitting below my American belt. But now I am able to sympathize with the billions of non-Americans who must do this many more times then myself. My nerves are beginning to peak as I watch the consulate employees leaf through piles and piles of applications. Some have pink papers in front, others white, and some blue. Some go in a pile in the right, others to the left. I watch as each person steps up to the counter and hands their receipt. Some leave through the exit, others are motioned off to the side. I dig back into the hidden files of my memory to try and think of a reason why my visa would be denied. Will they find out about the unpaid parking ticket? I hope my credit is not an entry requirement. How thorough is this check exactly? My medical records are clean, not even a cavity. But what about that bad hair cut or my hideous passport photo?
I, of course, waited until the last minute to apply for my entry visa, and therefore, should anything go wrong, it could have serious effects on my trip. Also, I ditched my car in an alley somewhere in San Francisco, which could be towed at any minute at double the cost of what my plane ticket was. I try to distract my pessimistic mind by writing down the names of all the cities advertised around the consulate office. Indian will be just breathtaking! Granted I can get it, that is.
I was granted the visa. So much for all the drama. I'm double relieved to also find my car still wedged safely between the garbage truck and the group of gangsters in the alley.
This trip, which has been in preparation for two years, and in my heart since birth, is closing in so quickly I can hardly breath. I'm starting to panic thinking that it's practically over already! 2010 was a tough year for me, which, in and of itself shows the abundance of God's grace in my life, as there were no tragedies, no job loss, and was full of great friends, relationships, and fun. However, for me, it was a year of growth. I was stretched and pulled in so many ways and directions, I felt like a piece of salt water taffy. I did mature, learned paying off debt and save money, taking on bigger responsibilities at work and in my personal life. I said goodbye to some people, learned more about what I did and did not want in life, and attained a deep sense of spiritual well being. So it would only make sense that now would be the perfect time to seek out the next phase of life.
I rented out my beloved room in our 1960's apartment in Little Italy, gave my notice to my very first real job after college, and said goodbye (temporarily) to my extremely supportive and ever faithful friends, roommates, family, and church. The majority of my belongings were given away, sold, or on loan to friends (or broken or lost in between). The remaining pieces that survived were crammed into my little blue Honda, and driven to my parent's attic.
The remaining preparations are small, however, driving me to both exhaustion and insanity. I spent two hours on the phone, calling to cancel my car insurance, cell phone, and health plan. Each call comes with a tug-of-war argument as my providers try to persuade me to stay, which always ends in them begging and myself getting irritated. It's as if I went through 12 breakups in the two days. The only relationships that survived are with my credit cards and two banks (my main bank is not aware I have "the other bank" on the side, and hopefully the unfaithfulness will not come to light anytime soon, as it may have negative financial effects on my trip)I try to explain my trip to the automated system, and am so frustrated with her bad hearing and constant politeness when requesting to "Please repeat that" that I'm soon screaming "REPRESENTATIVE!!" so loud the entire Starbucks staff is aware of my trip and is asking for the details.
Unfortunately for them, between the bank representatives, doctors, car insurance, and visa office, I am burnt out on talking about it. All I want to do is to crawl onto my plane, take a long nap, and wake up to this year of adventure. Five more days to go!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Addicted
"Hello, my name is Nicole, and I am an addict."
"Hello Nicole."
The realization of my addiction came at the point where most addictions come, in a dark, dingy hotel room, alone, surrounded by pink pills. The only difference was that I did not have a needle up my arm and I was not in the center of downtown LA. I was in Puerto Rico, and I was in my right, conscious state of mind,(which I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.) As I laid sprawled out on the floor of my cheap hostel room, trying to calm the fire in my stomach thanks to too much greasy mofongo with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol capsules, I thought, “Why do I keep doing this to myself?” As the acid ate away at my insides, and mosquito's got what was left on the outside, I slipped into the back corners of my memory to try and figure out how I got to such a deep state of my addiction. My addiction to travel, more uncommonly known as wanderlust.
Furthest back I can process is in college, when I had too much time and too little expenses to dissolve my part time income. I wanted to experiment, try new things, experience crazy a little. So summer after my freshmen year, I packed my first backpack and headed to Guatemala on a volunteer trip with my school.
And it just snowballed from there.
The following summer I spent 9 weeks in Europe, then 2 months in Costa Rica, another 6 weeks back in Europe after graduation, then a quick fix trip to Panama, then a binge trip to Nicaragua. Each trip I swore would be the last one. Just one more, to “get it out of my system,” then I would start my career, wear a suit, have a 401K, get married, and save for a house, like all good American girls should do. And that really was my plan. Honest.
However, I just could just not stop relapsing. Each and every relapse was more sweet and beautiful than the last, giving just as great a high as before, except that after each one, (like a true addict) I always needed just a little more than the last time to get that perfect high. Just a week longer, just a couple hundred miles farther into the unknown. Just one more night on an airport floor sleeping on my backpack.
And at this point, I’ve become so familiar with these relapses, I can see one coming about a month or two in advance and I immediately prepare myself to fight the urge (while setting a little extra money aside, you know, just in case).
It always starts at work. I’ll be clicking away on my computer, going strong, when something will set it off, something different every time. Like the smell of my coworkers coffee reminds me of the plantation I visited in Costa Rica, or the blue of the wall suddenly looks just like the water in the Aegean sea in Greece, or the clock reminds me of Big Ben, etc. Before I know it, I’m emailing the HR department to see how many PTO days I have left. Just a harmless question! About an hour later I get a response. 16 hours left. 16 hours! That’s 2 whole days! Attach it to a weekend and that makes 4! Oh, the places I could go in 4 days! Without even stopping to think, I print out the request form, select a random weekend in the fall (summer is high season and too expensive, of course) and walk into the office of my very tolerant boss. Half a minute later I’m walking back to my desk, eyes glazed over, holding the approved time off request in my hand like a slave holding their freedom papers. I set it down on my desk and stare at it. What am I thinking!? I mean, I just got back from vacation a month ago! I swore that after that last trip I would take a break to replenish my savings and payoff that dang credit card, which keeps piling up with charged plane tickets. No, no, no, I will be strong! I am a survivor. I throw the form into my desk drawer and get back to work. It only takes a minute for it to start talking to me from inside the desk. It only says one word sentences, “Bali, Philippians, Croatia, Belize” and that’s all it takes to get to me. I pull it back out slowly. Well, its only 4 days, that can’t be too expensive. Then I’ll be out of PTO days for a couple months and can catch up. I Google a map of the world, and started searching. It would have to be somewhere close, so i don’t waste half the trip flying. I look to the north, Canada. No, too big. The south. Mexico, no, I’m saving that one for a long trip, further south, Guatemala. Already been. Belize. Too expensive. Next, Honduras. I pause. Ooo, never been there before. And many of my fellow travel buddies said the Bay Islands off the coast are amazing! My heart starts racing and I being to salivate. Honduras. Let’s just double check ticket prices.
Within 5 minutes I have 6 windows open and chugging away at once, searching deep into the void to find the cheapest airline tickets the galaxy can provide. The little globe keeps spinning as prices being to pop up. $700. I remain calm, they always pop up the most expensive first, like it’s Jedi mind-tricking you into thinking the cheapest price is somehow more cheap that it is. $600. Nope. $550. Ugg. $525. It stops. I scroll through the other 6 windows. All around the same price. I open a new window and pull up my savings account balance. $415. Ok, there’s got to be a way. I pull out a file in the back of my mind with all the airports surrounding my area. LA? No, not usually much of a difference. Orange County. No, not international. Suddenly, like a light bulb just went off, i remember! I live in San Diego, and the Tijuana airport is only half an hour away! I pull up a different site I know by heart and type in my destinations. My palms itch as a look away into the corner. After a few seconds, I look back at the screen. $395!! With taxes, that puts me right around my savings accounting balance! Wooo hooo! Within ten minutes I’ve swept my savings account clean and am now the proud owner of a 6 stop flight to Teguchigalpa, Honduras. Now, all I have to do is live of $1 burritos and cancel my electricity at the house over the next two months so i can have some spending money for the trip. Small price to pay to check a whole country off the list! That's 21 down, 173 to go! Wow, 173 to go....
"Hello Nicole."
The realization of my addiction came at the point where most addictions come, in a dark, dingy hotel room, alone, surrounded by pink pills. The only difference was that I did not have a needle up my arm and I was not in the center of downtown LA. I was in Puerto Rico, and I was in my right, conscious state of mind,(which I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.) As I laid sprawled out on the floor of my cheap hostel room, trying to calm the fire in my stomach thanks to too much greasy mofongo with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol capsules, I thought, “Why do I keep doing this to myself?” As the acid ate away at my insides, and mosquito's got what was left on the outside, I slipped into the back corners of my memory to try and figure out how I got to such a deep state of my addiction. My addiction to travel, more uncommonly known as wanderlust.
Furthest back I can process is in college, when I had too much time and too little expenses to dissolve my part time income. I wanted to experiment, try new things, experience crazy a little. So summer after my freshmen year, I packed my first backpack and headed to Guatemala on a volunteer trip with my school.
And it just snowballed from there.
The following summer I spent 9 weeks in Europe, then 2 months in Costa Rica, another 6 weeks back in Europe after graduation, then a quick fix trip to Panama, then a binge trip to Nicaragua. Each trip I swore would be the last one. Just one more, to “get it out of my system,” then I would start my career, wear a suit, have a 401K, get married, and save for a house, like all good American girls should do. And that really was my plan. Honest.
However, I just could just not stop relapsing. Each and every relapse was more sweet and beautiful than the last, giving just as great a high as before, except that after each one, (like a true addict) I always needed just a little more than the last time to get that perfect high. Just a week longer, just a couple hundred miles farther into the unknown. Just one more night on an airport floor sleeping on my backpack.
And at this point, I’ve become so familiar with these relapses, I can see one coming about a month or two in advance and I immediately prepare myself to fight the urge (while setting a little extra money aside, you know, just in case).
It always starts at work. I’ll be clicking away on my computer, going strong, when something will set it off, something different every time. Like the smell of my coworkers coffee reminds me of the plantation I visited in Costa Rica, or the blue of the wall suddenly looks just like the water in the Aegean sea in Greece, or the clock reminds me of Big Ben, etc. Before I know it, I’m emailing the HR department to see how many PTO days I have left. Just a harmless question! About an hour later I get a response. 16 hours left. 16 hours! That’s 2 whole days! Attach it to a weekend and that makes 4! Oh, the places I could go in 4 days! Without even stopping to think, I print out the request form, select a random weekend in the fall (summer is high season and too expensive, of course) and walk into the office of my very tolerant boss. Half a minute later I’m walking back to my desk, eyes glazed over, holding the approved time off request in my hand like a slave holding their freedom papers. I set it down on my desk and stare at it. What am I thinking!? I mean, I just got back from vacation a month ago! I swore that after that last trip I would take a break to replenish my savings and payoff that dang credit card, which keeps piling up with charged plane tickets. No, no, no, I will be strong! I am a survivor. I throw the form into my desk drawer and get back to work. It only takes a minute for it to start talking to me from inside the desk. It only says one word sentences, “Bali, Philippians, Croatia, Belize” and that’s all it takes to get to me. I pull it back out slowly. Well, its only 4 days, that can’t be too expensive. Then I’ll be out of PTO days for a couple months and can catch up. I Google a map of the world, and started searching. It would have to be somewhere close, so i don’t waste half the trip flying. I look to the north, Canada. No, too big. The south. Mexico, no, I’m saving that one for a long trip, further south, Guatemala. Already been. Belize. Too expensive. Next, Honduras. I pause. Ooo, never been there before. And many of my fellow travel buddies said the Bay Islands off the coast are amazing! My heart starts racing and I being to salivate. Honduras. Let’s just double check ticket prices.
Within 5 minutes I have 6 windows open and chugging away at once, searching deep into the void to find the cheapest airline tickets the galaxy can provide. The little globe keeps spinning as prices being to pop up. $700. I remain calm, they always pop up the most expensive first, like it’s Jedi mind-tricking you into thinking the cheapest price is somehow more cheap that it is. $600. Nope. $550. Ugg. $525. It stops. I scroll through the other 6 windows. All around the same price. I open a new window and pull up my savings account balance. $415. Ok, there’s got to be a way. I pull out a file in the back of my mind with all the airports surrounding my area. LA? No, not usually much of a difference. Orange County. No, not international. Suddenly, like a light bulb just went off, i remember! I live in San Diego, and the Tijuana airport is only half an hour away! I pull up a different site I know by heart and type in my destinations. My palms itch as a look away into the corner. After a few seconds, I look back at the screen. $395!! With taxes, that puts me right around my savings accounting balance! Wooo hooo! Within ten minutes I’ve swept my savings account clean and am now the proud owner of a 6 stop flight to Teguchigalpa, Honduras. Now, all I have to do is live of $1 burritos and cancel my electricity at the house over the next two months so i can have some spending money for the trip. Small price to pay to check a whole country off the list! That's 21 down, 173 to go! Wow, 173 to go....
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