Globetrotting

When the world really does become your oyster (or maybe even your lobster)

To a non-traveller I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain the passion of travel that gives me nothing but pure therapy. It gives me therapy in the same way putting all this thunderstorm in my head down on paper does to my soul. I mean hey, It’s cheaper than rehab or a one hour slot at your local support centre right?

Well maybe not, but the experiences and people give you nothing but riches. The famous Tumblr quote “Travel makes you richer” although it makes me want to punch a small cat is actually very accurate. Travelling isn’t just about having a year away from your clingy parents on a prolonged gap year, or an escape from a stressful and meaningless life at home. It’s so much more than that, and that’s the part that a non-traveller will just never get their head around.

When I first returned from my first set of travels in December 2011, the first thing my Grandma asked me was “How was your holiday?” I looked at her in disgust. I hadn’t just been on holiday. In fact I’d been working at two volunteer projects, one in Honduras and one in Fiji then travelled parts of Asia before landing myself a job in Italy. Each part had been nothing but tough and much more of a challenge than a lot of people could ever even imagine. I responded to my Grandma with “I went travelling for God sake Grandma, it’s completely different to a holiday.” This confused her even more and before I knew it we were having nothing more than a heated debate between a holiday and a travelling adventure.

I know we have to excuse the bemused elderly more times than we would often care but trying to explain to an 84 year old the prospect of staying in hostels crawling with cockroaches, cooking your own food over gas stoves, travelling by public transport with questionable locals and living on a budget is my idea of heaven.

There really is something about the people you meet travelling. There is no way of describing how interesting the selection of people you meet is. From the 33 year old hippy living in the Hostel smoking up every night, to the couple on the path to exploring Buddhism and to the bloke from London who took all his 3 weeks holiday off work at once. The variety of people is just incredible and the connections you make with people you only met 2 days ago even more incredible. The openness of individuals you meet has such a stark contrast to everyone at home. Why do I want to spend my entire life with people that are so closed and carry round this huge barrier with them? I crave good conversation, not just about travelling, but conversation with MEANING. Conversation which involves not discussing what I’m wearing at the weekend or what colour I’m going to dye my hair next. I have an awful habit of becoming extremely uninterested in people and conversations like this, I just switch off entirely. Famously, travellers all have a mutual respect for one another and this is my favourite aspect. No one is in competition with one another, you’re all there for the same reason and why would anyone want to spoil their own time away? Listening to people’s traveling stories is my favourite activity. It inspires me so.

People tell me about this incredible lost temple, this remote beach, this fantastic project and the culture, smells and vibrancy of a city and it excites me in too many ways. This excites me in perhaps the same way a gadget lover would queue up for the new iphone at ridiculous o’clock or a fashion lover would drool over the new Hermes Bag in Vogue mag.

I can only describe my passion for travel by thinking of it in a way which removes myself from the present. I feel as if though my life can just stop still for a while and I can just appreciate the smaller things in life. I appreciate that I am very fortunate to be able to detach myself so from everyday life, but perhaps I just was never that attached in the first place. To me, there is no better feeling than feeling free, and this is exactly the way in which I feel when I have the opportunity to embrace an entirely different culture to my own. The growing pains of facing everyday Groundhog Day in “reality” is a pull in the wrong direction for me. I want travel to become my reality instead, and I don’t see how it can’t eventually.

I’ve often been described as “intense” and “deep”. I take this as nothing but a compliment. Travelling has changed my life entirely and I will continue to grasp as many new adventures and wild experiences by the bucket load until I reach the end of my days. I may “over-think” everything but honestly what is life if you don’t overthink it? Life is anything but simple. It’s a complex web of years that require choices and fulfilment and so so so much adventure. Sure, travelling requires confidence, but what doesn’t these days? Going for that first grad job or first date can be more daunting than anything, but what the hell is life without a bit of fear and a little challenge?

I tell my Dad how happy I am. His response is this “Well I think everyone is happy while their on holiday, Flo”.
JUST NO.
The constant battle of being misunderstood. I mean what the hell I thought this only happened during your teenage years? Am I subject to this for the rest of my life?

I don’t believe in comfort zones. What I do believe is that comfort zones provide nothing but a false sense of security and an excuse for individuals to stick to with what they know. Escaping from your comfort zone is genuinely liberating, once you do it once you’ll do it again. Finding a passion that is against the so called “norm” makes you an interesting individual.

“The traveling bug” is one of my pet hates. I often associate this with gap year travellers, those who join tour groups and set off on a 6 month slot of nothing but partying and being promiscuous and return with the notion that they want to do it all again, but just end up going to Ibiza the following year, and well, just doing exactly the same thing all over again.

I suppose though, maybe I did catch the so called “Travelling Bug”. I caught and held on tightly to the sense of adventure and accomplishment traveling brought me and genuinely never wanted to let go. I’m sure there would be many people reading this that assume I’m a pompous rich bastard who can quite freely gallivant around the world but let me assure you this: I am not. But maybe I will be one day… Once I’ve made my millions out of being a writer and the world really does become my oyster (or perhaps even my lobster) I guarantee I will be gallivanting as much as I please.

I like that word. Gallivanting.

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The U.N states that Honduras is the most dangerous country on the planet. I travelled here alone aged 18. My Honduras story finally told.

ARRIVING IN HONDURAS AGED 18

I’ve never really told my Honduran story before. But it sure is an interesting and complex one. I was 18. I quit my job working for TOPMAN in September 2010 and told everyone I was leaving for Central America in 5 weeks time. I was lost and to be quite frank couldn’t be asked to go to university. I just wanted to roam free and let my free spirit take over.

I had been browsing online and stumbled across a link for teaching English up a mountain in a remote place.

SOUNDS PERFECT

I can’t even lie. I barely read the info. I called up the volunteer programme that day and booked. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even know where Honduras was. Lord only knows where I inherited this spontaneity from. Virtually nothing fazes me. The UN states that Honduras is the most dangerous country in the world. I didn’t think much into it. For me, it’s all or nothing. I like extreme experiences and half-hearted adventures leave me nothing but disappointed. I googled where I was heading. Copán Ruinas. Copán Ruinas is a municipality in the Honduran department of Copán. The town, located close to the Guatemalan border, is a major gateway for tourists traveling to the Pre-Columbian ruins of Copán. It looked beautiful. And most importantly peaceful. Maybe I would finally find some peace here.

I told my Dad. He turned pale and asked why I always have to “go over the top” with everything. My answer was simple. “Yeah whatever life’s short”. I wasn’t fazed by this upcoming adventure but was perhaps very naive as to what I would actually encounter in this incredibly third world country. What I was to come up against was weeks of emotional turbulence and huge challenges. I never believed that such an experience would honestly change everything about me but It 100% did. I returned with an entirely different outlook on life and can honestly say was one of the hardest times of my entire life.

The day arrived. My Dad was completely and utterly shitting himself but he knew there was nothing that would stop me on this adventure. I have always been incredibly mature for my age, even at 18 I felt like I could take on the whole world and the challenge that I undertook was a mean feat for someone so young. Honestly most people my age or even now would have crumbled under that immense pressure.

First up I arrived in New York. It was late at night and it was an 9 hour wait until my next flight. I was due to wait in the airport but two hours after waiting the cleaners started arriving and I knew something was up.
They were shutting the terminal.

What the fuck. I didn’t have a hotel or even a phone that worked. Next minute I know I was having a huge panic attack. I’d never had a panic attack before. I couldn’t breathe and I was screaming and crying and trying to suppress my tears in front of the cleaners. I was genuinely panicking so hard with what to do. I sat outside and snow started to fall. I smoked a whole packet of fags and got it together. I bought a phone card and rang a nearby hotel.

My alarm rang. It was 4am and I’d paid $120 dollars for 5 hours in a hotel. GREAT.

Soon I was back at the airport, boarding my flight to Honduras. I was sat next to a tiny Honduran woman that kept giving me boiled sweets. I think she sensed my nervousness. As we landed into Honduras I leant over my flight partner to look out the window. It was the most green, plush place I had ever seen. SO SO BEAUTIFUL.

I was met at the airport and boarded a bus with my new project leader. It was a local bus and full of drunks and screaming children. I sat on the bus for a total of 3 hours up a mountain next to a huge man with a large beard. Every time we turned a corner he fell closer to me and his sweet smelling beer spilling onto my plimsolls. The sides of the bus were open. I could smell the air. It smelt so fresh. The climate was muggy and uncomfortable. Children noticed me from the paths and screamed and shouted and even waved passing through each village. This was my first taste of absolute poverty. People were sitting in the gutters begging and children so skinny. I automatically felt touched by these people, a feeling I soon realised would never go away. The scenery was incredible. Honduras is a mountainous country, with beautiful rolling hills covered in rainforests.

We arrived into Copán Ruinas late evening. The place was small and full of cobbled streets and Spanish style open buildings. I was walked up to my new home. I knocked on the door. My new Mum opened the door. A small smiling Hispanic woman opened the door and hugged me so hard. This was Tina. Conversation was limited. She only spoke Spanish and I, only English (minus the few phrases I’d learnt on the plane).
I entered my room. It was a simple room with an en suite and huge bed. I was told my host family was one of the richest in the entire town. Tomorrow I would be meeting for orientation and to enrol in Spanish school.
So here I was. Up a mountain in the middle of “The most dangerous country in the world” without a single word of their spoken language nor a mobile phone. I was petrified. I slept deeply and awoke with Tina knocking at my door asking me numerous questions I could not understand.

I enrolled at Spanish school. I automatically felt relieved. The school was outdoors and I could see vivid parrots flying overhead while I went through my lessons. Nelly was the most beautiful teacher and spent hours smiling at me from the other side of the desk and hugging me after each lesson. I had two days before I would start at La Escuela at San Rafael. It took me a couple of days before I built up the confidence to wonder about Copán Ruinas. It was single handily the most intimidating place I had ever been. As I wondered the streets I was petrified I’d get lost and not be able to ask for directions back. I soon found out I was pretty much one of about 5 people that could speak English in the whole town. Armed guards marched the streets and questioned locals. Anyone and everyone stared. I Wherever I wondered I would turn around and find a group of children following me. They would laugh and giggle and chase me down the street. I stopped and sat on the kerb while the girls played with my hair. They tried to speak to me but I found it so hard to communicate and became more and more frustrated. They opened a black bag. It was full of handmade corn dolls all different shapes, sizes and colours. I was immediately taken a back. They were beautiful.
I reached into my bag. Careful not show my money. (I was a millionaire in this country) I gave them all the equivalent of £20. The children couldn’t believe their eyes. They kissed me gave me the entire contents of their bags and ran all the way home shouting. I now was the proud owner of 26 corn dolls. Not bad for £20 I thought. I later found out this is more than most families earn in months.I continued to give the children majority of my money throughout the stay without telling my project, and i don’t regret this at all. Actually, on my last weekend the street children came to find me to give me a homemade card and CD that they’d found to say Thank You. I was absolutely touched.

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My alarm buzzed, it was 4am. This was life now. 4am everyday set for school. I ate my pancakes in Tina’s kitchen surrounded by chickens and children. In my whole time living with Tina I never understood how many children or grandchildren she actually had. I walked the three streets down the hill to the main square where the pickup truck arrived. We all scrambled in. This was the journey now to school, all piled in the back of the truck sitting on plastic bags up the mountain. The air was so heavy and the clouds hadn’t cleared. By the time I got to the top my hair was easily 6 times the size. We passed the rice plantations as workers waved at us every day and hundreds of men sleeping on the streets.

I was introduced to my class.It soon became apparent that i wasn’t in fact teaching English, but ALL classes in SPANISH. WOW. Just another challenge i knew I’d have to overcome. I was overwhelmed. My class was a group of 22 7-8 year olds and I was named Miss Flor. (short for flower). The children immediately welcomed me. I was jumped on a hugged as soon as a arrived. The children were so loving, they felt my face as if they couldn’t quite believe I was real. My first week consisted of assisting the only existing teacher at the school and attempting to communicate with the children. I felt pressured and had to learn quickly when it came to answering the children’s questions. They were understanding and so full of life. Within a week I was dictating to the children to read pages, answer questions and teaching maths and natural sciences in Spanish. I was so overcome with the progress I had made after a tough few days. I rewarded the children with sparkly London stickers and gel pens. I really didn’t think anyone loved sparkly stickers as much as me.

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At 12 every day we would offer the children a meal. This was rice, beans and a flour tortilla. Each child brought a container with them to collect their food in. The most suffering of children didn’t even have a plate to eat from and I watched as they ate from their hands. I was heartbroken to watch the almost skeletal little ones fight in the queue for food and then eat two or three beans and put the rest under their desk to take home for their families. They were starving themselves and I later found out that nearly all children walked a total of 2 hours each day across the mountains to school on an empty stomach.

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Each evening was spent at a roof top café lesson planning overlooking the entire town. I never anticipated how much work it would take. The project run by GVI (Global vision international) was dedicated and clear about what they wanted the children to learn and how much work we were required to put in. There were two other volunteers. Both in their 30s and two project leaders in their late 20s. They constantly supported me and were astounded at how young I actually was. I will be forever thankful for them. Each night I spent doing Spanish homework and making worksheets. In between the tears and being terrified of my surroundings, I had never been happier.

On Tuesdays we volunteered at a local orphanage. We had been briefed before of the low standards and utter poverty that these children were living in. I prepared to have my heart broken. The orphanage was a short walk from the village. It was a small house run by “nannies” which I later nicknamed “evil bitches” when I found out they had been abusing the children and stealing all of the donation money. I arrived and was met with the most overwhelming love I have ever experienced in my entire life. The children (and roam dogs) jumped into my arms. They stunk of urine and were filthy and were unclothed but I didn’t care. I wanted to give them everything I had. We played games and activities and read stories. There were babies there too and the “nannies” allowed them to sit in soiled nappies and hit them when they cried. Each week when I left the same children held onto my legs and screamed when I left. They were so adorable and I still hold my promise to this day that one day I would love to look into returning and finding some of those children again. We were not allowed to take photos here but I can still remember their faces so vividly.

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I spent the whole evening sitting in a bar myself crying my eyes out desperate to think what I could do to help. I was at loose end because I knew I wasn’t allowed to involve myself in the project and damage the reputation of GVI. If I was to enforce anything on the nannies then it could risk GVI being involved at all at the orphanage and putting the children at an even higher risk. I couldn’t donate money either; it would go straight into the pockets of the wrong people. I was so frustrated I was unable to do ANYTHING. My friend Jesus who worked on the bar informed me of the reality of Honduras and how there was little anyone could really do. His country was corrupt and it upset him so. This really hit home. (I was a regular at the bar by now)

Virtually my entire time in Honduras was spent alone. This was one of the biggest mental challenges I had ever come across. It was a lonely time but was overshadowed by the vast amount I was achieving. I visited the famous 5th century ancient Mayan ruins alone and climbed to the top of the pyramids to take copious selfies. (pretty sure selfie didn’t exist in 2010, but yeah) This was incredible and just felt so alive.
Weekends following included a stay at a coffee plantation, wild horse rides to a ranch and bathing naked in the hot springs. (here I felt really alive as you can imagine). I met numerous Americans who helped me along the way and were untimely puzzled to come across an 18 year old traveling alone.

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I spent weeks working at the school and building incredible relationships with the children. I was comfortable to have my own class by now without supervisation and we played outdoor games and i bought them craft resources they’d never even seen before. Each day was a mental and physical challenge and i was undergoing tests at Spanish school which I was struggling with. It was a constant battle but bought me nothing but rewards everyday. Each day I spent smiling and overwhelmed with love from all the children at that school I can still to this day remember all of their names and have photos and mementos from all of them.

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The day I departed the school was single handedly the most overwhelming day of my entire life. Each child had drawn me cards and posters and made me feel so special. I later translated all their letters which were along the lines of “Please come back you have taught us so much and we love you”. I was so sad and disappointed I was leaving but i knew it was time for another challenge. The children screamed and hugged me as i left and some even cried. They begged me to come back “Te vamos a extrañar” and “cuando vas a volver” was ringing in my ears. As the truck drove off the children ran down the street screaming my name. I cried way too much.

My journey home from Honduras was the most eventful I have ever embarked on. This was the amusing part of my entire adventure. The evening I left I headed to the bar to see my friend Jesus and two other volunteers. There were Americans and two hours later I’d had 5 tequilas and 3 wines and was running the streets of Copan. Alicia and I headed to an Honduran club. What an experience. I can barely remember this entire time but i certainly remember being groped by numerous men while there was a live singer and no DJ and there was certainly sand between my toes. Very. Very confusing. I had been abandoned by new American friend who had run off with a short local and i was returned to my house. I had three hours to sleep this off and i was already throwing up all over the entire room. WHAT THE FUCK I HADN’T EVEN PACKED.

I awoke to Tina knocking on my door. I was SO ill and I started throw the entire contents of my bag on the floor. Tina was so upset I was leaving. We had an emotional depart and i gave her everything. I just abandoned most of my stuff and legged it to the bus. I bought a beautiful handmade bag to which i spent the entire journey to the airport throwing up in. The whole bus had moved away from me and I continued to throw up on myself and the seats. It was horrendous. I have barely ever drunk tequila since. The memories haunt me. I left the bag on the bus and ran to the airport.

I checked in. My bag was mental overweight. I bought plates and everything and would have had to pay hundreds to get it home. I grabbed a load of clothes asked the security to watch my bag and legged it outside. Surrounding the airport was thousands of beggars. I gave everyone a pile of clothes and food. They looked at me like i was mental then grabbed my hand and kissed it. There we go. I AM NOW GOING TO HEAVEN.

I ran back inside. It was under an hour til my flight. I went through security and noticed a sign. “MUST PAY TAXES”. WHAT? WHAT TAXES? I ran to the cashpoint. The screen flashed BLOCKED. My card was blocked. I grabbed my phone. INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. SHIT. I CAN’T LEAVE THE COUNTRY. I had no money and no phone credit. I had to board my flight in 20 minutes. I sat on the floor and cried. I couldn’t speak to anyone and i just felt pathetic.

10 minutes til my flight…

I WAS GONNA MISS IT. I felt a tap on my shoulder a small woman with glasses looked at me with piercing eyes. “Stop crying my darling what is wrong?” I told her my situation through floods of tears and she spoke to me in an American accent. She owned a bookshop in Rotorua. She placed 50 US Dollars into my hand and closed it. This angel gave me her business card and told me to run. So, just like Forrest i ran to the gate and paid my fines. I made it onto my flight just at the gate was closing. I let out the biggest sigh of relief, and that was that.

I MADE IT.

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