Wandering and Wondering

Places I've Been and People I've Seen, or People I've Been and Places I've Seen

alannahammesfahr — Sat, 29 Mar 2014 22:05:00 GMT

"I knew who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." - Alice's Adventures In Wonderland

I've been trying to decide what to say about the last few weeks and this experience as a whole for a while now. I've gone through list after list of places I've been and people I've seen. Besides the usual suspects of Alex, Mandy, Mike, Charlie, Sofia, James, Amber, and Patrick, I've met a great many people - some for a moment, a glance, a conversation, a meal; some whose names I know, others I don't; some whose words will stick with me forever, others who have already faded from memory. There was the older lady at the British Museum who saw me taking pictures of a piece that captured my soul and asked innocently, "What will you do with them once you have them?" - a question that I have asked myself repeatedly over the past weeks, not of the pictures, but of the experiences, memories, and lives; the stamps and souvenirs. There was my older German roommate whose name I never caught but left me her milk and cheese in the fridge; my sweet Korean roommate, HeeNa, who asks how my day was every time I see her; the barista at Starbucks who taught me how to say "take away" in Spanish; the litany of street vendors who beckon me in every European language under the sun (my favorite was the guy who thought I was French); Dan and Phil, the guys on a stag do who shared a meal and memories with me at Subway before heading off for a power nap and more debauchery ..

It wasn't until I headed home from this last encounter (berating myself mentally for not taking them up on joining for a taste of Barcelona's night life or at least Facebook friending them) that I realized maybe it's not about where I've been and who I've seen... Maybe it's *who* I've been and *where* I've seen.

Camp changed me. There's no question about that. Budapest also makes the list of life-changing experiences. I could chalk this epiphany up to a life changing experience as well: say that Barcelona gets added to the list or that the whole trip makes the list. I could, but that's not it. It's more subtle than that. I think Alice had it right. We all change a million times each day, and, more importantly, we *are* changed a million times each day. It's just in those instances in which we are in an incredible place or experience something we never thought we would that we realize we've changed. In this state of heightened excitement/awe/fulfillment/whatever we credit that place or experience as a magical entity/moment/time/thing. In actuality, we're constantly in this magical state of change, being changed and changing with every stranger we met or place we see, every breath we take and moment we exist.

So yes, I've been to England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Germany, Hungary, and Spain this trip. I've seen Charlie, Alex, Sofia, James, Kelsey, Vitorio, Elizabeta, Ana, Dávid, Mandy, Mike, Henry, Di, John, Rachael, and Richard. But I've *seen* the way the moonlight reflects off the Danube, the incredible turquoise water of the Mediterranean Sea, the unparalleled beauty of the Welsh mountains and valleys, the intense green that is Ireland and the plucky individuals who go with it, the amazing street art of Belfast and Barcelona rife with a history and culture I'll never quite grasp but will never stop longing to belong to, the way people from around the world connect regardless of language barriers in a hostel where everyone is blundering through this thing called life and choosing travel as their method to do just that... I've seen a lot this trip. And as for being... Well, I knew who I was when I got up this morning but I think I must have been changed several times since then.

The Itch

alannahammesfahr — Wed, 5 Mar 2014 23:03:00 GMT

People who travel a lot talk about getting the itch in their feet to leave on another grand adventure soon after they arrive back from their last one. Never did I imagine one could get the itch before they'd even returned.

I left Budapest Monday morning. It's Wednesday evening. In the last three days I've spent a night in Portsmouth with Alex, gone down to Bristol to see Sofia (and take pictures of some fantastic street art), and travelled with Sofia to Cardiff for the day. That means in three days I've been in three countries (if you include waking up in Hungary).

Budapest was the most incredible place I'd ever been. It was the first country thus far on this trip that felt like a different country, the first place I did/saw something I never in a million years thought I'd do (touched the Danube River), the first place that lit my imagination on fire, the first place I was depressed to leave, and apparently the first place to truly ignite my wanderlust.

As I find myself leaving my third country in three days (Wales), I can't help but feel unfulfilled by the idea of three weeks in the UK followed by months in the states (with 4 days in Barcelona, but still). Budapest gave me the itch - the itch to explore places absolutely nothing like my own country; places people suggest against or don't even think of to start with; places like Bali, Thailand, India, Turkey, Ecuador, Costa Rica...

Before I left for München and Budapest, Mike (Alex's dad) turned to me and said, "We'll miss you, you know. It won't be the same without you." To which I replied, "Yea, but I'll be back in like a week!" His response was more accurate than I could ever have imagined. "True. But you won't be the same, will you?"

No, I won't be the same. Not ever.

On Becoming A Citizen of the World

alannahammesfahr — Mon, 3 Mar 2014 23:20:00 GMT

Despite having visited multiple different countries on this trip thus far, stepping foot on Hungarian soil was the first time I actually felt like I was in a different country. Ironically, this was also the only border crossing that was unceremoniously ignored - no passport check, no stamp, no interrogation about my motives/intentions/departure date... Yet, for the first time, I felt like I was in a new country.

I think, as an American, I'm spoiled rotten. I was raised in a country that boasts examples of almost every geographical phenomenon, culture, language, religion, and lifestyle within its boarders. Western Europe, therefore, was just too similar to feel like an entirely new place. Even in Germany, surrounded by people who spoke a language I don't know, it felt eerily similar. Maybe I traveled too much when I was small, maybe I'm jaded, maybe this isn't the same as your experience... but it was mine. Then I stepped foot in Budapest.

For two days, I was mesmerized. My eyes hurt from trying to take in every detail around me. My camera is probably still exhausted from those two days. One the third day, my Hungarian friend, Dávid, took me back to his hometown (Köryne, a village of about 4,500 people) for a football game and lunch with his parents.

While driving through the Hungarian countryside, I had this overwhelming feeling of connection with all of humanity. I know thousands of great poets, writers, philosophers, political/religious leaders, and probably millions of others have written and spoken about the human condition and how we're all connected - it's a tired subject. However, it's one thing to read about it and another to experience it.

There's something about driving around in a different country thousands of miles from your own that makes you realize exactly how much of a social construct nationality is. That Hungarian countryside could have been in Virginia, England, Ireland, or Austria. I've seen identical countrysides split by identical roads in each. The only difference is the language the street signs are in. The football (soccer) game was identical to any football game played in the States, the UK, Germany, or Spain. One team won, one team lost. Someone screamed at the ref over a bad call. A player got mad at another player. The same scene in every country.

So why does it matter what piece of land we were born on? We all breathe the same air, drink the same water, look at the same stars, love, fight, eat, sleep, work, live... Who cares if you were born on that piece of dirt and want to go check out another piece of dirt? It's the same dirt. Why shouldn't you be allowed to go see it?

In college we read an article entitled Becoming A Citizen of the World. It's been a while since I've reread it, but from what I recall, it basically advocated getting out in the world and doing things - participating. In this way, we could become citizens of the world. After this week, I'd argue we're all citizens of the world - most of us just haven't realized it yet.

Planes, Trains, and Buses, Oh My: Solo Female Travel Desensationalized

alannahammesfahr — Fri, 28 Feb 2014 03:16:00 GMT

It's weird what you learn about yourself on the road - your prejudices, ethnocentricities, comfort zones, beliefs, habits... It's all illuminated when you're suddenly caught in a new place alone.

I've spent the last week or so bonding with Alex's family in Brewood, England and visiting Kelsee, a college friend au pairing in Munich, Germany. Between Belfast, Brewood, Munich, and now Budapest I've had a fair bit of time traveling alone. It's not quite the year long solo trip I imagined years ago - hopping from hostel to hostel and city to city without knowing another soul.

When I sat imagining and researching that trip, the dangers of solo female travel popped up everywhere. I thought everyone had lost their mind - I'm a firm believer that people are fundamentally good and a few bad eggs shouldn't ruin our view of the entirety of mankind. However, the stories are rather sensationalized and growing up in the rape culture of the US doesn't allow for much sense of security as a woman alone in a new place. I hadn't realized, before this trip, just how much the culture of my childhood affected me. As the daughter of a reporter who covered high-profile murders and a controversial neurologist who got death and kidnapping threats, apparently my subconscious was not as convinced about the goodness of random strangers as my conscious brain. However, my lived experience has been that of my conscious assumption. Everyone I've met has been wonderful, interesting, helpful, and not in the least bit "scary." That being said, it's still nice to know that someone who cares about my wellbeing is waiting at the airport/bus station/train station at the end of whatever solo leg of the journey I happen to be on.

Exploring Aloneness and Learning To Be a Good Traveler

alannahammesfahr — Wed, 19 Feb 2014 16:31:00 GMT

There's nothing quite like exploring a new space, a new city, a new country on your own. In the past week Alex and I have spent three days exploring Dublin and one day gallivanting in Galway. All of it was incredible. The Temple Bar District oozed the most lively energy, we witnessed social interactions that were nothing short of theatrical on the LUAS, figured out public transportation without getting (too) lost, learned a great deal about the history of Dublin and Ireland in general, ate the most amazing food, saw Monuments Men in an old theatre turned cinema, stumbled across a food market in the center of Dublin, got a claddagh ring in Galway, learned to pour the "perfect pint" at the Guinness Storehouse, saw where the leaders of the 1916 Easter Riots were executed at Kilmainham Goal, and just generally had a fantastic time. But there's still nothing quite like exploring on your own.

Today I spent the day roaming Belfast by myself. Originally I planned on doing a tour and seeing the Peace Walls. I didn't do any of that. I *did* walk at least six miles, take over two hundred pictures, make friend with a street performer, do a lot of thinking and even more being.

The UK's weird. In the best possible way, of course, but still weird. Everything is smaller here - the countries, the cars, the roads, the toilets, the rooms, the fridges, everything. And everyone's nice. There's no subconscious worry that something bad will happen as you walk down the street alone. If you get lost or overwhelmed, people will bend over backwards to help. Even "catcalling" is nice here - the worst I've heard is "Hello, gorgeous!" which, let's be real, isn't actually creepy/sketchy/dodgey/gross like catcalling in the US.

I've also found another way in which my traveling needs to be improved: I'm an overpacker. When I was planning coming over here and potentially doing a round the world trip, I did a lot of research. Everyone said, "Be careful how much you pack! You need less than you think." So I packed once, then went through and got rid of about a third of it. I managed to pack everything for two months in a half-filled 46 liter Osprey Kyte and a regular Jansport backpack. When I told people I wasn't checking any bags for my two month trip, they thought I was nuts. So, naturally, I decided I must have packed well. NOPE. I packed way too much. Next time, since I'm positive there will be a next time, I'm fitting it all in the half-filled Osprey (if it's filled, it's too big to be a carry on). If it doesn't fit, it doesn't come with.

Another key that I've picked up this week: shoes matter. After waltzing around two different cities in my snow boots, I've come to the conclusion that something with better arch support would have been a fantastic idea. Especially since arch support insoles have been impossible to find for a reasonable price over here. I *did* take lots of people's advice and invested in Smartwool socks before hopping the pond. That was a great choice.

Whelp, that's about it for now (plus, the train is almost to my stop)... Until next time!

Maybe I Should Just Tattoo "American" On My Forehead?

alannahammesfahr — Thu, 13 Feb 2014 04:11:00 GMT

All in all, the first few days of my big adventure have been awesome. I've finally met Alex's parents in person, experienced some fantastic food, seen huge portions of the countryside by coach, taken some really cool pictures of buildings older than my country, attempted to defeat jet lag (although the fact that it's 4am and Alex has been asleep since 11:45pm means I may not be winning the battle), and am learning to be a better traveler and step out of my American bubble by diving head first into wherever this adventure may lead - or at least trying to.

I've also found that I should probably have a stamp on my forehead that says "American" - or maybe even a shirt that says "I'm sorry. I'm an American." I think we, as Americans, assume that Brits are basically identical to us. Sure, they might have some different words, or spell things a bit differently, but we think their culture is basically the same. Certainly, one would assume, it would be close enough that one could go out to dinner without causing such a shirt to be necessary. Well, if that one were me - which it was - one would be wrong.

Alex and I went out to dinner at a gastropub. For those of you who have never heard this term, it's a pub that also has real food - this one happened to have really great food. I had my first ever open pie and it was fantastic - so fantastic that I thought it was a great idea to bring the half I didn't finish home. Apparently that's not a great idea in a gastropub in England - no matter how wonderful the food is. Alex, being the wonderful person that he is, asked for a box for me and had to explain to the perplexed waitress that I just thought it was really good and wanted to take the extra home. She informed us that they only had small pizza boxes, but she could put it in there if we liked. She was super sweet about the whole thing, but something about her confusion made me want to crawl under the table (after apologizing for my silly American ways). Which brings us to my first big lesson in UK travel: our cultures aren't identical - just leave the leftovers, it's really ok.

Money has been another learning experience. First of all, if you ever travel outside your country, don't change your money over at the airport if you can help it - the exchange rates are horrendous! But also, familiarize yourself with the money beforehand if you can... trying to figure out which coin is which while the clerk is waiting on you and there are twenty people behind you in line is not a great experience.

Another thing that my little anthropologically-minded self has found interesting is the lack interaction with strangers in public. I grew up making friends in the line at the grocery store and smiling at every person I passed. That's not a thing here. If you're actually talking to someone, a clerk for instance, they're super sweet and friendly. However, if you're walking down the street NO ONE will make eye contact. So another news flash for me: social interactions amongst the public are different here. Again, not what I expected.

I also tried "Squashies" the other day. They're a British candy that's somewhere near a marshmallow but flavored like a raspberry and cream taffy. I had no idea what to do with it. Eat it, obviously; but I had no clue how to feel about it. I didn't know if I liked it, or was just neutral towards it, or what. It was so far from anything I'd ever tried that I just couldn't decide anything about it. That's the point I decided I might not be as good a traveler as I thought. Here I was 4,000 miles from home unable to decide what to think about a candy. It was mind blowing.

I've always fancied myself a good traveler. I was lucky enough to have parents who felt travel was worthwhile and important for kids, so by age 14 I had been to Germany, Austria, England, Ireland, Scotland, France, the Bahamas, the British and American Virgin Islands, Bermuda, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and much of the southeast US. I am so grateful to have had those opportunities and attribute much of my wanderlust to these early experiences. But what I never realized until now is how sheltered we were on these trips.

For example, with the exception of one onion-filled hamburger in Paris, I don't remember eating anything new or unusual on any of these trips. Thankfully, Shepard's Pie was a staple in our household because I'm almost positive Austin and I lived on that for three weeks in the UK. In France, we ate lunchables brought on the plane and visited the Hard Rock Café regularly... We did experiment with French desserts - but who wouldn't love a chocolate crêpe?

So in the last few days I've traveled over 4,000 miles from my country, spent roughly 14 hours on coaches along the English countryside, learned more about British culture than I have in eight months dating a Brit, and learned a lot about myself. The crazy part is, this trip is only three days in. Tomorrow (really in a few hours) we leave for Dublin and multiple day trips to other portions of Ireland. Then there are trips to Belfast, Budapest, Munich, Edinburgh, Wales, and all over England planned. If I've learned this much in three days, I can't imagine what I'll learn in the next two months - but I can't wait.

"Adventure is worthwhile in itself" - Where It All Began

alannahammesfahr — Thu, 13 Feb 2014 02:20:00 GMT

Historically, when my friends/family members/acquaintances/random people on the street/clowns from the circus asked what I wanted to be/do/think/feel/believe when I grew up/graduated college/entered "the real world," I always had an answer. The answer changed fairly regularly, but it was always an answer that fell in line with others of my generation. "I'm going to be a vet" was the beginning, followed closely by a zookeeper. Then as I reached college, I realized I liked the idea of inspiring kids as my teachers had inspired me. My focus shifted from animals to theatre and my new answers were "I'll teach high school drama" and, most recently, "I'm going to grad school to get a PhD so I can teach college." However, as that graduation date drew near, an advisor mentioned that she thought it best that I see the world some before going to grad school. "Explore. Live. Find a thesis" she advised - little did she, or I, know that piece of advice would lead me very far off the beaten path of my peers toward a year (or maybe a life?) of "nomading."

Amelia Earhart once said, "Adventure is worthwhile in itself." It's been almost two years since the advice to explore the world was given and in that time I've had the opportunity to work with raptors, alligators, and other native Florida wildlife; to teach kids about the world we live in, how to ride a horse, how to make their picture turn into something real, and how to be a "backstage ninja;" I've met some of the most amazing people on the planet and taught some of the most wonderful kids; I've been on four road trips including two 7+ day trips between Florida and Maine; I've worked with some incredible horses and trainers; I've spent two weeks exploring California; and, most importantly for the purposes of this story, I've begun a nomading adventure by flying 4,342 miles "across the pond" by myself. So this will be a story of adventure - not necessarily the kind that involves jumping off a cliff or parachuting out of an airplane, but adventure nonetheless. I don't promise to write daily, or at all really. I don't promise you'll find it exciting. I actually don't promise anything. Because this adventure isn't for you, it's for me, and -more importantly- it's for itself. But you're welcome to join ;)