You Know You're A Traveller When...

by Lindsay Shapka in ,

There are people who travel and then there are people who TRAVEL. I'm talking to those of you that have been jumping on and off planes solo before you were legally allowed too, those that have stayed in a $2 bed, on the floor of an airport, and in one of the nicest hotels all in the same city... YOU know who you are. 

You know you're a diehard traveller when...

  • You don't need to get any immunizations before going on a trip because you have already had ALL of them (more than once).

  • Unless you are going trekking in the Amazon, you ignore the traveller health clinic's warning to take Malaria pills because you have tried them before and have decided that the hot flashes, vivid dreams, and flu-like symptoms aren't worth it. You pack mosquito spray instead.

  • You have more visas in your passport than in your wallet.

  • You always have mini shampoos, lotions, and toothpaste in your medicine cabinet just in case.

  • Every time you make a large purchase at home, you compare it to how many nights you could spend in Rome, or how far you could travel by RyanAir in Europe. (With the price of my rent per month, I could live, eat, travel, shop, and party in Thailand for a month... sigh.)

  • You know where all the plug-ins near comfortable chairs are located in all of the biggest airports (and chuckle as you walk by the suckers who are sitting on the floor to charge their computers.)

  • You lust over luggage.

  • Ever time you buy something new, you picture yourself wearing it on the streets of Paris.

  • When you've committed to a trip, it is all you can think about, talk about and shop for — even if it is still six months away.

  • Your walls are covered in maps and your bookshelf is overflowing with travel books.

  • Most of your friends on Facebook are from other countries — as are most of your photos.

  • You relate more to the question "Where have you been?" than "What do you do?"

  • You always have duct tape and a swiss army knife close by

  • You look forward to eating airplane food

Got any more? Share them in the comments section below! 

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Travel Tales: Alone In Rome On My First Trip Abroad (Or, How I Awoke My Inner Traveller)

by Lindsay Shapka in ,

In January of 2004, I found myself alone in a hotel in Rome — my very first time alone in a foreign country. 

I was about to start a semester of university in Cortona, Italy and did not know a single soul who was going to be attending school with me. Not only was it my first time travelling alone, but it was my first time travelling in a country where few people spoke my language.

There were no smartphones, few students had laptops, wifi was not an option, my camera used film (no seeing what your photos looked like until you developed them!), and social media sites didn't exist. If I wanted contact with home, I had to buy a phone card and hope that the call would connect. And if someone from home wanted to contact me? They couldn't. 

This is the story of my first few days alone in Rome — taken from my journal and my memories — that have helped empower and shape my travels ever since. 

DAY 1 — I'm a huge wimp

It is six in the morning and the clouds are turning pink outside my window. I can just barely see the moon through the mist.

This is probably going to be the only view I see today.

I am terrified to leave my room. 

My hands are shaky and I can't stop crying. It would be easier if I could have a good, all-out sob and be done with it, but instead my tears are silent ones that steadily pour from the corners of my eyes.

I am scared and ashamed of it. 

Four floors above the foreign streets, all I can see is rooftops. Eerie, lonely rooftops with weathervanes standing out against the rising sun. There is no sign of life at this level and no sound of it either. 

My only consolation is the television that I have kept on all night turned to the only English station that I can find — a never-ending loop of BBC news. 

My room is a shoebox, not large enough for Italian leather boots though, more fit for bargain children's shoes. The door opens into my tiny bed, a closet, and a desk. The bathroom is almost bigger then the room, but it is clean and has a window with a nice view of, well... rooftops.

What was I thinking?!

I have never been outside of my country alone before and here I am on an entirely different continent, alone in a strange hotel!

On top of the emotional goodbyes I made to family and friends just a few hours ago, I have lost and found both my bag and passport already, which, now that i think about it, may be part of the reason for the shaking. 

DAY 2 — Feeling brave(ish)

This morning I am determined to leave the hotel.

I wake up early, shower and go up to the breakfast room on the eighth floor. The continental breakfast looks more like dessert — platters heaped with pastries and strong black coffee bolster my confidence (or at least give me a much needed energy boost).

About thirty minutes later, taking a deep breath, I take my first step out of the hotel and into the cobblestone streets of Rome. It is sunny and surprisingly warm for a January day which helps life my mood almost immediately.

I am walking along a street that borders the ancient city wall and am so busy looking at the map and trying to figure out where I am that it is there before I can prepare myself for it — the Colosseum.

I don't know why, but I can't hold back my emotions and without warning I burst into tears. It suddenly hits me how real the world is and I get a sense of how real I am for being a part of it. This incredible part of history is not on a slide or in a textbook, but directly in front of me.

I sink down on a pile of old stones in a park across the street from the massive monument and just look at it for awhile while I let the tears run down my face. 

Slowly coming back to reality, I take a few pictures (and a few deep breaths). The true blue sky is the perfect backdrop and the morning sun is carving deep shadows into the ancient stone and revealing secrets that can only be seen at that certain time of day. It is early on a Sunday morning, and there is hardly a soul in sight.

I cross the street, walk right up to it and touch it.

I touched it!

The rock is rough. Worn from battles, wars, erosion, the subway cars that pass below it, the smart-cars that pass beside it, and the millions of us that reach out and touch it in our need to confirm that it is really there. 

In a trance, hardly breathing, I walk around the outside of this incredible piece of history, letting my fingers create an invisible trail on its ancient surface. 

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

The sun is shining on the facade of the Trevi Fountain, but where I sit is in shade. The once pure white marble seems to glow in all the right places, while the deep cuts in the statues are in perfect shadow. The water is loud, blocking out the noise of the modern world as it falls majestically over the strategically carved and well worn caverns.

It is perfect.

I could not have asked for a better day. I have spent the last few hours wandering from the Colosseum to the Roman Forum, through twisting winding streets to the Pantheon and finally to this famous fountain. 

Though it is one of the most popular tourist sites in Rome, there are only a handful of people milling around on this January day. Some are posing for photos while others are throwing coins over their shoulders into the clear water to ensure their return. Like me, some are just sitting and observing while pigeons mill around our feet and men try to sell us useless trinkets. 

An image projected on a screen in art class is nothing compared to the experience of the real thing... nothing. 

For the first time since boarding the plane back home, I feel quiet, calm... relaxed. 

Ahhhh Roma...

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

As my new bible, Lonely Planet Italy, predicted, I am drawn to the windows along the streets as much as I am to the historic monuments. Seriously, a girl with a shoe fetish should NOT be allowed to walk alone in Rome! I have managed to stay out of the stores today, but it is only my first day out — with so much delightful temptation (and no one to stop me) my plan to save money isn't going to last long. 

Other then realizing that travelling alone is not as scary as I thought, I have also discovered that in order to eat I will have to learn a few more phrases in Italian.

I figured out the hard way that I need to know more than "Ciao" in order to get a sandwich...

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Travel Quotes: Sometimes You Just Need A Little Inspiration

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,

“Never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay your welcome. Keep your mind open and suck in every experience. And if it hurts you know what? It’s probably worth it.”
—Richard from the movie The Beach

"People travel to far away places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home"
—Dagobert D. Runes

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step"
—Lao Tzu

“I feel about travel the way a happy new mother feels about her impossible, colicky, newborn baby — I just don’t care what it puts me through. Because I adore it. Because it’s mine. Because it looks exactly like me. It can barf all over me if it wants to — I just don’t care.”
— Elizabeth Gilbert, from Eat.Pray.Love

"Not all those who wander are lost" 
—J.R.R. Tolkien

"Travel is glamorous only in retrospect" 
—Paul Theroux

"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable" 
—Cesar Cruz

"To awaken alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world” 
—Freya Stark

"A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving"
—Lao Tzu

“The boy knew a lot of people in the city. That was what made traveling appeal to him — he always made new friends, and he didn’t need to spend all of his time with them [to keep them]”
—from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho 

"Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember and remember more than I have seen" 
—Benjamin Disraeli

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art."
—Andy Warhol

"If at some point you don't ask yourself 'What have I gotten myself into?' then you're not doing it right" 
—Roland Gau

“Twenty years from now you will more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
—Mark Twain

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22 Quirky, Unique, and Wonderful Things To Love About Thailand

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,

There are so many reasons to love Thailand — many more than the 22 listed here — but these are some of my most favorite things about the Thai culture, and should give you some insight into why so many people make this country their vacation destination!

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6 Reasons Why You (ladies) Should Stay In The Co-ed Room At A Hostel

by Lindsay Shapka in ,

As a solo female traveller, sleeping in a room with a bunch of male strangers might seem like the LAST thing you want to do. But trust me, it has its benefits. Here's why you should sleep in the co-ed room at a hostel.

1. Women are waaaaaay messier

True story ladies. Walk into the 'women only' room at the hostel and it will look like everyone's bag exploded. (Hey, I'm the first to admit that I end up pulling everything out of my bag when settling in). Guys seem to be able to keep their stuff neater, in their bag, or at least confined to their bunk and out of the way (don't ask me how). 

2. They cost less

Yup, the more 'exclusive' segregated rooms are often a few dollars more. It isn't a crazy amount, but is enough to make a difference if you are travelling long-term or on a budget.  

3. Men are protective

Not that I am saying you need protecting ladies! Hell, you are travelling solo! BUT, it is in the nature of the average male to look out for the average female. If nothing else, you will have a few people who notice when you are coming and going, and who might want to chat with you about your day.

4. In my experience, males staying in a room where there are women they don't know are extremely respectful

I stayed in a co-ed room in Paris with five guys — I was the only girl. All of them would get up and ready as quickly as possible in the morning to give me my space and full access to the bathroom. It was actually really sweet, and a trend that I have seen repeated over and over. 

5. Co-ed rooms are full of friendly couples!

Couples who opt out of private rooms, or cheap hotels, to stay in hostel dorms are the kind of couples who want to socialize and meet new people — especially the innocent solo female traveller in the bunk next to them. I have been asked to join these travellers on many occasions and have made some really great friends because of it. 

6. There is usually a bed available

The co-ed room is usually the last to fill up because most people automatically ask for a female only, male only, or private room. You are pretty much guaranteed a place to sleep in the mixed dorm.  

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Singing, Laughing & Hanging On: A Travel Tale About My Eye-Opening First Foreign Adventure In Honduras

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,

The sky was streaked with pink and a gentle breeze — causing the tall, golden sugar cane to sway lazily from side to side — had replaced the heavy, relentless heat of the day. I carefully shifted my position, trying to get comfortable without falling out of the bed of the blue, battered truck I was wedged in that was driving at breakneck speed down the potholed filled road.

There were 22 of us crammed into the back of the truck, covered in dust and tired from clearing land and digging the foundation for a community center in the small village of Ojo de Agua, Honduras. There was no electricity in the town to run power tools (not that we had any) so all of our work had to be done the old fashioned way. After a full day of chopping down thick weeds with a machete and swinging a pickaxe at the dry, hard earth, I could barely lift my arms. I was looking forward to crawling under the safety of my mosquito net and passing out.

The Honduran girls, clinging to the edge of the truck beside me, had broken out in song the moment we lost sight of the town, the bad voices and the good, blending together in a free and careless harmony of a well-known melody.

Though it was my first visit to a country where I did not speak the language, I was surprised to find that I wasn’t having too much trouble communicating. Because I didn’t know a word of Spanish, I was forced to really pay attention and silent interactions suddenly conveyed more meaning to me than spoken words ever had. I felt that I understood my new friends more deeply through watching their subtle movements and looking into their eyes than I ever could have through their spoken language.

After a few verses of the song had gone by, Yolani, a vibrant girl about my age, turned from the group, grabbed my hand, looked me square in the eye, slowly sang a few foreign words and motioned for me to repeat after her. Self-conscious, I half talked, half-whispered the unfamiliar words back to her while she patiently nodded along, smiling and squeezing my hand when I managed to pronounce one close to correctly. She started to sing louder and faster, so I followed suit until my voice was just as loud, and blending in with hers. The other girls smiled at me as the words tumbled out of my mouth and were carried away by the wind.

*     *     *

Three days earlier, stuck in layover limbo in Texas, my friends and I were passing the time by discussing our individual expectations and goals for our volunteer adventure. We called ourselves the ‘youth in action’ and were a group of eight young adults traveling to Honduras to bring supplies to those still affected by Hurricane Mitch, and to help rebuild a community center.

Prior to this trip I had never traveled outside of North America and the only image I had of the developing world was what I had seen in infomercials — sad, destitute children, their bellies swollen or ribs protruding, and eyes full of tears that stared vacantly at the camera while an emotional Sarah McLachlan song played softly in the background. The children always looked lost and alone, waiting for someone to swoop in and save them. These images had motivated me to spend most of my free time fundraising for the trip, and that night in Texas, all I could think of was the flocks of poor, unloved children in Honduras who would finally feel hope when I, a representative of the developed world, showed them that I cared.

When it was my turn to share my expectations of our adventure, thinking only of the infomercial children, I told my friends that if nothing else — my goal was to make at least one child smile.

I was such an idiot.

Roger, our contact in Honduras, met us at the airport in Tegucigalpa, which was packed with people holding signs and chanting “Hon-DUR-as!!” at the top of their lungs. It turned out that we were on the same flight as the country’s national soccer team returning home from an international tournament.

Despite the chaos and commotion we moved quickly through the airport and after collecting our bags Roger led us outside to a couple of rusted, beat-up Ford trucks. I hopped into the back of the blue Ford with its paint peeling off, fender bent and windows cracked. I was surprised to see a faded “I LOVE TEXAS” sticker stuck to the bumper. Roger explained that many of the vehicles in the country were cast-offs from the United States.  

After a sweaty two hours of driving, we turned off the rough dirt road onto an even rougher dirt road that led into Correl Quemado, our home for the week. Small one room shacks with rusted, corrugated roofs lined the road, and half-naked children splashed each other in the brown river that’s water was used to wash, cook, and drink. We pulled up in front of the sturdiest looking building in sight and were told we had an hour to unpack and freshen up.

“The girls, clinging to the edge of the truck beside me, had broken out in song the moment we lost sight of the town, the bad voices and the good, blending together in a free and careless harmony of a well-known melody.”

Too excited to stay inside, after throwing my bag on a bunk, I emerged from the dark stone building and almost ran directly into a small group of curious children that had gathered just outside the door.

I couldn’t believe that the infomercial children I had been picturing for years were finally in front of me!

Except... they didn’t look anything like the infomercial children.

The children in front of me were fully clothed, their stomachs were definitely not bloated from hunger and there were no flies circling overhead. In fact, they all had rosy cheeks and looked happy and healthy, not sad and hopeless. I was suddenly painfully conscious of my own appearance, realizing that after a full day of travel I was probably more disheveled than they were.

Looking into their curious faces, it hit me that I was not a ‘bearer of hope’ to these little people — I was simply a curiosity, a visitor, a potential new friend.

I had foolishly been equating poverty with a lack of self, power, humanity, and hope, and in my ignorance I had believed that my presence would somehow affect their very existence.  

Feeling silly and a bit ashamed of the misconceptions I had been led to believe, I found myself unsure of how to interact. The kids and I stared at each other shyly for a few minutes until the smallest of the bunch, a little girl wearing a powder pink tank top, walked over to my side, looked up at me with big brown friendly eyes, slipped her hand into mine and smiled.  

*     *     *

I tilted my head towards the growing darkness to take better advantage of the breeze, that was turning into a wind as our driver continued to gain speed. He must have been able to smell the dinner of grilled plantains and fresh tortillas waiting for us at the bunkhouse.

The wind felt amazing on my sun-scorched face and it sent my hair swirling around my head. But, I didn’t care how I looked and none of my new friends did either — we were too busy singing, laughing, and hanging on.
 

The story of my first international adventure

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the story of my first trip outside of North America, and the first time I went somewhere that completely shook up the way I viewed the world, my life, and myself. I went on this adventure in the winter of 2000, and can still feel how life changing it was for me. I hope you enjoyed the piece — thanks for reading!  

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Travel Tips: The Best Games to Play on Long Travel Days (these are also great Icebreakers!)

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,

There is, surprisingly, a lot of downtime when you travel.

There are those long train and bus rides, cramped flights, and hours after the sun goes down and the sights are closed, but you are not yet ready for bed.

What do you do to fill this time?

Well, there are the usual things — reading, writing, listening to music, watching that movie you put on your iPod for the millionth time. But, my favourite thing to do (and a great way to make new travel friends) is by playing a game that forces you to chat with the person across from you in the train or on the other side of the bar.

My first game suggestion, Would You Rather, is one that I am sure many of you have heard of (there are board games made out of it now), but things can get a bit crazy when you are on the road and forced to come up with (often inappropriate) questions of your own. I was introduced to this game in Italy, on a train from Venice to Rome, by a group of Aussies sitting across from me.

The first question they asked me was: “Would you rather have to wear a cardigan for the rest of your life OR listen to the annoying song by The Cardigans EVERY time a song was playing?”

Now, you may have an instant reaction to one choice or the other, but here is where the fun of this game comes in — asking questions.

Will it mean that if you get married you have to wear a cardigan over your wedding dress? Would you have to wear it swimming? Would the song come on in every bar you went to and just play over and over?

See, it's not as easy as you might think, and what the game really comes down to is that no matter which option you choose, they both suck! It took me about 20 minutes to answer the cardigan question alone (clearly a great way to pass the time) and, as you can imagine, they only got more complicated from there. One of those Aussie guys from that train and I kept in touch for years, emailing ridiculous Would You Rather questions to each other from opposite sides of the world!

I was introduced to another fun meet-people-travel-game while in a bar in Vietnam.

My friend and I had just grabbed a drink and were sitting together, hoping the half empty place we were in would fill up and become more of a party than it was at that moment. We had only been in the country for a few days and had left the people that we had met behind in Hanoi the night before, so we were in the mood to make some new friends.

As we were finishing our first drinks, a guy came and sat down at our table with us and said in an Australian accent; “Don’t say anything.” Then pointing at my friend he said; “You are Irish,” and then turning to me, “and you are from Denmark. Right?!”

We both laughed and said no, we were from Canada. As soon as he heard our voices he cringed and yelled over our heads, “They’re Canadians, we were all wrong!” Turning around, we noticed a group people standing over in the corner laughing.

Apparently, they were playing a game where they would pick a person in the bar, and make bets on where the person was from just by looking at them. You were not permitted to leave the group (at the risk of getting close enough to hear them talking) until all bets were made, and then someone was nominated to go and guess where they were from to their face.

The game had started with just two guys and by the time we joined to play, they had gathered three more. By the end of the night we had a group of about ten and ended up travelling together for the rest of our time in Vietnam, picking up people as we went thanks to our nationality guessing game. Best icebreaker ever!

What sorts of games to you play to fill the time on your adventures? Do you have any good Would You Rathers for me?

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