"I wrote and read a lot about solitude and the pains and virtues associated with it, and spent a lot of time in the saddle of my bike purposely directed away from all the people I know." - http://clapway.com/2015/06/07/finding-beauty-in-solitude/

Many of my experiences over the summer taught me the art of being alone. I wrote and read a lot about solitude and the pains and virtues associated with it, and spent a lot of time in the saddle of my bike purposely directed away from all the people I know. While I have enjoyed the company of fellow travellers over the past few months, it has not been conducive to putting any of those lessons into practice. Today, overcome by boredom and repetition, I went out to find solitude.

The Pai river runs through the town and straight South through Thailand, and is a two minute walk from the cottage. Up close, it’s not a pretty thing. There’s rotting, brown shrubs either growing out of or decomposing in the water, I’m not sure which. It has lumpy movement, which suggests to me that it’s both shallow and rocky. It’s relatively fast-moving and that, combined with what I assume is a muddy, rocky bottom, churns the water into the same brown-green of the decomposing trees.

I made my way down to a bamboo raft floating precariously just down the slope from the graffitied bridge. Books and pens in my backpack, I tested the stability of the raft and, when it only groaned a little under my weight, I lay down following the poles’ horizontal distribution.

With my eyes closed, the heat weighing heavy on my shoulders, and my shoulder blades making sweaty imprints on the bamboo, I listened to the bubbling river beside me.

Edward Abbey remained unopened as I took advantage of such a rare moment. Even the black ants as long as my third toe were becoming my friends; but the red ones, whose space I invaded, left tiny, angry red bites on the space between my shirt and my shorts. I stayed on the raft trying to guess the time by the position of the gradually arcing sun. Every time I thought it might be too hot, the sun would disappear behind a cloud and offer some relief, and I’d have to stay a little longer. When the heat finally became too much, I gradually made my way back to the cottage where Colleen was getting ready for a massage and Frank, the ridiculous-looking pug, was wheezing by the door.

The sun has gone down enough now to cast a shadow on the hillside and my brow has finally unfurled from a full day of squinting. The clean smell of the evening is in the air and everything seems to have slowed.

With my belly now full of curry and a handful of candy, I’m keeping myself warm with a cup of chai while stealing quick glances toward the night sky. I’m still not used to it. The scene reminds me of the skies that I took for granted in Squamish. I think I’ll skip over stones with a smile on my lips on the way to bed tonight.

Finding Beauty In Solitude

"We are always heading towards a destination, but how often are we focusing on the journey?" - http://clapway.com/2015/06/03/how-a-view-changes-your-life/

Sometimes all it takes is a different view, or a change of scenery, a change in lighting, or a change in elevation to see things otherwise. Sometimes just the view can change your perspective; it can change your heart. It can even change your life.

We are lost in a century that looks at the world through screens and avoids locking eyes with strangers. We walk like ghosts from point A to point B. We are always heading towards a destination, but how often are we focusing on the journey?

It took me an hour and a half of getting lost through the narrow winding streets of Alfama in Lisbon, Portugal to get to the view I was told was a must see. I put my map away and just embraced every cobblestone, every wrong turn, and every staircase leading me God knows where.

I got lost, but I found free wine along the way, and that was a plus. I got to see how people really lived across clotheslines and not against the main road. I got to touch the tiles that shouted sagas of the country’s history. I got to learn that being carefree isn’t as scary as I once thought it was, because, eventually, you always find you way.

As I did, to here:

I’ve seen better views (to be frank), higher elevations, and more dramatic scenery. Yet, this view unequivocally stole my heart. I found it by not looking for it. I followed my intuition on the street signs I couldn’t read and was greeted by the red roofs of this gorgeous city, whose glorious ocean neighbors my home. It was breathtaking. More than that, it was life changing.

Of course on the next day it was revealed to me that it was a straight shot from my hostel, but I just laughed it off because the journey getting there was what made the view so epic. It also allowed me to splurge on ice cream after capping out on 36,000 steps that day.

That excursion taught me that great results should not be easily attainable. The finale needs to be earned. It needs to be worth its grandeur. It’s about taking the stairs in the life versus the elevator. It’s about hiking the mountain versus taking the cable car all the way up (there are exception though, people).

In Montserrat, a cable car took us to the Benedictine abbey at about 4,000 ft. in elevation. However, we walked the 40-minute uphill battle to a peak, and we skipped the cable car option there. This gave me time to joke with my dad, to photo-shoot with my sister, and to run from whatever I heard in the bushes and laugh about it later.

The slower journey made the time matter, and it made the view a treasure worth witnessing.

This takes me to my latest view, the one from my balcony. This is my new beginning, my fresh start, and my new perspective. And it wouldn’t mean half as much without the memories in neighboring streets, or mistakes wedged in the sidewalks, and the successes floating at the very edge of the water.

No. This wouldn’t be the release and the relief without the miles my feet strode and the steps my heart took. It was the journey to this new set of keys that makes the change in scenery a change worth having. It is mine, and I can truly say that I deserve it, after all.

I deserve the upgrade because I put forth the struggle to get here. I didn’t take the easy way – I simply don’t believe in those. I went heart first, as I always do, and I dealt with the consequences. I dealt with each turn, tumble, and twist as anyone would on a journey of self-discovery.

With this one, though, I had no set “point B.” I was naively circling point A asking, “what’s next for me?” Well, all I had to do was look. All I needed was a different attitude to see that my perspective had altered, because life had changed and I was missing it wondering when it would.

It’s in the view you let yourself take it all in and realize that you are just fine. You are going to be fine. Yet it’s the journey, the bruises, the fresh picked flowers on the way, which build the character of the person who reaches the top. It changes them so they can see past boulders, clouds, coasts, and high-rises.

Sometimes all it takes is a different view. But sometimes it takes a person wiling to go the distance to get to it to truly see it. Because that person doesn’t just see a horizon… They see life.

How a View Changes Your Life

The Unexpected Effects of Solo Travel - http://clapway.com/2015/05/25/the-unexpected-effects-of-solo-travel/

When I tell people that I travelled alone in India for almost half a year, they often ask similar questions, and I’ve gotten used to giving the same answers.

“Wow,” they say, “weren’t you scared?”

“Yes, petrified.” I reply. “But I got the hang of it. Indian men, for example, aren’t nearly as ‘bad’ as the Western world thinks they are!”

“What was it like?”

“It’s difficult to sum the trip up in a sentence — it was almost half a year of my life — but I’m so glad I did it; it’s such a special country.”

“Why didn’t anyone come with you?” is usually next.

— and for that one, I still haven’t come up with a good answer.

*

The answer is that, as far as I knew, no one wanted to. My friends were either still at university or had just graduated, and wanted to get jobs and move away. Not only did I not know anyone that I thought would be into it, but at the time I wasn’t very confident and to be honest, I was scared even to ask. What’s more, I was incredibly lucky to have enough money to go, because I had worked in a bar for a year during uni to finance it. The trip was special and important to me, and I had planned and looked forward to it for years.

So off I went. I learnt a lot about the country, a lot about myself, and when I came back I felt I was seeing things with new eyes. But by and large, I did all of them alone. And that made a huge difference.

When you’re travelling alone, the number of variables is drastically reduced. Although your life changes every day, you get into a routine. You always see the same things: the things that interest you; you always stay in the same places: the places you want to stay in; and you always see things the same way. I saw and did a lot of things (the number of stories I’ve posted on here is evidence of that, and I’m barely getting started), but I saw most of them through the same pair of eyes.

Don’t get me wrong: I was lonely as hell. I can’t count the number of times I lay on my bed in my hotel room, bored out of my mind, longing for someone to talk to. Just the act of being able to comment on your experiences is incredibly important. If you can’t turn to someone and say, “What the hell just happened?” when something strange happens, it’s like it never happened at all. If I had gone out there with someone else, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into travel writing to such a degree, because that’s the only way I found to process what I was seeing.

I made lots of friends, of course, both Indians and tourists, and we travelled together a few times. Many times, when I felt low, I met a ‘travelling angel’ — someone who you may only spend a day or an evening with, but who understands you, and whose presence cheers you up. I remember when I was in the Tamil town of Udhagamandalam (Ooty), depressed, bored and exhausted. Then I met a Texan lawyer called Bill in the train station. He bought me dinner that evening, and by talking to someone with whom I had things in common, I felt ten times better.

But when I went to India with Jess in 2015, it was different. Now I had two sets of eyes through which to see things. Things I loved, like museums, old ruins, and basic hotels, were out; street photography, culinary adventures, and taxis were in. We made a fabulous team, and we had a lot of fun, but at times it was uncomfortable to give up the careful routine that I had preserved the previous time I was in the country, and I’m sure she noticed this.

What I’m trying to say is that solo travel can be the most empowering thing you’ll do. I went to India in 2013 because it was something I’d planned to do since I was about 12, and being alone meant that I could tailor my experience to give me the most enjoyment possible. But the other side of that coin is that being alone is challenging, exhausting, and importantly, seeing the world exactly as you want to makes you arrogant.

The Unexpected Effects of Solo Travel