Accidental Vagabond
I
never meant to become a vagabond. While
reading Rolf Pott’s guide to the rolling stone lifestyle, I romanticized the
notion of long term travel and seeing the world without agenda like one might
fantasize a Roman holiday with a rainbow array of gelatos and Vespas. But only to find the Trevi Fountain swarming
like a big box store on Black Friday with tourists clutching cameras, elbowing
each other for the best Instagram angle, there was an unexpected dark side to
vagabonding. It was where confusion,
fear, and loneliness lingered, seldom shown to the shiny eyed yoga teachers
gushing about the “awesomeness!” of this strange, gypsy life. I owe it to all those yogi’s smiling eyes, and
to you, dear reader, to harness my experience like a prism does a beam of light
and distill it into colors, leaving no hue ignored, providing you with my honest
account of accidental vagabonding.
HOW
Everyone
wants to know “How?”, typically referring to finances. HOW can you possibly afford it? Do your parents fund the lifestyle? No more
than Mexicans would a wall on the U.S. border. My parents did, however, assure that I graduated from college without
loans, which provided a cushy foundation from which I could travel, uninhibited
by debt. But, living abroad and having
student loans are not mutually exclusive.
I’ve met vagabonds teaching English in South Korea, banking enough monthly to pay loans, and travel in their free time. As one ex-pat put it
she could “be working and worried about debt in [her] hometown, or working and
worrying about it and sipping a sandy coconut on the beach.” I have profound respect for the few, brave
souls that decided to pursue their desire to travel in spite of the dreary
financial forecast. Not having debt
makes vagabonding easier, but not possible.
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| Sipping Sand-free Cocos at a Brazilian Chácara |
So
how does one afford long term travel?
With transportable work. Two years ago I
began teaching English with a Filipino company, 51 Talk, which links native
English speakers with Chinese students.
They create one-on-one lesson plans in a virtual classroom that have a
translation tool, imperative as I know few words besides ni hao and bo luo
(pineapple). Each month, they wire
earnings to my bank account, and I extract the local currency from an ATM. In addition to my Chinese students, I have private clients from South America that pay me
via PayPal for one-on-one English classes through Skype. Stateside, the pay is average, but earning
USD and living on pesos in Colombia or Mexico allows me to work just a few
hours a week while living and traveling quite comfortably.
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| My Shoddy Campsite in Rio Claro |
Besides
the flexible, portable job, I’m not locked into leases or loans back home. As my uncle says, I never “got on the bus,”
an odd metaphor, since I can’t seem to stop boarding buses, planes, trains, and
other people’s automobiles. The bus that
he referred to wasn’t literal, however, but rather that illusory American
dream: a steadily growing bank account and 401k, a two year lease midsized SUV
with 0 down, buying bulk and birthing babies to fill a mortgaged house. Between stints in South America, Europe, and
(next up!) Asia, I occasionally return to the U.S. to visit friends and
family. My transportation is my mom’s
ancient, refurbished Schwinn bicycle, and my phone flips open. By only using my smartphone with Wi-Fi, I save
a bundle stateside, and purchase inexpensive, local SIM cards and data while
abroad. In the U.S., mobile phones are
costly and under contracts, so instead I choose to pay $10 a month for a basic
flip phone that allows for calls and texts, month to month service, and a lot
of laughs from friends.
I am a minimalist by spartan standards. My work wardrobe doubles as active wear and
pajamas, and is mostly black and grey tones, accented by a bright, Peruvian
fanny pack. A rainbow sarong from Brazil
became a towel, scarf, and even makeshift lampshade in my minimally furnished
room in Medellin. I wear my clothes
ragged, then replace them with either high quality (i.e. long lasting),
handmade textiles from indigenous South Americans or second hand, gently used jeans
from U.S. thrift stores.
Even the laptop
upon which I currently type came from a pawn shop in Denver. I am an avid reader, and exchange one book for
another between friends or at hostel libraries, and make use of a library app
called Overdrive to “check-out” and download audiobooks. In turn, this minimalist approach has
loosened my attachment to objects and I find it easier to part
with possessions. Those few that remain
are uber-useful and I thus care for them mindfully. Ah, the enlightened vagabond.
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| Enlightened in Kauai |
Learning to live lightly has not only propelled
my journey towards nirvana, but it also allows for cheaper travel
expenses. I’ve flown on many budget
airlines in North and South America and Europe, and only paid for a carry-on
once. From my observation, I believe
that the airlines use paying for carry-ons as a lucrative scare tactic,
assuming that most passengers will pay while booking or checking in as to avoid
fees at the gate. Could you imagine the
costly delay if every passenger boarding the plane with a carry-on had to stop,
measure the dimensions of their baggage, and then pay for each piece of
luggage? I make no disclaimer for any
unfortunate incurred luggage fees, but rather share my own experience thus
far. Knock on wood.
In addition to minimal baggage, I score cheap
flights by flying off-peak days (Wednesday, Tuesday, and Saturday) as I make my
own schedule, thus avoiding higher prices and crowds. I apply the same logic to entire countries
and continent, tending steer clear of Europe during summer, and finding the
daily, afternoon thunderstorm of Medellin’s rainy season a welcome respite from the city’s bustle, and
chance to write with a coffee on a (covered) rooftop café. The empty seaside towns of Italy’s Adriatic
coast are charming (and cheap) during the late winter months, and I was able to
bargain with Airbnb hosts for dramatically reduced
rent.
Besides
finances and frugality, vagabonding works best for me when I reach out to my
social network. With the world at your (now
manicured!) fingertips, the possibilities of places to see are endless, but I
always find the transition smoothest when I choose to move to a place where I have
a contact, someone to recommend home
hunting websites, the best taco stands, and connect me with their already
established social network. In Cancun I
reconnected with a girl through Facebook who I’d met 5 years previous while
teaching English in Madrid. She offered
to rent me the spare bedroom in her house, and introduced me to acquaintances
that provided an intimate, in-depth look at the city’s peculiar, divided
culture, and overall richer experience. Out of our comfort zones, vagabonds, expats,
and even those Trevi fountain tourists tend to be open and amicable, returning
the help that they’ve undoubtedly received while on the road. From one traveler to you all, thank you.
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| Reconnecting under Rainbows |
HOWEVER
There is a dark side to vagabonding. The constant upheaval can be taxing, even for
the most ardent adventurer. Each move is
a breakup with a city and its charm, a country and its culture. There are typically tears and always a
rational voice of fear: that maybe I should be settling down, investing in that
401k, doing something different with my gypsy life. “Maybe I should force myself to live somewhere
for a year, without moving so I can better develop my writing,” I wondered
aloud to the listening ear of my mentor in Madrid.
She let a beat passed, then asked, “Do you like chicken?”
“Not particularly,” I admitted, taken aback by her segue.
She smirked.
“Maybe you should force yourself to eat it every day for lunch and
dinner for a year, just to see what it’s like.”
Point taken, but it’s still hard to reason with the voice of reason,
which seems louder when I’m jetlagged or homesick or physically sick. What
about retirement savings? it demands, and I apply Tim Ferris’s ideology
that I’m having a quasi-retirement, and will never stop working anyway; I’ll be
scribbling stories until I croak.
Besides the relationship with myself, vagabonding tests the
connections I share with friends, siblings, parents, and partners. All of the VIPs are accepting (if not
understanding) of my lifestyle, and flexible with reuniting sporadically (and
sometimes suddenly with last minute travel deals through the Get The Flight Out
app). But it’s challenging to balance a
romantic relationship with my desire for constant travel, and every time the
scales tip in favor of my passport rather than partner. Somewhere in the world, the shine from a
yogi’s eye is shed through a tear.
SO
The transition to vagabonding just happened. A two week trip to visit a friend in Colombia
grew by two more months. There I saw
that I could experience a rich quality of life while fulfilling my passions of
traveling and living abroad. Working just a few hours allowed for time spent
developing interests in yoga, hiking, and of course my sublime writing. It didn’t require a radical life change, but
rather unfurled organically, best suiting my soul’s needs. I suppose that someday I’ll settle enough to
grow roots, but my heart is scattered between Medellin, Madrid, and Melbourne,
Florida. For now, I’ll keep working, wandering
and distilling on paper my life as an accidental vagabond.
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