Travel Classes

I know I can sound all holier-than-thou when I talk about how I haven’t shopped in months, this whole needs so many clothes, stupid wasteful luxury (“the height of Capitol excess”). Walking the large, Suria Mall in Kuala Lumpur… just wow. It has that smell, that mall smell, the smell of capitalism. There are stores I used to shop at without thinking, spending hundreds at a time, like Banana Republic and Guess, and those that I can only dream of shipping in, like Burberry and BCBG. It’s almost enough to make me want a real job again.

I stand by the fact that seeing a city as an independent traveler and as a traveler on business are two very different things. I’ve visited many cities as a traveler in either class, but there are a few circumstances that have allowed me to see the same city from both sides.

Backpacker Christina--excited to be in a cemetery

The first can result from multiple visits, for instance, New York City. I’ve stayed in a hotel right off of Times Square and enjoyed a dinner of filet mignon topped with foie gras and truffle macaroni. I’ve stood in the rain for over an hour, trying to find the right bus or ferry to get to Staten Island and praying my Kindle didn’t get wet.

The second way to experience a city both as bourgeous and backpacker is if a city is a level so economically beneath your home country (ie: cheap), that even no money is some money . All I need is a glance at the international exchange rates to remind me that that the dollar doesn’t go nearly as far as it used to, especially compared to other first-world currencies (damn you, Great British Pound!). The US Dollar buys so many insert-cheaper-currency-here that a city like Budapest, Hungary, will accept you and your dusty flip-flops into a restaurant with waiters who have crumbers (this means its fancy).

First Class Christina--knows to sacrifice feeling in her fingers for pretty

I think that there are benefits and disadvantages to each type of travel. I think that if a city appeals to you and you have the means, trying to see both sides is great. You could argue that more of the local culture exists on the ground floor, so to speak, and you be right. Night markets and street stalls, taking public transportation, sitting in parks, visiting grocery stores, can give you a taste of how it feels to live in that culture. However, there is something to be said for taxis that whisk you through the streets, the best version of local cuisine (if you’re giving a foreigner a taste of an American burger, you’re not going to Macdonald’s), museums and other activities reserved for those with more free time and disposable income.

I guess this means I can’t stop traveling!

My Life in the Tropics

I woke up this morning at 6 am with the immediate feeling that something was touching me (speaks well for my unconscious self defense, no?). Turns out that it was a GIANT (3-inch) red millipede, poison status unknown. After spraying it with high powered Thai bug spray that’s not quite lavender scented and losing the bug in the depths of my bed base, I decided that returning to sleep was an impossibility (imagine that).

I made myself French toast in my electric wok. They were delicious and exactly what I wanted, if a bit impractical, incredient wise. It’s definitely not an item on the Thai menu, and not even something a backpacker could even really make for themselves. But I left the world of backpacking a while ago, when I started buying items I had no room for, like extra cloths and laptop speakers.

It was a delicious breakfast and the satisfaction of cooking was nice. There is however, something sad abut French toast for one. A breakfast, or really any meal that takes time to create, should be shared. Whether murmuring over Merlot or sharing coffee, food is better with friends and lovers. My last few days have been spent on independent activity, so the loss feels a bit deeper today. That fact that my current iTunes play list has some rather melancholy music, and I just finished reading the rather depressing The Virgin Suicides… well, I guess I was setting myself for a pity party this morning.

It struck me then– look at where I was! Look at what I was doing! Yes, sometimes it bothers me that I am nowhere near… that I’ve left that path that me and all my friends started on together so many years ago. When we whispered and dreamed about the future, as if we had any clue as to what would happen.

For the present, it 8:30 in the morning and a cooling breeze rushes through the kindling heat, ignorant to the detractors. It took less than 10 minutes on the scooter and here I am. A quiet little beach where waves ceaseless tease the shore and clouds paint shadows on the distant hills. I’m happy to have found a beach with shade.

Literally, look at where I am!

 

 

 

I’m happy that my favorite songs, filling my ears but unable to fully mute the crashing of infinity don’t seem so sad anymore

I’m happy to feel the community and energy of the beachgoers around me, whether the old, fat German man in a speedo, the Russian mother/daughter pair with complementary animal print bikinis, or the Thai couple swimming in full clothes. I’m happy.

… But if someone could get me on that 3-story yacht over there, I wouldn’t say no.

Um, yes please