LETTER HOME: THERE IS NO WiFi IN THE WOMB OF A GHOST
Dear Family and Friends,
This week I officially reach the two-third mark of my journey. As a response to this milestone, I am currently experiencing a mixture of:
A) awe
B) exhaustion
And some subsequent questions have stemmed from emotions A and B:
A) How the hell did I make it this far?
B) How the hell am I supposed to last another four months?
I’ve tentatively come to some… hypothesi (wait, what the frig is the plural for hypothesis?)
A) I made it this far through the love and support of people like you, mixture with a whole shitload of luck. And because I have rainbow flip-flops.
B) Coffee and alcohol. To continue my travels, I will need to drug myself full of caffeine each day to function. And then to sleep, inevitably I will need to drink myself into a drooly coma each night.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
[Repeat, Daniel, until you actually believe it.]
* * *
I took a little dash across Scotland yesterday, to the Isle of Skye. It was as beautiful as everyone promised it would be: stunning rolling hills of green, pastures of purple heather, waterfalls gushing from rocky outcrops and enough clouds to make me feel like I was in the womb of a ghost. It felt like a familiar landscape, like I had never not been there.
At my side was a friend-of-a-friend, Mark – who I suppose I can simply call a ‘friend’ now. Mark is a Scottish fellow of origin, and was a wonderful guide to the geography and culture of the nation. He guided me gently through my first experience with haggis, which wasn’t as scary as I had anticipated (considering the list of ingredients). We chatted about life and family and the limits of societal expectations and 1980s Scottish music (which I can reassure you is HORRIBLE).
Our lodging of choice was the bunkhouse at the Old Inn (Carbost), which was a stone’s throw from the Talisker Scotch Distillery. After naps in our bunk beds yesterday evening, we ate dinner at the Old Inn tavern, which came complete with its own pub drunkard. Now you may think I might be embellishing for the sake of a lovely story, but no, dear reader, I have video evidence to prove the existence of this real-life Scottish carouser (coming soon). Sharing my haggis with a sloshed Scottish man felt like an emblematic moment that money simply couldn’t buy.
The trip was a lovely sojourn from the increasingly exhausting manic crowds of festival frolickers in Edinburgh. But there was something missing. And because of this absence, I opted to return to the city…
I couldn’t obtain any WiFi.
* * *
Now I know what you’re thinking, “Jesus H. Murphy, you need to build yourself a bridge Baylis and get over your WiFi addiction.” And now you are most likely snapping your fingers in a fierce “Z” formation. This is an acceptable response. And rest assured that I like it when you get all ghetto-tough-love on me. Never change.
But, this project that I’ve tackled of work-exchanging myself across the world comes with certain administrative demands. Tomorrow I need to be on the phone with my probable September location. And then I need to research potential exchange hosts for the other months of this journey. I must investigate visa requirements and medical necessities for countries that I had falsely assumed would be easy to enter. I will begin searching for cheap flights for the final legs, including one back to Canada on the first of January.
And all this administrative work takes a little thing called “The Internet.”
Ultimately the tension that I would feel from not having these details sorted would be greater than the relaxing atmosphere of the serene setting of Skye. Here’s a math equation to better illustrate my predicament:
TRAVELER TENSION > PEACEFUL LOCATION
So I opted to return to Edinburgh, where I have an abandoned flat all to myself (my friends Erin and Jack have begun their move back to Canada and are permitting me to squat/water the basil plant that they no longer care about). It is a good setting to get work done. And I’m refreshed from a quick road trip through the highlands.
With a bit of planning for the next four months, I feel confident that I can handle four more months of adventure.
I can do this, right?
xoxo
Daniel
You can definitely do this! Keep it up son! Love you mucho xoxo
Some thoughouts: perhaps the Isle of Skye is familiar to you simply because it is…. Perhaps you have lived there before…..perhaps it is Scotland / the Isle of Skye that recognizes you and is welcoming you back…..
As for the next four months….of course you can: just take it one day at a time…..or just keep putting one foot in front of the other…..just let the spirit move you….and know that thousands of people are sending you energy…..Peace and Love Laddie
Thanks
I said that once… “I can do this, I can do this” – you looked at me with fear, exhaustion and a state of overwhelmedness in your eyes and just said it right back to me… and we did it!!!!
You can do this… whatever road might come in front of you – you can do this!
And I’ll cry with you when you come home on January 1st!
Thanks for this Daniel. I just reached the four-month anniversary of my trip and decided to extend my trip as long as possible. You are one of the inspirations for this. My was supposed to be six months but now could stretch much longer, maybe even up to a year. I have said, “I can do this” to myself many times when it looks difficult. You’re a bad ass, so obviously, you will make it.
And it won’t be all that far to go from where I am in northern England.
I’m researching Isle of Skye right now as my next locale…it had been on my mind before I came here to catch up. I think I’d like to go to the womb of a ghost.
It’s an honor to be an inspiration!
I’mma keep being a bad ass for you…
you look a little thin daniel. as a french woman, this worries me. consider spending the next four months under my wing being fed french pastries and cheese (or french pastries made of cheese) so that you may return to canada rested and plump. and we also have internet.
Love it, love it, love it! Of course I’ve enjoyed my visits to Scotland enormously….
glad you got to see skye and take in its beauty, i told you right ! and on top of it the great scottish pub experience – haggis and drunk scottish men with no boundaries. you can do it babe. almost there.
xo
Maybe more importantly than ‘you can do this; you can do this’ which you can, undoubtably… you are doing this, you are doing this!
Awe and exhaustion are good for the narrative!…..something us readers appreciate.
You live life big and fully and awarely (we can add that alongside hypothesi, non?); it’s inspiring!
=) T
I AM DOING THIS!!!!!
You can totally do it. At least that’s one of my hypotheses (see how I sneaked that in?). All the other hypotheses are also different versions of ‘you can do it’.
“And now you are most likely snapping your fingers in a fierce “Z” formation. This is an acceptable response. And rest assured that I like it when you get all ghetto-tough-love on me. Never change.”
This made me snort. In public. And, even though a few hipsters gave me the stink eye, it was totally worth it.
Plans change, paths change, people change — whatever you do, please don’t stop writing things that get me to make an ass of myself in public. That would be very sad.
Also, this makes me smile, maybe it will work for you too: This, Jen, is the Internet.
I am proud to make you snort in public!
please make an amendment my friend. our basil (which was from the
farmers market we took you to and happens to be both organic and
mighty tasty) is cared for-BY YOU NOW…if you remember, haha! but as
you have probably found in your own travels is one of those many items
‘you just can’t take with you’.
Our basil will hopefully feed you our friend, and provide the next
occupant of our flat with plentiful pesto and tasty caprese salads as
well. but mainly, our flights did not permit us to bring back plant
life (which was actually announced by air berlin whilst in the air,
which made of my poor abandoned window boxes). We appreciate the
experience our basil provided us with, took pictures for future
reminiscing (true story, i am a proud plant momma), appreciated its
offerings to us, and tended its needs of water and italian banter, but
alas, such is the life of a urban gardener-we are off to another urban
space. hopefully it will inspire the next tenant to grow some food of
their own, right out their window, or at least shade them from the on
looking office building if they like to have their morning coffee
nude. anyhow, i realize we are talking about a herb here, but i feel i
have forsaken a cat to the whims of a random renter, deeming it
disposable! maybe it is my white, middle-class guilt marring my
vision, causing me to misinterpret an internet sentence. Our basil
was not euthanized because we can get another one and call it fifi no.
2, we just can’t bring it with us, and that is all! to which i make a
sad face, because it was wonderful cooking meals for you with it and i
am reminded of such wonderful time with you And our basil haha!
the joys of traveling i suppose, which are all too familar to you i imagine
ps. the tone of this post is one of humour, not upsetness, which
should be a word haha!
anyhow, can you do a quick edit to shine us in a different light
please? if i acted like i didn’t care about our basil, i assure you it
was only as a defense mechanism to protect me from how hurt i was
having to leave our lovely home and the efforts we had taken to be a
tad self sufficient in the urban stonework sprawl that is edinburgh.
anyhow, fell a bit like i have over done it now
not to censor you, but perhaps a ‘can no longer care for’
thoughts? sorry for the inconvenience, but we were caring basil
parents i swear!
erin x