When I bought my first plane ticket someone told me, 'Don't expect this to mean something. It's not going to change anything and the only thing you'll bring home with you are some pretty pictures and party conversation.' He was probably right. I am probably a self-indulgent tourist of the lowest order...
Meh! :D
So I'm standing on a Pacific beach feeling like a dirty hippie. At the moment, this is a very satisfying feeling. I haven't had a decent shower in a week. Or conversation either, I suppose. As I speak no Spanish- I've had to resort to pantomiming and mad pinwheeling of arms to order margaritas and tacos, etc. I've basically been wandering around trying not to irritate anyone too badly or get shot. So far so good!
I'm ankle deep in the ocean and I swear I have a swimsuit on somewhere underneath all my clothes. I have an irrational fear of people seeing me in any partial state of undress (which, let me tell you- does WONDERS for my love life) but I do have every intention of baring down at some point... I would just prefer to do it after I get in the water :D
Anyways. I'm wading out deeper now to join a certain gentleman acquaintance of mine when I start to feel a strange pulling at my feet. I should mention uhm... I really don't know how to swim. Like... AT ALL. My father always told me Indians don't float and I took that advice to heart- going out of my way to avoid any body of water, never in my entire life completely submerged. I've *never* been in the ocean before and while I understand the mechanics of this whole 'tide' thing, I've never experienced it. So when the first wave started coming towards me, I viewed it with curiosity and wonder. That is, until my feet were sucked out from under me and I found myself underwater- drowning, really.
In retrospect, I'm amazed that I can remember all the different sensations- the salt water burning my eyes and lungs... the sharp sting of the rocks I was repeatedly bashed upon, the complete disorientation preventing me from getting back upright. At the time only one thing ran through my mind:
OH-MY-HOLY-JESUS-GOD-MY-MOTHER-WAS-RIGHT-I-AM-GOING-TO-DIE-IN-THIS-FORSAKEN-COUNTRY!!!
But I didn't. I managed to right myself riiiiiight before the next wave which heightened my death/dying/forsaken-country panic to a whole new level as I went under again. Luckily, my companion reached me and hauled me up which is good- because how embarrassing would it have been to die in 2 feet of water? :P
Life is good! Life is wonderful! I love life! ...wassat? My swimsuit? Oh. It's not on my body anymore? It's *gone*..?
...
... I don't care! I'm alive!!!
So maybe it's true- about the whole meaningless travel thing. But for me, the people I meet are going to find me different and my mannerisms strange regardless so my day-to-day awkwardness doesn't seem as relevant. It's like I find a freedom and a comfort when I *leave* my comfort zone. Which may or not mean anything to anyone but me.
But it does mean something to me- the chance to rejoice and celebrate... while standing bucknaked on the beach.