On living and working abroad and being a traveler

I am constantly envious of all the travel blogs and pictures, tweets and stories from people who get to travel around the world. I raid travel sites like Matador and Backpacking, eager for that next fix. The heart of the matter is that while I feel that most travelers are out there on their own time and money, using both in any way they want, I have responsibilities and time constraints. Not that I am complaining. Quite the opposite is true. I have been remarkably lucky. It has just taken a while for me to realize it.

Traveling for me has always been an understated, eventful, yet entirely fun enterprise my entire life. The thing I believe that sets me apart from most travelers and even my compatriots is that I have lived, for several years, in places that people consider travel destinations. Some beaches in Mexico where I spent weekends off from school with my family were considered sparsely populated backpacking paradises by travelers. Snorkeling at “our” island getaway in Belize was another typical weekend for us. And again, back then I had no idea that these white-sand, single-palm spits of land were lusted after by travelers. To me it was just another day. I know I sound like some spoiled ass raving about how great these things are, but the truth is that we weren’t wealthy by any standard. My parents just liked to see what was out there. My dad especially. If he had three days off you could bet your ass we’d be at the beach. Damned if he’d be stuck in the house for three days.

My parents never stayed in resorts or signed us up for tours or took a cruise and I guess I should thank them for it. It’s broadened my sense of awareness of the vastness of amazing things that are off the map and outside the all-inclusive. It has made me aware of the poverty that plagues most of our planet, the immense kindness of people and the smells and sounds of everyday life in towns, markets, beaches and restaurants. It has also made me aware that I am not your average traveler.

In the broadest sense of the term, a traveler leaves home, whatever and/or wherever that may be, to seek out the new in other places. Home is a term I have always struggled to comprehend. In my own experience, I was born in California, but left before I really knew it or even remembered it, I was six when we left. From there my family moved to Belize. We first lived in a large house near a park downtown on the water. Then moved on to a large tract of land outside the city. We stayed for three years. Then it was on to Miami for several years. Then to Mexico for six years. We lived in Guadalajara and my affection for the city has never waned. After that, we settled in North Carolina. Then I went to university in the Blue Ridge mountains and later took a job in Guatemala. The concept of home and hometown then are concepts that I have tried to pin down. Naturally, being foreign, both literally and figuratively, has been something I have learned to live with. Returning to the States from Mexico after six years was more of a culture shock than going to Mexico in the first place. I felt more comfortable sitting with the Latino kids during lunch than my fellow Americans I was expected to integrate with.

And that’s just the thing. Comfort. Levels and degrees of comfort. It’s the thesis of the Economist article linked above. Comfort in foreign lands and mentalities. Where I must disagree with the article is that the author assumes that the traveler identifies with a “home” land in the first place to become a foreigner in lands abroad. But, what if the traveler doesn’t feel at “home” where he is expected to feel at home before ever leaving or ever even realizing the expectations? I believe it is a point well-missed in this article, with the author’s stabs at mentioning our continuing globalization and the trampling of borders. Even the phrase overseas is a bit self-centered. Overseas compared to what? Home? What if one doesn’t identify with any home in the sense of the word. What if every place felt foreign?

Traveling is about that sense of foreignness that makes it appealing in the first place. Then, we decide to return “home,” if we choose to. But, what does the word really mean? A place? A mentality? People? Experiences? A combination of many factors?

These factors are things I struggle to put together in my own life and try and define. Travel has led me to a job in Guatemala. While I work everyday in my small way to help the poor of the country I feel the incessant jealousy for the traveler on his own time and money. The ability to see and travel and experience things at one’s leisure. This job, however, has allowed me to travel within the country and to some of the most remote settings here. I certainly would almost never have gone to those places of my own accord. I have to remind myself that I have had opportunities not a lot of people get. Travel for me has been living in one country to the next and never really the backpack-toting type of travel. Although, I have traveled around Mexico on my own, explored Guatemala, and flew unaccompanied at age nine, I don’t expect to be as experienced in solo travel as others. The only thing I can say is that I have had extensive experience traveling in the countries I have lived and not the extensive experience I wish I had on my own in other countries. Soon enough.

The job I have here in Guate is a confluence of all the aspects of travel that I admire. I’m immersed in the culture–business and traditional, I get to see new places all the time and I live here. It’s something I wish for every traveler to enjoy. Though, the prospect of traveling on my own often occupies my thoughts. The clubs in Barca, the beaches of Panama, family in Brazil, the wine of southern Chile, the archipelagos of Mozambique all call to me. And knowing that no matter where I go that I will always be the outsider, is an exciting, if not daunting, experience.

On the other hand, the drain, mentally and physically of constantly immersing and emerging in and out of different cultures, groups and languages is greatly demanding and exhausting, but I feel that the effort is well worth the rewards. Intimately knowing and understanding or at least trying to understand and immerse in a different culture is a truly amazing experience. One that I am accustomed to.

However, I am in no way diminishing the dreams and goals of those travelers who wish to travel to all of their desired destinations and immersing themselves in whatever way they feel they want to. Be that sitting on the beach, drinking, clubbing, eating great street food, music, volunteering or sightseeing. Hell, I want to. On my own time. However, having a great job precludes me from doing a few things until I have a weekend off and can move around. I am very lucky that I get to see as much of Guatemala as I do for work. We travel to some pretty remote highland towns like Nebaj (home to a great Peace Corps R&R spot), Teujtla, Solola and Uspantan, among others. And as much as I have made friends and gotten to know the culture, attitudes, history, lexicon, slang and language of the place, it still doesn’t feel like “home.” I don’t know if it should. I live here. Does that constitute a home? Or do I just reside? Perhaps it may have something to do with my level of immersion, reluctance maybe, or still that feeling of being a foreigner that may never leave me.

In the end, what I wish for is a balance of the work, travel, live lifestyle for all travelers. But, if that’s not what you’re looking for, then I don’t blame you in the least. The combination of all three, I feel, has added to my quest for the significance of home, foreignness, fun, adventure and understanding.

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