first day jitters...

written a week ago at the quito airport heading to the galapagos...

5:30am. My hotel phone buzzes. the shuttle came at 6am sharp, which would have been fine had the “ VIVA QUITO! party band bus didn't keep me awake for a better part of the evening. In honor of Quito's birthday, there is a make-shift bus that tours the city streets, stopping at random while the band on the roof crashes their cymbals, bangs their snares, toots their horns doing a chant/shout combo that as the night went on, and more and more alcohol was surely consumed, became increasingly slurred and messy. so with heavy eyes, i bid adios to quito this morning.

today is my first day of interacting with other traveler human beings. gasp! huh? whaaat? You mean I have to form sentences? talk about where i'm from, what i do, who I am? blah, blah, blah... (insert rolling of the eyes here) it's not that i don't like meeting other people, I do. Sometimes. And other times it just depends. Meeting strangers spontaneously, I love (not the murdering kind in a dark alley, of course.) Meeting people under a planned circumstance (ie: an 8-day group traveling tour) gives me those first day of school jitters that peak your inner most layer of insecurity. Mostly because it’s the only time that I actually feel lonely when I travel alone. Because, more often than not, as in this case, I am lucky number odd man out. Without a buddy. No one to tell the teacher I had a potty emergency.

See, there are two distinct types of travelers. The budget kind and the not-so-budget kind. Depending on the day and the circumstances, I am murkily somewhere in the middle. The budget traveler stays in hostels, sharing a large room with anywhere between 2-30 people, sharing a bathroom fit for 5 people… at most. A shower is nice but not a necessity, and clean clothes do not exist until they go home. They sit around smoking from the time they wake up (usually way after 2pm) and hang out all night drinking and smoking some more until the sun comes out. It’s about meeting other partiers and sitting around partying and talking about how great the party was last night and how great the party will be later that night and hell, this is the party, so let’s just party! Party! Party! Though I am definitely not one to shy away from the occasional let’s dance until the sun comes out good times, I think it’s safe to say I have outgrown this type of travel-phase in my life. I can rough it if it comes down to it, but let’s not get crazy here.

The not-so-budget traveler is all about joining tour groups and letting them decide your fate. They set everything, and I mean EVERYTHING up for you, from shuttle transfers, to breakfast included, to where you are sleeping, when you are eating, and what you are seeing. The only thing you need to remember is how to take photos, chew, floss, and wake up on time. You join said group with your partner, your family, and/or your friend(s). it’s a group activity and everything you do is with that group.

At first glance, most immediately peg me as the former. I’m alone, I look like I’m still a student (not complaining or bragging), I have a huge backpack 3 times the size of me with dirt all over it. But here I am in this group, all alone, so what’s the story here?

Then comes the inevitable third degree interrogation. Which sends me into a frenzied tailspin because I don’t have just a simple answer to most of them. So it goes a little something like this:

Them: Where are you from?
Me: originally NY, grew up in NJ, but lived in LA recently but just moved my stuff back but don’t have a place to live yet and don’t really know where I want to live at the moment, so, well, I guess I’m from NY/NJ… for now… but this last year I spent in LA and I hope to someday be bi-coastal I guess, but who knows… (at which point they cut my trailing murmuring off, followed by the…)

Them: Korean? Japanese? (apparently the Chinese don’t travel much)
Me: Huh?

At this point I know what they want to know. I knew the 3 questions before they started asking but I can’t help but wonder how this information will add to the conversation. Will they break out in Chinese song and dance? Will they try their 1 word of Chinese that they picked up at panda express? Will they ask me if I know Jackie Chan?

Them: Your parents, where are they from?
Me: OH riiiight. You want to know WHAT I am. Chinese. My parents were born in China, immigrated to Honk Kong, then to Caracas, Venezuela, met, fell in love, got married and moved to the states. NYC to be exact. Hence, my previous babble about being from NY, growing up in NJ, etc etc…

Then with an either confused, fascinated or skeptical look in their eye…

Them: Chinese? You’re Chinese? Realllllly?

I still don’t get this reaction. I get it all the time. I would say 9 times out of ten people make this comment. What am I suppose to say? Nono, I was just kidding, I’m really from Papa New Guinea but thought that to be too weird for you. I mean, what is it that does not scream Chinese about me?

Korean? Japanese? Reeeeally. Are you married? Boyfriend? What do you? What’s your story? How do you support your travels?!?! ???????? it’s enough to make me want to stay under the covers…

So imagine meeting this group of people, knowing this is what is to come. It’s mostly harmless and I know I’ll end up having a good time because how can you not with turtles, sea lions, and sharks abound. And I suppose if anyone really gets on my nerves I can accidentally push them over when we are sailing over a shallow coral reef. but then again, they'll have their buddy to snitch on me.