Friendship in Foreign Lands

I’ve always kind of wondered what it would be like to live on a farm.

Growing up, I’d hear stories of my grandfather going hunting with a .22-caliber rifle in Kansas when he was a boy. I was especially fascinated by this fact considering my Mom would hardly let me play violent video games, let alone own an actual firearm. The only thing I didn’t care to experience about farm life was all the labor involved: having to work the long hours outside in the sun, cultivating the land, milking the cows, learning to work with all that heavy machinery, and risk losing my arm in some freak accident. I’d rather play video games.

As I got older, I added another bullet point to my long list of excuses why I don’t want to live on a farm: the sensory under-load of loneliness would kill me. True, my father would make sure I never ran out of chores around the yard, even in this hypothetical parallel existence. I was very spoiled to spend my childhood in suburbia. My hometown, now in its 20s, boasts a population of over one hundred thousand residents. Anything I could ever need – movies, fries, and friends – were always around the corner or a short drive away. In fact, having plenty of kids around to play with would theoretically mean I always had something to do, even though I undoubtedly muttered I’m so bored on a few occasions when I grew tired of kick-ball and skateboards for the day. How could I survive on a flat patch of land knowing my nearest neighbor was kilometers miles away? If I’m desperate, I could always find a park if I need nature to bring me back to my primal roots.

Like living on a secluded sector of land, the best and worst aspects of traveling are companionship and isolation, and not necessarily in that order. They say travel is the spice of life; BuzzFeed teaches me to do it to find myself or if I need motivation. (This guy even took it a step further.) I do believe it is healthy to get away for a breath of fresh air and experience new things. However, the one thing I’ve learned to look forward to most is making new friends along the way, especially those from foreign, far-away lands (and who doesn’t like those sexy accents you could never find at home?). Conversely, the sadness that comes from having to say so long to strangers – now close friends – that you shared exciting life-changing experiences with is as depressing as it was invigorating to meet them.

It’s those small moments: playing the piano for a girl in Singapore, talking turned-around on a bus in Vietnam until my neck hurt, dancing tango in Buenos Aires even after my partner and I were asked to leave because our moves were so bad, sharing laughs and Seinfeld quotes with a Norwegian woman on a cramped nine-hour red-eye flight to Qatar, exploring the invisible destruction caused by Chernobyl with someone my age that was born in the USSR, and eating homemade ice cream in front of Havana’s capitol building with a buddy, that make all those friendships – no matter how short they might be – absolutely worth it.

Enjoying the sights, sounds, and laughs overlooking the Havana Harbor on a beautiful summer night.

Sometimes just a smile is all that is needed to break a language barrier. 

On the way to El Nicho, Cuba.

Nothing can beat good food shared with good company. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Enjoying some drinks after a six-hour bus ride with fellow travelers from Norway

and Ireland in Trinidad, Cuba. I'm still sorry for spilling the soda everywhere.

Someone special to share experiences with, even for a day, can make all the difference.

Batu Caves, Malaysia.

I think when you have a short schedule to see a country, it makes sense to spend every

moment seeing the local sights. However, I spent an entire afternoon sharing stories with 

this incredibly gracious -- and adorable -- couple from Norway in Hanoi, Vietnam.

Every once in awhile, I've been blessed to run in to people I normally only

see on the news or TV. Meeting Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel in Singapore.

The Tropicana in Havana remains a must-see for Americans stopping by in 

2015 as it was in the 1950s. Being able to appreciate others' talents is an absolute joy.

I swear I work every once in awhile. Celebrating the Marine Corps Ball in Singapore.

To give someone your time is the best gift you can give.

Enjoying local coffee on a perfect day in Havana, Cuba.

Meeting someone I could learn a lot from, Secretary of State John Kerry, 

at a palace in Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei.

Nothing like trying out a new restaurant to realize it was featured on

Conan O'Brien only weeks before. La Guarida, Havana, Cuba.

I absolutely love good food, but it tastes better when shared with friends.

The owner even gave us a tour of his authentic Soviet-themed restaurant.

Nazdarovie, Havana, Cuba.

I wish I could dance: after many hours of practice, I realized...I need a lot more work.

Salsa classes in Havana, Cuba.

My roommate at my hostel in Buenos Aires -- an Argentine -- went out of his way to 

make me feel at home in his country. The gesture of a simple meal goes a long way.

A smile from a passersby has made my day on more than one occasion. Hanoi, Vietnam.

You can't beat a free tour from a local, especially if you share a 

mutual friend. Visiting the gravesight of Evita Peron in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

"Don't Cry for Me Argentina...the Truth is I Never Left You!"

One morning in Argentina promised to be no different than my other experiences abroad; I had just said goodbye to a Colombian friend I spent four days with in the Patagonian glaciers and steppes (see previous entries), and was now the same as I had arrived a week earlier – alone. One of her last gestures was to help me find a guided group tour, great for any traveler, but vital for lone wolves. I was excited and had even been waiting outside my hostel for the 7 am shuttle bus to arrive, a rare occurrence that any of my friends know if they’ve invited me to anything with an official start time.

Not the worst place to wait for a bus...

You can imagine my surprise when I walked up the bus steps to find the seats were empty, and I was the final stop before beginning the tour that normally hosts 25 people each day.

The excursion I had chosen the afternoon before was a five-hour tour that promised to give a glimpse into the life of an Argentine farmer. When I arrived, any disappointment I had about being alone – again – evaporated when I was overwhelmed by what I repeatedly discovered to be standard Argentine hospitality. Pancho welcomed me with hot yerba mate and warm homemade biscuits that nourished my soul as much as they warmed my stomach on that chilly, drizzly day. Nadie, in her beautiful red sweater, filled the air with joyful conversation, and my glass with real Argentine wine, as I asked about her life on Estancia 25 de Mayo in the heart of Patagonia. And as if I wasn’t already suffering from sensory overload from their kindness, Gerardo personally prepared an extravagant lunch of local Argentine beef, potatoes and vegetables, shared in a cozy cabin overlooking a green field that the sheep seemed to think was Disneyland. By the time they had filled my belly, the grey clouds had retreated to reveal a smiling sun.

The most difficult part of traveling is having to say adios to the kind strangers you meet along the way. But in the end, life is worth living – and the world is worth exploring – because people are worth meeting.

Even for a moment. 

Walking on Glaciers

Being from Southern California, and having spent most of the past two years between South East Asia and Cuba, it is challenging to describe the natural beauty of Argentina’s Patagonian glaciers. I decided I wanted to see the Perito Moreno glacier after stumbling on some stunning photos I saw online, and was thrilled to make my new dream a reality when I paid a visit in November 2014. After the near-silent two-hour bus ride from my hostel, I still remember hearing the collective audible gasp! from my fellow tourists after first laying eyes on the main attraction of the Los Glaciares National Park:

While geography disconnects South America from Antarctica, the extreme south of Argentina still seemed to be an extension of the South Pole, even though I never saw any penguins. And honestly, when first seeing the 200+ foot tall ice wall, stretched over three miles wide between towering mountain peaks, it is hard to imagine a clearer example of where the Earth’s ice caps meet the rest of the inhabited world. And keep in mind, this was taken during what the southern hemisphere calls “summer”:

Our twelve-hour excursion from El Calafate included a quick stop at the traditional façade of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares (first photo), trekking in the surrounding snow-capped mountains, and a six-plus-hour trek along the glacier itself. Even after spending my entire adult life in the Marines, and hiking in the unforgiving hills of Camp Pendleton, this was a delightfully unique experience. We wore spikes on the bottom of our boots, like soccer cleats, to get a stable grip on the slippery ice. We were told to walk like penguins, bow-legged and goofy, to balance ourselves on the inclines and declines that defined the frozen surface. Mid-way through, we sat on rocks organized in a semi-circle and enjoyed our store-bought sandwiches and empanadas for a late lunch, as our insulated feet enjoyed the temporary relief. And at the end of the day, my face was red not from the sun, but rather from the burn of the underestimated – and relentlessly unforgiving – gusts of wind, that seemed to have shaped the surface of the ice over generations, much like the rivers that once formed the Grand Canyon.

Looks can be deceiving: it was incredibly challenging to 

stand here without getting blown over from the strong winds!

Time can be a confusing topic when you are near the “end of the world.” For one, the sun doesn’t set until almost 10 o’clock at night – that’s 30 minutes before I’m supposed to be all settled in for a bed time story. When we finished our hike and trek over loose rocks, semi-dangerous foot paths, natural streams, and blue ice, I thought it might have been 4:30 p.m., judging from the strong light that was coming from the sun, still high in the sky. You can imagine my surprise when my watch told me it was 7:30 p.m., which, in Argentine culture, is still two hours before dinner even starts getting served at most restaurants. I guess it kind of makes sense to eat dinner at the end of the day when the sun sets. But if you’re stuck on North American time like I was, you’ll be able to sit, order, eat, and finish dinner at even the most popular restaurant before the rush hour peaks at 11 p.m. 

Is this real life?

The folks at Hielo y Aventura have their organized tours perfected and down to a science, undoubtedly refined over years of practice and countless visitors from every corner of the globe. A glass of wine or whisky with dinner and conversation can be a great way to wrap up a tough week on a Friday night. But while sitting down on a cushioned seat inside on a heated tour boat after a day-long hiking adventure abroad, it was extra special to enjoy a glass of whisky on the rocks – the rocks being the ice from glaciers we had just “conquered.” I think it brought everyone a smile to their faces as our boat departed the ice, and we could all look back at the glacier that seemed to stretch out forever beyond the observation windows. We finally felt comfortable, safe, and accomplished after an exciting day, all symbolized by the shot of Scotch and piece of glacier in our old fashioned glasses. 

No blog entry of mine would be complete without a flag.

The best part about any adventure is meeting people and making friends

along the way. On this trip, I met a great travel partner from Colombia. 

She was also a much-needed Spanish teacher and translator!

That night, I slept like a baby.