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.