As I mentioned in my last post, it’s been a very long time since I’ve traveled far from home (over the date line), for longer than two weeks, and to a place that will feel very foreign. I’m not sure a Fijian honeymoon counts (it counts in terms of being a great experience and memory, but not in the “stretching your comfort zone” way). We’re talking more than ten years.

When I last traveled to Asia, I was 31, was mere months from returning to the US after having lived in Quito, Ecuador for two years, and was only responsible for the care of two cats. I don’t remember feeling much of anything about leaving for that trip, and the 4+ weeks I spent traveling in Hong Kong, Singapore, Vietnam, and Cambodia were nothing short of incredible. I was a seasoned traveler with an abundance of confidence and curiosity.

As I spend this final prep day doing the last loads of laundry, printing boarding passes, and cleaning out the refrigerator, I find myself thinking a lot about what I’m going to miss while I’m gone.

I’m spending a month in a country that has no McDonald’s, Starbucks , or Walgreens; where there is no NPR, NFL (go Niners!), or HGTV; no credit cards, travelers checks, or ATMs; no burritos, mac n’ cheese, or Snickers; where “how are you?” looks like this: 

10 years ago I (and the world) was  much less dependent on cell phones and computers to stay connected, so the idea of leaving my phone at home and relying on intermittent email access is  a much bigger challenge this time around. I’m sure I’ll get used to, and eventually even cherish, the loss of the immediacy of mass communications, but right now it’s making me feel pretty unsettled.

When I was in my mid-20s my mom and I took an epic trip through the center (centre) of Australia by train, plane, and four-wheel drive. One night we stopped in Daly Waters, a dusty one-pub Outback town serving as a rest-stop for hardened road train drivers, for dinner and an overnight stay. One look at the unappetizing meals coming from behind the bar sent us straight to the freezer to treat ourselves to Dove Bars as our main course, and the grimy walls and musty bedding of the motel room we rented for the night had me feeling extremely homesick. As we sat on the front stoop of the mobile-home motel, playing gin rummy and watching the geckos snack on the thousands of flies and mosquitos drawn to the glaring light overhead, my mom said to me, “Maida, this is called stretching your comfort zone. It’s good for you. You’ll get through this night and leave tomorrow morning knowing that you can deal with any other place that’s like this one. I promise: you’ll be glad you came to Daly Waters.”

She was right, of course. Daly Waters helped me see the value in exploring the world and not being afraid of being uncomfortable.  The Maida who was too worried about what she’d miss to spend Junior year abroad in college became a Maida who moved to South America speaking hardly any Spanish and eating her way through Vietnam.

It’s clear to me now that travel is like most challenges: if you don’t practice you get rusty. It becomes easier to think about what you know and miss it, than to imagine what you don’t and look forward to it. You get complacent and comfortable. I’m not sure this means I should take a month-long trip to a very far away place every year, but I do know I need to do it more often than I’ve done lately.