Planning and pondering our way to purpose

'Isn't it great, we are all on holiday every day for such a long time', commented a Dutch couple, whilst we shared a volcanic mud bath in the swamps of Colombia and discussed long term traveling itineraries. I was finding it hard to concentrate due to the butt naked German man dive bombing into the mud inches from my face, and so agreed with the Dutchies enthusiastically. But later I realized that they had pin pointed exactly what we have been struggling with. Being on holiday all day every day for such a long time is mentally exhausting. For Nick and I it feels completely unnatural. Work has always been the predecessor of fun – eat all your veg and you can go out and play, finish an essay and you can hit the town, complete a project and enjoy a long weekend of festival frolicking. Evenings, weekends and holidays are great because they are a break from the norm. But what's great when the norm is holidaying? Well... work. Hence the thousands of wannabe travel writers, volunteers, English teachers, eco-farmers and language learners frantically seeking a purpose as they gallavant around the world. We too fall victim to the quest for work.

Luckily we are now pretty good at overcoming this crisis. So with a week to kill in the beautifully rustic colonial city of Cartegena, and a recognition on day two that we can't afford to frolic in the fine restaurants and on day tours with all the holidayers, Nick and I devise a plan. First we decide to teach ourselves Spanish for 3 hours a day. This goes surprisingly well considering my language associated disability, our competitive tendencies and differing approaches to getting things done. By day three we had picked up most of the basics and set about putting them into practice. Communication is still a slight struggle (Nick often refers to me as his boyfriend and I asked a women how much it would be to wash England at a phone booth yesterday), but we're getting there. Second, we get down to some serious planning of the rest of the trip. Before leaving London we drew a nice long line around the world, saved as many pennies as possible and researched the key components to check our route was possible. There are therefore quite a few details to fill in as we go along. This is great because planning the trip is an exhilarating, empowering and evolving process that provides many of the challenges of a real job but is just loads more fun. Problem solved.

Asia is the topic of the moment. An awesome and overwhelmingly huge landmass filled with the highest, remotest, coldest, wildest, newest and oldest places in the world. The very thought of crossing it overland sends tingles down my spine. Our original plan was a rather ambitious tour of China, India, South East Asia, Mongolia, Russia and all the 'stans. However, as the trip goes on, spending longer in a few places becomes more appealing than gaining huge numbers of stamps in passports. Nick finds well paid, short term teaching posts in Japan and so we start the application process. By question three it became clear that we are better equipped to lecture on the elaborate mating dances of the lesser spotted quetzal than teach in these Universities. So before starting to seek less high brow teaching posts we then start to question the whole teaching in Japan experience.

'Why don't we go and do something a bit messier and rawer. Lets go somewhere random for the winter... How about charity work in Mongolia?' I suggest enthusiastically, picturing us trekking through snow on horse back through nomadic lands doing something terribly noble and hard going.
'Er I think it might be a bit cold, but yeh that sounds more interesting, lets look into it'. Nick suggests, always the necessarily rational after thought to my excitable ideas.
So we set about researching Asia. Mongolia in December, January and Febuary is -30°C. Hard going? Yes. Noble? Tricky when you can't go outside without wearing a yak.

And so the researching continues, where to go, when you can go there, what visas you need and how to get there. Discussions take place to a back drop of latino beats in bohemian squares, on church steps, park benches and beach towels, sipping from shots of coffee or rum. We even ended up watching a Bavarian film based in Central Asia at the Cartegena film festival. A random coincidence given that we only chose the film because its title, Absurdistan, implied that the language barrier wasn´t going to be too detrimental. It was brilliant and beautiful and had English subtitles. I came out enthusiastically declaring that this is a sign that we should herd sheep in Azerbaijan for a year. Nick pointed out that Georgia might not be the best country to travel through at the moment. But we'll see... a lot can change in a year.

Tomorrow we join Captain Hernando and ten other globe trotters to sail to Panama via the San Blas Islands, home to the indigenous Kuna tribe, paradise beaches and lots of fish. To mix it all up a little we´re planning on taking along a rather large bottle of rum.

My first solo night watch

About a week ago I headed out from the safety and warmth of my cabin into the depths of the night to watch over our boat on my own. All I had to do was sit at the helm looking out for boats and making sure that the sails kept full of wind. Its pretty simple stuff. Nonetheless a pang of fear hung over me and suddenly heading out there felt very similar to edging towards the darkest depths of the back garden in the middle of the night when I was 7. However much you tell yourself its the same as that garden you played in during the daytime, there's no fighting against your imagination creating a different world. Suddenly the back shed is a den of goblins, those trees are alive and waiting to gobble you up, the grass is full of snakes, the bushes hiding giant human eating spiders and in those dark corners hidden away from the moonlight are witches waiting to use your blood for their potions.

Similarly, for those first few minutes(1) of lonely darkness at the helm, Lista became a perilous vessel, vulnerable to potential attack from all sides. Those creaks and groans of Lista´s beamy frame that we have come to love took on a whole new world. Before I knew it I had worked myself up into a frensy of childish fear. Whales were surely trying to mate with the boat from below, the tiny fish following us all day had now attracted the attention of sharks that were trying to eat their way through the propeller, a seaweed laden half man, half monster was going to climb up and pull us all down into his ocean kingdom at any moment, hidden rocks were waiting to ship wreck us everywhere and that tidal wave was definitely on its way. But despite your mind, once you've committed to doing it there's no going back. However strong the temptation to crawl back to safety is, turning around would be giving in to your inner wimp and who knows what would follow once that had happened.

I personally have a pretty large amount of wimp going on. Until about 4 years old I failed to leave the safety of clinging to my mothers legs wherever we went. At 8 years old I was still crying about being left at school. I am still secretly pretty scared whenever I am left alone in the dark. This little trip around the world is my way of fighting against my inner wimp. I have been trying to suppress it for years. I figure heading out into the wilderness of the ocean, foreign cities, tribal settlements, up mountains, across deserts, down rivers and the likes would help me rid of it for good. In fact I fear that by subjecting my wimpiness to all this bravery is merely bringing it to the surface over and over again. Never before have I been so aware of being a scaredy cat. At least once I have achieved all these 'daring' feats I can justifiably crawl into a little haven of safety for the rest of my life. Well... maybe. We'll see.

Since completing a 5 day, 400 mile, vomit ridden, wildlife full hop into the Atlantic we have been soaking up some sun on Isla Graciosa in The Canaries. The island has a population of 600 people, 500 straw hats, 300 land rovers, 20 nudists and 3 volcanoes. It is also apparently a hot spot for pilot whales, but sadly we have found nothing other than small fry. The quest for mega fauna continues.

(1) The joys of the wilderness of the ocean, where the phosphorescence below you is as bright as the stars above, soon kicks in and fear is replaced with peaceful contemplation.