Vicariously: The lone ranger adventure, part 1

And here it is: the inaugural post of my Vicariously series. It might be my only post, because that's how these things go. I'm going to cheat on this one too. It's my first, so I get to do that.

This is Part 1. If you want to skip ahead and read the rest, you can do that here:

• Part 2: Cambridge, punting, and London again
• Part 3: Dublin, Ireland, and learning to live on a bag
• Part 4: Paris, Disneyland, and a return to London
• Part 5: Wrapping up London, and going home

Need a refresher? Here's how this works. Someone tells me what they would love to do, but won't actually do, as well as why they want to do it, why they can't do it, and what might get them to go do it.

I call this one, the Lone Ranger Adventure. A number of people have told me they want to do this. So what is it?

The Goal: Essentially, the quintessential travel via backpacking trip. Travel alone, or with a very very small group, and more or less have no plans. Just see where the winds take you.

Why do it: Everyone has different reasons but they're all obvious, and easily understood. Some people want the alone time. Some people want to meet new friends, who you might not keep in touch with, but whatever experiences you create along the way are bound to be memorable.

Others like their travel a little more on the raw side. Maybe even get lost in it. Sometimes, there's no better way to experience a land or culture, than have it be the tenth one you've encountered in two months.

Why can't you do it: Some people are married to someone who doesn't find this kind of trip fun. Others have kids they can't leave behind for a period of time. Others can't find the time or money, who probably just need some help prioritizing their resources. A few people are scared. Cowards. Rightfully so, but still.

So with that said, here's part one of my trip (because it's going to be too long for one post).

Day 0:

Nerves.

It's the last thing I expected to feel and so much of what is pulsing through my veins. It dawns on me that I've never actually done this—take a trip with no plans. Every time I've done something crazy, there's always been an end goal. I went to a noname city in China, but eventually I settled into a routine of teaching English. I wandered around Taipei for a little while, but then settled into a routine of going to classes almost every day.

There is no goal here.

Those nerves are with me as I board the plane and take my seat. I haven't stayed in a hostel in at least six years. The only time I've dealt with foreign money since Taipei is Hong Kong which I might as well call home. I don't have enough clothes—how am I going to do laundry? The last time I seriously traveled I didn't even have a smartphone.

That last thought makes me feel better. For whatever traveling skills I've lost over the years, I'm sure my phone will make up for it in spades.

The plane starts taxiing and my nerves are still there. I realize this actually excites me—the nervousness and anticipation of not knowing what will greet me once we touch down. It's been a long time since I've felt this way.

And it feels great.

Day 1:

"Why are you here?" the immigration officer asks me.

I explain that I'm here to visit and have an adventure. Eventually he pulls out of me that I have no sites I want to see, no cash because I know I can use a credit card or pull out cash here, I'm staying at a hostel for a few days but have no permanent accommodations after that, I'm only carrying a biking rucksack, don't know which country I'm going to go to next, and by the way I work for a company that has an office in London.

The unanticipated red flag here is obvious: I'm probably here to sneak in for work.

I keep my cool, and eventually he has me dig into my work email and prove that I'm taking PTO for these dates and that it was approved. I explain to him the irony of the situation: Anyone who knows me will find this situation hilarious. Of course 'Work', on my crazy long break, would be the first hurdle I'd have to cross.

"Sorry," he says.

I pick up a few wins immediately following this unfortunate encounter: I get some cash from an ATM, successfully buy an Oyster Card (my first out-of-country transport card in years) and quickly navigate to where my hostel is. Oh, and my phone automatically picks up an international signal so it's just like home. I have to say this is a lot easier than the last time I tried to do this.

Winning is winning.

I remember that the last international trip I took to a foreign place was Singapore, and that was for work. I don't feel like that counts because I just followed my local coworkers and they took care of everything. I'm on my own.

As I walk up to my hostel, the nerves start rushing back. What am I doing...? is the feeling that haunts me. I have three weeks ahead of me and I have no idea what I'm supposed to get out of this, what I'm supposed to walk away with, or even what I want.

I shrug it off. I have more important things to figure out. Like oh yeah, in hostels, there are eight other people in this room, I have a little drawer to stuff all my things in and I have nothing to do tonight.

What am I doing, indeed.

Day 2:

I book a morning bike tour. I've never taken one, but I quickly realize that bike tours are perfect for me. They are the cheater's way of seeing a city. And by cheaters, I mean winners. Let me explain.

First, I sort of hate being a tourist. I like to experience places by experiencing what it's like to actually live there. I don't love going to tourist traps that no local ever really goes to, no matter how awesome it looks or whatever historical treasures are inside. Which means I'm really not a fan of museums, old art galleries or anything else that takes hours to go through.

Second, biking is the perfect transportation mode to experience any location. You avoid the impersonal feel of a car, actually get to see the city (unlike a subway), and it's faster than walking.

I resolve to do a bike tour whenever I get the chance on this trip. You get to see all the major sites a city has to offer, but you don't actually have to go in them. And you get to know various neighborhoods of a city and how all the different parts fit together.

In a few hours, I've crossed off the London Eye, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace (we even managed to time the changing of the guard or whatever it's called), and a bunch of other places I already don't even remember. And, I already feel like I know my way around a good chunk of London.

After the tour, I wander around the Southbank neighborhood and enjoy some open air markets, a nice walk along the Thames, and a Mexican burrito that tasted Italian. Two of those are great and I can see myself coming back to. One is a mistake. Take a wild guess.

I see some locals running along the Thames. If I were to live here, I think this would be one of my running paths.

I see an old friend from college for dinner. Michael and I talk more than I think we ever did in college, combined. It's amazing what time and age do to people and relationships. In the span of two days and several hours we will have gone through every major topic under the sun: Brexit, the American election, faith, academia, race, technology, family and everything in between. You know, grown up things—topics that I'm not sure I ever really talked about in college and wouldn't have had the knowledge or experiences to have a conversation at this depth if we even tried.

Eventually I meet his wife, and they treat me to a steak dinner. It sounds fancy, and it tastes amazing, but they don't pay a fancy price. This is the advantage of hanging out with locals.

When I go back to my hostel, I make a note: Pick your hostels more carefully.

This seems obvious, but this isn't my first hostel stay, so I have expectations. Expectations like everyone is social and open and willing to get to know each other because we're all traveling nomads anyway.

False. Some hostels are big enough, and well-run enough, to be like hotels. Mine is one of them. This means sometimes large groups (like twenty people) sometimes pass through. There's no way they're going to invite you to join them.

This seems a bit counter intuitive to the whole 'having no plans' bit, but I now accept this rule to be true. I suppose this is also a part of the travel experience: You never know the kinds of people you're going to run into, and it is always a gamble.

Day 3:

Michael invites me to go to In-N-Out with him and his wife. I raise my eyebrows in confusion. It's a pop-up restaurant, he explains, and only runs for four hours. I tell him I'm down. He probably already knew that—like me, he's also from California.

I've already told the story in detail here. Suffice to say, when I travel, I like to create memories. We definitely did that. To some degree, I already feel like a local, hanging out in queues and eating at restaurants that clearly other locals are at.

I feel the black hole that is the British accent pulling at my tongue. I remember the days of working with a bunch of British folks in Hong Kong and after a few months, calling my friends and hearing them ask: "Dan, why are you talking like that?"

I'm really liking London. It's a great city to hang out and live in. I think interacting with people is a key part of that, a key part in making you feel like you're not just there to look at inanimate objects, or even to culturally observe the ways of a group of people, but that you're there to actually enjoy life. I'm not sure I'd enjoy it as much as I would without hanging out with Michael and his wife Kim, and their friends who they let me tag along with.

Back at the hostel, someone talks about the upcoming Arsenal vs. Chelsea game football game. I tell him I'm interested. He's weighing the cost. It's 150 pounds. Which is a lot of money. He points out that on that budget, he could go to Tunisia and back. He's been traveling for a month and hopes that his budget will last until January.

I'd be willing to bite, even at that cost, but I don't want to go alone. Over the past couple of days, I've realized, or rather remembered again, that some things are great even by yourself, but that you often walk away thinking: This would be better with somebody else.

I think I'm going to stay in London a few more days. My trip is so loosely planned and I think I need to fix that a little, and it's hard to travel and plan at the exact same time. I have Ireland and Paris in my sights. I check out websites about Barcelona and Amsterdam. Maybe I should add those to my trip?

Day Four:

So there's a wrench in my plans. The hostel I'm staying at overbooked itself. I can't extend my stay. I frantically pack my stuff into my 40L max rucksack. It doesn't fit as well as it did the first time I packed it, and I'm starting to feel a little annoyed when I think about unpacking and repacking it all the time.

I check a few other hostels. They're either booked or actually pretty expensive. I look up hotels and realize I have no interest in throwing down $200.

And so I jump on an idea: There's a city called Brighton to the south. It's a coastal town that was on my list of potential places to visit since there's a lot going for it: it's on the ocean, the weather promises sun (unlike London, and Seattle for that matter), it's a British resort destination, apparently England's largest LGBT community, and a ton of local seafood to boot.

I was already thinking of going at some point, today seems like as good a day as any. I find a cheap hotel to stay for the night, and allow myself the slightly higher cost since I didn't have any time to do any research.

I head to the nearest national railway station (which conveniently happens to be the same London Underground tube stop I was already using, and also happens to be the site of that famous Harry Potter 9 & 3/4 thing), find a ticket machine and purchase a ticket for the next train to Brighton.

I expect the train's departure time to be in an hour or so. It's in ten minutes. And the next one will be twenty minutes after that. What kind of efficient national railway system is this?

I have no idea what to expect when I step off the train, but it really wasn't this:

It's so sunny and I can see the ocean and all of these little lanes and alleyways look like a lot of fun. It's got that coastal air and I'm already feeling great about my little side excursion.

I stop by a small restaurant that a friend recommended for some fish and chips. It's probably the best fish part of the fish and chips that I've ever had. The chips, I don't know. The British really don't seem to know how to do fries for some reason. It's like they're not even trying to season them or use potatoes with any real taste.

The beer however, is spot on. And I realize I haven't had a single beer in England yet. I'll have to make up for this mistake.

I walk around for a couple more hours since it's not check-in time yet. I'm enjoying everything I see, from the little shops, to the obligatory shopping mall and the random live music.

What I am not enjoying, however, is lugging my rucksack with me everywhere. It's not that heavy, but after a while it starts to, um, weigh on you. Pun intended I guess. I'm started to sincerely regret bringing some of my things. I wonder if I could have done with fewer clothes, or maybe I didn't need my other pair of shoes. A lot of suspicion is falling on my SLR though. It's heavy, and unless you're a dedicated photographer, I'm not sure it's worth bringing along. I haven't used it yet. Every so often I have desires to be slightly more than an amateur photographer, but those desires sort of just stay there—as desires.

I'm also thinking most people should ditch their laptops. Writing is too important for me for that, but I doubt that's true for others. Every ounce really does count, and your shoulders get real tired real quickly while you're on the go.

Eventually I do check in and take the opportunity to sprawl out on the bed. It's a little big for one person but that's neither here nor there. I decide to book some of the other parts of my trip I had in mind, including a flight to Dublin, a flight to Paris, and some hostels and an Airbnb as well. Part of me feels better knowing that some of my plans are more concrete. Part of me is sad that I won't have as many spontaneous travel decisions.

And part of me wonders if I should go to a local bar or try a club. I go out and wander for a bit, but nothing really catches my eye. I'm also kind of tired.

Day 5:

Before I started this trip, a friend recommended I buy a bunch of underwear from outdoor company Patagonia.

"You will smell before they do," he stated.

He's not wrong. That doesn't mean it won't set some bad habits in motion.

One of the weird things I brought with me was a resistance band. I take the 'I'm in a hotel' opportunity to workout with it. It doesn't quite do the same thing as being in a gym but it's what I've got. I worry for a moment that I'm losing all the hard work I've done in the gym over the past few months. But I suppose this is worth it. You always have to make these kinds of tradeoffs.

I flex a bit in the mirror and I more or less still look the same. It's only been a week.

I check out and enjoy a morning by the water where I sit and just relax. The beach is a misnomer, since it's just a bunch of really smooth rocks. It's still pretty comfortable to sit on, and you can still stare out at the ocean for hours.

I have a text conversation with my brother. He notes that this is my first unplanned stop, and then he summarizes an article he read a long time ago: Time seems to slow down when you encounter new things, and that as things become routine, that makes the time doing them seem to pass faster. Which is why time seems to feel slower as children and that every year feels like an eternity, but that as you get older, time speeds up since nothing is new. Unless, of course, you keep doing new things.

I take this as his way of congratulating me on my random pit-stop. After all, he was one of the people who really wanted me to do this trip. And it does, actually, feel like I've been on the road for a while even though it's been less than a week.

After some more exploring, I feel like I've hit the edge of what Brighton has to offer. There's only so much to do here and so I think it's time to go back to London. It's a nice detour, and a nice destination and I'd totally come back, but I'd never live here. I also can't help but suspect that, as I've been feeling, and as great as Brighton is, I'd still rather do this with someone else.

I think the travel-related truth is, having no plans is doable. Having no friends with you is doable. The venn diagram overlap of having neither and having it be enjoyable, is very small.

to be continued...