Every journey has a beginning, however obvious or not.
This section tells you of the spark that led us to sell all
our personal belongings don a backpack and set off for the unknown edges of the
world. Read about that fateful Sunday morning in January and the newspaper
article that inspired us, and follow the path we took to plan our adventure.
The article reprinted below appeared in the Oregonian on January 9, 2000. The decision we made was just as quick and matter of fact as the decision reported in this article.
Fran read the article in the Sunday Oregonian first. Rod
read it next.
“Did you read about the couple that took a year to travel
around the world?”
“Yeah, I saw that too. That’s really amazing.”
“It only cost them about $33,000. We spend more than that living here.”
“Yeah, let’s take a year and travel like that.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
And that was it. In an instant, we committed to spending the
year 2002 traveling around the world. And we haven’t looked back since. Could
it have been the attraction of sunny places on that gray Oregon
winter day? Sunshine certainly is attractive to an Oregonian! But as you read
along, you will see that it was more than just that.
Curious about the article that changed our path so abruptly?
Read it at you own risk!
A Year in the World
The Oregonian
January 9, 2000
Quit your job. Rent the house. Spend a year seeing the
world.
A rich person's dream? Not necessarily.
My wife and I often speculated about the Grand Tour -- a
trip around the world. The idea seemed to arise when we were on weekend trips
or vacations, when our heads were clear and calm.
Each time, however, we lacked the deep drive necessary to
plan such an adventure. Other issues distracted us: finding the time, finding
the money and what we would do about our jobs. Discussing such logistical
matters always flattened our enthusiasm.
Then, on a summer morning in 1997, Maggie walked abruptly
into my office. Her eyes were bright, but her tone serious. She blurted
directly: "How about if we stop what we're doing for a year and travel
around the world?"
My eyes widened with surprise. Her question was absent of
idle speculation, and I knew it required an absolute answer. Any suggestion
of "talking about it later" or discussing "how to" would
only serve to shatter this sweet but definitive moment. She posed an once-in-a-lifetime
question that begged an once-in-a-lifetime answer. I paused for perhaps 10
seconds before replying.
"I've always dreamed of this kind of a great
adventure," I said. "Why not, let's go."
My answer stunned us both. I've not been known for quick
declarations of certainty. Yet in that moment, I knew I had no other choice.
We stared at each other for a few moments before I broke the silence.
"I've got an appointment. I've got to go. Let's start planning
tonight."
All Maggie said was, "OK," and she left the
room.
That two-minute conversation set in motion an astounding
chain of events that took us from the office of our banker to a language
school in Spain to a Buddhist retreat in France to the Himalayas in Nepal and
to a thousand places in between. For 12 months, from March 1, 1998, through February 26, 1999, we traveled around the world
on a journey that proved to be as much of an adventure into our souls as it
did an exploration of foreign lands.
And, to cut to the chase: The total cost -- from airfare
to souvenirs -- for our trip of a lifetime for two was $33,643.
I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO
Our lives had been comfortable and our careers moderately
successful. We both worked out of offices in our home -- I'm a free-lance
writer, Maggie is a conflict-resolution consultant. But while our lifestyle
produced comfort, we admitted more to complacency than to satisfaction. Our
kids (one of mine living with his mom, my first wife; one of hers now grown
and on her own) were not an issue, but at ages 44 and 49, we were still a
long, long way from retirement. There would be no better time; there would be
no worse time.
It was time, as Maggie said, "to go see things
differently."
Early that July evening, Maggie arrived home with a map of
the world, and we began the rollicking task of preparing to be gone for 365
days. As we looked at the map, the awesomeness of a year of travel began to
sink in: a year of hotel rooms, a year without income, a year void of
traditional responsibilities.
We began making notes. The result: a six-page jumble of
ideas and questions and a haphazard list. After a couple of hours of writing,
we were overwhelmed -- we knew we'd barely touched the surface. For six
months, we continually revised the list, but we weren't finished with it until
the hour we left the house.
As we started telling friends about our plans, we were
greeted with the same question:
How do you plan something like this?
There are, of course, loads of details, most of them
mundane. But before attending to those, we posed this question to ourselves: How do we want this journey to "feel"?
Our intent was not to engage in rampant sightseeing or to
visit as many countries as possible. Our intent was to move slowly, focus on
the moment at hand and savor a full year immersed in foreign cultures. We
shunned setting rigid schedules. The inner journey was to be equal in
importance to the traveling adventure.
After coming to that understanding, we began considering
what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go. Most often, our conversations
started with, "I've always wanted to ..." High on our agendas were
outdoor activities, learning some Spanish and spiritual exploration.
EUROPE AND BEYOND
Our trip started on a soulful note with a visit to a
spiritual center in the tiny village
of Dornburg northwest of Frankfurt,
Germany. There we sat
in meditation each evening over the course of eight days with about 100
people from all over the world. During the day we made long walks in the
idyllic countryside. The previous month had been a nerve-racking scramble of
preparation. The quiet time during the first two weeks helped us remember our
true purpose.
After the quiet we were ready for our next stop: Paris.
Certainly, there was no avoiding the art museums and the famous towers. Yet
much more satisfying than moving with the tourist hordes was simply walking
through the crazy labyrinth of streets. In neighborhood markets we bought
fruit, cheese, baguettes and cheap wine, then consumed them either in elegant
parks or while sitting on benches along the Seine.
The south of France
is renowned for its rolling countryside and friendly farmers ready to sell
jugs of their own red wine. But instead of visiting vineyards, we sampled
life at the spartan Buddhist retreat of Plum
Village.
During the earliest days of spring, we sat in blooming
plum orchards and took instruction about how to revel in the present moment
-- the only time, Buddhists teach, that really matters.
FOUR MONTHS IN SPAIN
We arrived in Spain
in early April, ready for a long stay. For three weeks we toured the pastoral
Pyrenees mountains and the Basque country in the
north, strolled Barcelona's wide
thoroughfares and lounged on the beaches of the Mediterranean coast.
Then it was time to get serious. In Salamanca
we enrolled in language school for a month of Spanish lessons. After more
travel through the rugged interior and the sensuous south, we moved to the province
of Galicia. There on the
northwest coast near the village of
Muros, we rented a bay-front
apartment, reveled in the village, made new friends and practiced our meager
Spanish.
HEADING EAST
At the end of July we took a long train ride to
southeastern France.
For three weeks we hiked in the Alps near Grenoble
and Chamonix and indulged in the local gastronomy. As
the weather began to cool, we boarded ferry boats, crossed the Adriatic
and the Aegean seas and wandered for eight weeks through Greece
and Turkey.
Because autumn is the best time for hiking in the Himalayas,
we arranged our itinerary to arrive in Nepal
in early October. For nearly a month we walked the trail that circles the Annapurna
mountain range, reaching the geographical climax of our travels at 17,700
feet on the pass known as Thorung La.
Our first stop in India
was Varanasi, the ancient holy
city on the Ganges River.
By the thousands, Hindus go to the banks of the river every day to bathe, to
pray and to burn their dead. The oppressively compact city teems with people,
taxis, roaming cows and pigs -- and filth. The scene made us question our
decision to travel on the subcontinent.
Five weeks later, on Christmas Day in Calcutta,
we wandered the city's Maidan Park
and central market along with thousands of Indians. We watched men in whites
playing cricket, marveled at the beautiful women in their brightly colored
saris, and bargained for silk scarves.
The shock upon our arrival had faded, and we humbly
admitted that someday we'd return.
In Thailand,
we gagged in the polluted, sprawling concrete mass of hustler-filled Bangkok.
The northern hill country, overrun with European tourists and sleazy local
tour operators, offered little charm. We managed to redeem this segment with
a 10-day silent retreat at a meditation center, followed by a week on the
stunning remote island of Ko
Chang.
Our final stop, Bali in Indonesia,
is an internationally known tourist destination. Fortunately, residents cling
fiercely to their Hindu roots while allowing outsiders a glimpse of their
exotic culture.
NOTHING TO COMPARE
In all the countries, the natural beauty was astounding
and the historic relics intriguing. But most fascinating was to be drenched
by the foreign cultures, to spend so much time with people from other lands.
Parisians sit down in cafes to drink their coffee -- none
of this running out with a paper cup. The Spanish close their businesses in
the afternoon to take time for family and food and rest. The people who live
in the mountains of northern Nepal
have so little, but somehow they find so much to smile about.
Every day served up a sensual feast; every day was a test.
There were downtimes. Sometimes we longed for American
conveniences. Occasionally I drifted into emotional panic about the money.
But in those unsettling moments, I asked myself: "So how would it feel
if you called off this adventure right now?"
My spirit always moved swiftly to provide the answer:
"That would not be possible. Nothing can compare with this."
JOSEPH
P. LEWANDOWSKI
Special to The Oregonian Sunday, January 9, 2000
Joe Lewandowski and Maggie Carter live in Fort
Collins, Colorado
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