I fear I’m losing...

my Mojo for this Wandering lifestyle. 

After my most recent trip to Europe, http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/11/would-you-ever-move-to-europe.html. I’ve been feeling B.B. King Bluesy. I’m worried that the Thrill is Gone. 

With barely a break in the action, I had to come up with a feasible game plan for my upcoming South America trip. 

In a few weeks, I’ll be traveling to Peru to do another trekking route to Machu Picchu. Then a National Geographic (read crazy pricey) ten day guided tour to the Galápagos Islands. Seven of those days will be spent on a boat. (I get seasick looking at a glass of water). 

When all this planning began, I was thinking I’d stay in Ecuador for a month. That was very ambitious with my present mindset. Currently, I don’t have it in me to figure out the how, when and where. I’ve had too many visions of asking for a table for one, getting on buses where my seat mates might be a chicken or worse a pickpocket, or spending too much time alone again in a country where English is a second or third language. I’ll be returning to the US right after seeing Darwin’s Islands. 

Am I running out of gas? Yes, in many ways I am. I’m getting tired of being my own travel agent and going it alone. 

It’s a couples world. I would love to have someone to share the misery of delayed flights, rental car ripoffs, eating lost in translation meals and the joy of going around a roundabout four times until you figure out which exit to take. I need more input than what I’m providing for myself.

Remember the origin of the word travel comes from travail for unpleasant work or torment or labor. It’s not always Joy!Joy! Happy!Happy! out there. 

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not nauseatingly terrible either. It would be beyond swell to share the hike to get there views, the quiet campfires, the chillin’ with a book moments, the coffee in hand sunrises or the IPA in koozie sunsets with a like-minded woman. 

I hinted at all the above in a blog not so long ago. http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/11/one-is-loneliest-number.html

On my recent visit to my old hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado I even glanced at Real Estate listings. Is it time for me to settle down?

I don’t know. 

After South America, I’ll return to the United States of Dark Ages, I’ll hang in Florida with my brother and sister-in-law. Eventually, I’ll go on a road trip in the Sunshine State. Then back to the Southwest to begin another three month lap in Barley the Van. In that yearly quarter, I think I’ll figure out whether I’m going through the motions of Wandering and Wondering or am I still Living the Dream. 

Maybe I just need a recharge.

Many decades ago, I took a winter vacation to check out Guadalupe National Park in Texas. When I pulled into a Trailhead parking lot, I noticed an older gentleman sitting in the doorway of his Winnebago RV. His head was cupped in his hands. When I returned from my four-hour hike, he hadn’t moved. He was lonely. He wasn’t a Happy Camper. 

I don’t want this scene to repeat itself with me.

I’m hoping for the best of outcomes,

Jeff 

PS. I’ll be in Scottsdale, AZ until December 18th. Of course, I’ll be shopping! NOT! 

“Would you ever move to Europe?”

was the question Hans and Sonja asked me during a Happy Hour conversation. 

Between sips of adult beverages, we were exchanging stories and information about our respective countries: Nederland, Finland and the US. 

I thought about the question for a moment. “No. I need more space than what I’m seeing in Europe. I would miss America’s National Parks, Wilderness Areas and Monuments.” 

With that said, here’s  the stats for comparative shopping analysis. There’s  743 million Europeans. There’s 323 million Yanks. Europe is slightly larger than the US as far as landmass goes. There’s a lot of humans milling around here. Europeans notion of personal space is a lot tinier than mine. 

Later on when we parted ways, I thought about this question some more. Below are multiple reasons why I don’t think I’m a good fit for Europe. (To my European buddies, the facts are correct according to Google. As usual, I’ll embellish this yarn. Please don’t start WW III over this blog. Unfortunately, America has a President with an itchy nuclear trigger finger)

I would have to take up smoking. Nearly twice the number of Europeans smoke compared to Americans. (29% to 15%.) Yet, most Europeans live longer than Americans. 

I would have to up my caffeine allotment. Europeans swill endless dainty cups of espresso/day and night. On a world wide basis, the US comes in 16th in Java consumption. 

I would have to grow a hipster beard and start sporting a Boy Bun hairdo. (No stats on the next few reasons). 

I would have to wear a scarf regardless of the weather or the season. 

I would have to relearn how to eat. A European will clutch their knife at all times. They poke, plod and shovel food around with it. A sort of multi use tool. Americans only use a knife as a cutting instrument or to butter bread. Most of the time, a knife is in stand-by mode. 

I would have to wear garments that are not quite long enough to be pants but too long to be shorts. 

I would have to shift my daily schedule by becoming a creature of the night. No more early to bed early to rise. I would have to-“Sigh!” - burn daylight by sleeping in. 

I would have to learn lots of languages. The Swiss people use four languages in a country the size of Vermont and New Hampshire combined. English is already a second language to me the way I get tongue tied at times.

I would have to give up my trail runners and flip flops. I would have to purchase real leather shoes! I have not owned a pair since the late 80’s. I would have to start dressing age accordingly. 

Here’s the toughest thing I would have to change. I would have to slow down. No one has ever said, “Faster than a European Nano-Second.” The Europeans don’t move all that fast. (Except when they are driving!) I say Americans move at the speed of money. That’s fast. 

All in all, I just couldn’t make all these paradigm shifts to become a true European. I barely fit the standards of being a typical or normal American. To quote Eddy Vedder of Pearl Jam fame, “I changed by not changing at all.” 

Alas, I’ve been this way for a long time. It’s my comfort zone. 

I’ll be Stateside soon. However, I shall return to Europe next summer and fall. Like I’ve said so often in this blog. It’s cool being in Europe!

Cheers from beautiful, rugged Madeira on my 63rd birthday. 

Jeff 

“One is the Loneliest Number”

Three Dog Night

Truer words were never sung in regard to a Solo Traveler’s quandary of eating dinner alone.

Supper time is the social meal. It’s the end of the day to hang and Happy Hour with friends and family. It’s the time to say to a significant other, “Honey! How’s your day been?” It’s the worse meal to eat alone in any country.

In Portugal, it sucks even more. 

For the most part, eating here seems to be a matter of function over form. Cafes, restaurants and bars are white light lit like a Walmart Store. Tables are squeezed together awaiting paying customers who don’t arrive in this off-season. The few locals who just occupy space without spending money get a full-on look at the Lonesome Loser amongst them. 

Dinner is not a Happy Meal for me in Portugal. 

Portuguese Proprietors and chefs must also be stressed because the meals are subpar as well.

At the same price I was paying in Spain for a three course meal with a bottle of Vino Tinto, I’m receiving an anorexic fish and fries on my plate. Not very filling or satisfying.

 The other day, I decided to go Native. I ordered a supposedly traditional Portuguese meal of white bean stew with shrimp and mussels. By the consistency and taste of those creatures, I’d say they hadn’t seen seawater since the Truman Administration. The next morning my stomach was gurgling. Nothing debilitating, but annoying. 

That evening, I decided to forego surf for turf. I ordered a pork chop. (Might not be the wisest choice for a Jew). The other white meat had the texture of a baseball’s cowhide. A chainsaw would have been the tool of choice to dissect it. A nibbled on a few ends. 

The following morning, my gut was in full rebellion. I was losing weight and not in a good way. I paid a visit to the local pharmacy. I’m now downing Maalox tablets like M&M’s. I think I’m turning the corner to a quiet stomach. I hope so. That way I can return to those brilliantly lit Portuguese cafes, restaurants and bars. 

I’ll say this. I’m missing simple American bars. There, I’m an IPA sipping, burrito eating, chillin’ out Dude totally engrossed in watching a sporting event. I’m a Man with a reason for being alone. I’m not a Lonely Loser. 

Cheers from way down South and West in Portugal,

Jeff