Six Thousand Forty Dollars and Seventy Nine Cents

“Siddhartha began to speak and said, ‘Well, Govinda, are we on the right road?  Are we gaining knowledge?  Are we approaching salvation?  Or are we perhaps going in circles – we who thought to escape from the cycle?”  - Herman Hesse, Siddhartha 

I arrived in Hoi An yesterday, a quaint, dusty little tourist town on the central coast, and found out after several hours of patient searching that it would be the most expensive place I’ve yet stayed, the cheapest hotel providing me accommodation for not a penny less than 7.40 USD per night.  But the food and beer are ridiculously cheap and after a night’s sleep and a scenic bike ride up the river to the deliciously cold, royal-blue ocean, Hoi An is growing on me; not enough to stay a week, but enough to say it’s worth a visit. 

Tonight, in a small café near my hotel, I met a French woman who has been traveling two years and has recently bought her ticket back to Paris, scheduled for June.   She is 30 years old, retirement age for this life, and it was a small relief for both of us to talk to someone who’s not “taking a break from uni”.   We watched the motorcycles splash through the rainy streets, ordered beers, rolled joints, and talked late into the evening about traveling and what it teaches you; the things she had hoped to discover and the mysteries that still confound her.  She hasn’t figured everything out in two years, but she knows enough not to be disappointed by that.   

  

It has been five months since I set out on this journey and it may be that that constitutes “halfway”.   The original plan was long term enough, and my departure abrupt enough, that it has always felt like more than a long holiday, more than just a vacation where I take in the sights and pose for a lot of pictures and return refreshed to the routine of the same life that I left behind.  Still, it’s hard to say what I hoped to gain when I set out and I have, at times, found myself at a loss when I’m asked this question by the occasional, precocious traveler. I dimly recall something about using distance to get perspective and perhaps there was also something about challenging myself to become a better person, and of course simplifying my life, but the decision itself was an impulsive one, some might even say rash, and when it was finally finished there were few goals stated clearly other than leaving.  Those first days in Nepal had my blood rushing with the shock of leaving my old life behind and the promise of what felt like unlimited time and choices.  There were certainly moments, particularly around Christmas, when I wanted to go home, but there have been many more times when staying in motion was clearly the path of least resistance.  Now, as the end of the line comes closer even as I push it further into the distance, as I find the frequency of lessons and insights diminishing as living out of a backpack gets more comfortable, as the road gradually becomes an end unto itself, I have to ask myself that same question: “What do you hope to get out of this?”.  It’s possible I know part of the answer.  Other parts elude me, but I cling to the hope that they are waiting.  It’s my plan to find those parts and add them to what I have, using them to build something that I hope will be worth keeping.  “If it’s not worth keeping, if it’s not enough…” the quiet, persistent voice of doubt asks,”What then?”  Then I hope I’ll be wise enough, like the woman in the café, to count myself lucky, treasure the memories, and move on.  But already I feel it has been worth it.  And it continues to be worth it.   And I’m still a long way from stopping.