24 Lessons I've Learned at 24

I'd like to start by formally apologizing (to anyone who cares) for not updating "This is Life" in so long.   A lot has happened since April and hopefully I'll start updating "regularly" again soon.  But now I'm here to continue an annual tradition started in 2014 --

One year ago today, I sat on my parents' porch in beautiful Vermont and wrote a list of 23 lessons I had learned at 23.

I ended by saying: "Stay tuned for 24 -- a lot can change in a year."

Insightful, considering I had no idea exactly how much was about to change...

Coming up on my 25th birthday (don't even get me started...) I only have about a week left for this installment.  So here goes, 24 lessons I've learned at 24.  Bear with me...

1. Having an oven is underrated.

2.  Count your blessings.

3.  Just going to go ahead and state it for the record -- yoga always helps.

4.  Try new things.

5.  Go to Turkey for the food, South Africa for the landscapes, India for the sheer experience, and Cambodia if you want to drink cheap beer, see lots of temples, and... melt.

6. You do you.

7.  Read the news.

8.  Anyone who speaks English as a first language is blessed beyond belief.

9.  Modern communication is a revelation.

10.  Just do it.

11.  Respect your teachers.

12.  Something cliche about how money is a necessary evil.

13.  Treat yourself.

14.  When beers cost 50 cents you tend to drink a lot more of them.

15.  Haters gonna hate.

16.  Freelance = Free food.

17.  Put lime on your omelettes!

18.  As they say, distance does make the heart grow fonder.

19.  Take big chances.

20.  Being selfish is not always a bad thing.

21.  Move to Southeast Asia for the cheap massages alone.

22.  Put yourself in other peoples' shoes.

23.  For the love of all that is good -- do not, I repeat: do not overstay your tourist visa in India.

And last but not least...

24.  You are the only person that can create change in your life -- create it.  Change is good.

~ Stay tuned.  At this rate, 25 could be a doozy! ~

The Road is Closed

So I want to preface this post by telling you that Cape Town is amazing, as are six week vacations.

And after drowning in Turkey for six months, those weeks in South Africa were the breath of fresh air that I needed.

Lots of family time (Ryan's family are just the loveliest people), beer, good food, yoga, hiking, tourism, wine, sleeping, and playing with Jake, the huge, cuddly, lovey, sugarplum, fluff-ball, German Shepard.

And on Wednesday morning, overwhelmed with sadness, we departed.

-- Cape Town > Johannesburg > 9 hour layover (hello, Airport Craft Brewers) > Abu Dhabi > another (shorter) layover > Mumbai --

We spent 1.5 glorious days in beautiful Bombay and booked a flight to Delhi.

This morning we took a cab at 4:45 to the Mumbai airport, which happens to be one of the most beautiful works of architecture that I have ever seen -- not that I'm any kind of expert.

We took our flight, collected our checked bags, and hopped on the metro to the city center.

That was when disaster struck.

Let me paint a little picture for you:

The two of us freshly off the air-conditioned subway, hot, sweating through our clothes, carrying our heavy backpacks, nearly gagging on the smell of stale urine, desperate for a bottle of water, etc.

You have that in your head?

So we had made a booking at a hostel that was allegedly near the train station, but the screenshot of the location that Ryan had taken on his phone was kind of confusing and we were slightly disoriented.

So, in a foreign country with no data plan, the next best option was to ask someone.

We asked one man who gave a somewhat vague answer that implied that the area our hostel was in was a private area and that we would have to obtain some form of permission from a tourist office to get to the place.

Sounded like bullshit.

Then we asked another man who, essentially, told us the same thing in many more words and in a much more convoluted manner.

When we finally escaped from him, Ryan said, "Jesus, what was his angle?"

Finally, we left the train station and chatted with a couple of Belgian backpackers who seemed to be having the same problem as us.

One of them, who had been in India for awhile, negotiated a rickshaw price and, as there's barely enough room for two people in the rickshaws, we were forced to part ways.

Possibly mistake number one.

Mistake number two:

We took the advice of the second man in the train station and went to a "government tourist office" to obtain the necessary permission to enter the alleged "private area".

Upon entering the office we were led into a back room where we sat at a desk and explained our problem and our confusion.

The man we were speaking to confirmed that the area was indeed private, but offered to call our hostel for us.

Ryan gave him the number and we watched him dial.

The man handed the phone to Ryan who spoke to one of the employees that told him that the hostel was closed due to a demonstration that had happened the previous day.  The man behind the desk didn't seem surprised and reassured us that it was only because "The safety of tourists comes first."

He told us that the only other hotel options were in the center of the city and would probably cost $300-$400/night -- which is obviously not in our budget.

We then explained to him that we have a private taxi coming to fetch us tomorrow to take us to Rishikesh, where I will be doing my yoga course.

He then offered to call the ashram where I will be doing said course.

I gave him the number and watched him dial.

He handed the phone to me and I struggled to explain my situation to a mumbling man on the other end of the line who said that all of the ashram's taxis that were coming from Delhi were full and that the next available car would be some time tomorrow evening (after I am meant to arrive).  He also said that staying in Delhi at this time would not be safe.

After explaining this sketchy phone call to the man behind the desk he told me that our only other option was to, instead, take a taxi this afternoon.

However, he said, it would probably cost 16,000 rupees ($300) -- again, not in our budget.

So we left.

Immediately upon exiting the building, another rickshaw driver pulled up and somewhat sincerely told us that the office we had just exited was a "fake office" and that the area we needed to go to was, indeed, open.  He seemed genuine enough and he offered us a good price to drive us there, so, against our better judgement, we got in.

He chatted quite jovially to us as we drove, telling us about his two sons, asking if we had rickshaws in our countries, etc.

At one point he stopped the rickshaw for a moment to answer a call from his "family".

We continued to drive and, about two minutes later, as we approached the area we needed to be in, a man flagged us down to tell us that the area was closed and that we needed to go to another tourist office to sort our problem out.

Very fishy.

Without missing a beat (not to mention, without us asking him to), the rickshaw driver sped off to the "actual" government tourist office.  Upon arrival, he demanded an extra 20 rupees because it was "...not his fault that the area was closed and he has driven us further than expected."

Begrudgingly, we gave him the extra money and entered the office.

It was like déjà vu.

As soon as we walked in, we were taken into a back room where we sat at a desk and told a different man the same dilemma and were met with the same response.

Twice was enough, we left the office determined to find a place where we could call the hostel or the ashram on our own.

After walking for about 45 minutes in the blistering heat, suffering from near dehydration (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but I was definitely parched and feeling like shit), we found a coffee shop and entered.

We were able to use a phone and Ryan called the hostel and asked if they were open.

The woman on the other end gave us an affirmative and Ryan quickly explained what had just happened.  She tried not to laugh as she said, "Sir, that's a scam."

As soon as he hung up the phone, a man at the table next to us confirmed that she was right and that it's very common in Delhi.  We explained to him in more detail what had happened and he told us that these were in no way government offices and that they were tourism agencies trying to make a quick buck.

They work with the rickshaw drivers and apparently the man who stopped us on the road as well.

When the man at the first office called the hostel and the ashram, he was merely pressing the buttons while his friend or coworker waited on the other line.

So, feeling a bit like stupid tourists, we sheepishly found another rickshaw who took us to our hostel where we checked in, bought water, and were brought back to life by the AC.

Although it was insanely frustrating, I kind of can't help but be impressed by how elaborate the scam was.

Touché, my friends.  See you in hell.

Reflection and Vision

A few months ago, just before our winter break, on a day when I was feeling kind of bummed and unhappy with my present situation, Ryan and I were having a conversation.

He asked - "Are you proud of yourself for moving to Turkey?"

At the time, I wasn't really sure how to answer the question, I was too immersed in self-pity to try and put a positive spin on things.

So it goes.

But now, as my months in Bursa are coming to an end, I find myself evaluating my time here.

Am I "proud" of myself?

To a certain extent, yes.

I am proud of myself for leaving my comfort zone.

For going somewhere so far from what was familiar to me.

For embracing a new and different culture.

I loved our Christmas vacation.

Our day trips.

And I loved nearly every moment spent on Uludağ.

But, at the same time -- there are things I wish I had done differently.

I wish I had reached out more.

I am absurdly self-conscious about speaking Turkish.

I understand the language to a certain extent and my vocabulary is enough that I can communicate (however limited that communication may be) in most situations, but if I can avoid speaking it at any length, I do.

Probably because I am afraid that I will sound stupid, which is ridiculous and hypocritical coming from someone who has been teaching English to foreigners for the last (nearly) 6 months.

I should be the first to advocate for practicing foreign languages when you have the opportunity.

This silly insecurity of mine will help me to segue into my next "coulda, woulda, shoulda".

I wish I had been more independent.

I've relied on Ryan a lot since I've been in Turkey (bless his heart a thousand times over).

I don't know if it was because of my aforementioned self-consciousness when it came to the language or because of the way the culture treated me as a foreign woman or because I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of my free time in Bursa has been spent stressing (about work or money or work or my future... or work) and/or binge-watching my way through various TV series.

To be fair to myself, I would probably be doing a lot of the same things if I was working in America. But there is something about watching episode after episode of Game of Thrones on your couch half-way across the world that seems like more of a waste of time.

I also feel that I have been far too conscious, since the beginning, that my time in Turkey was limited. A fact that, I think, has negatively impacted my time here.

I didn't need to learn anything more than basic Turkish because when would I use Turkish again?

I didn't need to make friends because when would I see them again?

I didn't need to establish much of a routine here because I would be leaving in a few short months.

Etc, etc.

But, had  I done all of these things, would I have been doing myself a favor?

Probably.

I know that you don't have to like every place you travel to.

And I will just say it -- Bursa, while probably a very nice place to visit for a few days (especially if you have friends or family here), is not the most interesting or international city to live in.

As is wont to happen, I fell into a bit of a routine here (regardless of whether it was the one that I would have chosen for myself, normally).

Work, eat, work, do yoga, work, watch an HBO series, work, go for a hike, drink tea, work, etc.

Today, as we finished up our second cup of coffee and made a plan for the day, Ryan and I looked at a list of good places to eat in Bursa on Trip Advisor.

Feeling tired of Pideli Köfte (crazy, I know), we found a cafe that sounded interesting and ventured out to a part of the city neither of us had been to before, only to have a really lovely afternoon eating pizza and drinking freshly pressed juices.

So, contrary to my previous statement, maybe Bursa does have some long-term charm, if you look for it.  There's got to be a reason that it's the fourth biggest city in the country.

With each trip that I take, I learn something new about traveling. Something new about myself.  And I am greatly looking forward to the next couple of legs of my journey that are uniquely mine to mold into whatever shape I want them to be.