Learning together through instinct in a life of travel and trust.
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My partner and I have been travelling for a long time. Our first trip outside the USA was in 1996, and we’ve been on the road ever since. We are the type of travellers that will go by any means necessary to get from point a to point b. We don’t really care about point a nor b, we look for the adventures between. We often travel by unconventional methods. Hitchhike, long distance bicycle, and our current favourite — the long distance walk. Pick a country, any country, find a small town, get a map, pack your packs (which are never really unpacked) and set out on foot to explore the countryside and culture.
Travel shakes up your senses for greater awareness. Every sight and slight gesture can appear new, or at least the light will play on the eye, the air will play on the ear and nose differently from land to land. The smells, the sounds, the vibe — all are enlivening new neural paths. The travellers become more aware. Beware though — this awareness, when turned in on a relationship can be a tricky thing to navigate. That is why keeping the communication rolling is primary. My senses and your senses interpret input into different experiences when we compare them. When we get that gut kick, “Go This Way” feeling, and we don’t know exactly where or why, we bounce the feelings off another person.
The balance in perception allows for a greater awareness within the couple, the individuals, and the outside society. The process becomes an ever increasing cycle of higher awareness.
Watermelon Outside of Mexicali.
“System’s check?”
“75%”
“What’s the 25% deficiency?”
“Food, water”
“Do we need to go get food and water?”
“No, a ride would put me at 110%”
Fully loaded to the toppling point trucks of watermelons, straight from the field, keep lumbering past us on the curve of the freeway on-ramp. The Southwest desert heat penetrates your skull to bake the brain. Thumbs out, smiles on,and face each driver in the eye to try to pull one over and get a ride. After a seven day straight run on busses from Guatemala City to Calexico, we walked across the border, and started hitchhiking north. Whoosh, another watermelon truck rattles past, the density so heavy you feel its force from feet away as it curves the incline, gains speed, and straightens out for the killer desert run west to San Diego.
Our throats dry, stomachs rumbling from an inadequate breakfast of beans and bread, no tortilla on the US side of the border. We should have eaten on the Mexican side, but it was nearly 4 am when we pulled in. Anything available for food looked like it had been up all night too. So we were hungry, thirsty, frazzled, and waiting for a ride. Yes, we could of gone down and tried to scare up some grub at the gas station mini market, but this is hitchhiking. Sure enough, the second you step off your spot is when the ride you were waiting for will zip past unknowingly. We stayed stuck on that spot as our water bottles grew comedically empty, or was that delirium that made it funny?
Everything in us said, “Don’t move, stay, wait, soo,.” and by this point in our trip we had not only learned to trust that gut feeling, inner voice, instinct, what have you, but we had learned to discuss these intuitions when they came up. Our communication confirmed this was the spot and not to stray away. So we stayed glued to it. Another few watermelon trucks grumbled up the incline, you could smell the sweet ripe juice waiting redly inside those bursting rinds. The truck gears down, shifts, grinds, and almost slips as the driver eyes us with compassion. He wants to give us a ride if he was in a more conducive vehicle. He catches the gear slip, the truck jerks just a bit, and a lofty melon balanced at the peak of the load wiggles. The momentum of the curve angles it back in place. Almost.
Another three or four trucks, and a bunch of ‘lock your doors automatically as you drive by’ drivers. No ride. No water now. No we won’t move. The ride is coming, we can feel it like a gentle breeze that portends a howling gale. Then another watermelon truck. This one a bit weak in its springs, a bit uneven in its over the top load, a bit more of a tip as it curves to the on-ramp, a bit of a wiggle on the upper most melon, a bit more of a tilt to the truck, a bit of rolling momentum to the melon. There it goes, rolling, toppling, bouncing over the edge, a gentle syrupy arc to the pavement. It hits. It splits. It slides right to us. One half at each pair of feet. Without missing a quarter beat, we both grab and dive face first into the still field warm melon. Thirst Is satisfied and bellies pleasantly plumped. Two cars later, a delivery van stops and calls us over.
“Get in quick. I’m going all the way to San Diego, I ain’t supposed to take riders but I don’t want to read any more news about people dying in this stretch of the desert.”
At the time, this was a highly active border crossing for migrant workers. Due to the ‘illegality’ of these crossing, the workers were force to take “out of sight” routes that often lead to death by exposure to the desert climate extremes. We had our ride, and the second the door opened, both of us realised that we were safe with this ride. How did we know? Our guts and the confirming eye contact with each other told us. This is how we figured out all this instinct, trust, and communication.
“System’s check?”
“125%”
“Awesome!”
Guatemala City Meltdown
The way we realised that you need to talk with your partner about those ‘illogical’ gut feelings started in Guatemala City, after six months travelling by whatever means necessary around Mexico, Belize and Guatemala. We never start out travelling with much for funds, so we do all we could to keep it on the cheap side. We set out on foot to explore this new city. Our path through the Guatemala City’s central park, which is hard to avoid if your are just wandering around, lead us to a tight ring of people. Inside the ring, fire erupted! A performance was about to begin. This was a family of performers, mother, father, and two kids with another on the way. The performer family did a variety of human daring feats to entertain and earn money.
In a rush, we were caught up with Jose and Marie, Piyo and China, the performance and the crowd. This was a random opportunity. We were hooked. During lulls in the performance we got to know the family. Jose ended up inviting us to stay with his them. In exchange, we helped out with ‘rent’ and food and would be performing with him in the park everyday. Now we had a great benefit on both sides. Our travel expenses would stretch further, we would get a classic education in street performance, and Jose would rake in a lot of extra money having some ‘gringo’ performers to play with in the park.
We transferred our packs to the small shared room in what might have been a hotel at one time, but now was basically a paid for squat. The ‘rent’ going to a guy who had positioned himself near the entrance and required a fee to enter. No one really knew where that money went. I should pause to explain the overall situation of Guatemala City at this time.
The previous year, 30 years of civil war had finally ended. A few months before we arrived, a bishop had been calling out for the government to address atrocities committed during the war. A few weeks before we arrived, the bishop was assassinated. Huge protests descended onto the capitol city and the central park became a temporary camp. A few days before we got into Guatemala City, the protests had been broken up and the camp dispersed. This was the scene at the central park where we were getting an “in front of the audience” education in street performance. Everyday we had to be aware of the audience, Jose’s direction, and the underlying atmosphere of the park. Tension still blanketed the stones.
We gained a bit more familiarity with the feel of the place, the routine, the nights packed 7 or 10 into a room adequate for one, the Rottweiler that lived on the adjoining roof, the stream of visitors with questions of sincerity, and those with questions of shadiness. When, “How did you travel here,” becomes “how much did it cost,” becomes, “how will you get back,” becomes, “how much money do you have right now?” You can start to sense the potential problem in continuing that conversation. We were even getting used to, almost to the point of dangerously playful, with the undercover police who would regularly stop us because,
“You don’t look like you belong in this neighborhood.”
What did raise my nerves were the military trucks with the canvas flaps tied tight.
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Then the street vendors decided it was time to form a union. Now, you have to imagine, most of the streets in the central part of Guatemala City are literally lined on both sides with street vendors. This was not a small movement of trade or crafts people. this was a unionisation effort for a huge demographic. The city responded in turn. massive amounts of police, riot police, and special forces began flowing steadily into the city each day and all night. Our days in the park grew a bit more actively tense. I never really worried about the military trucks that rolled by, the canvas flaps on the back peeled aside to show lines of soldiers, armed and ready for action. What did raise my nerves were the military trucks with the canvas flaps tied tight. Only on helmeted head and one shoulder peaking out with assault rifle strapped around forearm on the ready. That never bodes well.
If this wasn’t enough, Mt Pacaya, a volcano near the city, began to rumble and let off ash plumes and an occasional obsidian raining belch. I had also started to notice a couple of people who were at our performances everyday, not unusual in itself, but what was unusual is how I would keep seeing them near or just outside the place where we slept, or on the route to and from the park. Every day. More than once a day. Almost like we were being cased. In addition, our money was reaching the point of no return. We had a little bit more than what it would cost to get second class busses back to the US Border where we could find jobs.
All my guts instincts had been telling me to go for a week or more. The voice in my head was now screaming itself bloody and raw to GO! But I held out, I didn’t want to disappoint my partner. One morning we woke up, and we both could see the stress etched in the lines of our faces. That is when the communication began. I don’t recall who said it first, but I do remember it started with,
“Hey, I haven’t wanted to say anything about this, but I’ve been having this feeling.”
Once all the pieces were in place we were certain that something bad was about to happen.
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The details then poured out from both sides. Once all the pieces were in place we were certain that something bad was about to happen. The threat wasn’t coming form the people we were staying with, we could trust them and they us. That was assured. The danger came from the others who were “paying rent” at the same place as us. We decided then and there that it was time to go.
We went straight away to the bus station and started the long ride north that eventually ended in Mexicali, and we had to start hitchhiking, and you know that story already.
Processing the experience
The events in Guatemala City took some time to sink in. when we told the tale to friends and family, they were stunned in disbelief. When we recalled the story between ourselves, we discovered a deeper bound in our relationship. One that went beyond words and into instinct, but one that words were necessary to understand and cultivate. Not only had we been bitten by the travel bug, but we had been enlivened by the effects that travel was having on our instincts and the way were participating in our relationship. These weren’t easy lessons to learn, they had their pitfalls, arguments, walk outs, and eventual returns. The important thing was that through it all we kept the awareness of self and other and our surroundings, and the communication stayed open. Even when separated by oceans, our love and bond continued to be enhanced.
In the process of sharing mutual instinct with your partner, trust your guts and talk about it. You learn how to read people: body language, tone, face, awareness of social and environmental factors, focused on detail but relaxed. You also learn that people can read you. Just being yourselves becomes obviously important. Most people show their deceit in their bodies, faces, and tones. The partners, individually and as a third mind, must be true to themselves and each other. The realness from inside is projected outward to the strangers you meet along the road. The genuine thirst for communication and exchange with the community you are traveling in is the intention that people will always welcome. These factors keep the book of you being read by others on a page of trust and respect. Our instinct has also showed us the way people of dubious intent respond to our realness. The realness throws them off and makes them a bit easier to “read.”
Instinct in Practice in Serbia
Everyone around Bela Palanka knows Tsane. He had painted a wagon and use to travel in it with a donkey. Before we knew this, Tsane was cleaning his carpets at the small reservoir we were camped next to. We said hello to him and his little dog as he washed his carpets. After he was done he asked us, and our dog, over for coffee.
Paprika was in full harvest. Autumn brought the fresh garden grown paprika out to dry. Tsane gave us a first gift of kindness, a huge string of dried paprika for our meals down the road.
We didn’t get straight away open house status at Tsane’s. We didn’t even venture the possibility. We were just there for breakfast and to learn about this guy on a rattly old motorbike with a little dog running behind him who washed his carpets in the reservoir. The breakfast was the hearty fresh and delicious garden grown Balkan standard. Shopska salad (tomato, cucumber, crumbly sheep cheese) eggs, bread, chills, and of course rakia which was supposed to be coffee, but this was Sunday in Serbia!
We got to know Tsane and his wife and their little dogs. They got to know us and our medium size dog. After food and music, song, and conversation, Tsane and his wife went into the house for a few moments with serious looks on their faces. We stayed relaxed and trusting our instincts. We waited and talked about which way we felt the road was pulling us. When Tsane remerged from the house, he beckoned us inside with him and began showing us around. He explained the dos and don’ts of the place. Then he told us that we would be staying there for the night. End of story. Tsane and his wife weren’t able to stay, but we were free to do as we please. Tsane would be back in the morning to say goodbye and lock the place up.
They were like us. They followed their gut feeling. For Serbians to open their house to US citizens who were complete strangers was a rare event. But that is Serbia now, the traditional hospitality for the traveler is still very much alive, especially when they show up on foot out of realness. Tsane and his wife got a feel for us over food, then talked about their gut instinct before inviting us to stay. They saw that we were like them. After the offer to stay, we went off to talk about our gut feelings about this. We were confident in each others trust of our new friends. We quickly came back with,
“Yes, we will stay!”
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When you travel, as Tsane had for his music, and Nanci and I have for most of our adult lives, you get that feel for a stranger. I guess that other “jobs” can also develop this instinct/intuition. Yet, I am a traveller and travel is what inspired my instinct and a deeper bond and growth with my life long partner. The traveler develops a feel for the stranger, sometimes at a moments notice. The feel for the stranger is particularly useful when you travel by whatever means necessary. There are times when you only have a split second to decide if the ride is, “Good to go” or “Definitely a no go.”
I couldn’t determine if he said, “I am only going six miles,” or if he said, “I am only going sick smiles.”
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Outside of Costa Mesa we had to put this to the test. We only had a moment to decide if the ride, who could only take as a short distance, was go or no go. He rolled down the window and I could feel Nanci feeling in her gut that this was not our ride. When he leaned over from the drivers seat and told us he was only going a short distance. I couldn’t determine if he said, “I am only going six miles,” or if he said, “I am only going sick smiles.” Either way, before he finished his words we were waving him on. Sometimes you don’t want to skip a ride, but when that gut voice screams out “dangerdangerdanger” you listen.
As a man named Menche said in Santa Elena, Guatemala on our first real trip outside our home culture,
“People will look at you, they will SEE you, and they will know that your Buenos Personas. Because of that, you will have no problem.”
His words set the mode for trusting myself, and my partner. His words confirmed our intentions were genuine. We just wanted experience, and by being open to it and the cultures we traveled through, we received a wealth of experience. His words started us on a journey of trust and instinct. We learned you can trust people, total strangers, anywhere in the world. You just have to follow your gut instincts, and talk about them with your travel partner.
Through trust of instinct and clear communication, you have each other’s backs.
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Communication keeps the wheels turning and help create a better balance for the gut instincts. Through trust of instinct and clear communication, you have each other’s backs. Not just in sketchy situations, and not just one sided. Back watching goes both ways equally. Watch out for your partner and let your partner watch out for you.
Nanci and I have always had the “Check-in Policy” whenever we are travelling/living on the road. The policy is about keeping a check on food, water, basic needs, emotional states, and gut instincts. These are the extreme necessities for long term team travel survival. We get swept up in the moment and forget to take care of ourselves sometimes, and sometimes keeping a check on another is easier than checking on ourselves.
“Systems Check?”
“220%. We are in sync!”
Craving for a bit more? Check out a summary of our walk through Serbia.
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Feature Photo: Katharina G./Flickr All other photos courtesy of the author unless otherwise noted.
So when do we walk again?
Will you come with me to walk Serbia again in 2016?
oxo
n-