Oh bachelor frog...

You’ve bought your ticket, got your guidebook, and now you’re ready to pack your bags. You look around at all the things you use on a daily basis, look at your backpack, and begin freaking out because you have NO IDEA how to fit it all in.

Fortunately, it’s not as hard as it seems. On all of my trips, whether they’ve been a couple weeks or months, hot or cold, beach or mountains, I’ve packed more or less the same stuff.

Here’s my list.

The Bag: Arguably the most important thing next to your flights and passport, getting a good bag is key. I recommend one somewhere between 50-70 liters in volume. It should have plenty of pockets and fit comfortably on you when fully loaded. There are people who travel with smaller bags (30-45L) but I personally find it too constricting. On the other hand, those with 80-90L bags look like they’re off to Everest base camp, not a backpacking trip. Keeping it in the 50-70L range will give you good mobility while also giving you ample space. And whatever you do, don’t skimp out on quality. Saving a few bucks on a cheaper bag and having it break in the middle of a trip is not worth it.

Electronics: Most backpackers these days have a cadre of electronics, these are mine.

• iPhone 4: perfect replacement for a laptop. Takes care of Skype, emails, and news. iPhones can also be unlocked to use local SIM cards
•  iPod Shuffle: low-profile, portable, and it just works
• Kindle: I do a lot of reading on the road and the Kindle is small, light, and holds thousands of books
• DSLR (D40 with one lens, either 35mm fixed or my 10-24mm): Although larger than point and shoots, DSLRs offer much higher picture quality and control
• Related chargers

You don't need to be a retired 30 year old millionaire to experience this.

One of the things people always ask me is how I can afford to take the trips that I do. To some, it is mind boggling that I manage to get out of the country a couple times per year. In reality, it’s not only possible, it’s relatively easy.

There are essentially three barriers to traveling: 1) money 2) time and 3) health. When you have all three, the world is your oyster. However, if you lack even one, making a trip happen becomes considerably harder.

Consider three cases: a 20 year old college student, a 28 year old white collar office worker, and a 65 year old retiree. The college student has plenty of time and is probably in or close to the best shape of her life. But unfortunately for her, she has no money. In many cases, the plane ticket alone costs a grand, a sum of money that is hard to come up with when you’re barely making enough to purchase Natty Light. The office worker, on the other hand, has built up a sizable nest egg. He’s also a fitness freak so health isn’t an issue. But guess what? His TPS reports are due every Monday morning and although company policy states that he gets 2 weeks off a year, no one actually takes it for fear of falling behind in the rat race. The retiree looks at the two and laughs because he’s got plenty of cash and lots of time. Except he’s laughing from a wheelchair. Try doing this in a Hoveround.

But let’s dig a little deeper into these three aspects:

- – -

Health, in my opinion, is the most inflexible obstacle if you’re trying to go backpacking. If we’re talking about a five star hotel kind of trip, then yes, even a broken femur probably won’t stop you. But if you’re planning on taking bone-jarring overnight bus rides and sleep in shitty mattresses with bulging coils, then not being 100% healthy will really make your trip quite miserable. And if it’s anything serious, you probably shouldn’t be leaving the country anyways.

- – -

Time is more malleable. Barring you work in a bend-over-and-take-it-in-the-ass kind of job, you should have your two weeks per year. And even if you do work in a job like that, there is hope: I worked in finance and still managed to finagle my way to a few 7-14 day vacations. But just because you get two weeks off doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll have enough time to go on a foreign adventure. A lot of people like taking random days off here and there. Before they know it, they’ve used half their vacation days. I don’t do this. I go the lump sum approach: take a lot of vacations days and pair them up with off-days/weekends to make at least a 10 day trip. This way, those 14+ hour flights each way are actually worth it and you aren’t spending 1/5 of your time in transit. And if you’re in-between jobs or have some other sort of gap, it’s a no-brainer time to go traveling.

- – -

Cost, believe it or not, is probably the easiest issue to deal with. Let’s break this down into two parts: the flight and living expenses.

By far, one of the largest expenses is the flight. But fear not, there’s a way to make it nearly free. If you have a decent credit score, you can almost always qualify for one of many credit card sign up bonuses. Many airlines will give you 25-100K miles after signing up and meeting spend requirements (if any) on their card. I started collecting points about 1.5 years ago and I’ve managed to take three flights to Central America, one flight to Colombia, and a flight to China on miles, paying only taxes and fees. In all, I’ve probably saved around $4,000.

So can you do it? Of course you can! Figuring it out at first can be a bit daunting but one of the best resources is the MilesBuzz FlyerTalk forum. Bookmark it, read it often, soak up the knowledge, and soon you’ll be jet setting around the world for free.

Living expenses (food, shelter, transportation, entertainment, booze, etc.) is the other cost variable. This post covers a lot of common sense money saving tips. Read through it and you’ll be counting bills in no time.

One way to look at it is comparing traveling expenses with living expenses. Assume you’re in your mid 20s, single, living in a shared apartment in a major metropolitan area. A rough estimate of typical monthly expenses: rent $1,000, food $400, entertainment $400, misc. $200. That adds up to $2,000 which is around $67 a day. With a little bit of diligence, most people can save $2,000 fairly easily. Now you may be asking, “…and how does this compare to costs while on the road?”

Well to answer you… BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE: CHARTS.

The length of each of my last four trips.

Pretty much every single dollar I spent on these trips is captured here.

Average cost per day, with an overall average.

A bit of context:

• Colombia is one of the more expensive places in South America; only Brazil and Chile cost more (excluding Guineas)
• Costa Rica, Belize, and Panama are the three most expensive countries in Central America
• On shorter trips, I have more of a “screw it” attitude when it comes to spending money (eating nice meals, buying lots of drinks)
• Honduras includes ~$275 of diving
• Colombia includes $300 on Ciudad Perdida and an expensive journey to Punta Gallinas
• CR/Panama includes a $140 plane flight

Remember our estimated monthly expense of $67? Not too far from it.

My three short trips were significantly more expensive because I’m usually more carefree with my money. Colombia, at five weeks, is much more representative of typical backpacking costs. I would actually wager that I spend more than most people because I’ll eat out and party a lot of the days.

And remember, this is all Latin America, in some of the most expensive countries. Southeast Asia? You could easily get by on $30/day.

- – -

While a lack of health, time, or money can slow us down in our global conquests, a little bit of planning and foresight can alleviate many of those issues. I suspect for many, the mental hurdle is bigger than any of those three. Nagging thoughts of “I can’t afford it” or “I can’t get time off work” kill all hope for foreign adventures. But your subconscious is wrong and you need to tell it to shut up.

Travel ain’t rocket science. It’s quite simple when you break it down into an equation.

And when the numbers look right, it’s time to pack your bags.

Tamarindo, Costa Rica. Mini-America?

In front of me, two heavyset, middle aged men waited at the checkout line. Each wore tank tops that disguised their girth, flip flops, board shorts, sunglasses, and baseball caps. Both were white, with a hint of pink from the sun, and appeared as if they had been teleported from the American south. After their beer, cigarettes, and handles of booze were tallied, one reached into his shorts, handed the cashier a wad of cash and grunted – not a “thank you” or “goodbye” but rather some indecipherable, primal sound.

No, this was not Walmart. This was Tamarindo, Costa Rica.

- – -

Despite being in Central America, physically thousands of miles from the States, Costa Rica was in a sense, a miniature version of America; a place for Americans to drop in, spend a few days boozing, and go home to tell their friends about their foreign adventures.

I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Costa Rica is one of the most expensive, touristy, and developed countries in Central America and Tamarindo happened to be one of the most expensive, touristy, and developed towns in the country. Young and old Americans, ex-pats, and vacationing families overran the place. Walking down the street, I heard more English than Spanish. While the beaches were beautiful, the town itself was a built-up mass of unsightly strip-malls, fast-food restaurants, casinos, and hotels. Its streets clogged with modern sedans, SUVs, and trucks. To top it off, prices were similar (they even accepted US dollars), if not more expensive, to the States.

I’m probably coming off as a pretentious traveler but I’ll be the first to say that I have nothing against partying and having a fun time. I believe it’s an essential part of every trip but I’m also a believer of balancing it out with some culture and unique experiences. The problem with Costa Rica was that it simply didn’t have this other side.

It would be a lie to say I experienced all of Costa Rica but from what I saw in Playas del Coco, Tamarindo, Monteverde, and Puerto Viejo, it seemed that the country lacked identity.  Certainly, a large part of it has to do with the massive amount of tourism. The industry made up nearly 6% of the country’s GDP in 2010, so you don’t need to be a genius to see why there are so many shopping malls, restaurants, and hotels. But at the same time, I found myself asking, “Where’s the real Costa Rica?”

- – -

It’s not like Costa Rica is the only country that’s experienced tourism. Guatemala, Belize, Peru, Colombia, Argentina, Brazil, Thailand, and Vietnam all experience a high volume of tourists yet all have retained distinct and strong cultures. These countries had the restaurants, stores, and hotels but also the traditional handicrafts, food, and ways of life. They showed that it’s possible to have both sides of the coin: to keep traditions as well as accept the globalization of our world.

That is what confused and disappointed me about Costa Rica. I saw plenty of the globalized, “fast food”, and white-washed side of the country but none of the traditional. I felt like I was going somewhere in the States with a sprinkle of Latin culture. Maybe it was because I didn’t look hard enough or in the right places. I admit that I skipped a lot of the nature which is meant to be the jewel of the country. But that isn’t a fair comparison: nature is nature while culture is culture. Even as a tourist passing through, it shouldn’t be hard to spot something, anything, unique and special.

That's not to say there weren't some absolutely beautiful places...

Costa Rica just didn’t have that. That’s not to say that I didn’t have any great times. Surfing in Tamarindo, zip-lining in Monteverde, and scootering around in Puerto Viejo were all amazing experiences. But at the same time, it all seemed artificial, man-made, like some weird and convoluted version of Disneyland.

Maybe I just don’t get it and perhaps I missed out on something amazing, something completely undiscovered. But is it worth it to come back and find out? Probably not.

Maybe when I’m an ex-pat.

Where the desert meets the sea: Punta Gallinas.

The Lonely Planet describes Punta Gallinas as

…the kind of mystical place you read about in books or see in movies, but rarely stumble upon in real life. Reaching this stunning wildscape, South America’s northernmost tip, isn’t exactly a skip down to the corner store, either. But those that make the effort will be rewarded with one of the most dazzling landscapes in South America, a sanctuary of solitude that equals travel Nirvana.

Mystical? Possibly. Tough to get to? Definitely. Travel Nirvana?! Might be a slight exaggeration. While Punta Gallinas may not have been quite as amazing as described in the Lonely Planet, it’s still pretty high up there on my list.

After Ciudad Perdida, I realized I had a few days to kill because I zipped through the south and Caribbean coast  much faster than anticipated. After doing a bit more research, I realized Punta Gallinas would be a perfect opportunity to get off the beaten path, see something unusual, and most importantly, get some GODDAMN lobsters.

- – -

I can pinpoint the start of my obsession with cheap lobster to one incident. I was in Vietnam (Nha Trang to be exact) when I encountered a street vendor selling fresh lobster on a street side grill. I don’t think I had ever eaten lobster up until that point so I decided, “Oh, what the hell, might as well give it a try.” For about $6, I got an entire lobster which I then ate while sitting in a flimsy little plastic stool on the side of the road.

It was quite possibly one of the greatest meals I have ever had. Because of that meal, I now look for lobster everywhere I go. I looked for lobster in Honduras but didn’t find any. I looked in Belize and found it on Caye Caulker. Now I was determined to get my hands on some in Colombia.

- – -

The way to Punta Gallinas took me through the towns of Riohacha and Cabo de la Vela. In Riohacha, I ordered some langostina which I thought were miniature lobsters but were in fact large prawns. As large as they were, my disappoint was even bigger. In Cabo, the fishermen didn’t catch while I was there even though Cabo has a reputation for cheap, plentiful lobster. My patience was wearing thin. I wanted my goddamn lobster.

I didn’t have to look far in Punta Gallinas. The northern tip of South America is an arid desert that meets the ocean. There are only a few hundred people living on the entire Guajira peninsula and as such, the houses are spread incredibly far from each other. As a tourist, you have no where to go but to stay with one of these families. There are no shops, no paved roads, nothing. Outside of these “compounds”, all you see is nature.

Kind of like the Mojave Desert.

One of the gorgeous bays in the area.

However, the area is teeming with lobsters. Fishermen bring in fresh catches every morning and it’s dirt cheap: about $10 for two. And so, after surviving the harrowing boat ride over, the first thing I did was order up a couple of them.

The lobsters I had been searching for.

My lobster search was finally over.

- – -

Over the next couple of days, I hung out, read, and explored the surrounding wilderness. There was a wild, untamed and desolate beauty to the peninsula. All around, thorny shrubs, bushes and cacti grew in brownish-red dirt that was littered with jagged rocks. In most places, rough dirt paths were about the only sign of human life.

In addition to the nature, I did find these two brothers!

The two brothers lived with four other siblings and their parents in the hut in the distance.

Two of the more interesting sights on the peninsula happened to be a good distance from where I was staying. At the very northern point of South America sat Punta Gallinas’ lighthouse.  It was about a 45 minute ride by bicycle and I was guided there by one of the sons of the family I was staying with. An older version used to sit on a concrete structure but fell over time. A steel version took its place in 1989 and stands there today. It was an interesting juxtaposition of man made red and white steel against a backdrop of earth, plant, and sky; a reminder of civilization in an otherwise desolate landscape.

The light house at the end of South America.

But the most striking feature of the peninsula is the untouched Taroa beach. After enduring a half hour ride sandwiched between two other people on a motorcycle ride through bumpy terrain, we arrived to a sea of sand. Taroa beach was unlike anything I had ever seen: huge sand dunes, up to 50-60 feet high, falling directly into the waves below. There wasn’t a single person in sight save the six of us who came on the tour.

The beginning of the dunes.

Seemed like they went on forever.

The dunes falling into the sea.

View from the top of the dunes.

Our bikes broke down on the way back.

I left Punta Gallinas after three days. I decided to end my vacation within a vacation and return to society.

Punta Gallinas was a poignant reminder that even in the 21st century, there are still places virtually untouched by humans. It’s also one of those places that I’ll probably never go back to. Although there is some sadness in knowing that, there’s also a sense of amazement because no experience is likely to ever compare to those three days.

Don't let the blue skies fool you...

I stared at the dozen sheep lying in the boat.

Their thick fur matted down by water and their fore and hind legs bound together by ropes, they laid silently (presumably tranquilized) with lifeless eyes as if they had resigned to their fate, whatever it may be.

A group of men showed up with a large dump truck and began hauling them from the boat. As they cleared the sheep, I saw hundreds of little brown and black bean-sized objects floating around in the brine at the bottom of the hull. I put two and two together and came to the gut-wrenching realization that I would soon be sitting 2-3 hours in this boat, with sheep shit and urine sloshing around, all the while wearing flip flops.

Apparently tranquilizers don’t work on bowels and bladders. Fuckin’ South America…

- – -

The father and son duo who commandeered the boat were both presumably Wayuu, the local indigenous people with much darker skin and shorter stature than most other Colombians. Both had wrinkled features and weather-worn skin which revealed the years of labor under the sun. Their basketball shorts were accompanied by ragged t-shirts that should have been relegated to the donation pile long ago and each wore a faded, salty baseball cap. Yet despite their somewhat ragged appearances, they handled their boat with fast and deft hands.

In an effort to improve the hygiene in their boat, each grabbed a half-cut open bottle and began scooping the shit water out and fresh sea water in. This created the unpleasant side effect of sheep shit lapping up and collecting on the beach. Pretty much un-fazeable at this point, I calmly stepped out of the water and sought higher and drier ground.

But South America always has a way of surprising you. As I was about to get in, the guys who unloaded the sheep rolled two plastic barrels the size of large garbage cans off the truck and onto the sand. I stood back and watched them struggle the barrels into the boat.

“Que es esto?” I asked in my passable Spanish.

“Gasolina.”

And so we left the tiny port: me, the father and son duo, two giant barrels of gasoline, and the remaining shit water sloshing back and forth on the floor.

- – -

The boat itself was about 15-20 feet long, uncovered, and powered by a single motor engine. Although not much, it was a speedy craft and we cut through the Caribbean Sea at a good pace.

The front of our boat, shot on the way back.

While the guys were loading the goods, I had noticed a number of dark clouds rolling in from several directions. Now, twenty minutes into the trip, only a small patch of clear sky (which we managed to stay under) remained. Around us, dark, stormy clouds hovered. To my right, the craggy, shrubby coastline stretched on for miles while one solitary cargo ship far off in the distance chugged along to my left.

This desolation in the open ocean, on such a small craft left an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

No more than ten minutes later, the sky in front of me had turned a very dark and threatening shade of grey. I could no longer see the coastline and visibility quickly dropped off to a few hundred feet. I heard a yell from behind and turned around to see the father handing me a life jacket.

Since I was already wearing one, I sat there confused for a moment until he motioned it to shield his eyes. For what? I turned around and that’s when we hit the wall.

We had driven directly into the edge of a thunderstorm. Almost instantaneously, the falling rain transformed the calm ocean surface into a boiling cauldron. Raisin sized drops pelted us and made it nearly impossible to see without covering our eyes.  This rain was much colder than the air or ocean and we were drenched within seconds. The only sounds I heard were the whir of the motor struggling against the churning ocean and the white noise of heavy rain. In every direction, walls of grey enveloped our boat. And then I saw a flash of light followed by a thunderous “BOOM” that reverberated through my entire body.

Being in the pouring rain in an open boat was bad enough but the lightning was what really freaked me out. I thought of the possibility of lightning hitting the boat, exploding the barrels of gasoline, and leaving us stranded, in the middle of this storm, floating in the Caribbean Sea. “Well the ocean is warm so hypothermia wouldn’t be an issue, but the burning gasoline could do some serious damage…”

The combination of pelting rain, open ocean, limited visibility, washed out audio clues, and proximity of lightning was something I had never experienced. This was something that unleashed some primal fear I had never felt. A wave of claustrophobia and disorientation washed over me. All I wanted to do was get out of it as fast as possible.

But it would get worse before it got better. The waves swelled and started noticeably rocking the boat. The rain intensified to the point where I felt like I was standing in front of a hose. We saw several other flashes and heard more thunder. Finally after another 20 or so minutes, the grey became fainter and I saw patches of clear skies up ahead. The son turned the boat out of the storm and the rain gradually faded to a soft drizzle.

The water calmed around us and the warming sun peeked through the clouds. Although soaked and rattled, a big smile slowly spread over my face.

We had made it through the storm in one piece and would soon be in Punta Gallinas.

Florence, Italy

As the birthplace of the Renaissance, there is more to see and do in Florence than you could ever fit into a week-long (or even year-long!) trip. As the well-prepared traveler you are, you already know where to get the best meal, where to find the best view of the city, and where to see your favorite work of art. But do you know why Florence has such an extensive art collection or when you should (or rather, shouldn’t) plan to visit that ristorante you’ve been dreaming about? Add these less common tips to your travel arsenal and you’ll be ready to make the most of your stay in Florence.

• Monday is the New Sunday - Rest on Sunday, go on Monday may be the American mindset but in Italy it’s the other way around. Many stores, restaurants and museums are closed on Monday which can put a kink in your plans when your travel time is limited. So before your trip, be sure to check the hours of each attraction on your site-seeing list & plan accordingly! The Uffizi and Accademia are closed every Monday, but for you art buffs out there, the Bargello is only closed every other Monday!

• Made for the Medici - You can’t cross the street in modern-day Florence without finding the Medici footprint. This powerful and influential family can be thanked for nearly all Florentine art and architecture commissioned during their reign. From the Uffizi Gallery, across the Ponte Vecchio to the Boboli Gardens and everywhere in between, you can thank the Medici for the impressive art that surrounds you. Specifically, you can thank Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici, who upon her death gave the family’s entire art collection to Florence under the condition that no piece of art could ever be removed from the city.

• This City was Made for Walking - Established as a Roman settlement in 80 BC, Florence was clearly not built with motorized vehicles in mind. The city’s narrow one way streets and crowds of pedestrians make navigating the center by car not only difficult but inconvenient. Your best bet while in Florence, is to join the crowds and experience the city by foot. Not only will you be getting the true Florentine experience but you’ll be able to take in all of the city’s art and beauty you would be missing from behind the wheel.

The main platforms of Ciudad Perdida.

Day one would prove to be one the of the more challenging days on our Ciudad Perdida trek. Despite a relatively short 3-4 hour hike, the combination of the torrential downpour and being out of shape made it a lot tougher than what it looked like on paper. And although we were not caught in similar storms the rest of the trip, multiple river crossings and high humidity guaranteed our clothes and shoes remained soaked the rest of the way.

Yet despite the constant wetness and over 100 bug bites, Ciudad Perdida would end up as one of the best adventures I’ve ever been on.

The Jungle Life

The saying “Life’s a journey, not a destination” describes Ciudad Perdida in a nutshell. I knew from the beginning that the ruins themselves were not as impressive as Machu Picchu. But I was more there for the trek.

Life in the jungle was simple. We woke up with the sun and went to bed not too long after dark. All we really had to worry about were packing our bags and walking. Typically, we walked 3-4 hours in the early morning and reached camp by 11am or noon. The scenery was always magnificent, taking us past lush, cloud covered jungles, roaring rivers flanked by death-defying cliffs and mystic waterfalls far off in the distance. Throughout our walks, we’d stop to swim in rivers, eat fresh fruit, or take in the view from the top of a hill.

The crew after one of the hardest hikes we had. Day 4.

Then, depending on the day, we either stayed in camp after lunch or did another 3-4 hour hike. But that was it. We didn’t have to worry about what we were going to eat, what we were going to do, or any of the other normal things you worry about in life. The first camp had electricity but the deeper ones only had candles for light. And without electricity, we didn’t have internet, cell phones, or television. All we had was the company of each other, nature all around us, and lots and lots of card games.

Dinner and conversation by candlelight.

Our second camp.

I’ve always found deep satisfaction disconnecting from our modern world and Ciudad Perdida was perfect for that.

The Crew

Being in the jungle for five days with the same people means you better pray for a good group. You hope you don’t get a boringly small group, get stuck with that one douchebag, or get caught between a fighting couple. Luckily, our group had none of the above.

Like most of these treks, you end up with a hodge podge of people from all around the world. Our Magic Tour group consisted of: 1 Slovenian, 1 English, 1 Irish, 2 German, 2 Dutch, 3 Aussies, 4 French, and me, the American. There was a much smaller group from another agency, Turcol, that consisted of 1 English and 2 Turkish that we merged with.

Our group shot, minus three people.

Our guides, led by Jose and Jesus along with a host of cooks, porters and helping hands, were amazing in both their patience and helpfulness throughout the trek. They knew every twist and turn and gave us a great overview of the history of the region. But perhaps the most credit should be given to the cooks who somehow managed to make some of the best food I had in Colombia, despite being in the middle of a jungle.

For those five days, we fought through thick and thin and kept each others spirits up despite how hard the rain was falling or how steep the next climb would be. Even with a group that big, everyone got along and there was little drama.

Although there was a diaspora after the hike, the 18 of us bumped into each other for the rest of our time in Colombia. Some went faster, others went slower but there was always someone in the same town or the next one over. Like seeds blown from the same plant, it was always a welcome sight to see one of the crew.

The City

We woke up early on day three and reached our final camp after a short 2.5 hour hike. It was only 11am but clouds appeared to be growing thicker up ahead. Normally, you sit around for the rest of the day (to miss the rains) and hike to the city early the next morning. But our crew was in a groove and wanted to make a push that day. The guides hemmed and hawed for a bit before finally deciding that the clouds would hold and gave us the thumbs up.

There are two things to remember when you reach Ciudad Perdida: 1. There are still ~1,900 steps after the welcome sign and 2. You’re only halfway through the trek. You can’t really exhale and say, “I’ve made it!” because unlike Machu Picchu, you’ve got the whole way back to climb.

More steps after the 1,900.

But fuck it, everyone did exhale. With every journey, the road on the way back is a lot easier than the way there.

The ruins, as expected, were not as impressive as Machu Picchu, but there was definitely a sense of solidarity to them. Unlike Machu Picchu which was packed full of tourists, the only people there were us, the guides, and a few bored Colombian soldiers at the very top.

We explored the area for a couple hours and Jose talked about the history and significance of the place. And then, just like that, we gave the city back to the jungle and returned to camp.

I won’t go into the history (Wikipedia does a fine job) but here are a few more pictures of Ciudad Perdida:

Finding solitude at Ciudad Perdida.

More steps? Sure!

Towards the very back of the city.

A few of the many platforms.

The Return

I noticed a hop in my step as we approached the first river we crossed. My shoes still squished, my shirt and swim trunks were soaked as always, and my bug bites still itched. But it didn’t matter, we were almost done. The lot of us, looking ragged and ravenous had marched into the jungle five days prior and now we were marching back out.

It was a beautiful day: the sun was shining overhead and white puffy clouds dotted the bright, blue sky. Earlier, we crossed the two rivers which had given us so much trouble on day one and they were nothing but two tiny streams; we didn’t even have to wade through.

As we rounded the last bend and saw the hut where we had first gathered five long days ago, I glanced back at the jungle and thought to myself, “This will probably be the last time I ever see this.”

Victory beers and champagne were passed around and we all gathered together for one final lunch. Some tossed old clothing and shoes, some chatted excitedly, and some sat back with weary smiles on their faces. It was the end to a long and fantastic journey but we could all say that we had made it. We had hiked through the mud, the rivers, the treacherous canyons and…

We had found the Lost City.

The start of our Ciudad Perdida trek.

Above, the sky was an ominous grey but everywhere else I looked was lush green. We were a couple of hours into our five day hike to the Ciudad Perdida and it had already been raining consistently for an hour. Rain drops the size of small marbles pelted us every step we took and everything we wore, with the exception of our covered backpacks, was soaked through with rain, sweat and water from river crossings.

The rain had transformed the gullies and paths into slippery and, sometimes, treacherous concoctions of mud and water which occasionally required us to get down on all fours. I noticed that the conversation had died off as people focused on the task of putting one foot safely in front of the other. As we descended an especially steep and muddy gully, several tin roofed buildings and the makings of a camp appeared ahead. A little further off, I made out the outlines of a river.

The first couple of rivers we crossed had been without incident. The water only reached ankle high and flowed slowly. But that had been several hours ago, when the sun was still out and before mother nature decided to take a massive piss on us. Now, the looming river looked like something you’d drop a raft into, not one you frolicked through.

We waited for our 15 person group to bunch back up, held hands as if we were playing “Red Rover” and waded through. The water was fairly strong and up to thigh level in some parts but the river wasn’t very wide making the crossing relatively quick and easy. I crossed and stopped on the other side to snap a couple photos of what would undoubtedly be an interesting moment of the trek.

The hand-holding river crossing.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for us to realize that this river was mice nuts.

A short distance up ahead, a roaring, raging specimen of a river awaited us. The rain water had engorged the river so much that the water was flowing twice as fast as the last one. As we stopped and gaped at the churning water, I thought to myself, “No fucking way we’re going to cross this. Might as well start heading back to the camp and setup for tonight.”

Jose, our lead guide who was bringing up the rear caught up with Jesus and the other members of his team scattered throughout the column. They consulted for a while before pulling a long climbing rope out of a backpack. Jesus tied one end of the rope around the trunk of a tree and Jose held on to the other and waded out towards the middle of the river. He didn’t take too many steps before turning around.

Paths like these were the norm.

“See, not going to happen.”

Wrong. Jose grabbed a rock, heaved it onto his shoulder and started making his way out again. The weight of the rock allowed him to get further and deeper into the river before he slipped, dropped the rock and scrambled back to the safety of shore. Having seen two failed attempts, I was convinced the river crossing was impossible. Wrong again. This is South America where safety standards are a bit more lax than what we’re used to in the West. Jose tied the rope around his waist and with the help of Jesus, heaved a massive boulder onto his shoulder and began wading through. This time, Jose successfully reached the other bank and tied the end of the rope around a tree. To be honest, I’m still not sure if it was the weight of the rock or Jose’s massive balls that got him across…

Now the real fun began. I had put everything in plastic bags but I wasn’t prepared for anything like this. The water reached chest high so everything would get soaked through. Having no dry clothes would be unfortunate but my real concern was my camera. I started fretting about how to get my camera safely across when one of the guides grabbed my backpack, lifted it above his head and crossed.

With that pressing issue solved, all I had to do now was cross myself. Three of the guides stood abreast to each other to form a crude human safety net and herded people through. A couple of people had already crossed and I could see that it was no cakewalk. The strain on the rope was considerable and several briefly lost their footing before the guides pulled them back upright to the rope.

This was the big one: ropes, guides, the whole shebang.

I decided that the faster I crossed, the lower the chance of me being swept away. I positioned the rope underneath my right armpit and pulled in a fashion where I crossed perpendicular to the river. The beginning was no problem but when I reached the middle, the current started pushing my lower half sideways.

“Tranquilo! Tranquilo!” yelled Jose above the roar of the river. I repositioned my feet and re-tightened my grip. The water was flowing chest high and angry. I had no doubt that if I slipped, I’d end up a few miles downstream and needing a body bag to take me home. But the guides were there in the fastest part of the river and with a few more pulls of the rope, I stepped onto the other side.

Dripping wet, heart pounding, and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I thought to myself:

“Welcome to Ciudad Perdida. Bitch.”

Orderly traffic? HAH! Saigon, Vietnam.

Travel is awesome but it’s not always rainbows and unicorns.

The majority of us who can afford to travel live in first world countries with many creature comforts that we’ve come to expect. But quality of life on the road can be very different, especially in third world countries.

Here are a few of the things we take for granted at home that don’t always exist on the road:

• Hot showers – Your nipples turn so hard they can cut diamonds, your balls shrink to the size of raisins, and your 20 minute shower suddenly condenses into 2. That’s what happens when you take a cold shower. Some places have jerry-rigged a hot plate that tries to heat the flowing cold water. It usually fails. Other places have only the cold water pipe. Granted, a cold shower is nice when it’s a balmy 100F with 100% humidity, but when it’s ass cold up in the mountains, a cold shower is throwing salt on a wound.
• Change – This is something that has, and continues to, dumbfound me. In some countries, people do not have change. You’ll buy a bottle of water, pull out a reasonably sized bill and you swear they just shat their pants. They’ll insist that you give them smaller bills, preferably the exact amount.  If all you have is the one bill, you’re shit out of luck. Occasionally, they will run next door to see if other vendors have change but don’t count on it. Whenever I’m traveling, I find myself unhealthily hoarding smaller bills just so I don’t have to deal with this.
• Credit/debit card usage – Once you leave a developed country, you’ll realize the rest of the world runs on cash. Even if it’s for a large transaction, say a diving course, they’ll want cash. There might be an option to pay by credit/debit but you’ll be hit with a significant (6-10%) transaction fee. It’s annoying to us who are used to buying everything with a swipe but the one upside is budget control: you can only spend as much as you have in your pocket. Large, mysterious charges on the credit card after a big night out? Not anymore, bitches!
• Timeliness – On Utila, I waited an hour for eggs, potatoes and toast in an uncrowded restaurant. In South America, everyone is on “South America time” which is the stated time plus half an hour or so. In Thailand, a 1 hour ferry was late by 45 minutes. Most countries aren’t Switzerland or Germany, especially those in the third world. Two ways to approach this: (1) get raged every time something is late or (2) realize that everything is fucking late and be late yourself.
• Orderly traffic - You think your local rush hour is bad? Wait till you’ve experienced the madness that is third world country traffic. A sea of bicycles, rickshaws, cars, motobikes, and the occasional animal crowd the streets in a seemingly random and nonsensical fashion. Families of four squeeze onto one scooter, people whiz by on the wrong side of the street, and the constant blaring of horns fills the air. The first time crossing a road is about as hard as parting the Red Sea and you hope you bought life insurance. Unlike “home”, pedestrians are at the bottom of the food chain. Just remember that the right of way belongs to the biggest vehicle and you’ll be fine.

These things can be annoying but it’s all part of the experience. Remember to take a step back, laugh it off, and don’t take it too seriously. You’re on vacation!

Ahhh the good ole' British Museum.

Hey college people, this is why you should go study abroad.

Ahh… it’s August again which means students around the world are heading back to college. An incredibly unique and poignant four-year span of every student’s life, college is a time for experiencing new things, getting out of your comfort zone, and meeting new people. The classes, frat parties, football games, and people you meet all make college a pretty unforgettable experience. As great as all those things are, the real icing on the cake for me was studying abroad. I’d rank it as one of the top three decisions I’ve ever made in my life.

I believe that studying abroad is part of the quintessential American college experience: a fresh faced 20 year old, heading off to some far-flung corner of the world for a semester or year long romp of debauchery, boozing, new experiences, and a shitload of fun. And oh yea, you learn some stuff along the way too.

During my college orientation, a lot of people told me they regretted not studying abroad. I vowed not to make the same mistake. I fulfilled my promise three years later and chose to go to the University of Warwick during the fall semester of my junior year. When the dust settled, I realized that Warwick was on the quarter system, while Berkeley was on semesters.

This meant was that I had a month gap between Cal and Warwick starting. I had two choices: sit around at home or head off to Europe and the unknown. Having never traveled alone before, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Would I get lost? Would I make friends? Where do I go? What should I do? Sometimes, the best solution is to not think about these things, sack up, and just do it. I packed my backpack, my suitcase, grabbed my guidebook and headed off to Europe for three months.

- – -

As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about any of those things. I got lost but found my way, I didn’t have friends but I made plenty, I figured out where I wanted to go, and found the things to do at those places. It was my first taste of independent travel and I became addicted. The freedom of being able to go anywhere and do anything you wanted, on your own schedule was something that I had never experienced before.

One of the stained glass windows at the Prague Castle.

I spent the first three weeks hopping from England to mainland Europe (due to orientation in London) and traveled through Switzerland, Italy, France, the Czech Republic, and Oktoberfest in Munich. After classes started, I set up my schedule so I had Fridays and Mondays off, allowing me to see the south of England, Scotland, Ireland, Belgium, and Barcelona. Since my trip to Europe coincided with the weakest dollar in history, a lot of those trips were prefaced by long nights spent on the airport floor, cheap street food, and slumming around in hostels. And I loved it all.

Three months and nine countries later, I found myself on a flight back to San Francisco. I was poorer than ever before, had a bad case of reverse-culture shock, and felt the post-traveling blues. Yet I had learned how to live cheaply, enjoyed the kindness of strangers, and realized just how big the world is.

- – -

It’s been nearly four years since I boarded that plane to England and yet here I am writing about it today. Studying abroad really sparked my interest in traveling and it shaped me profoundly as a person. A lot of my views on the world and people in general were molded during that three month span. The money I spent has been made back long ago but the experiences and lessons I learned will stay with me for the rest of my life.

So for the people returning to college, do something you won’t ever forget: Go study abroad.

One of my favorite pictures I've ever taken. From the Swiss Alps.