Thanks to my new friend Dustin for suggesting the theme for this post, in an ironic turn of events involving a lemonade shake, a mobile phone ringtone and a freewheeling conversation in Chiang Mai. You do the math.
When I was a child back during the eighties, in between eating pieces of Lego, committing crimes against fashion and picking on my younger siblings, I used to be allowed to watch a few TV shows.
After the various terrible cartoons had finished (yes, Masters of the Universe, I’m looking at you) but before all family conversation stopped for half an hour while the six o’clock news was on, one of my favourite programmes was The Littlest Hobo.
Little was I to know that over twenty years later, this feel-good show was going to start resembling my life.
The quirky Canadian series involved a nameless dog who wandered from place to place saving strangers from an assortment of unlikely misfortunes. No, that’s not the part bearing a resemblance. At the end of each episode, after having met new friends and spending a few hours or days firmly ensconced in their lives, Hobo (for want of a better name) would quietly turn tail and head off back down the road.
No matter what wonderful things he’d done with people during the course of the show, the final shot would always be of our canine friend trotting off into the sunset by himself. Many times in the last eight weeks – and in the last twelve years, come to that – I’ve felt a lot like that dog.
One of the best things about this show was the brilliant theme song. Other than being ridiculously catchy, the lyrics speak volumes to people for whom extended travel or a nomadic lifestyle are the norm. Go ahead, click the play button. I’ll wait.
There’s a voice that keeps on calling me
Down the road, that’s where I’ll always be.
Every stop I make, I make a new friend,
Can’t stay for long, just turn around and I’m gone again
If that doesn’t sum up the life of a long term solo traveller, I don’t know what does. As I’ve mentioned recently, I’ve been fortunate enough to meet some brilliant people already on this trip -– people with whom I’ve made an instant connection, shared some fantastic experiences and generally enjoyed the company of immensely.
When you’re travelling by yourself with no fixed itinerary, it’s easy to alter your non-existent plans to fit in with other people and, often, to spend many hours a day with them along the way.
It has been pointed out to me that when you spend as much time with people in a matter of days on the road as you might do with friends and family back home over the course of several months, it’s no surprise that attachments form fast and strong.
One day, however, those good times invariably come to an end. Paths diverge, travels end, reality gets in the way of the happy little travel bubble that you’ve been living in. After swapping hugs, email addresses and firm assurances that you’ll stay in touch, there’s yet another sad goodbye and the Littlest Hobo is walking down the street alone once more.
Maybe you’ll stay in contact, maybe you’ll manage to catch up again for a while somewhere else in the world. Maybe you won’t. Either way, though, it’s unlikely that even with the best will in the world you’ll be able to maintain the same strong relationship once time, distance and real life take their toll. Sad but true.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll want to settle down,
Until tomorrow, I’ll just keep moving on
Never a truer word spoken. If there’s a common thread that binds the seriously travel-addicted, it’s an inability to ‘settle down’ and live an apparently conventional life. Even when staying in one place for months or years, there’s always one eye on the road.
We find it impossible to pass by a bookstore without stopping by the travel section and gazing wistfully for a while. We check out the sales at the local outdoor store for no good reason. Our passports always have at least six months validity just in case a sudden cheap airfare to the middle of nowhere pops up.
After a while the call of the backpack becomes too loud, so we get rid of all of our stuff, say goodbye to our nearest and dearest and do it all again.
Why? Because wandering is what we do. A traveller is who we are. Taking a two week vacation once a year doesn’t satisfy our wanderlust, nor will it ever. Meeting new people, experiencing unfamiliar cultures and approaching the world with a sense of wonder is what defines us.
No matter how hard it is to keep saying goodbye, to continually uproot our lives, to ride the rollercoaster of emotions that this lifestyle throws at as, we wouldn’t change it for the world. We can’t. Asking us to stop travelling is like asking us to stop breathing.
So in the words of a 50 year old German Shepherd:
If you want to join me for a while,
Just grab your hat, come travel light, that’s hobo style.
Sure, one day we’ll be shedding a few tears as we say goodbye – but I guarantee we’ll have one hell of an amazing time together before we do.