the world is big and we are small
Merry Christmas everyone! For several months, the topic of Christmas on the road was a bit of a difficult one for me. It is my favorite holiday of the year and I usually start decorating our apartment in Munich in late November/ early December, to …
We went to Xiaoliuqu with few expectations. It’s a small coral island off the coast of Kaohsiung and all we wanted was a few relaxing days at a beach, as we had spent the last month constantly on the move (there is just so much …
Taipei came with a real treat: Hanna, one of my oldest childhood friends, and her fiancé Michel met us at the airport. I was quite literally jumping with joy when I spotted their happy faces in the crowd. Don’t get me wrong – I love travelling with Adam. But there is no greater luxury than meeting one of your closest friends on the road and adventuring together. Luckily, Adam and Michel get along great as well (and developed quite the bromance in the following week), so my darling Hanna and I were free to happily chat away, catch up on big news and small while browsing through kitschy stores or speed walking well ahead of the guys (it’s our natural pace).
Neither Hanna, nor Michel had been to Asia before and witnessing their first impressions was a real joy – especially since we’ve been on the road for so long, we don’t even notice some of these things anymore. Crazy cab drivers, the best dumpling house in Taipei according to Tripadvisor (which, ironically turned out to be Din Tai Fung, whose Los Angeles branch we’d been to several times), crowded night markets and stinky tofu. Adam dared Michel to fish for live shrimp and they bravely tried their grilled catch; Hanna and I happily sipped on Papaya milk and tried to find the tackiest ring for her to wear instead of her engagement ring, which she had left at home for fear of losing it. We learned that if it is Mango, Michel will eat it (shaved ice, dried, smoothie, freshly cut – you name it!)
On a city hike Adam and Michel spotted the largest spider I have seen in my life – and really don’t care to ever see again, but Beitou’s hot springs, where we bathed until we were as wrinkly as the elderly Taiwanese folk who frequent them, calmed our nerves again. We explored Kenting National Park (where Michel and I tried to spot snakes, but found nothing but centipedes) and its crazy coral caves, that emerged from the sea centuries ago and are now overgrown with jungle and the hanging roots of banyan trees. During drinks in a mobile roadside bar, we tried to guess what the respective others would do if money were no object and we sploshed in the warm sea for the first time in months – too salty, Michel pronounced, we’d only give it one out of five stars ;).
Our trip together ended much too soon in Kaohsiung, with a night of hotpot adventures and explorations of the city. While it was incredibly sad to say goodbye so soon, I am so happy and grateful that we had this time together in the first place – it was like we were back on a school trip together again, without a care in the world and full of friendship.
On our second day “on the road” we want to leave the stressful noise of the city behind us and spend a day on the beach to wind down and get into the rhythm of traveling. From the city’s main bus terminal Albrook we want …
As our plane is touching down, I excitedly take pictures – the sea, backdropped by black silhouettes of mountains appears to be flowing inland – up a brown river into green jungle.
The second we disembark a whiff of humid air hits our faces; excitement is simmering in my fingertips – the smells are different (a mixture of air-conditioning and sweat) I could be skipping despite the weight of my backpack on my shoulders. Adam and I have decided to go on our world trip with nothing but our carry on luggage: a backpack each and my red faux leather purse. I will soon learn that is still too much stuff. Immigration seems familiar – fingerprints, try not to look too tired in your picture, what kind of food did you bring? – I did not expect Central America to remind me of the States.
For the last week we have been going through our respective kinds of panic. I struggled with leaving behind a warm nest of friends and family for a great unknown – why leave, I thought, if we are happy here? Is exploring the world really better than building strong, meaningful relationships? Seeing my best friend start journalism school and soar to new heights? Witnessing my nephew’s first steps, first big words (Bar-be-lies),and first tooth? Adam (I think) had similar doubts, yet he had already made a big leap by moving to Germany two years ago. He worried about the trip itself, what if we leave and we get bored? What if we are not made for it? What if I forced Babel to leave her home and we end up miserable? What if I promised her a world of adventure and it rains the whole time? (He did not force me to do anything, of course. But the well-being of those we care about often worries us more than our own.)
To soothe our anxieties, Adam booked us a hotel room for the first three nights in Panama City and – too overwhelmed to figure out the buses – we take an Uber to get there. I am glad we do, but at the same time feel like we’re starting off the wrong way – weren’t we supposed to hitchhike into the city or sleep at the airport if necessary? As I settle into the comfortable backseat of our air-conditioned ride, I decide that we’ll have plenty of time to be more adventurous. For now it’s nice to be a pampered tourist.
The next morning we venture out to find breakfast. To our dismay, we find few street vendors and endless American fast food chains: row upon row of Wendys’, Subways, Burger Kings. The city is void of people walking and brimming with the noise of cars. Taxis honk tirelessly to catch our attention (it seems you do not call a taxi here – they call you), skyscrapers tower left and right, sidewalks are a rarity. I’m hot and (unreasonably) disappointed. I keep hoping that we’ll turn a corner and discover Panama City’s charm: a quirky neighborhood maybe, or a busy market, yet the feeling of wading through grey, sticky, loud nothingness persists. After several hours of trying to explore the city on foot, we finally cave and try to take a bus. We discover that there are no ticket machines at the bus stop (let alone a map of the bus system or even a schedule) and the bus driver can’t sell the “tarjeta metro” either. Luckily, a woman on the bus helps us and lets us use hers – it seems like we are not the first tourists to struggle with the bus system.
We make our way to Casco Viejo, Panama’s old town center. The architecture is significantly more beautiful, old colonial buildings and the cleanest streets in Central America, but even this tourist center seems quiet. We explore the souvenir shops, pop into a cafe for a deliciously fruity smoothie and admire the beautiful churches of the district. Many of the colonial buildings are reduced to their facades, others were completely restored and stand as luxurious mansions next to their more run down neighbors. The result is a beautiful juxtaposition of a long gone history of colonial occupation by the Spanish and it’s reclamation to make the city more attractive to coveted, economy-boosting tourists.
Everything changes when we find Avenida Central: this is where the entire population of the city was hiding! The pedestrian zone is bustling with people – fruit stands selling pineapples and papaya, stores trying to catch customers’ attention with loud music (Despacito is everywhere), street vendors offering anything from flip-flops to switch blades. The side alleys boast colorful graffiti and we finally feel like we found our adventure. It is a relief to see some character in this otherwise bland metropolis, some liveliness in contrast to the concrete and glass towers of downtown or the eerie cleanliness of Casco Viejo. We happily join the crowds in the shops, browse though isles of colorful sandals, cheap tshirts and beach toys. On our way back, we finally find a subway station that sells the metro card – the key to the city’s incredible system of public transport. At 35 cents a ride the subway certainly beats taking a taxi and we feel a little bit more like world travelers rather than hapless tourists.
