THE TRAVEL BLOG OF TROY HENDERSHOTT, GLOBAL BACKPACKER FOR ALMOST 3-YEARS CONTINUOUS, SINCE 2012

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAD PANDA

9/15/2012

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. – T.S. Elliot

Friday, September 14, 2012 (DAYS 194 & 195)
Happy Birthday to my kid sister Tracy! I am so very proud of her and all that she has accomplished. I will always hold on to all of the memories we had growing up; staying up all hours of the night playing Super Mario World, running around the backyard with wooden sticks pretending to be members of the X-Men or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, managing the most successful hotel out of our basement, the endless conversations and laughs we’ve shared at Old C and during the infamous garage time sessions, the wonderful dinners you would make me at your apartment, the passion and love that we share that is Denver Broncos football, her contagious laugh that could always bring a smile to my face no matter my mood, and countless other memories that we have shared. I love you little sister and miss you very much! I truly wish I could be there on your special day, sad panda, but I hope it’s a great one. Words can never express how much you mean to me through all of the love and support that you have given and I can never thank you enough for having you in my life!

Surprise! Secret messages reappear after a drought of several weeks from Lauren and this time she’s ready to Skype. It’s only been six months of trying to convince her to sign up and use this easy form of communication, so bravo my friend. It is good to see her face even though she is unable to see mine, and the conversation is a lengthy one that lasts almost two hours in duration. We discuss all of the changes that have occurred since my departure from a previous chapter in my life, and while things have changed they still carry the air of normalcy, which has been quite the difference in my experiences. At one point, she asks me how many people are actually doing what I am doing–foregoing a structured life for one that is full of uncertainties and carries the promise of adventure in such a liberating manner? Explaining to her that she would be surprised at the number of backpackers from around the globe that share this unique lifestyle and the willingness to explore all of the beauty that this world has to offer while learning more about themselves–genuinely accepting the life lessons that cannot be experienced any other way than to leave behind the pursuit of things and to passionately live beyond what you thought might be impossible, this is what I feel as though I can look back on in my life however long this journey may be for myself, and know that I was willing to not only follow, but live out the path for my life. Often I forget that I am more than 3,000 miles away from Denver, because each time I’m able to talk with friends and family back in the States it is with these conversations that keeps me connected to those I dearly miss.

I feel as though that many people are beginning to realize and even accept what I told them prior to leaving, which is the cold hard fact that I may never return to the States. I think that several people assumed that after four or six months of traveling I would realize that this was not quite for me and would return to Colorado. While the changes have not been without adjustment, sometimes more uncomfortable than others, it has taught me how little people truly need in order to live and how much I am willing to risk going in order to find out how far I can truly go myself.

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GO BEFORE YOU STAY TOO LONG

8/9/2012

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The good ones go if you wait too long, so you should go before you stay too long. — Dustin Moya

Wednesday, August 8, 2012 (DAY 157)
Awaking from another confusing night of dreams that centers around the girl that is so affectionately referred to as shmurnt, I continue to know that I need to let her go. My hope that this may be the last night I am haunted by her face–walking away from her in my dream, even when I am awake the thought has a large degree of sadness. Attempting to shake the previous nights memory from my thoughts, it is just after 7am, and Marc and I are getting ready for the walk up to the special needs school. Having the relaxed freedom of confiding in my English consigliore, I share with him the morning’s thought that weighs heavy upon my mind, and being the great friend that he is, tells me what I already know, and that is I need to let her go completely. Lingering on this constant thought that is easier said than done, I am prepared to let what needs to happen occur and look forward to the distraction of spending time with the kids. Unfortunately, as we reach the small light blue building where the van picks us up, there is already a large group of volunteers waiting and we are unable to spend the next four hours doing what we both have a passion for. Who would have thought that there could be too many volunteers? Unfortunately for us, the director of the program has warned us of this possible scenario. Since the school, which is a single classroom, is a small space, only so many people are allowed to volunteer with the fifteen students that make up the school and often university, church, and other groups will come to volunteer for a short term basis, which leaves us without the opportunity to spend time there on those particular days. Distraught from this, we are unsure what to do with our morning since it is not even 8am yet. Turning around we walk back to the hostel, and find ways to escape the heat. Since this morning we have power, I decide to catch up on much of my journaling that often gets placed on the backburner, and I am thankful to have this therapeutic outlet.

After a great session of writing, I can hear the pool calling my name. I can also hear what many of you think, why are you swimming in a pool when you have a beach just five minutes away? Well, the answer is convenience, and the fact that being covered in sand is not nearly as pleasant as you think. And trust me, I’ve been to the beach enough times both in SJDS and throughout the past five months that I am sure to have filled the beach quota for a lifetime for any Colorado native. Talking with Stephen, a good ole Massachusettes boy that relocated to San Diego, we are both keeping a close eye on the time as we plan to head upstairs and catch Team USA take on Australia. While I am lounging on the edge of the pool reading, he announces that it’s 3pm and we excitedly head upstairs only to find that of all 99 channels made available to us, the only Olympic event that is being televised is women’s boxing. Crushed by this reality, we sit and take in several minutes watching Brazil and Russia duke it out. Depressed with our efforts, we climb out of our hammocks and head back down to the pool. I know as you read this you are just as disappointed with our secondary option as we are. The night however, is a celebration. Alix’s birthday brings her an amazing family dinner that is complete with steaks. Yes, steaks! It has been far too long since I’ve indulged in a piece of mouth-watering beef, and faintly in the background I can hear the Beef, It’s What’s For Dinner song playing at full orchestra. The feast also includes, garlic grilled shrimp, rice, guacamole, salad, bread, peppers, and, of course a slab of sirloin. Eating this delicious meal is shameful as forks are a rarity at our hostel and our attempt at eating our steaks with butter knives and spoons is just another challenge of life in Nicaragua. When I pause and think between bites, I feel as though not only have I eaten healthier since I left the States, but that the meals are even that much better than when I was living the lowly bachelor lifestyle absent of cooking lessons that did not include Stove Top. Oh, the red cardboard box, that Andrea and I would covet whenever we could share this as part of any meal. Tuna fish sammiches…and Stove Top. Sushi with red wine…and Stove Top. Plain Cheerios out of a plastic bag…and Stove Top. Wedding cake…and Stove Top. When is this delicious processed food not an acceptable part of any meal? I really should be sponsored by Stove Top for all of the wonderful and authentic things I have to say for their magically delicious chief that created such a gift to the American public. Returning from my gluttonous rant, our meal in Nicaragua is certainly the best we have put together for this special night for Alix. She continues to tell Stephen (her fiancée), Marc, and myself that we truly made her birthday an occasion to remember. After the waterworks in the flood of tears and a group hug is completed, we relax with food babies around the pool.

The night is almost perfect, that is until I make a very large blunder causing my heart to momentarily stop. Walking to the fridge to grab a Coke, the combination of tripping over a laptop power cable while simultaneously opening the fridge door causes the computer to come crashing to the cement floor. The laptop is Marc’s and it has already seen its share of casualties. Jumping up with a look of shear panic on his face, Marc races to his computer that is now hanging by a thread. Sharing the feeling of horror that is on his face I cannot help but feel awful at what I just caused. Thankfully the computer is still working in spite of one of the clips that holds the monitor together has gone missing. Searching high and low we are crawling on our hands and knees to locate the small plastic piece, when, what else, the power goes out and we are all in the dark. After twenty long minutes, we call off the search, when we find the missing piece has disappeared into the computer itself, and was wedged in the opening that was caused upon impact. Apologizing with as much angst as I can for this huge mistake, once everything has calmed down, Marc is able to catch his breathe as well, and after some time passes we are able to return to a more relaxed pace of the night that ends in laughter, and I cannot be more thankful for such an understanding friend. It is the actions that we display in times of adversity that demonstrates our character, and I know that there is this true character in my great friend Marc.

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SHMURNT MURNT

7/26/2012

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I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yearsteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. — Beryl Markham

Thursday, July 26, 2012 (DAY 144)
Last night, I had a dream of the entirety of a path that my life could have been, a part of my life that I have now had to let go. Awaking confused and a bit heartbroken from what I knew I had to do, I know that there is a reason for doing this now rather than later, and yet, it still does not make it any easier letting this girl disappear from my life, my thoughts, in order to move forward. The connection I shared with this girl–this young woman–I somehow grew to love over a short period of time before leaving on this incredible journey has always been a part of my daily thoughts. I knew from the first time we shared with one another painful parts of our lives that we have never spoken of so freely, becoming vulnerable to one another beyond words, that there was a connection that went deeper than just a surface friendship. The almost daily adventurous trips to Starbucks where I saw the flicker of a smile for the first time from her that will be forever ingrained in my memory as she stood across the room from me and our eyes met through a small crowd, is just one of the thousands of small details I did not get a chance to share with her before I left. Singing and dancing to the tune of Vanessa Carlton’s A Thousand Miles, which ironically became “our song” over helplessly being forced to watch the cinematic genius of White Chicks that played as we sat confined, unable to move while at a plasma donation facility in Aurora, Colorado on a cold winter morning, I cannot help but smile whenever I hear that song. The countless lunches we shared, one of which that went to the degree that only her and I will share and all of the various informal types of communication that when the notification alert made me aware of her secret messages, it always gave me another reason to smile. The cheesy head bopping, singing to the top of our lungs, this, this is the person she should could so easily bring out of me daily, and for that I cannot thank her enough for her strength, for her friendship, for her ability to know me enough that she never asked me to stay, but could see how important this journey was for me in order to live out that which I continue to seek out with every day that I am living life to the fullest. You will always have a place in my heart. Shmurnt murnt.

Still carrying around the sadness of the previous nights dream, I feel an uncanny sense of the last strong connection to back home severed, and after a long awaited period I am given confirmation and permission to begin volunteering next week with the Nicaragua Children’s Foundation at the local special needs school. It is high noon and Marc and I are walking down the hill towards the center of town. Cars and trucks race past us on the single lane road as we attempt to cling to the nonexistent sidewalk. The heat and the humidity are beginning to become unbearable as we are both covered in sweat in search of a meal, famished and most certainly dehydrated, we make it back to the hostel with appreciative feelings of accomplishing the morning’s task. Melting in the heat, we decide to indulge in the most popular amenity The Surfing Donkey has to offer, the glorious pool. Standing on the edge, overlooking Marc, Alix, and Stephen who have already made it into the refreshing water. I muster up my loud and authoritative voice, “ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention. I've just been handed an urgent and horrifying news story. I need all of you, to stop what you're doing and listen…Cannonball!" Water is splashing out over the edges and onto the broken pieces of concrete that surround the pool, as we feel as though we are all twelve years old again, taking turns and simultaneously performing cannonballs into the water. Our immature fun of an adolescent behavior has been a great distraction from the girl that has now been let go. In spite of taking this very difficult step in order to move forward, I still have faith as I always have, that if specific people are meant to return to your life in ways that are stronger than even we can acknowledge, than, that is what I can hope for, but I cannot let it be the strong underlying notion that can ultimately become a consuming thought.

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STAGE FIVE CLINGER

6/21/2012

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You lose sight of things… and when you travel, everything balances out. – Daranna Gidel

Wednesday, June 20, 2012 (DAY 108)
A moment of clarity wakes me from my slumber and I am ready to begin the morning unsure of what the day may entail. Crawling out of bed and walking barefoot down the narrow hallway on the mocha colored concrete floor, I reach the living room where I have the unfortunate timing of catching Michelle embarrassingly reading a pop-up book both upside down and apparently from left to right. Wondering how much shame they must feel for their daughter, I'm prepared to take on another set of adoptive parents, this time from Canada with Momma Dukes and Padre Maffia so they don't lose all hope for the youth of the world. After a grueling thirteen and a half hours of explaining to her that this ten-page book is not in Hebrew through my elaborate tricks of crayon drawings, sock puppets, action songs, and full costume reenactments, I have made a believer out of her. Rewarding myself with a long well deserved self-pat on the back, I’m on a roll and anxious to put out another fire, and so, I go in search of Lindsay. Still dead to the world, asleep face down with her woobie tucked tightly under her right arm, suddenly there’s a horrible squeaking sound. Assuming that this will definitely wake Lindsay from her slumber, I look over to see her still sleeping soundly, and then realize the noise came from her rubber pants. I suggested plastic sheets, but she said she wanted more freedom of mobility, all while having the protection she so sorely needed. Unable to argue this, and leaving her asleep in the back room with her secret shame that I’ve quickly exposed, the rest of the morning is spent reading and making a yellow star shaped Sheriff’s badge, just in case anyone questioned my authority.

Taking a moment to confirm that my status is still quite hot with a score of 5.6 on Hot or Not, it’s just after lunch, the remaining trio of our current familia decides an afternoon of wandering around SJDS might be a good distraction from missing terribly all those that are no longer with us; John Wayne, Julie, Cameron, and Roberto. Turning the corner in search of a more stylish pair of water wings, ones that easily scream out THUG LIFE or something equivalent in nature since I am on the verge of accepting the status of a distinguished adult, I freeze. Alarms are ringing, and yet, I am so confused in my current state of absolute terror that I have contracted a serious case of paralysis. Unable to move, I stare down the figure that is now approaching me at cheetah like speeds. Coming in to focus after a momentary lapse of my entire life flashing before my eyes, and I have what most have come to fear. I have a stage-five clinger! A Canadian, stage-five clinger to be exact. Krista Marie Stalker Braun. This girl has stalked me throughout Central America and my failed attempts of eluding her by fleeing like a group of unicorns after a chili festival has been unsuccessful. I know that doesn’t make sense but neither does Krista hunting me as if my name was Peeta Mellark. One would think that relocating to three different countries over the course of three months would provide a large enough hint, but I suppose she’s overdone the gravy on those French fries, because she has been in hot pursuit since our first encounter in Utila, Honduras. In all fairness, I suppose I should be truthful and admit that if we are labeling and defining stalkers I will have to throw my name in the basket as well, since I’ve been hot on the trail of Lindsay and Michelle also known as, Doodle and Doodle, following them from the poo streams of San Pedro La Laguna, Guatemala to the Fabio surf school of El Tunco, El Salvador through the gum drop forests of Honduras and currently in our third location of Nicaragua.

Hesitant, yet eager, to bring together the perfect storm for a battle royale, what’s done is done, and I’m not sure who I’d put my money on–the blonde Doodles from the Island of Victoria or the roughneck backwoods hillbillies of Winterpeg. Forget Sarah Marshall, our apartment is guaranteed to be full of drama, especially after a game of Pretty Pretty Princess...where only one can be crowned. Crossing my fingers that I’ll be the final one wearing the bejeweled plastic crown, it’s an afternoon of lounging around in our living room anxiously waiting for the electricity to return and begin the spinning of our ceiling fans before we begin spontaneously combusting one, by one. Living the dream, or a complete nightmare, I feel as though my meager invitation for Krista and Lexi to join me in San Juan has created something of a sorority house, and I’m just waiting for the guys from Lambda Lambda Lambda to drop in unexpectedly. Concerned that I may be feeling the early stages of heat stroke, the metal coins in my pocket are rapidly liquefying. Certain that I don’t want to be present when the metal reforms into a terminator, we head down to the beach for relief from James Cameron’s nightmares.

The incredible sunsets that appear on cue each evening tend to be enjoyed in silence with the reflection of deep thoughts, and even deeper questions. I mean, why do I only get one small bottle of syrup at Cracker Barrel when they can clearly see they’ve given me three pancakes the size of Yugos? And how am I going to survive a NFL season without Tebowing as we pass the ball less than eight times in the entire game, yet somehow win? And seriously, where in the world is that scandalous Dick Tracy wannabe Carmen San Diego? These pondering thoughts plague the mind that you all love oh so much, and I hope that you can all continue to smile back at life even if you had the limited brain capacity and unfortunate choice flung upon you by attending Colorado State University. The long brown stain on the underpants of an otherwise remarkable place to grow up, and you know it’s shameful when even Wyoming doesn’t want to claim you. Worse than a ginger. More hideous than an animal hoarder. More cruel than what Lebron did to Ohio. You are, a csu ram.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAD PANDA

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. – T.S. Elliot

GO BEFORE YOU STAY TOO LONG

The good ones go if you wait too long, so you should go before you stay too long. — Dustin Moya

SHMURNT MURNT

STAGE FIVE CLINGER

You lose sight of things… and when you travel, everything balances out. – Daranna Gidel

About the Author

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Categories

All content is
© 2011-2017 of rtwexperiences.com All rights reserved unless otherwise noted.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAD PANDA

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. – T.S. Elliot

GO BEFORE YOU STAY TOO LONG

The good ones go if you wait too long, so you should go before you stay too long. — Dustin Moya

SHMURNT MURNT

STAGE FIVE CLINGER

You lose sight of things… and when you travel, everything balances out. – Daranna Gidel

About the Author

Archives

Categories

All content is © 2011-2017 of rtwexperiences.com All rights reserved unless otherwise noted.

All content is
© 2011-2017 of rtwexperiences.com All rights reserved unless otherwise noted.