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By John
Doe
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|
.May
2006
| In
the summer of 2004, at age 47, I set off on a year long journey through
the coastal playgrounds of South America and then on to the historical
and cultural highlights of Southeast Asia. Choreographed by Lonely
Planet, it was a fairly basic trek along a well worn path that, none the
less, continues to provide adventure of one sort or another for those willing
to seek it out. For me it was also a journey that would open
my eyes to a life abroad and, although not in my original plans, lead me
to relocate exactly half way around the world from my former home of Florida
and sink my feet and fortune into the sands of a well known Indonesian
island. Simply put, my original plan had but one aim and that was
to shake off a nasty drug addiction and in that respect I have to date
been successful (uh, thank you, thank you very much). And knock wood
because the many rewards realized during my year on the road and the miles
and miles put literally and figuratively between me and some bad habits
– not to mention the start of a thrilling (?) new chapter in life – are
all due in large part to what at the time was considered (by paid professionals,
no less) seriously flawed decision making. Well, that and pure happenstance,
oh lucky me!
A bit of history
– Prior to catching that first flight, Varig - Miami to Sao Paolo, I had
been swimming in deep sh_t and was about to drown. For two years
my life was centered around drug use and all that that may entail for someone
with a penchant for wild times and the means to afford them. I was
on the verge of bankruptcy, both moral and financial, and finally made
the decision to change my life. Despite the belief that I could beat
my demons, the fact was I was failing at it. I had enrolled myself
into a highly regarded 28 day residential treatment programme and celebrated
its graduation by falling fast and hard. Life after the Programme
took a serious turn south, after my family creatively blocked my access
to any remaining resources (thankfully). However, I then opened my
doors to anyone in exchange for getting high and my home was soon a non-stop
“party”. Life became the living nightmare I had been warned of by
my counsellors in rehab. After 3 months of this I, again, took action
by vacating the place and checking into a hotel for a week of detox.
A good friend then allowed me the use of his home if I stayed clean and
for the next 6 weeks I rebuilt my health and contemplated the future.
This time I knew I had to work longer and harder to stay clean. Would
I be willing to do what it takes to get there? The standard option,
and one that had generously been offered to me (still very few coins in
the pockets), was enrollment into another program. Only this time
it would be for 6 months. Uuuggg!
No, no, the
thought of 6 months in treatment complete with its non-stop 24/7 misery
loves company reality and the trading of one addiction for another of meetings,
meetings, meetings, made me want to end it all then and there (I am not
knocking the Programme, folks – it works for many, many people, some I
dearly love). Knowing there were alternatives I up and decided to
design my own program. And, still clearly in a delusional state,
I concluded the following: A – I’m different (yea, yea); B – I needed some
new found excitement to focus on (Excitement? Ain’t that what got you into
trouble?); and C – Travel and adventure is what I needed. Yea, that’s
the ticket, travel and adventure! want to see South America,
hell, for that matter I want to see Angor Watt! I then proceeded
to convince myself that many months travelling alone and in close proximity
to the production of the worlds most notorious illicit drugs was both sane
and the right thing to do. Looking back I can now say it was – I’m
a changed man, and for the better - but back then I had to convince others.
I wanted my family’s blessings and, of course, I needed to free up my funds
(RELEASE DOROTHY!). Yes, a little work was in order.
 The
first step was no problem. I leveraged my new found sobriety as an
excuse to visit my mother for a few days and was then invited to stay longer,
behaviour permitting. In the mean time, I tied up all loose ends
at home. Back to mom’s – all was going great. It had been a
long while since we had any quality time together but after a week our
love and friendship were well on their way to healing old wounds and she
was actually listening to me without constant suspect. I made my
pitch over time . It was slow but straight over the plate as I knew that
to be anything less than honest with others was unacceptable. “It
sure sounds exciting” she said. And why wouldn’t it, South America
– Asia – exotic locales and exotic women, oops, I mean interesting cultures.
Yes “sure sounds exciting” she said, “but I would like the advice of others.”
Damn! Well, I couldn’t argue with reason and so off we went to visit
with a private counsellor and those at the treatment facility. As
I expected their opinions were unanimous, that I was a fool’s fool and
anyone who thought the same was my equal.
 To
treatment professionals, travel and in particular travel alone for someone
in the early stages of recovery was a sure route to disaster. Isolation,
unfamiliar surroundings, little responsibility, and lack of a constant
support network are the foundation of ruin and that’s all they could see
in my plans. Wow, I guess I was hallucinating because all I could
see was the Brazilian coastline, its waves dancing the samba - the ghost
of Eva Peron crying as I dined and wined Buenos Aires - drifting down the
mighty Mekong – and me exploring the once hidden treasures of the great
Khmer Empire. Given the option, I chose romance over reality and
set about trying to again convince others that I was making sound decisions.
I believe healthy adventure like foreign travel can awaken one's spirit
(sitars and incense please) and argued that, for me, fate too was at play.
This being the lowest point in my life, where the numerous factors allowing
me to set off on what many would consider the trip of a lifetime merely
coincidence? had the resources (maybe?), I had nothing to loose
(oh, really?), I had no dependants, all my business obligations were complete,
and I had a good reason to go (you mean run?). What’s more, I believed
in myself and with time so did my family.
We struck a
deal that soon found yours truly on the Northeastern coast of Brazil.
It was, and wasn’t, all I had expected. That’s one of the constants of
foreign travel. Years of romanticized visions of far away places
as dished out by the travel media would have anyone naïve enough expecting
to find the paradise they’ve seen in the promos. dmittedly, I was
guilty of this having let myself succumb to expectation as I prepared for
the trip and was, at first, too focused on the negatives. Fortunately,
I was in no hurry and after moving but a few hours down coast was soon
on a much more merry way. I allowed unknown magic to cast its spell
and spent months slowly savoring Brazil, Argentina, & Uruguay.
That included an extended stay in Rio and, like countless others, I too
was charmed by that special city and its people. I fondly recall
a New Years celebration spent, dressed all in white, dancing on the sands
of Copacabana beach as fireworks lit the sky and romance warmed the blood
– how cool is that? Cool enough to require a day or two to recover
(ouch!). All in all the South America I experienced is well documented
in any number of travel articles and reports, a people known for a lust
of living, the importance of family, and their celebration of culture.
And how about the visual backdrop – not bad! I know, I know, don’t
forget to mention the food.
 More
personally this leg of the journey was characterized not by my interest
in where I was but by my failure to come to terms with my past. I
was making an effort to meet more than just fellow travellers and socialized
with both ex-pats and locals. Marvelling at their life, good or bad,
I also was operating with my fun switch on auto pilot. I simply wasn’t
allowing for the residual fallout, as in mental, that tends to accompany
recovering addicts. I was strong, however, and despite direct temptation,
stayed clean of my poison. But I was by no means living the life
of a monk – I mean when in Rome whatcha gonna do? I’ll tell you what
you do; you look around and say, hey, life here is good! Where do
I sign up? Right or wrong, my time in SA was spent looking a tad
too far down the road and not at the steps I was taking. I wanted
more than tourism; I was in search of home. Home the feeling and
home the place, or - could I be happy and can I make a living. Ultimately
the answer, at the time and for a number of important personal reasons,
was no. Something wasn’t right (with whom?) and soon I was headed,
after a short stop over in the States, to the Land of Smiles. - Article
continued below -
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 Pearl
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Read
The Guide to Relocating Living and Working in Hong Kong -
It is common knowledge that Hong Kong is exotic, an excellent business
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world's highest IQ per capita and that it is a very civilized and stimulating
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the Orient and believes you will too. |
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...- article continued
-
Continued From Above -
Bangkok, real
culture shock, and the infamous jumping off point for legions of backpackers
and cradle robbers. After a week spent wondering and wandering through
its unique treasures I was on my way north and would spend the better part
of 6 months slowly inching my way through Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and
Mynamar. Here in Southeast Asia I would involuntarily, and finally, come
to gripping terms with my self-inflicted damaged self. I would also
make more keen observation feeling compelled to do so simply by the strangeness
of it all. spent weeks at a time in rural areas - all the better
to soak up the scenery and culture. I was charmed by the visual splendour
exhibited by hill tribes and the mountains they inhabit in the north and
equally saddened by the devastation still on display through much of Cambodia
and Laos. And as if it were a matter of geography, my state of being
declined as descended in elevation. Partly triggered by a visit in
southern Laos to where my father lost his life while piloting a plane during
the “war in Vietnam”, I soon found myself in the throws of depression.
By the time I arrived in Pnom Penh it was overwhelming. I checked
into a riverside hotel where I would spend a month seeing little of the
outside world while experiencing what seemed like a lifetime of deep seeded
pain and regret that had finally surfaced and forced itself upon me.
I did the only thing I could do, I dealt with it. I had been forewarned
that grief was part of recovery but this I was unprepared for. Eventually
and as if almost by magic I felt better. Time to move on - thank
god!
 I
went down to the coast and then up to Siem Reap before heading to Myanmar.
While there were joys to be experienced, if it where not for one great
exception (well make that two…) I would, in retrospect, have just as soon
cut bait and run, leaving behind a Cambodia where young women sell themselves
for pennies and the police state of Myanmar that proudly wears its oppression
on its sleeve (they actually force most locals to hoof it in central Rangoon
so as not to disturb those in power with the sounds of motorcycle traffic).
But Siem Reap, now there’s history and a truly amazing visit was had.
I spent two weeks exploring the nearly deserted (it was HOT) masterpieces
of ancient Khmer architecture. Sculpted from stone these monuments
to their God-Kings are stupefying in size and detail. If I was simply
out to sightsee, and as a lover of the building arts, this stop alone would
have been worth the entire trip.
But enough
of the past, it was time to deal with my own reality. There had so
far been nowhere in my venture through South East Asia where I could I
remotely see myself living. Admittedly, my sour mood had coloured
much of what I saw, but, the vibe outside the major cities is primarily
one of survival – that’s not for me. No, it was time to go home …. well,
almost time to go home. Although I was tired of travel and tired
of being alone, there was one more stop to make.
 Early
in this story I mentioned happenstance - here’s what happened. Before
flying to Bangkok I exchanged e-mails with an old friend and learned that
another close friend, Michael, was rumoured to be living the life on Bali.
However there was no contact info – what a tease. – well, that prompted
a phone call to another friend who made some calls and we hit the jackpot.
No numbers or addresses, just the name of Michael’s ex-brother-in-law and
that of a company in Singapore where that ex-brother-in-law may work.
Not much of a lead, I agree, but then I searched the Net and, low and behold,
found the company web site which included an e-address for a Singapore
office (there were many). Into the unknown I fired off a rather confusing
inquiry that passed through a few more computers before ending a few days
later with a response from Michael. The mysterious cyber world had
reunited two old friends.
The rumours
about him living and loving it in Bali were true. As I travelled
through mainland South East Asia I was slowly but surly seduced with numerous
short but enticing e-mails about Bali and the ex-pat scene. He knew
what buttons to push and so it was en easy decision to spend at least a
month there before returning home. I arrived at the Denpasar airport
on the heels of a miserably hot and dusty trek through Myanmar. And
although one could spend a lifetime there studying its many cultures and
ethnic tribes I am not an anthropologist - wrong place and time for me.
So the lushness that is Bali and that greeted my arrival was pure relief.
Michael, sporting shades and a tan, was waiting with a couple of Honda
Tigers. He threw my bags in a van and off we went on the ubiquitous
motos for a lengthy tour through the heart of Kuta, Legian, and Seminyak
before arrival at his house in Batu Belig.
 Over
the next month….
You know what,
I could go on and tell you all about the why and how I relocated myself
to Bali (yes it is the famed Indonesian island mentioned in paragraph 1).
And after only seven months here I have much to report and as well have
what I believe to be a unique perspective on living in foreign country
that I wish to share. All of which I will want full credit for (insert
smiley face). However, this is an anonymous article and so that’ll
have to wait. The short story is I was captivated by the place and
the people, AND, I felt I could ply my trade here. And that was realized
in concert with the arrival of a renewed sense of purpose and clarity of
thought, rewards of recovery. Everything is fate, timing, whatever . .
. . today I’m happy!
In retrospect
so much of what was going through my head early on in this adventure was
bull---- and self-serving yet somehow the stars aligned or something and
I succeeded. And I was right, travel and adventure gave me something
positive to do while awaiting re-entry into earth's orbit. But knowing
the odds of beating an addiction I would never prescribe my own medicine,
the results of which could have been disastrous, but thank somebody because
it worked for me, and then some! Hope to see ya round …
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