Denise Esser's Tales of Travel

I’m on a flight to Toronto. I’m going home. Like most events, it seems like yesterday I just left, and yet a lifetime ago. I realize with a quick mental recap that this will be my 20th flight in just under 13 weeks.

I’ve come to the conclusion that traveling the world alone is by the far the most difficult and most amazing thing I have ever done.

There are things I will miss and things I won’t miss. I’ll miss meeting great people, the sheer freedom to roam as I want to, and experiencing crazy and awesome things on a daily basis. I’ll miss blogging and my deep sleeps and the ability to crack open a book whenever I darn well please. Most of what I won’t miss is backpacked related: living out of it, carrying it, or packing it up. But I also won’t miss the stress of getting myself from point A to point B, airports and airplanes, or sleeping in different beds almost every night.

Am I ready to come home? That’s another paradox because the answer is yes and no. I can’t wait to see my friends and family. If I had to resume my old life I would be depressed at the prospect, but really, I can’t help but feel that the adventure is continuing for me. I’m taking off to North Carolina. I’m starting a business. I have a whole new life out there waiting for me, a prospect that both frightens and thrills me.

People ask me if I’ve had any startling realizations out here or if I’ve done any soul searching. That was never my intent, but I would say that yes, I am changed. Perhaps not in big ways like a caterpillar to a butterfly, but in small, subtle ways. I think true, lasting change is gradual anyway.

I could probably blog for days about what I’ve learned and realized and how I’ve grown, but a lot of that is personal. To paraphrase, a lot of it boils down to a few key words: acceptance, letting go, figuring out what I want out of life and what I need to do to make it happen, positive thinking, and shedding the past,

I am extremely lucky and blessed to have had an opportunity to do this, and not a day goes by where I don’t acknowledge that. However, I had lots of help along the way. The number of blog hits I got blew my mind. The comments and personal emails of encouragement I got from friends, family, and sometimes acquaintances helped stave off the inevitable loneliness at times. Special thanks to Darren who took the time to email me every day. Sometimes checking my email or the blog comments at the end of a long journey, tired and wondering why I was in the middle of nowhereville was the only thing that kept my sanity.

I need community. Bottom line. How great to travel the world alone and realize that I was never really alone.

I just looked down at the clock on my computer and an unexpected feeling of excitement grabbed me. In ½ hour I’ll be landing in Canada! In several hours I will get to see my family and friends for New Year’s Eve! Someone will be there for me at the airport! I’ll wear that backpack for the last time! I feel giddy, like a little girl.

They say the best part about going away is coming home. I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s close.

Despite the sadness that my trip is over, I have a great time reuniting with friends and family on New Year's Eve.

Oh Vanity!

Denise — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 00:35:19 +0000

Just another crazy day in my travel world

I‘ve turned into a grungy traveller. Like getting hungry, it’s a gradual thing. I rarely put on makeup. Combing my hair just seems like such a bother. I usually just wake up and shake out the waves, going for the Bohemian look, though more often then not it resembles a blonde pile of Christmas tree tinsel. A tshirt that’s been worn many times? Sure, another day can’t hurt. I brought my old clothes on the trip and they are showing their wear like an old lady who smokes. I’ve gotten so bad that one day I didn’t realize I had my shirt on backwards until I was about to board a plane that afternoon. In Hong Kong I realized that there was a hole in the butt of my well-worn jeans only after I had been out for a couple hours.

So when I’m in Hawaii I’m gearing up for regular life, and I decide that this should also include the restoration of self grooming. First stop: outlet stores to buy a few necessities, like jeans. Next stop: the hair dresser. Time for a cut and color, something I have neglected for 6-7 months now.

Ang hooks me up with her friend’s salon and drops me off at a 7 storey building across from a large shopping mall. I meet Janine and she attacks my hair with a vengeance, putting goopy die on small strands of hair and wrapping them in tin foil. An hour later I look like an alien with my frizzy hair up in foils. I grin at myself in the mirror. I look utterly ridiculous. Thank goodness I’m contained behind a mirror in the back of the saloon.

As my highlights settle under a loud hairdryer, I’m immersed in my book and the sound of the dryer, oblivious to the world. My tranquility is short lived when Janine rushes up to me with a grimace.

“You’re going to hate this, but the fire alarm just went off.”

“What?”

“We have to evacuate the building.” I laugh and then cringe. “You’re kidding.”

But as she whizzes away the hair dryer I can hear the alarms and the metallic voice across the intercom: “Evacuate immediately. Evacuate immediately.”

It’s not clear if it’s a drill or authentic, but I sigh as I grab my purse and take one last look at myself in the mirror. I can’t help but laugh. Going out in public like this? Ludicrous!

There’s lots of people evacuating this 7 storey building like lemmings. I’m prominently on display, people eyeing me with a mixture of amusement and pity. At my hair dresser’s prodding, I make my way down to the parking garage where I chill out with a couple other customers. Lucky for them they were in the middle of haircuts or low key dye jobs. They’re all Asian and my blonde fro is like a siren on my head. The black plastic smock I’m wearing is a far cry from fashionable wear.

People pass in the parking lot, their eyes and heads following me as they turn the corner because they just can’t seem to look away. This time their looks are a concoction of amusement and bewilderment.

We’re out there for a good 20 minutes before we are informed that a pipe has broken. Janine checks my color again.

“We gotta take this out, or you’ll get brassy,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s go to the salon at Macy’s across the street and get you shampooed.”

So Janine and I march off to Macy’s. Walking through a busy department store looking like this isn’t desirable. I can only laugh. But as I’m inundated with the stares, I realize it’s not so different from the Middle East. I pretend this is normal and I have chosen to go shopping looking like this.

It ends well. My hair doesn’t turn brassy. After the shampoo we’re let back into the building. Though I look like a drowned rat in a smock as I walk back through Macy’s, it’s such an improvement that I feel like a queen.

My hair dresser is very apologetic. I assure that as long as she didn’t break the pipe, I don’t blame her at all. I pause, then admit, “You know, stuff like this on my trip keeps happening to me. Nothing bad, just everything crazy. So trust me, I’m not surprised.”

Just Taking it All In

Denise — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 19:53:39 +0000

It's gorgeous

I don’t want to do lots of sight seeing in Hawaii. I’ve done enough sight seeing for a while, and I‘m happy just to drink in the scenery and spend my last precious few days on the beach. Ang plays the perfect host and takes me to nice look out points and beaches.

One day we go to the North Shore and watch some guys surf that Bonsai Pipeline, one of the most famous surfing spots in the world. It’s amazing to watch this in person. It’s highly dangerous in that area and only for extremely skilled surfers. The massive waves make such a perfect “c” shape as they roll over, that the surfers actually get caught in the way. Sometimes they are able to shoot out the side before the wave closes, and other times it envelopes them in the salty, ferocious water. It’s amazing watch and we do for hours.

Fun to watch real surfers

Surfing is a cool sport to watch because you want to root for everyone. You want everyone to catch the waves.

Speaking of surfing, I give my new found skills a shot and fail dismally. It’s not an easy sport! My confidence waned with my first attempt. I don’t have a lot of control over the board yet and I get dangerously close to some lady who yells at me. I apologize profusely and do feel terrible, but she’s not forgiving. It dampens my enthusiasm. Kon and Ang assure me after watching her that she’s just a beginner and not a very good one, so she really had no right to ream me out.

Kon patiently tries to help me, and I give it an attempt, but the waves seem much choppier than I was used to in the Philippines. I’m facing the vast ocean, paddling out to be able to get a wave and one catches me perfectly. The only thing is that I’m not in position- I’m backwards on my belly. The wave whooshes me backwards, propelling me backwards towards the shore. It’s kind of fun until I realize that I’ve come within inches of plowing into another surfer. He’s a little more cool than the last lady but it doesn‘t help my confidence.

Factoring in the conditions, the amount of people I’m clobbering into and my extreme amateur status, I decide to call it a day. Surfing is incredibly difficult and at least I can say I gave it a shot in Hawaii. Ang tells me that I need to come back in summer when the conditions are better.

CHILLIN’

Ang and Kon are within walking distance of the famous Waikiki area, so I peruse that on my own one afternoon like a bona fide tourist. We do various other things such as peruse a market and inhale more stunning scenery. Of course we hang out at the beach, too.

Kon is into spear fishing and makes a remarkable catch one day. We go to the local Chinese restauarant where they steam it for us. It’s amazing and fresh and cooked to perfection. Kon and I partake in tradition and each eat an eyeball for good luck. The actual eyeball is slimy but flavorful, but the white thing behind it is tasteless and chewy, sort of like eating Styrofoam. It’s not something I’m jonesin’ for again anytime soon.

The restaurant cooks Kon's massive catch...deeelicious!

The days pass by quickly. It’s a relaxing few days and I enjoy myself thoroughly, knowing that in a short time I’ll be chained to my office desk, neck deep in marketing projects and pulling out my hair dealing with things like US bank accounts and North Carolina driver’s licenses. But right now, I’m loving being here.

Aloha Hawaii

Denise — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 22:08:43 +0000

Ang greets me at the airport with a real lei, not a cheap, plastic one!

In some ways landing in Hawaii feels like being handed a bottle of water at the end of a marathon. I’m in North America. My friend is picking me up from the airport so I don’t need to figure out where I’m going and how to get there. The unmistakable tropical smell and humidity permeates my senses as soon as I get off the plane. The airline workers wear blue Hawaian shirts with flowers dancing all over the fabric and say, “Aloha!”

It’s Christmas morning and the airport is sleepy and quiet. I’m still the only white person amongst a sea of Polynesians and Japanese that just got off the plane with me. As I’m standing in the foreigner line to wait to talk to customs, a worker approaches me and tells me I‘m in the Visitor lane. I think she assumes I should be in the resident lane due to my blonde hair.

The guy at customs tries to be helpful, but is not. He is confused with my US working VISA which is stapled to my passport like it should be. He dislodges the staple and removes it from my passport with the explanation, “You need to keep this in a safe place.”

Huh? I thought stapled in my passport was a safe place.

Despite, he lets me in the country without a hitch and I can’t help but think, “Last customs stop in another country before I head home.”

My pending trip home is increasingly on my mind. Time is, once again, a runaway train and I want to pull the emergency brake but can’t get a grip, no matter how hard I try to slow it down.

Despite the fact that it’s Christmas morning, and her first Christmas with her new husband, my friend Ang greets me at the airport with a lei. She throws it around my neck along with her arms and it’s so good to see her. So good. I’m actually overwhelmed at how good it is to see a familiar face. The last familiar face I saw was my cousin in Spain. That was a couple months ago.

We drive back to her apartment with the windows open and I breath in the delicious smell of tropics. Bright flowers decorate the streets, vivid shades of pinks and whites and reds and oranges. I was made to be in warm weather and the tropics. I drink it in, knowing it will be over before I know it.

I have never met Ang’s husband, Kon. I figure a girl as cool as Ang would marry only a top notch guy, but I admit that I’m slightly apprehensive as we approach the apartment. I mean, the guy’s a doctor. Battling unfounded stereotypes, I still can’t help but wonder if maybe at best he’s pretentious or at worst he’s a know it all.

Of course he’s neither. He’s a total sweetheart and as we catch up that Christmas morning, he and Ang make me a delicious breakfast of eggs with feta, avocado and tomato, ironically some of my favorite foods. It’s the first home cooking I’ve had in months and it’s absolutely delectable.

My chilled out hosts make me a delicious Christmas morning breakfast, my first home cooked meal in months

After breakfast we head to the beach. As I lie there in the sun on Christmas Day, listening to the ocean and the chatter around me, I think that this is the way Christmas should be. White should entail sand, not snow. If my family was there with me, it would be absolutely perfect.

It doesn’t take me long to conclude that Hawaii has a cool vibe. It’s laid back and chilled out. It’s almost hard to explain, but the feeling there is really amazing. It’s like there’s a positive energy field there or something like that. The truth is that with me and Hawaii, it’s love at first sight. I always assumed it would be overrated, but I assure you, it’s not. It deserves every inch of it’s reputation.

Ang is a nurse and has to work the nightshift that evening, so I go for sushi with Kon and his friend, Omar. I chuckle internally at how much raw fish I have consumed for Christmas this year. Santa has been good to me; I love raw fish. Despite the delicious food, I feel like I’m only half there with conversation. I managed a nap that afternoon, but it was yet another overnight plane ride and once again, I’m exhausted.

It turns out that I’m in for a treat. Going to sleep that night is bliss. They have a fancy air filled sofa bed and lying on it with nice sheets and two pillows, I feel like I have checked into the Hilton down the road. It is by far the most comfortable bed I have slept in 3 months. I sink into the bed and I sink into my dreams and relish in my contentment.

I realize as I’m in a home environment for the first time in 3 months that it’s the little things I miss: Brewing coffee. Opening the fridge and pouring water from the Brita. Keeping shampoo in the shower. Leaving my netbook and wallet out and not worrying about it getting stolen. Warming up leftovers.

It’s so, so, good to be here.

It's not overrated. It's amazing here!

Yes, I’ll finish…

Denise — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 01:19:34 +0000

So as anyone has probably figured out, I’m in North America now. It’s been a crazy few weeks. I had a whirlwind week in Canada then moved to North Carolina.

However, my blog is not finished and I’m surprised how many people are still reading the stories and asking me to finish.

I promise I’ll write the Hawaii stories soon. My self imposed deadline is before the end of the month. The stories are actually written, I just need to sift through photos and do some editting.

See you soon!

Sushi in Lieu of Turkey

Denise — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 13:07:45 +0000

Eating sushi with a bunch of strangers on Christmas Eve

Christmas eve is tough in Tokyo. After the lonely day, I get back to the hostel when it’s dark, break open my computer, and realize that I can’t even Skype anyone because it’s the middle of the night in North America.

I email and Facebook and social network but it feels like there’s not a response out there. My cold is giving me a beating and finally I sigh, close my netbook lid, and make my way over to where a group of Aussies are drinking beer and chatting.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask as I plop myself down.

And thus Christmas eve loneliness is staved by a group of strangers in the hostel and a dinner of authentic Japanese sushi, even if it the menu and staff can’t communicate in English and we simply have to point, hoping that our finger lead us to the right selection of raw fish. (It does.)

It's difficult to order when the menu (and waitress) is only in Japanese

Mercifully, Christmas Day feels like any other day. It’s not a stat holiday in Japan, so the Tokyo hustle and bustle seems to be business as usual. I go to a recommended spot, yuppie central, and people watch. It’s a busy area, and actually boasts one of the busiest intersections in the world. I sip a green tea at Starbucks as I watch the mayhem. At intervals, all lights turn red and everyone crosses the street in whichever direction they please. Seems efficient to me.

One of the business pedestrian crossings in the world

After some more sight seeing and inhaling of the Tokyo vibe, I make my way to the airport to catch my 8:00pm flight.

It was a strange Christmas all alone. But it was good for me. I can now empathasize better with people who have a tough time during the holidays, and it’s a reminder that I appreciate my loved ones back home.

Tokyo's Got it Going On

More Cool Buildings

The Japanese Don’t Jaywalk

Denise — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 16:51:42 +0000

Tokyo is sophisticated

Toyko is a 90 minute subway ride from the airport and I’m scared I’ll miss my stop because my hostel directions are vague. It’s dark, everything is unfamiliar, and Japanese characters inundate me. All I have with me is the name of my hostel and a crude, hand drawn map I tried to emulate from the Internet in the absence of a printer.

When I surface from the underground, I take a deep breath. It’s black with that foreboding “I’m all alone in this big city at night and I have no clue where to go” feel. I have no street names with me- all I have is my sad map and the remembrance that my hostel is about a “2 minute walk from the subway”. But which way?

I notice a Japanese man on a bicycle not far from me. He stops at the corner and is watching me. I look up, half smile and look down at my map again. I have no idea where to go and I sigh. I always hate this part of travel.

I look around, desperately hoping to see a landmark. The man is still watching me. My intuition tells me not to be frightened; I get the feeling he maybe wants to be helpful but doesn’t want to scare me.

Despite its size, it boasts tranquility in many areas

“Where you going?” He trepidly asks.

I walk up to him out of mild desperation. The streets are strangly quiet. There’s little activity and few people. I can’t show him my sorry excuse for a map, so I mention the name of a hotel that should be near the hostel.

“What?” He asks. It’s clear his English is not good.

I repeat the name of the hotel a few times, and he finally says, “Aaah,” as he points the opposite way I was contemplating.

Relief fills me like happiness that I’m at least close. I clarify my directions with him.

“Come,” he says. “Follow me.”

As I follow him on his bike, he makes broken small talk. “Where you from? First time Tokyo? Heavy,” he says with a grin as he points at my backpacks. Conversation is fragmented as shards of broken glass due to the language barrier, but we try.

We get to an intersection and he points at the hotel. I see it!

I thank him profusely as he bikes off and I make my way to the hostel, which should be behind the hotel. And it is.

It’s my last hostel stop of the trip and as I enter it, I feel bittersweet about this. I have finally found my last unknown destination. This will be my last experience is dorm style hostels for a while. It’s almost as comforting as it’s not.

The Imperial Palace

Ironically it’s one of the nicest hostels I stay in. For $30 per night for a bed, it should be, though. I don’t sleep well which is unusal for me. I’ve been sleeping better on this trip then most of my life and I’m suspicious that as I’m mentally preparing to go home, my mind is failing my sleep patterns subconscoiusly like it has done for so much of my life. This is especially frustrating because when I wake up, my cold is only worse, and I’m sneezing and coughing badly. My head feels like it has been pounded with a jackhammer all night.

The Asakusa Temple, swarmed with tourists

The next day, armed with a bottle of water, kleenex, 3 maps of the city and my camera, I set out to see Tokyo properly. There are points of interest circled on my map, including subway stops.

First stop: Starbucks. So sue me. I love Starbucks. As I sit there, sipping my extra hot skinny latte, I observe something about my relationshp with Starbucks. I rarely go at home. I go a lot on business trips. I’ve been going a lot in the big cities I’ve been travelling to. The realization dawns on me. Starbucks is comforting to me and I go there when I’m lonely.

It’s December 24 and I’ve grown accustomed to the lonely moments of my trip. There are various ways to deal: a call back home, making new friends, listening to a setlist on my iPod. Now that I’ve realized this, I can add Starbucks to the list.

Christmas carols are playing. Decorations are everywhere. I admit that this is the 3rd out of the last 4 Christmas’ I’ve missed. The other 2 never really bothered me, probably for a couple reasons. One, I was with my sisters, and two, I was in countries where they don’t really acknowledge Christmas. But here in Tokyo, Christmas is sprinkled everywhere like the cinnamon and nutmeg I pinch into my latte to make it a bit more festive.

As I’m contemplatating spending Christmas alone in Tokyo, and not particularly liking the feeling, a white man sitting at the table next to me strikes up a conversation. He’s an English teacher. We chat for a while and I’m grateful for the interuption. There is far less English in Tokyo then most other countries I’ve been to, and it’s nice to be able to communicate freely with someone. As we bid each other farewell and good luck, I realize I never wished him a Merry Christmas.

I’m determined to sink my teeth into Tokyo, Christmas or not, lonely or not. I walk the streets of Tokyo that day and see lots of cool things. Temple. Check. Imperial Palace. Check. Charming parks and courtyards. Check. World’s largest electronics store. Check. But it’s all just more stuff to see.

Contemplating Tokyo and Christmas alone on a park bench

Still, It doesn’t take me long to fall in love with Tokyo. It’s unnaturally clean. It’s oddly quiet. It’s chic and modern. It reeks of sophistication. The Japanese are so darn polite that they don’t even jaywalk or talk on their cell phones in the subway, let alone stare. And one word: sushi. ‘Nuff said.

I break out my iPod for a portion of the day as I mosey along, making good use of the massive subway system. Tokyo is huge. It takes me almost an hour of subway rides to get to one of my destinations. In between sight seeing I eat sushi. I eat more sushi. I go to Starbucks again.

But it’s the vibe I like the most. The city just has a really nice, chilled out feeling, despite it’s size. So if I have to spend Christmas alone in a big city, I feel lucky that Tokyo it is.

The world's largest elecontric store- 7 floors tall

Confessions from Hong Kong

Denise — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 09:00:18 +0000

I see Hong Kong...er, um, at night

I’m not sure if I should admit this publicly on my blog.

But the secret is that I never really saw Hong Kong in the daylight. Yup, you read that right. This girl that loves to see and do as much as she can never toured Hong Kong like a proper tourist.

And I have no regrets.

It's cool at night

I’m writing this entry after spending a couple days in Tokyo. I loved Tokyo and will write more about that later, but I’ve come to a conclusion about big cities: they are lonely.

After going through so many big cities alone–Lima, Madrid, Cairo, Dubai–I’ve realized that it usually results in my loneliest times. There’s something kind of sad about being in a big city all alone. Maybe it’s the swarms of people around. Maybe it’s the fact that truly experiencing big cities is about enjoying delicious restaurants and hot spots with people. I’m not sure what it is except to say that I’m now a believer that big cities should not be explored alone.

Here's Dan as we ride the longest escalator in the world

I met Dan and Caroline in the Philippines. They’re Canadian law students doing a semester in Hong Kong. Their semester just finished. Caroline travelled on, but Dan was planning on sticking around Hong Kong for a bit, and offered me his couch to crash on and said he’d introduce me to his friends.

A big city not all alone? Sign me up!

Meeting new people is the best part of travelling alone

I’m tired when I make my way to Dan’s apartment, of course. The overnight bus ride from San Juan to Manila got me again. The first thing that strikes me about Hong Kong is that they drive on the left side of the road. Sure, I know the British influence is huge, but since mainland China drives on the right, I assumed it would be the same, sort of like us Canadians mirroring the US driving habits.

1997, the date Hong Kong was handed over, is prominently displayed in many places

Dan has made plans to go out with some of his friends, and thus I latch onto the coat tails of night-life loving law students.

We have a lot of fun. The highlight of the night is great Filipino cover bands who take many requests, from old school Green Day to the Killers to many other great sing-along and dance-along songs.

The night life doesn’t stop in Hong Kong. Like the black of night, It wears off when the sun comes up. After having a great time with Dan and his friends, we finally head back to the apartment at 6am, sleep most of the day and surface again when it’s dark out.

We take a tram to "the peak" which boasts a fabulous view of the city

That night we take a tram to the famous “Peak” of Hong Kong where we hang out a bit, marvel at the night view of the city, and then meet up with his friends, repeating the night again. It ends with breakfast at 7am. Not bad for a girl who comes from a country where the night life stops at 2am.

Such a cool view

I’m only in Hong Kong for a couple days, capitalizing on a layover. Admittedly my original plan was to stay longer, but when I wanted to enjoy Israel a little more, something had to give, and Hong Kong and Tokyo were first on the chopping block.

So my conclusion on Hong Kong? It’s a fun city that not only looks great at night, but is great at night. And that’s about all I’m qualified to say on the subject.

Only two days later at noon I head to the airport to catch a flight to Tokyo. I’m exhausted and have a cold, coughing and wheezing enough that I’m afraid I’ll be detained as a “swine flu suspect”, but I know it’s my own fault.

For those who know me and my absolute favorite food, I was surprised to find dropjes in Hong Kong! Yum yum!

Do I feel guilty that I never saw much of Hong Kong in the daylight?

Absolutely not. I’d rather connect with people then sightsee anyday, and I’m relieved that I was let off the hook, to be honest.

Surf’s Up!

Denise — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 07:41:24 +0000

My surf instructor Ronald and I (his little daughter told him I was too tall)

I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf. But I’d forgotten an age old truth: learning something new sucks. Despite my keen desire to surf, I’ve never really had a chance to learn. Lake Huron isn’t really grounds for even a mediocre attempt. But I always figured I should learn because I’m a natural candidate for many reasons: I love the water. I love waves. I love sunshine. I love a challenge. I love exercise.

But all my love for these things doesn’t necessarily make me a natural surfer. For instance, my balance is atrocious. And I haven’t worked out my upper body in years. Just look at pictures of me to see those scrawny arms.

When I arrived in the Philippines and saw in The Lonely Planet that San Juan was a great and cheap place to learn to surf, I knew I had to go.

The beach where I catch my first wave

Two weeks later, I get on a bus from Manila to San Juan, slightly apprehensive because I haven’t met any other travellers who had been to San Juan, which is never a good sign.

The bus ride was supposed to take 6 hours, but it takes 8. I get there when’s dark. I couldn’t find hostels online so I have no reservation, but my beat-up Lonely Planet has some vague descriptions of a few places in the area. It’s a little unsettling.

The bus drops me off (I notice some locals peering out at me from the bus windows, standing out of their seats, chuckling as I get my backpacks on), hire a trike, and go to the first “resort” I see in The Lonely Planet. Big mistake. My hostel that night is awful as you can see by my review. And as I sit in the restaurant that evening, I observe that San Juan feels quite quiet and full of couples. What have I gotten myself into?

I’ve learned that things usually look better in the morning. The next day I find a new place. I plop my bags in my room and say to the lady, “When can I take my first surfing lesson?”

“Right now?” She asks.

“Yup.”

“Ok, 10 minutes.”

I figure this might be 10 Filipino minutes, but literally 10 minutes later Ronald, my instructor, and I are on the beach while he gives me a quick 5 minute prelude to the surfboard and takes me into the ocean. Enter the learning curve. That curve is never fun. Surfing is no different. I’m about as natural with balance as the average white man with dancing. The waves abuse me. All the typical things happen: I almost lose my bathing suit, I get a lung full of salt water, some other amateur’s board comes flying right at my head…

Lovin' the ocean

But I do feebly catch some waves! I’m shaky and awkward, and I don’t stay on the board as long as I should due to my balance issues, but I do it. After 1 hour I’m exhausted but exhilarated. I’m accomplishing a 12 year old dream. Finally!

I underestimasted the sheer energy required to surf. It’s one heck of a workout. I had no idea it requires so much energy, especially upper body strength. In no time my chest, biceps and triceps feel like they have been through the torture chamber.

Ronald asks if I want to take a lesson the next day…or even that afternoon. He makes the afternoon suggestion trepidly, I think expecting me to say no.

“This afternoon, of course. After a nap.”

I’m hellbent on learning this. And it’s only about $10 an hour for the lesson and the surfboard rental.

Back in my room as I rinse off the saltwater I feel great. I’m a bit sore and my belly is red from plopping on the board so much and my arms are aching. I have my own room for the first time in my whole trip, since San Juan doesn’t have dorm style hostels. I email my mom and mention that it will probably be a bit lonely in San Juan since there doesn’t seem to be too many other travellers.

Turns out that I underestimated San Juan’s social scene. The next morning, just before my surf lesson, I meet a group of people from Britian. Then a few people from Switzerland. Before I know it, there’s lots of people to hang out with, and it’s great. I also realize that I love having my own room.

But my primary reason for being there is to learn how to surf, and I diligently go out with Ronald for 2 hours a day, despite my sore arms.

On day 2 I hit a stroke of beginner’s luck in the waves. I catch a big, long one and get a rush of adrenaline as I whiz to shore, perched on the board. I don’t even want to try to describe the feeling, except to say that suddenly all the paddling, all the nose dives into waves, all the getting tossed around like a washing machine, my aching upper body…it all becomes worth it. It’s the ultimate reward.

That night I meet some locals, and they say, “Oh! You’re the girl who caught that big, long wave today!”

I grin, liking the recognition. And I grin because I know this reputation will be short-lived. Judging by my attempts after that, I know it was beginner’s luck, and I’m fairly certain that the next night they’ll be like, “Oh, you’re the girl that was nose diving into all those waves today!”

By day 3, I’m warned by my new friends not to go out because the waves are hostile, especially for a new beginner. Ronald figures it will be okay, and I trust him. It’s very difficult for me. I manage to catch a 5 foot wave which is exhilarating, but most of the time the waves simply have their way with me. I have more war wounds. My surfboard clobbers me a few times, a reef takes out a chunk of my foot, and I inhale several shots of salt water in my lungs. My eyes are red like an imp and I’m hacking like a smoker. I’m beaten and battered and exhausted by the time I get to shore and I’m discouraged.

The next morning I’m sleeping and there’s a knock at my door at 8:30. I stumble to the door to see Ronald, telling me it’s time to go to another beach for today’s lesson. This is pretty much the first I’ve heard of this. I throw on my swimsuit, stagger out of my room and it turns out that it’s a full blown field trip. There’s lots of Filipino instructors milling around, throwing copious amounts of surfboards on the roof of a jeepney, and a bunch of foreigners waiting to take surfing lessons. We all pile into the jeepney and drive 30 minutes to the next beach over. I feel like a surfer. I love it.

A surfing field trip in a jeepney

I catch some good waves and in these more beginner-friendly waters, I feel much better about my budding surfing abilities. We repeat the process the next day. I bruise easily and my legs are already turning various shades of black and blue. I take a surfboard in the jaw and it turns a slight shade of purple. Fortunately, it’s not terribly noticeable unless I point it out. I get someone else’s board in the leg. It’s a ferocious charley horse that paralyzes me in the water momentarily, but I recover and limp to shore. It, too, results in my leg looking like the canvas for an abstract painter who has a penchant for shades of purple and blue.

I wouldn’t say I’m a natural surfer, but I love it. I’ve accomplished something I’ve always aspired to do, and though it wasn’t easy, it was worth every bruise and war wound.

That night I catch and overnight bus to the Manila airport. 21 days in the Philippines went fast. I have a glorious tan that will no doubt be gone in a few days, many great memories, and the know-how to surf just a little bit.

What more can a girl ask for?

New friends and wannabe surfers cram into the jeepney