The Shrinking World

I spent two weeks in Tamarindo. It was my last stop in Costa Rica, before I headed north to Nicaragua. The hostel was perfect. La Botella de Leche has it all: offbeat décor (think cows everywhere), open air seating, a full kitchen, and an owner who you want to get to know (a women from Argentina, who would have lunch with you, or let you borrow a surf board). I was stretching my time here. I loved seeing Costa Rica and I had come to a conclusion: it would never be like this again.

You travel to expand your world. Instead you shrink it. Relative distances get smaller. Countries that were a vague concept are now clearly defined. You know the major bus routes. You know what to expect in certain cities. You have climbed the hill and know what is on the other side.

Before my travels in Central America, my mental image was so different. It feels smaller now. It’s safer than many major US cities. It has it’s wonderful parts and it’s ugly sides too. But the feeling consuming me in the last few weeks in Costa Rica was pre-emptive nostalgia. It would never be as exciting to be in Puerto Viejo, as the first time, when I saw the massive waves and churning sea. I would probably never spend time in San Jose again. Or Jaco. I won’t be able to surf for the first time in Mal Pais or meet the same people.

If I do return, it will always be a comparison. Fresh, New, Exciting– I’ve used those things up.

On a larger scale, I worry about these things. It probably seems weird, for someone who has traveled to 16 countries in the last year, to be concerned that she will run out. But the truth is, one day I will. The world is finite. And for me, it’s getting smaller all the time.

So I’ve started hoarding places. One of my first dream locations, the most exotic place I could think of in those days, is Thailand. I’m saving it. India. Easter Island. The Galapagos. Morocco. I will go, but not yet. I burned through Paris, Rome, Barcelona, Belize, Panama. As much as I want to see everything, I’m slowly becoming aware that the excitement of the unknown is as large a part of my impetuous to travel as actually being there.

Is that why world travelers continue to find more and more obscure locations? Do they forever chase the thrill of seeing something for the first time? If you travel long term, perhaps you have had a similar feeling. You’re in a new city and two weeks in, you still like it, but you’re ready for the next thing. It’s time to go. Where does it end?

For most people, it ends when the trip does. One year later, a few pounds lighter and broke, they return home, slightly burned out from living in their backpack. They travel for the rest of their lives, but usually never for a year again. In two weeks a year, it’s almost impossible to see everything. But what if you don’t stop?

As they say, this is a ‘quality problem‘. I am aware.

In Tamarindo, I tried to make mental snapshops. The guy on the beach who talked to me for an hour while my husband surfed. He was from Nicaragua, but wanted to live in Texas. The way the rice and beans taste slightly seasoned here. The dusty road and iguanas that peek out from the brush. The fat limes that drop on the hostel roof with a loud thud. Talking to a kid from Holland, who did impressions of American actors. The snowboarder from Montreal who wanted Quebec to form their own country. Making homemade guacamole for everyone in the hostel. Little things, yes. But it’s the best I can do. Appreciate now, travel as slow as I can bear, and while it won’t last, and it’ll never be the same, I still have right now.