#38: Traveling with a microscope 🔬
anti-travel travel musings
I recently returned to comfort, consistency, and Chipotle after five weeks of unstructured travel. My 22 hour layover in Seoul started off with a conversation on video games and Korea’s intense work culture over dakgalbi, charcoal-grilled chicken with my friend’s cousin. Jet lag woke me up at 4am and I ran from one landmark to another for efficiency’s sake, but also to offset the caloric effect of cramming four meals in four hours.
In Chiang Mai, I evaded the blistering heat by sheltering in hipster coffee shops, but also to quell any worries of falling behind on my “work”, which nowadays consists mostly of reading and writing. It felt unsettling to spend my days in front of the laptop when I could be doing so much, but I felt more at ease after joining a cooking class and petting some elephants. In Bangkok, I got humbled in a 1-on-1 Muay Thai session, met an internet friend, and went on a side quest for bed sheets with a local friend after the laundromat lost his.
Settling down in Indonesia, all I did was yoga, read, write, and surf for three weeks. I went to the same warung everyday for lunch - sometimes I’d double up and come for dinner too. Each time I returned my spotless plate back, I’d say “See you tomorrow.”
Singapore was a blur. I only decided to visit because it was the cheapest flight back home. For the three-day solo trip, my only plan was to enjoy some cheap, authentic eats at the hawker center. Instead I ended up visiting the Google office, hanging out at a bar with the owners, and plunging into a seven-hour private tour of the entire city, including three museums.
Only upon reflection is it clear to me that the most memorable moments were unstructured flashes of time. I wouldn’t have been able to predict the vibrancy and vividness of these everyday morsels that sat in-between planned activities that come with the baggage of 4.8 stars and thousands of reviews. During my time away from familiarity, mundane maintenance tasks transformed into thrilling adventures with rich textures.
A weightlifting session became a one-time dabble into luxury when I had the entire gym to myself, including control of aux. The same Spotify playlist containing the works of modern day Beethovens (Young Thug, Future, and Lil Baby) hits different over the surround sound speaker system. The Rock has his own private home gym called The Iron Paradise. I got a glimpse into what that’s like during my $10 drop-in session at Power + Revive in Canggu. The weights were the same, but felt just a little lighter and moved just a bit faster.
In Lombok, the quieter, less chaotic island east of Bali, the swell and moon cycle aligned. What would’ve just been a normal surf turned into a full-on Joseph Campbell adventure. We selected our weapon of choice from a quiver in a open air rental shop defined by bamboo walls. Commuting to the surf required strapping the board to a scrap metal rack on our $4 moped rentals. We rode across the island looking like the modern version of knights jousting. Upon arrival to the fishing village, we were aggressively ushered into makeshift parking lots by families competing with each other for our business. With board tucked into armpit, we climbed into the double outrigger - or jukung as locals call it. We sat in alternating fashion on top of wooden slats whose imperfections would reveal themselves whenever we hit choppy waters and one of us fell through our seat, Inception-style. While en route, each of us went through own unique routine of hydration, shoulder wiggles to loosen up, and sunscreen application.
The best spot for sunset is often from the water because you’re far away enough from mountains, skyscrapers and other visual obstructions. Surfing in the late afternoon is nice because even if you don’t catch many good waves, there’s always sunset. But even after the sun had disappeared over the horizon and even after the afterglow, we remained. It’s easy to get cold once darkness creeps in, but not if you keep paddling. Usually the final constraint that forces you to call it is losing the ability to see the sets of waves approach, but on this occasion, moonlight received a baton pass from the sun. Illuminated by the full moon from the opposite direction, we adjusted to the new angles of shadows and continued to harvest a few more. By then, the local surf guides and their clientele had retreated, leaving the oceanic adult playground all to ourselves.
Back in Bali, I found myself on the sea cliffs of Uluwatu with the unobstructed sun directly in front and surfers below. In my normal environment, it’s too easy for me to slip into a state of default busyness, so it was refreshing to arrive early for something for once (watching the sunset). I picked back up on Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life. As the author’s meandering quest for enchanting waves takes him from Australia to Indonesia, I slow down my reading cadence until reaching a complete stop when I read Uluwatu. I realize that this book and I are in the same place, at the same time. “There was an eleventh-century Hindu temple, built of hard gray coral, perched on the edge of a high cliff just to the east of the wave.” I turn to my left and sure enough, I spot the spiritual pillars jutting out towards the sea. It’s covered with far more speckles of tourists than the author would’ve seen in the 80s. For the next hour, my focus constantly diverted between story, surfers, and sunset. I felt the same way during my first 4D film experience in Disney World: sensory overload. To be immersed in the same exact place as the book’s setting - there has to be a German word for this.
Why is it that my pre-travel expectations and post-travel memories have little to no overlap? TripAdvisor, travel blogs, and friends supplied me with recommendations and yet the essence of my travels was encapsulated by the subtle differences in everyday activities: exercise and reading. Isn’t it paradoxical how the minutia of listening to music over speakers or reading a book with a new backdrop can expand into grand moments?
When you’re in a foreign environment, everything is different. The novelty that envelopes you has the power to turn any ordinary activity into an exhilarating mission. Basic necessities that usually never make it into the journal entry, like getting drinkable water or deciding where to eat, transform into worthy-of-writing-about vignettes.
In placing yourself in unfamiliar territory, the detection of what’s new comes naturally. Now there’s a mosquito net over the bed. Snake fruit, mangosteen, and rambutan instead of apples, blueberries, and strawberries. A combination of intimidation and head nods instead of any actual road safety laws.
It’s also easier to notice what’s missing. Like home-cooked meals, the remaining 80% of your wardrobe (I kept running out of shirts), and American drip coffee which is somehow less fancy, but better than any espresso counterparts.
This phenomenon of being able to zoom in and notice intricate details often occurs when in new places, but it’s not unique to traveling. The thing is, it’s easier to appreciate the little things when traveling because we’ve departed from familiarity and comfort. A high contrast environment situates us with a perspective that forces us to actually pay attention. Perhaps it’s a feature of human nature to observe with a heightened sense of awareness when surrounded by the unknown. Whether it’s primitive biology in action or not, stopping to actually smell the roses is easier said than done, but always worth it.
Without any conscious effort or built-in practices, it’s too easy to improve your life without fully realizing that it’s getting better. To reverse the adverse effects of the hedonic treadmill, a hard reset is sometimes needed. The allure of travel is that it’s one of the few ways to know you’re in the good old days by only temporarily leaving them. By temporarily shocking the system with new ways of living, you realize the abundance of gifts sitting right in your lap. But travel is just one mode of orienting towards presence and gratitude. With reflection, meditation, and stillness, you don’t even need to leave home to appreciate what you have.
I sometimes recall that time I was volunteering in rural China and we were staying in the same dorms as the students. In the middle of the night, as I walked down the hallway to use the bathroom, I saw a blurry, but certainly completely naked boy. I asked him why he had no clothes on and he explained he was letting his clothes dry. In my half-asleep head, I thought it was peculiar that he didn’t just put on something else. It’s not like you can only wear your favorite outfit or be completely nude - there can be some middle ground here. I went back to sleep. Only when I woke up the next morning did I realize hanging on the clothesline were the only clothes that he owned.
I’ve seen how easily travel can morph from yearning to understand the world to pimping out an Instagram feed. Sometimes I wonder how much global travel would shift if you weren’t allowed to share your trip on social media. Would Bali, Tulum, and Santorini still be just as popular?
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to travel somewhere new. In fact, trying new things is often a vehicle for self-discovery. However, chasing novelty with the expectation of achieving nirvana or “finding yourself” is a fool’s errand. Like Mulan’s dog, the shiny bone is always dangling in front of us, but never quite attainable.
If you like where you are and what you are doing, then it’s totally okay to just stay the course. There’s no need to forcibly construct a bucket list that can’t escape the mimetic infusion of Instagram-approved destinations. But be weary of getting stuck in your own ways. If you’ve always lived in Hawaii, then you might wonder why your friend riding shotgun is freaking out over a rainbow. If you grew up in the mountains, then it’s easy to drive through blizzards without stopping to examine and appreciate the intricate individuality of snowflakes.
Rather than reach for the expensive telescope to observe galaxies far far away, dust off the microscope in the attic and take a look at what’s right in front of you. You might find something as dazzling and celestial as the distant stars.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass bottomed boat
To look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind
Note - I'm starting to explore coaching and am creating space for open-ended conversations with folks to discuss identity, work, performance, mindset, growth, and more. If you’re interested, reply to this or email me at matt.r.yao [at] gmail [dot] com!