The other day, while plowing through YouTube, I found a soundtrack video with the last song in the film. And the image from Chris' camera where he sits in front of the bus, smiling. One of the comments for the video was from a woman who wrote she was the exact same age as he was, and that she had hitchhiked up to Alaska at the same time as him. That they probably stayed in the same hostels and maybe even ran past each other hitchhiking. And she continued writing about all her travels. Then one sentence caught my attention. "...until the big Wanderlust finally left me around the age of 35. I do miss that feeling sometimes,"
It made me think. And it brought me back to 1996. June. My plane taking me home was taking off from the foggy morning in Quito, Equador. I had spent 3 and a half months backpacking in South America. I was tired. Glad to be going back to Norway. But a few hours later, when I saw the coastline of Venezuela disappear on the horizon behind the plane, I almost started crying. I wanted the plane to turn back. And as soon as I got home. I started thinking about my next trip. I remember the feeling is much alike the feeling of falling in love. I hadn't fallen in love with South America. I had fallen in love with traveling. There was a spark there that made me light up every time I spoke of my journey. And for the next few years, I went to South America, Africa, Asia and Australia. And the spark was still there. I was like a kid on Christmas eve. I almost couldn't contain myself. I even planned that sometime in the future, I was going to take a year off just to travel.
And I wondered. Where did the spark go? In all my love for travel, the spark is gone. The Wanderlust. I am still exited about traveling, but the spark is gone. It's like being in an average marriage. I still love my travels, but the things that made my heart rush, isn't there anymore. And I have no idea when and where it left me. Maybe it just faded slowly. Maybe it popped out of me when I wasn't paying attention. Maybe my girlfriends made me want to stay home. Or maybe it died when my dad died. I don't know. I only know it is gone. Maybe I just have forgotten to revive it once in a while? Fed it with much needed oxygen to let it burn?
I try to remember, because I have a vague memory of a trip I made sometime in my 30s when I was lying on my bed in one of the usual crappy backpacker hotels I normally stay in. And I hated it. I wanted to scream. I wanted to jump on a plane and go to a nice place. A cosy place. 5 star hotel with all creature comforts. Fling out my gold card in the reception and tell the receptionist to give me a room. And then just stay there for the rest of my vacation. That was the first time I asked myself "Why am I torturing myself like this?". And I decided never to go anywhere except nice "western" countries. I dunno what happened. I didn't stop. I continued to travel like I always did. But maybe the spark left at that point?
I am not searching for my lost youth. I'm 45. The hairs on my chin are going gray on me. I'm unable to sit on a bus for 40 hours straight like I used to. And I have accepted that I am never going back. But I just wish I could have that single spark back. The drive. The intoxicating Wanderlust.
But I guess, when it is gone....
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| Me at the tender age of 28. When I look at this picture, I can still see that Wanderlust spark in me. |
