Starting Over in Chinaa travel guide to the adventurous life Part I (find a more updated but less complete version at www.uoflife.com) by shaun roundy
If there's one thing I've learned from
Index Inception "Hey, Shaun, let's go to Taiwan and teach English!" It all began innocently enough. Chuck was my best friend and had lived there for two years already. I had taken a quarter of Chinese at Utah State University in order to talk with him behind people's backs, and could already say,"How much is that red pencil in the window?" and "She's beautiful!" or "How about a little smooch?" "Sounds cool! When?" I had spent the previous summer in San Francisco, the one before in Washington DC, and the two years before that all over Spain. Breaking up the time spent in school kept things interesting. "How about December?" After all, if I didn't do it now.... There was no way if knowing when I'd find a good job or get married or something else that would eliminate my last chance to roam the world, learn to say something useful in Chinese, make $20 an hour, and have the time of my life. Besides, graduation was coming at me way too fast. I didn't know what to plan for afterward. "Great! We're on." Chuck married Angie and stayed home. I left for the Orient in March.
The Crew I didn't go alone. After Chuck and Angie married, I met Michelle. She was already planning a trip to Taiwan with Shannon, who had already been there twice. I met her in a philosophy class taught by Dr. Robson. I had gotten in a fight with his son in fifth grade, and the two of us laughed about it as friends in high school. Dr. Robson’s daughter, Heather, was also in our class. She always sat near the front, but we had plenty of time to talk during our honors discussion groups. We soon talked her into joining us, as well as Beth, another member of our discussion group. Shannon was attending Weber State University in Ogden where she knew Von, and brought him into our group. Von knew Mike, also at USU, and Mike knew Suzanne. All eight of us met for the first time at Shannon's house in late February. The cool Winter sun reflected in through the North window as the nervous ones asked questions about what we could expect. Shannon answered calmly. Mike and I carefully monitored any serious doubts, watching for anyone with any thoughts of backing out, and casually but completely erased their concerns. We hoped everyone would come along. "The more the merrier," we told each other. By the time the dim sun sank behind the mountains, everyone was committed and ready to call the travel agent and book our flight. We had not yet considered that everyone might not be cut out for this kind of adventure.
This Next Good-Bye Spring Break ended three days before our adventure began. Walking across the busy university campus felt different now that I wasn't registered for classes. The freedom made the return of familiar faces all the sweeter. Wednesday afternoon, I parked my motorcycle at the far end of campus and walked to Katie's dorm, where she would return from class soon. I needed the extra time to think, to decide how to tell her good-bye. I watched the dark clouds pour into the valley and hoped it wouldn't rain. I had met Katie only a month ago. Her easy smile, perfect teeth, and the playful gleam always in the corner of her eye had caught my attention immediately. Before long, we were spending the warmer Spring days driving my motorcycle up the canyon to hike or rappel, or studying on a blanket spread over the grass at the dam. Before long, our afternoons together lasted well into the night; our relationship was growing more serious, but the plane tickets were already paid for. Now the time had come for me to leave. Today, I thought we might go somewhere new, I hoped we could somehow break through to some new insight, some sort of understanding about what this good-bye would mean to us. I wanted closure, something to allow me to start this new chapter with nothing holding me back. No regrets and no unanswered questions. In the end, we spent the afternoon sitting on her patio overlooking the valley and sipping hot cider. We spoke of writing to each other frequently. I promised to return in six months. At the very least, I knew this would be just one more in a series of bitter-sweet good-byes spread throughout my life of moving around the world again and again. At the very most, I would live to regret this day, this next good-bye.
The Beginning I The first stage of culture shock lasted for an entire month, beginning with the day we all went together to the travel agency and ending the morning we left for the airport. Culture shock follows a pattern like manic depression. Highs of excitement, hopes, dreams, and great expectations are occassionally shattered by the realizations of reality, of challenge and trial, of insecurity and inabilities. Various factors, including personalities and varying circumstances, affect how long each stage will last. For us, school was such a factor. Tests, papers, and finals allowed little time to think about the trip, and once Spring Break arrived, the trip was only a day away. So we spent our last busy month in America excited for the trip, with few thoughts about the troubles we might encounter once our feet stepped off the plane onto the other side of the world.
The Beginning II Rain had been falling all night long and was just turning to snow at 5:20 a.m. I knew this because I had spent most of the night packing, and had afterward been too excited to sleep. After hours of tossing and turning with adrenaline boiling gently through my veins, I switched off the alarm a few minutes before it rang and stepped into the shower. After double checking my carry on for my passport and plane ticket, I sat down in the living room and waited for my ride's headlights to appear in the driveway. I wanted to take a long, last look around. I wanted to breathe deep and memorize the smell of home, memorize the feel of carpet under my feet, and the sound of the early morning canyon wind against the shingles. I wanted to engrave this scene into my mind, it seemed the right thing to do. But I couldn't make it happen. Instead, my mind busily reviewed everything I had packed and everything I had left behind, making sure I had all the essentials, as if it weren't too late to change my mind. But I would be home in six months. A little forgetting would be alright. A car pulled into the driveway and I carried my bags into the still-dark front yard. As we drove away, I watched my home and the street lights of my neighborhood and town dissolve into the wet white flakes and the thick darkness of the edge of night.
The Beginning III Everyone else’s parents had made the early trip to the airport to see their children off. At first i felt a little out of place, standing there alone, but I soon realized the parents had already had plenty of time to say goodbye to their children. It felt strange to think of them as children. I wasn’t left alone for long. We checked our luggage and made our way to the gate. I found the parents eager, in this last half hour before departure, to get as well acquainted as possible with these strangers who would spend the next six months with their daughters and sons. It felt strange to notice that most of us were strangers to each other as well. The usual airport traffic had not yet arrived. The terminal remained strangely quiet, breathing through miles of hidden air conditioning vents. The silence let reality sink in deeper, saturating the mood with a calm excitement. Outside the glass windows at the gate, the airplane stood in the darkness, waiting for us to board. This was the real McCoy. By the time our plane shot down the runway, paused, then tore itself away from the ground, the sky was just growing light over the snow-covered Rocky Mountains to the East. Above the clouds, a beautiful Spring day had just begun.
The Beginning IV Those of us with window seats watched the mountains disappear as we flew West. Somewhere over Nevada, we fell into light conversation or independent reverie; none of us quite sure what to expect to find tomorrow on the other side of the world; none of us quite sure what the next six months held in store for us, none of us quite sure what was beginning and what was ending.
Behind Me Katie My family A fast motorcycle Three years in college Cares about the near and distant future Danger of stagnation and a life of conformity Whatever my life might have become without this trip. Before Me Danger and lucky breaks Mistakes, losses, and disappointments New understandings of an entire way of life Relaxation and enough time to redirect my life Stretching of limits and intense personal growth New friends and adventures never to be forgotten A life that could never have happened without this trip
Airplanes I "They're too big." is what I think, watching them lumber and crawl down long, concrete runways in Los Angeles. Steel, rubber, and glass. Four hundred forty passengers, seven thousand pounds of luggage, eight hundred eighty meals, Wings full of liquid fuel. It'll never fly, Not with me in it. How can they call this a bird?! I try to imagine it swooping low over the beach, catching bits of bread tossed in the air and check my luggage again.
Over the Ocean Six hours have passed since we left LAX, and the sun has escaped us to the West. Most window shades have been pulled shut anyway because of the in-flight movie that ended an hour ago. The majority of the passengers are Asian aboard Korean Air flight 007--the same one that was shot down over Russia just a few years back, which we notice with a touch of excitement. For six hours, I've been sitting in the same seat, Shannon and Michelle next to me, Von, Mike, Suzanne, Beth, and Heather in the row ahead. By this time, most passengers are trying to nod off with their faces buried awkwardly in thin red-checkered airline blankets. Not us. Our overhead lights light pages of novels and Mike's Taiwan travel guide. "Check out this place! Toroko Gorge--we gotta go there! It's straight down a thousand feet and you can drive through it!" Michelle looked up from her book. "Hate to disappoint you, Mike, but we're not just going on vacation." "Sure we are!" Von and I sided with Mike. "This will be whatever you make of it." Shannon had already been to Taiwan twice, and put an end to the argument. A steady hum--all that's left of the engine's roar and the wind's howl outside the craft--dampens all sound and creates the sensation of hearing underwater. A man behind me begins to snore loudly.
The Big, Big World I I didn't understand, as the Pacific slipped by far below all night long. I didn't understand then, but if I had, this is what I would have been thinking: "I can't afford to stay home. This world is way too big." What I believed I was thinking about was this island I was flying to and how I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know where I would live. I didn't know what the people would be like. I didn't know what I would eat or if I would like it. I didn't even know what other questions to wonder about as the night slipped by and our plane carried us across the ocean. But I wasn't lost. The Cheshire Cat cleared that one up for me: if you don't care where you end up, then it doesn't matter which way you go, and you can't be lost. Inside, I knew the truth all along--that it didn't matter where I was going. I simply had to go. The world is such a big, big place, afterall, and I knew just enough about it to realize how much there was that I didn't know. I had no destinations yet, no goals, even. For now, I only wanted to cover space, collect ideas and experiences, to live, to see, to touch, to taste, to breathe. I could simply collect randomly until the day comes when I figure out where to begin. I won’t know where to begin until I discover where to finish. I won’t know where to finish until I’ve found it already.
The Big, Big World II I couldn't afford to stay at home in Utah because I wanted to make the whole world my home. I wanted to never feel lost, insecure, or alone. I wanted to know everything intimately. I wanted to live with no regrets. I wanted to live fully and let nothing escape me. I wanted every mountain to feel like my own backyard, every city my hometown. But I won’t find myself at home there until I have already arrived. Until then, I will begin again and again, moving and starting over, collecting, experiencing, living; hopefully, perfecting the process with every move, until someday I get it right. Until someday when I really am home. When that day arrives, I just might settle down and stay. Clouds I I feel them at night, slippery and wet, soaking the sides of the steel aircraft, dripping from wing tips, sliced clean through for their resistance to metal and engines and technology and thousands of gallons of volatile fuel. Sitting before the wing shelters us from the engine’s roar and I'm glad, as I close my eyes in the darkness, trying to sleep in my seat between other economy class travelers. I feel them through the steel walls as I pace the aisles in the darkness and they mark time and distance and clouds dumping deep, white snow on the Rockies. become those spreading a fine, wet mist over Honolulu. We fly on through the night, clouds bleeding all over the craft, their tears dry by morning. |