Shorter than the Grand Tour, but longer than a jaunt with Phileas Fogg. Kasia Maynard circumnavigates the globe.
Earlier this year, I found myself in the rare position of having three spare months at my disposal. Time, I reasoned, to broaden the mind with a little travel – and a smooth blend of South-East Asia, Australia, Fiji and Los Angeles sounded like just the ticket.
With minimal planning, I set my course to embrace a total of seven countries, sketching out a rough itinerary for each one and booking all of my long-haul flights in advance. This didn’t stop me feeling anxious and unprepared at Heathrow, but departure lounge nerves soon gave way to excitement.
My experience in Asia was brief: an occasionally stressful four countries in five weeks, facilitated by a number of last-minute flights that kept me vaguely on schedule. Had time been no object, the night bus would have made for a more authentic travelling experience, but not without its fair share of risks. As I quickly discovered, the standard Asian driving technique owes much to the deep-rooted Buddhist belief in reincarnation.
Having never visited South-East Asia, I was struck by the difference in attitude and manners from those I encountered back home. Mostly I was treated with generosity and kindness, but also as an object of curiosity.
Travelling alone placed the responsibility to plan, make friends and remember all my belongings solely upon my own shoulders. Thankfully, I passed the test with just a solitary blip: a brief skirmish with disaster in which I lost my debit card in Cambodia.
Eventually, however, my lack of haggling skills began to give me Asia fatigue: knowing neither the price nor the value of anything can drain the colour from even the most vivid experience. So, it was on to Australia with its endearingly fixed prices and comparatively cool climate.
Travelling alone placed the responsibility to plan, make friends and remember all my belongings solely upon my own shoulders
First stop Sydney, where I visited a travel agency (PeterPans) and allowed a chirpy German chap, who had just done a similar trip, to plan my entire four-week route up the East Coast. This denied me the flexibility I had enjoyed in Asia, but by mapping out the month in minute detail, it freed me to worry only about the most daunting task in hand: trying not to fall off my surfboard.
Parting from Australia was sorrow, but sweetened by the knowledge that Fiji beckoned. This rugged archipelago, I soon discovered, operated on ‘Fiji Time’: a kind of temporal sleight of hand defined for me by one local as ‘doing nothing, looking busy’. Fortunately, I’d spent much of the previous 22 years achieving mastery of this invaluable craft.
I spent two weeks island hopping in the Yasawas, a remote, volcanic group in Fiji’s far west with nothing but a village and a basic resort. On one island the hospitable locals invited us spearfishing at night. Truth to tell, however, I declined. Snorkelling by day, with giant manta rays and whitetip reef sharks – no problem. But wandering the pitch-black ocean armed only with torch and spear was just a little too precarious for my taste.
Parting from Australia was sorrow, but sweetened by the knowledge that Fiji beckoned
Instead I opted to tend the bonfire. When the locals returned, accompanied by four Canadians who had jumped at the opportunity, they brought eight fish for gutting and burning. Within minutes we were tucking in beneath the Milky Way.
And so to LA. With just a week of the trip to go, a lust for spontaneity kicked in. On a whim, I agreed to let an aspiring local actor and a surf shop owner, whom I’d met in nearby Santa Monica, give me an insider tour of the city.
Thus it was that I found myself scouring a farmers market for broccoli sprouts, LA’s next big superfood; taking part in an impromptu session of street yoga; poking around UCLA and one of its famed fraternity houses; and dining in Beverly Hills before attending a Baptist Church gathering in one of the city’s most glamorous hotels. All infinitely more exciting than the day on the beach I’d planned.
Back at Heathrow, the nerves of three months previously seemed as distant as morning mist at noon. Each destination had yielded treasures, the most rewarding experiences emerging from the chrysalis of unease: pushing myself beyond the comfort zone was the greatest triumph of the trip.
I had made good friends with whom I am still in touch, and at the end of it all the dew of travel fever still lingered on my brow.
South America next?
