It’s OK to Travel with a Bathrobe #1: Love to Go – Central America

By: Carmen Arufe

Addicted to independence. Hooked to freedom.
(The drug mum and dad never warned you about)

Up until not long ago, relationships were not a mystery to me. Boys tried, I chose, or I had a crush on somebody that happened to have a crush on somebody else, bad timing… I saw it as a matter of ticking the box that applies to you: Are you in love? Are you not? Does the other person feel the same?

The diagram was simple…and then I grew up and started to use my passport more than my subway ticket. I was independent, resourceful and social, I had no trouble making anywhere my home. I hated the heavy sentimental luggage other people travelled with, so I was having a great time on my own. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear about boyfriends. I had too many places to go, too many adventures ahead of me, I cherished my freedom above all…Does it sound familiar to any of you?

And it was working out great…until I met him, and I realized that, sometimes, two of a kind can get together and build an extra large screwed up kind that goes nowhere, like a pair of shoes of the same foot. And when they happen to be a couple of travelling flip-flop sandals, you can give up trying to make them match and march. There’s a strong feeling there, but whatever it is, doesn’t come trotting when you call it by a name. It’s like a stray dog, unpredictable and passionate, but untrustworthy. One day it is your best friend, the next it’s back on the road with a new pack.

Travellers definitely deserve some award for having such an elastic heart, not too hard to love, not too fragile to break, from boiling hot to dead frozen, from the higher highs to the lower lows, stretched and exposed to the extremes, still managing to keep the shape. Because the more you feel, the slower time goes. In our game, every trip is an extended lap of youth, an extra life. Continuing on two players mode is just not the same fun and settling down on one level gets too boring after a while. Deep inside, we are dreamers, romantics, we hope we’ll get to the end with a high score, a treasure, the price for hanging on, for not giving in to second best. But, how will we know where the finish line is? How can we tell where our treasure is if the hunger for adventure is stronger than the pain of leaving someone behind?

Nakrat was not my Game Over, but he was definitely the wizard that worked magic on my lost faith. Like an unexpected summer flu the feeling took over me easily. In fact, as far as I was concerned, love and the tooth fairy had the same probability of existing… and suddently I found my independent scientific self believing in love again; smooth and painless, no loss of appetite or sleepless nights, just the warm happy feeling of the newly regained excitement. Sounds soppy? Well, you’re right, but it is how I felt back then, don’t spread the word.

Let me tell you about it, nothing sophisticated, just one in a million of stories between travellers happening in every corner of the world, short but dense.

We were both in Turkey for the season, he was teaching scuba diving, I was working at the bar of a sailing club. Water was all around us, so we swam all summer long in a sea of misunderstandings, playing the star roles on our own personal soap opera, Proud and Prouder. We fought desperately against falling in love, denying it and doing everything in our hands to make sure it was gonna be impossible to continue once the adrenaline rush was over and we would feel the wounds of our behaviour.

It’s hard to follow the love manual when you live on a countdown. Like wartime rules, nothing is forbidden, time is precious and consequences mean nothing. Thinking day to day you can’t get hurt and you can’t hurt anybody. So you enjoy the moment and forget the blurry parts, the words not said, the contradictions and all the stupid mistakes caused by the fear of getting too attached, trying to convince yourself and the other that you are not in love. Remember the song?

Our relation was fast and slow, sweet, hot, up and down, and every color you can think of, it got better and better…better than it was supposed to get…and then the summer ended. The season was nearly over, the days were running out quickly in a mist of confusion about what had happened, shine and shadows, and, overall, the fear to compromise mixed with a deep sadness of losing what was just starting to take root .

I took a plane back home and started getting ready for my new trip almost immediately. He also had plans of his own but thought we could work it out. It was time for facing those blurry parts, the self defense errors done when it was never meant to go that far and, above all, the Million Dollar Question: “Would it be the same out of this scenario?”

When you live permanently in a place, every new relationship is a possibility. You take chances with those that look less than perfect, after all, there’s nothing to lose, you have all the time in the world to find out if it’s worth it. But, when the option is as attractive as going on another trip, well, then you almost ask for success insurance, the risk is too high. Therefore, if you are going to change your great plans, it has to look like gold, no holes, no doubts, no half feelings. The trick is that, usually, travelling doesn’t give you much time to know a person and to know your feelings, you have to follow your instinct and make a quick decision, so let’s get back to the top, we don’t take chances…

Anyway, once separated, actions had to be reviewed, feelings had to be defined and hands shaken if we were to reach an agreement. As you can imagine, the actions were not forgiven, the feelings turned up to be weaker than they seemed to be and we never got to shake hands, let alone agree on anything. And regarding the MDQ, well, Tarzan never belonged to New York City, neither did Crocodile Dundee, they were the same people, but it was back home where they were irresistible. And drinking pina colada in Paris is not the same without the sound of the bongos and the white sands of a Cuban beach. The context, the circumstances, the surrounding elements are the set of a relationship, without them the pieces don’t come together, it doesn’t feel natural. Without adaptation there’s no survival and there’s no happiness, so after a while Tarzan and Croc go back to the jungle and people end up drinking whisky, or gin & tonic like they used to do. Us, we usually pack our stuff and go.

In fact, Nakrat and I, we never even got to a veredict, the negotiations were stopped half way, in the same sea of misunderstandings that they once started. And you know what? It’s probably more romantic this way, like a dream you wake up from, suddently, ignoring the end, wondering what could have been.

And, unfortunately, the situation is not looking good for me and all those
me-like wanderers out there. It will go on, and on, and on, every time love feels good, we run away from it before it runs away from us. We like to dance in the party of life eternally, where hearts don’t get bored or hurt because they don’t have time to. So, as long as we are unable to change the backpack for a Samsonite, I see no solution. Maybe destiny will take mercy on our resteless souls and give us another chance. I think we deserve it, Right? After all, we are very brave because, if we continue like this, we’ll end up old and single, dressing saints on a church, like they say in Spain.

I’m not worried. As a matter of fact I’m sure one day all of us will hear the voice of the heart and feel like staying, in Australia with Mr. Dundee, in the heart of the rain forest as the queen of monkeys or walking the streets of La Habana with a sexy seï¿½or. And maybe, Nakrat and I will meet again at seven thirty in Cafï¿½ del Mar.