© 2020 Nomadict. All rights reserved.
I come back to reality, 20 feet from the crash. I can hear my chinese-made motorcycle sputter to a stall, the smell of burnt plastic and exhaust fills my nostrils, as I hear Vietnamese trucks narrowly barrel past me on the highway, leaning on their horns. I’m lying on my back, my motorcycle 6 feet ahead of me, wheels twisted but still intact. The truck drivers of the crash are getting out to inspect what made the impact with their rickety 10-ton industrial transport on the side of this highway leading to the chinese border. Lying there on the cracking cement, trucks rushing past, they see an unusual sight. It’s me: some random white guy, on a used chinese honda knock-off, having just set out on an 8-month, 8-country solo motorcycle journey to become a photographer. They nervously call out to me in Vietnamese. In intense pain, but knowing the danger I was in, I scramble up and drag my damaged bike to the side of the road, collapsing in the dirt and vomiting into the ditch. The two drivers decide to split, leaving me there on the side of the road. Not off to a good start, it’s only day 4 of my 8-month project, the beginning of a journey that would change my life forever.
I arrived on the photography scene quite late. In my late 20s I had taken my life through the ringer of the usual “aspiring professional” path. University, desk jobs, attempts at law school, finance, finally landing in business and sales. I poked my head, time and time again, into careers that to me rang empty and passionless. One thing was clear through all this time: I loved history, culture, and photography. Whenever I was able to travel, I found myself spending most of my time with locals, learning about their lives, history, and what values they hold dear. So, as I crawled towards the end of my 20s, my determination only grew for a life with a deeper meaning; where I could document the world around me, travel, and share these beautiful moments with the world.
I would have to do something BIG, completely immersing myself in this world if I were to accelerate my career. Soon, I quit my job, sold my possessions, collected as much savings as possible, and bought a proper camera and a one-way ticket to Vietnam. I planned to get my hands on a used motorcycle in the northern capital, Hanoi, and ride it as far west as I could; across cultures and borders through 8 countries for about 8 months, ending in India. Despite friends’ warnings of the extreme dangers I’d encounter, I soon found myself in Hanoi among the steaming street kitchens slinging hot bowls Pho, searching the back alleys for a motorcycle hustler.
Fast forward to the accident: After the truck sped off, in extreme pain, I spent the next 12 hours negotiating in limited Vietnamese and hand gestures with locals, hitching rides to the nearest communist-built hospital. Paying in cash, I finally received an x-ray and confirmed my broken clavicle. Finding wifi and sending the x-ray back to Canada, I was told I couldn’t move for 6 weeks, in order to heal. This was unacceptable. I was 4 days north of Hanoi, in a town with no english speakers, where resting hurt just as much as riding. Knowing that if I were to stop now, my determination would dwindle, isolation would take over, and it would derail my entire project. The next morning, determined to continue despite my injury, I kept riding through the rugged northern passes of Vietnam for the next 4 days. I continued my northern loop and returned to Hanoi, where I finally properly rested for a couple weeks before continuing on my project.
I would continue to ride across borders and cultures, ending in Sri Lanka, achieving my goal of 8 months through 8 countries, documenting every moment. Further, my idea worked. In those 8 months my skills and knowledge in photography, travel, and culture rapidly developed. Sharing my journey online was something that not only helped me stay sane during weeks of lingual isolation, but also marketed my newly-honed skill. When I returned 8 months later, I was an accomplished photographer with clients wanting to hire me.
I used to say: “Adventure is often seen as a luxury for the wealthy, but it’s more just a reward for the determined.” I still stand by this, and it’s particularly relevant given this story. Travel is often regarded as something you splurge on. For me, it is a necessary investment. Travel has opened my life to beauties and skills I thought I’d never encounter. Cheap flights, couch surfing, hostels, volunteering, are some of the answers I give when I hear “I can’t afford to travel.” I’ve even created travel budgets that have me saving more money abroad than at home in Canada.
Of course, family, life, and general responsibilities are obstacles that can get in the way, but all too often these are responsibilities we’ve created ourselves. We’ve built a social cage around us, shackling our feet to fabricated social systems. Do you really need a $40,000 car with a sunroof? A $5000 coffee maker? Should you be having a child at 22? How much do you spend at the bar? Are you getting a mortgage because you can afford it? Or is it because your parents had a home at your age? Think about the restrictions you place on yourself, only then can you begin to cut those shackles loose.
When I’m at a social gathering, I often don’t ask someone what they do as their job, but rather what they do as their PASSION. If they can answer that question, then I’m sure they can take the time to steer their life in that direction.
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