I used to buy white envelopes with little red and blue stripes along the edges and the words “Air Mail” plastered across the front. If you didn’t, then you would have to write “AIR MAIL” in big fat letters and hope someone at the post office put it in the right bin. The alternative was mail by boat. That could take months, and the thought of all my recent news floating along in the black underbelly of a ship that may, or may not, resurface on the other side of the world was dismal.

The fast track by air mail generally took 2-3 weeks for correspondence. In the interim, I waited. No quick conversations, memes, or asking for clarification on tone or word choice. No, it was a lot like guessing. I lived in a bush camp near Nairobi National Park with no phones and definitely no internet.

Much like the students at Hogwarts waiting for the mail to conjure out of thin air, our post came via staff after a trip to Nairobi and not regularly. When I got a letter, it was a small marvel of modern airplanes and international postal systems. I treasured every handwritten scrawl and the people who wrote them. I wrote more letters, put them in red and blue striped envelopes, dropped them in the slot, and waited for the post to work its magic again.

In the meantime, I lived, breathed, wandered, and wondered. I didn’t have to meditate to be mindfully present. I was present. I was surrounded by red clay dirt that stuck to my skin like baby powder, hills of dry grassland, the visceral sounds of wildlife, and the vast expanse of the African sky.

On the off days when I got a take a shower, I was exceptionally happy to watch red clay swirl the concrete drain. I reveled in fiery sanguine sunsets and watched our askari ranger jam out to his walkman. One of our staff members, Salaash, used to fill us with doses of Maasai sayings. He would always pronounce his wisdom upon us like a magnanimous father educating his children with the prefix, “There is a proverb in Maasai WHICH says…”. I heard many Maasai proverbs. One is, “music is the shampoo of the heart.” I found peace in the people I was with and the earth I was connected to.

Today I send a WhatsApp if I want to communicate with someone overseas or I FaceTime. Aside from the yearly inundation of Christmas Cards, which don’t really count, I hardly write letters. Can you imagine how bad your hand would cramp if you sat down to write an entire letter!

I fill my days with to-do lists on my phone, scheduled appointments on my phone, and evade any sense of waiting by playing games…on my phone. If something pops into my head I immediately google it or text someone for the answer. I have almost instantaneous access to everyone and everything I want to know.

The world is at my fingertips and yet so much smaller. Smaller because I forget to experience it and everything seems planned. What is the point? I’m getting there…

I miss being in the moment and not having to be reminded to put down my phone. I miss red clay caked on my skin, the harsh tinge of the African sun, my hand cramping from writing letters, and Air Mail envelopes.

I travel for so many reasons. Wandering our globe shoves me head-first off the cliff of being present. And oh my gosh how I love that rush. This is a travel blog after all and I have the most amazing skill of solving any question or problem with this point, “you should travel more!”

I don’t mean the type of travel where you fly to the Caribbean and lay on a beach. I mean the type of travel that confronts a different language, culture, food, or religion. The kind that pushes your boundaries so far it makes you very uncomfortable, safe but uncomfortable.

You will find something extraordinary, perhaps something you abhor, but I promise it WILL change you. That is where the magic happens. That is where you will find the truth of this; “It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.” -F Scott Fitzgerald.

Happy Travels

PS. On the subject of traveling more, we need to talk about traveling sustainably…which yes, does seem like an oxymoron because it mostly is.