The Road Less Travelled
There is, in our society, an unwritten protocol used when two people meet for the first time. Generally names are exchanged with the opening greeting. "Hi, I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you." Often, a handshake will accompany this (a left over tradition from a time when an empty sword hand proved your good natured intent not to dismember your new acquaintance). A few other pleasantries will usually be exchanged, but eventually, inevitably, convention will require that one person or the other raise the all-important question of what the other ‘does’.
Taken literally, your average John or Mary could best answer this question with “eat, shit, sleep” as, on the whole, this is what we spend the majority of time doing (“shag” could be added to the list for a lucky few, though I suspect to fewer than would claim it). However, little is ever literal, and we both know that the question is intended to find out something more distinctive. What we really want to know is what do you do that makes you … well … you.
Recently for me, it’s at this point of the exchange that things start to veer off the road of the familiar. If I was kinder, I could answer this simply, tell the poor sod stuck talking to me that I’m an IT consultant: mixed, short-term contracts. A vague answer and suitably boring enough not to warrant further questioning, thus allowing the hapless guy to go his merry way. His social obligation of small talk met, the more important task of beer consumption can happily be resumed.
Having worked a total of eight weeks (all right, seven and a half) in the last twelve months, it seems misleading, at best, to make this claim of employment and I’m forced by moral stupidity to admit the truth: I’m a bum. Quickly I assure them that I am not on the dole (a crime beyond forgiveness, it would seem) but then the inevitable questions come, about finance and survival, about laziness and boredom.
The answers to these questions never satisfy: that I earn enough to live, and enough is as good as a feast; that laziness is not a disease caught by not working; that there’s no time for boredom when a whole world has been left at my doorstep just for me to play with; that the days are literally just packed. To explain these things to my new acquaintance invariably leaves the poor fellow confused and bewildered (I say ‘fellow’ because no female stays interested to this point - it is unappealing enough to be in IT, but how much worse to be in IT and not earning money!).
To avoid these questions I distract them with the subtle deception of truth. “I’m not working at the moment. I’m about to go travelling”. Conveniently they make a link between the two facts, even though none exists. Working would not stop me from travelling. If I were not travelling, this would in no way cause me to seek work.
“Oh, really! Where are you going?” my new friend will say, interested now, and on familiar ground (for travel is one of the few socially accepted replacements for employment - though only for a limited time, and only for a certain age and marital status).
“Kyrgyzstan”, I reply.
A pause. The human brain, it would seem, has trouble processing the unexpected with any great speed. “Where?” is the eventual response. The brain, suspecting some fault in the ear department, requests that the information be rechecked.
“Kyrgyzstan. It’s west of China. Just south of Russia”. I say this each time, though I know full well that these geographical references won’t help in the slightest. A map reference has no meaning. A country (or anything for that matter) can only exist if we have something to associate with it: a decent war, an insane and quirky dictator, or a threatening political or religious system. Kyrgyzstan means nothing to us because we have no experience of it. Until now, that is. From now on, for my new friend, it’s “the place where that weird computer guy was going, the one who didn’t work (oh and it’s west of China, just south of Russia)”.
And then finally, the big one: “Why?”
The short answer is simple, “I’ve volunteered to work on a Snow Leopard Conservation Project”. I say it slowly, pronouncing the capitals, giving the brain time to take this in. It’s had a hard day. The response, when it comes, is varied. Some are impressed, others intrigued, most are confused and a few are sceptical. My friends and family, those that know me best, have provided their own comments as well. The one that seems most common, and strangely appropriate, is “you idiot”.
It’s true. I have volunteered to assist on a research project studying snow leopards in their natural environment in order to gather information to be used for their conservation. But this is what I’m going there to do, not really an answer to why I’m going there to do it.
Sure, I think the environment is important. Hey, I even recycle. The dirty truth however, is that I am going for adventure, for fun, for something to do on a Friday night. If I can help save an endangered feline or two on the way, even better! I picked the conservation project to give me something to focus on: a distant and unknown destination, difficult to get to, and totally foreign. Like all pilgrims (well Monkey Magic and Tripitaka anyway – the ABC is my only source of pilgrim trivia), the destination is merely an excuse for the journey.
My journey starts on Tuesday (June 22) when I leave the comfortable familiarity of Sydney and fly to Beijing. I spend a few days jumping flights across the heart of China before finally landing in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. I don’t really know what will happen after that. I know little about the conservation work itself, having found the project by accident on the Internet (www.ecovolunteer.com).
According to the project description, I know I will be met at the airport, and that I will hike into the mountains, possibly with other project volunteers, possibly not. I know that I will spend two weeks, at high altitudes assisting with the research work. I know that I will be required to travel by horse and I know I will sleep in Yurt tents (one for the boys, and one for the girls – for some reason the project description emphasises this). What else will happen is as much a mystery to me as to you.
The time spent on the project will be only two weeks in all. From the world of the every day and the routine, where the days blur into an endless sameness of work and play, two weeks seems like no time at all. Having travelled before I know this will not be the case on this trek. Even science has had to admit that time is relative. It speeds up and slows down to match the pace at which we move. On the road, where new experience is followed by new experience, two weeks can stretch to a lifetime.
My journey doesn’t end when I finish with the conservation project. After coming down from the mountains, I then fly back to western China, to a place called Urumqi. Here, in this rural Chinese town, I’m meeting an old friend, Chris Glover (we’ve picked a pub to meet in from the Lonely Planet, hopefully it will still exist when we get there). Together, we are then planning to meander from one side of China to the other. We have no fixed plans, no set dates, and no real clue what we are doing. There is no more perfect way to travel.
I will chronicle our adventures, as best I can. I know from past experience that you are all sick and twisted individuals, and take great pleasure in my tales of ineptitude and near fatal misadventure (that scooter was faulty, and why would anyone in their right mind have a scooter hire shop next to a six foot glass window anyway?). I suspect Internet access will be limited at best (unless there is a Kyrgyzstanie government initiative that no snow leopard will be without net access by 2006), but I will post when I am able.
Taken literally, your average John or Mary could best answer this question with “eat, shit, sleep” as, on the whole, this is what we spend the majority of time doing (“shag” could be added to the list for a lucky few, though I suspect to fewer than would claim it). However, little is ever literal, and we both know that the question is intended to find out something more distinctive. What we really want to know is what do you do that makes you … well … you.
Recently for me, it’s at this point of the exchange that things start to veer off the road of the familiar. If I was kinder, I could answer this simply, tell the poor sod stuck talking to me that I’m an IT consultant: mixed, short-term contracts. A vague answer and suitably boring enough not to warrant further questioning, thus allowing the hapless guy to go his merry way. His social obligation of small talk met, the more important task of beer consumption can happily be resumed.
Having worked a total of eight weeks (all right, seven and a half) in the last twelve months, it seems misleading, at best, to make this claim of employment and I’m forced by moral stupidity to admit the truth: I’m a bum. Quickly I assure them that I am not on the dole (a crime beyond forgiveness, it would seem) but then the inevitable questions come, about finance and survival, about laziness and boredom.
The answers to these questions never satisfy: that I earn enough to live, and enough is as good as a feast; that laziness is not a disease caught by not working; that there’s no time for boredom when a whole world has been left at my doorstep just for me to play with; that the days are literally just packed. To explain these things to my new acquaintance invariably leaves the poor fellow confused and bewildered (I say ‘fellow’ because no female stays interested to this point - it is unappealing enough to be in IT, but how much worse to be in IT and not earning money!).
To avoid these questions I distract them with the subtle deception of truth. “I’m not working at the moment. I’m about to go travelling”. Conveniently they make a link between the two facts, even though none exists. Working would not stop me from travelling. If I were not travelling, this would in no way cause me to seek work.
“Oh, really! Where are you going?” my new friend will say, interested now, and on familiar ground (for travel is one of the few socially accepted replacements for employment - though only for a limited time, and only for a certain age and marital status).
“Kyrgyzstan”, I reply.
A pause. The human brain, it would seem, has trouble processing the unexpected with any great speed. “Where?” is the eventual response. The brain, suspecting some fault in the ear department, requests that the information be rechecked.
“Kyrgyzstan. It’s west of China. Just south of Russia”. I say this each time, though I know full well that these geographical references won’t help in the slightest. A map reference has no meaning. A country (or anything for that matter) can only exist if we have something to associate with it: a decent war, an insane and quirky dictator, or a threatening political or religious system. Kyrgyzstan means nothing to us because we have no experience of it. Until now, that is. From now on, for my new friend, it’s “the place where that weird computer guy was going, the one who didn’t work (oh and it’s west of China, just south of Russia)”.
And then finally, the big one: “Why?”
The short answer is simple, “I’ve volunteered to work on a Snow Leopard Conservation Project”. I say it slowly, pronouncing the capitals, giving the brain time to take this in. It’s had a hard day. The response, when it comes, is varied. Some are impressed, others intrigued, most are confused and a few are sceptical. My friends and family, those that know me best, have provided their own comments as well. The one that seems most common, and strangely appropriate, is “you idiot”.
It’s true. I have volunteered to assist on a research project studying snow leopards in their natural environment in order to gather information to be used for their conservation. But this is what I’m going there to do, not really an answer to why I’m going there to do it.
Sure, I think the environment is important. Hey, I even recycle. The dirty truth however, is that I am going for adventure, for fun, for something to do on a Friday night. If I can help save an endangered feline or two on the way, even better! I picked the conservation project to give me something to focus on: a distant and unknown destination, difficult to get to, and totally foreign. Like all pilgrims (well Monkey Magic and Tripitaka anyway – the ABC is my only source of pilgrim trivia), the destination is merely an excuse for the journey.
My journey starts on Tuesday (June 22) when I leave the comfortable familiarity of Sydney and fly to Beijing. I spend a few days jumping flights across the heart of China before finally landing in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. I don’t really know what will happen after that. I know little about the conservation work itself, having found the project by accident on the Internet (www.ecovolunteer.com).
According to the project description, I know I will be met at the airport, and that I will hike into the mountains, possibly with other project volunteers, possibly not. I know that I will spend two weeks, at high altitudes assisting with the research work. I know that I will be required to travel by horse and I know I will sleep in Yurt tents (one for the boys, and one for the girls – for some reason the project description emphasises this). What else will happen is as much a mystery to me as to you.
The time spent on the project will be only two weeks in all. From the world of the every day and the routine, where the days blur into an endless sameness of work and play, two weeks seems like no time at all. Having travelled before I know this will not be the case on this trek. Even science has had to admit that time is relative. It speeds up and slows down to match the pace at which we move. On the road, where new experience is followed by new experience, two weeks can stretch to a lifetime.
My journey doesn’t end when I finish with the conservation project. After coming down from the mountains, I then fly back to western China, to a place called Urumqi. Here, in this rural Chinese town, I’m meeting an old friend, Chris Glover (we’ve picked a pub to meet in from the Lonely Planet, hopefully it will still exist when we get there). Together, we are then planning to meander from one side of China to the other. We have no fixed plans, no set dates, and no real clue what we are doing. There is no more perfect way to travel.
I will chronicle our adventures, as best I can. I know from past experience that you are all sick and twisted individuals, and take great pleasure in my tales of ineptitude and near fatal misadventure (that scooter was faulty, and why would anyone in their right mind have a scooter hire shop next to a six foot glass window anyway?). I suspect Internet access will be limited at best (unless there is a Kyrgyzstanie government initiative that no snow leopard will be without net access by 2006), but I will post when I am able.
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