The Genesis of an Idea

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a gangster.

Ok, I may have just been watching Goodfellas, but as much as I did want to be a wiseguy, the Greek mafia in this country was simply in it’s infancy. Don’t get me wrong, we had the look – greasy hair, gold medallions peeking from luxurious tufts of chest hair, and an innate distrust for the authorities.  But to this point all we as a people had managed to do was perfect spinning meat. (That, and the whole math-democracy-medicine ‘thing’)

No, gangster was out.  And finding no posts on monster.com for ‘Space-Pirate’ a new path had to be chosen.

At 14 I was lucky enough to catch an old Sean Connery-Michael Caine flick called ‘The Men Who Would Be King’.  It told the hilarious exploits of two British army officers during the later half of the 19th century, who after years of toil for the crown in India ‘building the izzat of the bloody Raj (hats on!)’ decided to set off on their own to become kings of some far off land. Because, as Peachy puts it, ‘once you’ve seen a thousand hollering Afghans come swooping down out the mountains, going back to a desk job just won’t do’. They eventually use their superior western technology to become kings of the fictional Kafiristan, hilarity ensues.

Now I’m not simple enough to think there’s an inch of this world that has gone undiscovered (or un-kinged for that matter), but what this flick did was awaken in my young self the notion that the world was a big and marvelous place. A place worth seeing, tasting, and experiencing as fully as possible.

Should in the course of that endeavor a king-ship be offered up then so be it. -Ajanta Caves, India

Even at 14 I was no stranger to world travel. Owing to my adventurous mother and pirate-vagabond father I had already seen much of the world. Although a ten year old is far more interested Chuck E. Cheeses than the Pyramids or Parthenon, these experiences were not entirely lost on me.

Straight rocking’ those 90’s shorts through Cairo.

One such experience in Egypt was pivotal. My mother, having read a National Geographic article on newly discovered tombs on the Giza plateau decided at once that we had to go. Just she and I of course, someone has to stay behind to fund these shenanigans, right pops?  So off jets a woman alone and her pre-pubescent son to the middle east.

On arrival I manage to nearly get crushed by a falling marble tile, knock my front teeth out, and get bit by a monkey (a cycle of travel injuries I shall continue to this day, watch)

All this is trivial, we are there to see the tombs…which are closed.

Owing to the newness of their discovery and the stultifying pace of archaeological work (Indiana Jones lied to us), they were not to be opened to the public for quite some time.  Undeterred even for a moment, she proceeds to bribe the AK-47 toting guard into returning at midnight to let us in. The cost of this flagrant violation of Egyptian antiquities? $50 Egyptian ($17 USD).

While this would barely get you a bowl of Khalkalash and a can of Crab Juice in the rest of Cairo, to us it meant unfettered access to a tomb system untouched for 2000yrs.  Mummies still bandaged, resting in their sarcophagi, waiting for some ten year old to spill his Fanta on them and unleash their curse.

For better or worse this trip taught me three things.
1. Proper travel takes guts, and few women are gutsier than my mother.
2. Rules are for suckers (gangster motif?). It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission every time.
3. Everyone, even (especially?) gun toting guards, have their price. It’s not always cash, sometimes it’s coffee, your sunglasses, or respect, but everyone has it.

So, in high school, the adventure planning began to take shape. Between maps purloined from the local AAA office and under the guidance of a particularly well traveled English teacher, I began to flesh out the regions of the world most fascinating to me.

A meticulous planner in some regards, any visitors to my high school bedroom (of which there were painfully few of the female persuasion) might remember the multitude of maps, replete with pins and string outlining possible routes and places of interest.  I lived vicariously for the time being in these plans. Unable to fund them, and with college seeming the more sensible choice, I had no choice but to live them theoretically and bide my time.

The internet had not quite become the wealth of travel information it is now, and the Lonely Planet guidebooks were still the order of the day. It was not until my first forays abroad as a young man did the ridiculousness of the title become apparent.

Heisenberg’s principle (that’s the one with the dead cat right?), as my plebian mind understands it, is that by observing something you inevitably alter the outcome.  Lonely Planet, in their well intentioned goal of guiding travelers to the most rewarding sights and reasonable lodgings had inevitably fallen prey to this principle.   Legions of first time travelers arrived to packed Disney-fied attractions and overpriced guesthouses, all still optimistically clutching their blue travelers bibles. The lure of easy money ringing dollar signs, euro signs, and pounds sterling in previously scrupulous innkeeper’s eyes.

You can assure yourself of one thing by traveling by a Lonely Planet book, you will never be lonely.

If there’s one thing this trip has taught me, it’s that getting off the beaten path, while often tougher and more dangerous, is far more rewarding.

-Nick