Riding the emotional Swells that travel brings

Ketchikan, Alaska

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I am riding the swells of emotions that travel brings as if paddling through six-foot waves. When I reach each crest, I feel the ecstasy of the present. I can see everything and everyone around me and therefore soak up this clarity. The story I forecasted is being written in real time. My heart skips with bliss. I ride the high with intention because I know it is only temporary. The rise and fall of the waves is a predictable push and pull. 

So when I fall into the troughs, I am caught in the quiet wavelength where what or who lies on the other side of the wave is now merely a memory or a daydream. When the wave finally crashes over me, I collide with the simultaneous feelings of nostalgia, anticipation, longing, and anxiety of facing the reality and responsibilities that the incoming tide of returning home brings.

The passage of time is both objective and subjective. No matter how much I want the joy to settle, it passes. When I want the sorrow to pass, it lingers. The past two months were marked by this rhythm of joy and sorrow. I had the privilege of traveling to Boston, Ireland, Duluth, and Alaska in that period. Sixty days bursting with once-in-a-lifetime, I-can’t-make-this-up, unbelievable experiences and encounters that are forever inscribed in my journal and memory. 
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I am coming into my identity as a hopeless romantic, not just within my personal life but also within my capacity to actualize my dreams. My emotions are my north star – my intuition is my compass. I take risky leaps but am caught (most of the time) by people who turn “What ifs” into “Let’s make it happen.” And so we write the stories and breathe in the landscapes of the Ring of Kerry and Misty Fjords together. That way, the memories will always live on, and we are thereby fused by the residual wonder.

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Ireland

In the middle of May, I crossed off the trip that had settled at the top of my constantly shifting and expanding bucket list: Ireland. For several years, I dreamt of traversing its misty cliffs and winding narrow roads, which interrupt the otherwise serene landscape of wispy green pastures. I envisioned myself one day living in a thatched-roof cottage with a garden and nosy yet familial neighbors – perhaps due to my love of the Agatha Raisin TV series and other cozy murder mysteries. 
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One day last August, sitting alone and stir-crazy in my apartment in Maldonado, Uruguay, I started a document called “Ireland Trip.” I researched sample itineraries circling the country, experimented with flight prices and dates, and bookmarked websites advertising (you guessed it) cottage rentals. When a rough outline was complete, I called my mom to pose the idea.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” I began hesitantly. “What if I went to Ireland for a couple of weeks next May?”

I was aware of my parents’ shared interest in visiting Ireland and was open to the possibility of traveling together. That being said, I was willing to make it work on my own, which is why I originally pitched it as a solo trip.

My parents are now accustomed to my off-the-cuff pitches related to international travel. They also know my capacity and determination to transform a dream into an actionable plan. Regardless, my mom seemed unsure at first after I presented my draft itinerary to her. She might have even laughed in disbelief at my spontaneity. Nevertheless, a seed was planted. 

Three months later, in November, I got a FaceTime call from my mom. Smiling through the glitchy wifi connection, she introduced the idea of a family trip through a curated itinerary – themed with shamrocks and pots of gold – that outlined a two-week road trip across the Southern and Western coasts. Six stops, beginning in Dublin and ending in Galway, with accommodations in three cottages and one castle. Yes, a castle!
 
What followed was two weeks filled with sunny adventures and stories brewed in conversations over Guinness. Ireland is a charming country of proud people (reminiscent of Uruguay) with a history marked by famine, conflict, literary genius, and resilience. It is a country of stories embedded in the 30,000 castles and 5 million citizens. I was lucky to collect a handful of them listening intently to tour guides, Airbnb hosts, a horse named Skittles, and cheery strangers. 

Skittles, the 30-year-old pony

One way I create a rewarding travel experience is through a balance of structure and spontaneity. The structure, or itinerary, acts as a trajectory that I can rely on. Reserving accommodations; transportation (my parents rented a car); and a handful of activities, such as tours of popular attractions offers security without suffocation. Allowing flexibility gives time to breathe and make the trip my own. 

In our itinerary, Mom typed question marks next to potential day trips; some were answered and others were not. I guess I’m saying that the best trips are not completely “by the book,” but instead are determined by a delicate balance between predicting the current and riding the wave.
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Striking this balance was crucial to our impression of Ireland. Some factors could not be planned or predicted, such as the unexpectedly rare sunny weather that prompted every Irish person to say, “The weather is never like this!” Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met Skittles, a thirty-year-old pony that greeted us at our Airbnb in Limerick; held my breath as Dad maneuvered the narrow Irish country roads lined with stone walls and hedges; witnessed the Book of Kells in Dublin; greeted the lambs and ewes that I passed on a sunrise run outside our cottage in Killarney mountains; kissed the Blarney stone; strolled the expansive grounds of Kilkenny Castle; or sat in the front row at O’Connors, a traditional pub, for an intimate concert of Irish folk music in Killarney.

Traditional Irish music at O'Connors in Killarney, Ireland

​Spontaneity, on the other hand, results in an original travel experience that, in my experience, welcomes the visitor to delve under the surface and become acquainted with the nuance and idiosyncrasies of culture. Without it, I would not have bought a landscape painting from an elderly gentleman along the Ring of Kerry; visited Waterford and toured its crystal factory; chatted with the spunky spiritual woman working in the smallest record shop in Ireland (who sold me her only Joni Mitchell album); explored Phoenix Park and (almost) summited a mountain on my solo early morning runs; and sang a Bob Dylan song with local musicians at a pub outside of Galway. Together, the balance between structure and spontaneity created a series of encounters and experiences that secured my endearment for Ireland.

Alaska

A second way I realize a rewarding trip is to visit (and if possible, stay with) friends who are locals. Not only is this approach sometimes more financially practical, but it also acts as a bridge for learning. While understanding more about the place I visit, I learn more about my friend. I become familiar with their community, live their routines, and over time, clarify the background context that was previously foggy. For example, I visited a friend living in Washington D.C. in March. In July, I visited another friend, Sarah, in Ketchikan, Alaska. 

I was already familiar with Sarah’s story before she moved to Ketchikan in June. We met working as baristas in Duluth two years ago. A couple of months into our budding friendship, we discovered that we were neighbors, living just three houses apart on the same hill. On days neither of us worked, we took trips up the North Shore, showing the other our favorite hiking trails and viewpoints. 

We bonded in the car over childhoods marked by Taylor Swift, softball tournaments, and frigid high-school Nordic skiing practices. During those car trips, Sarah introduced me to Noah Kahan, Mt. Joy, and Mark Ambor: artists that now have secured spots in my Favorites playlist on Spotify. 

When Sarah told me she was moving to Alaska to work as a sea kayaking guide, I was overwhelmed with a mix of emotion: pride in her courage to follow her dream down a non-traditional path; empathy for the two-sided coin of loneliness and self-determination that comes with that decision; excitement over this new chapter of unknown adventures; and sorrow for the upcoming months apart. I was also determined to visit her once she was settled in. She gave me an open invitation, and I wanted to follow through with it. 

I booked the flights for early July. I planned to stay with her for a week and embrace all Ketchikan and her kayaking company had to offer me. 

Sarah in downtown Ketchikan, Alaska

Ketchikan hosts cruise ships and tourists every day in peak season, but the passengers only get a few hours to explore downtown, see the Misty Fjords, or attend a guided tour. They get a catered taste of the captivating beauty of Southeast Alaska before moving on to the next scheduled stop. I was lucky to live the organized chaos of a sea kayaking guide for one whole week. By the end of my trip, I was an unofficial guide and member of the extremely unserious, fiercely compassionate, and impressively skilled family at Southeast Exposure.

Sarah picked me up from the airport wearing a tropical-themed swimsuit, shorts, and a white linen button-up shirt. She looked like she had just come from the beach, despite the temperature only rising to 70 degrees. Indeed, she had come from the company’s dock, where the other guides jumped gleefully into the freezing waters home to sea lions and jellyfish! I knew I was in for an adventure and would follow Sarah wherever she went, chasing stories and thereby discovering (for myself) Ketchikan’s deep culture. 

After a tearful embrace in front of the well-loved red company van, we embarked on the thirty-minute drive to the company lodging and headquarters. The winding drive on the city’s only main road revealed misty panoramic views of interwoven forest green and sea blue that were bordered by commanding cliffs.

“I can’t believe it!” I exhaled in awe, “You get to live here and work here!”

Sarah laughed in agreement, completely relaxed at the wheel. It was easy to see that she was home. Ketchikan was where she was meant to be. 

Hike to Perseverance Lake in the Tongass National Forest

I become the best version of myself when traveling. I take more risks, try things I never previously considered, and relinquish control to serendipity. Therefore, in Ketchikan, I was a yes-woman, chasing after every invitation to learn from and engage in the guiding community. What resulted from that vulnerability were opportunities I never could have predicted. 
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In the seven days in Alaska, I participated in every tour offered by Sarah’s company. I went zip lining for the first time; assisted in the set up and take down of kayaks and gear on rocky island shores and damp docks; drove a Zodiak boat (with guidance from one of Sarah’s coworkers); pursued a humpback whale bubble feeding in a tandem kayak with Sarah on a spontaneous girls’ early morning paddle; spotted sea stars, urchins, and moon jellyfish during low tide; gazed in adoration at soaring bald eagles, bobbing sea lions, and curious harbor seals; and departed on the incredible Misty Fjords tour with Sarah. Each adventure pulled at my heartstrings. I not only established a spiritual connection to the land and sea, but I also got to see a close friend at work in her dream role. Those are two gifts with no price tag.

Girls and theys dinner in downtown Ketchikan!

I rested, celebrated, and bonded with Sarah and her coworkers in the hours I was not a tourist. Together, we jumped off the dock into the Pacific, hiked to Perseverance Lake in the Tongass National Forest; played Risk and Werewolf after rotating family dinners; traded stories over bowls of charred salmon and french fries at Fish House and girl breakfasts at the 24-hour diner downtown; and roared in encouragement at each team’s performance in the company’s talent show. Despite the exhaustion of paddling for hours, chatting with tourists, and managing unpredictable schedules, free time was joyous and rejuvenating. 

I did not want to leave Alaska, Sarah, and my new friends. In just one week, I found another home away from home in the family at Southeast Exposure. However, I know that the hardest goodbyes are proof that I maximized my time. ​

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​My hopeless romantic side was nurtured through lessons learned and affirmed in Ireland and Alaska. I rode the swells of emotion of coming and going of once-in-a-lifetime, I-can’t-make-this-up, unbelievable stories that are now etched in the lines of my journal and memory. My pen is at rest for now. But soon, I will pick it up once again for a new kind of adventure: my first year of full-time teaching.

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