Close relationships are at a premium on the road—I’m finding the longer I go, the longer I want to stay put. One of the few shortfalls of vagabonding is the tug-of-war between a moving on and commitment to a single place long enough to establish a sense of community. Live temporarily enough between places and that sense of community will rise high on the list of priorities.

My investment of time here in Cali, Colombia, has yielded me the precise sense of familiarity I lacked until recently and has clarified some of my values and desires in the upcoming new year. It’s simply easier to make friends and date in a city built on dancing and socializing. That being said, one can never expect all experiences to be totally positive…

Lucid Dates

When on a bad date, do you let it ruin your night or still try to salvage something from it?

I went on a bad first date the other day. Among other factors, she and I didn’t share the same values and, no matter the question I asked, the conversation consistently wound back to her ex. I’m not sure she recognized the apparent mismatch that night, but I took note early. The worse the night wore on, the less emotional investment I had in the date.

About halfway through the night, after wrapping up another monologue impressively connecting her ex-boyfriend to my question about the (minimal) merits of local Colombian food, my emotional investment hit rock bottom. With the investment also went any remaining performance pressure that can typically accompany a blind first date. I faced a choice to rudely call the night, or go down with the ship.

There is a phenomenon known as a lucid dream in psychology. A lucid dream is a dream in which we are aware that we are, indeed, dreaming and become more conscious in guiding the course of the dream ourselves rather than letting it drive us.

At the same moment I decided this bad first date was not going to be progressing to a second, I felt like I had entered a lucid dream. I began to defy the social norms that confine early-stage dating conversations and didn’t care to avoid taboo first date subjects. I had no reason to play “the game” any longer, and in a sense, I was much more myself.

I was on a lucid date.

With the scripts out the window and autopilot switched off, the date did (to both of our credit) get better. We both laid out our intentions on the table and dug deep into areas of life I don’t typically share on a first date. It was refreshing.

A bad date, if nothing else, is still a chance to learn something interesting about someone new. Granted, direct questions and being open about what you want are still necessary, but my experience is such that it works more favorably to cut to the chase. If your counterpart still insists on playing the game, that is telling enough in and of itself too.

One of the first fathers of vagabonding literature Pico Iyer once wrote, “If travel is notoriously a crucible for false identities, it can also, at best, be a crucible for truer ones.” Likewise, bearing pure intentions in mind, a lucid date can also, at best, be a crucible for a truer self.

Despite the mismatch in intentions and values, I remember that night fondly nowadays. Using less than optimal nights out as a sandbox for question-asking became the best course of action. Since then, it’s been instrumental in how I conduct most of my dates, both good and bad.

I surely won’t forget what I learned from that first lucid date—nor will I ever see her again.

A Rambling Romantic

My childhood was characterized by books and video games. I read accounts of old-school secret agents on harrowing international missions and tales of adventurers hunting lost treasure across the globe; I played video games with assassins pursuing bounties across Renaissance rooftops and pirates plundering the seven seas.

These fabricated worlds and adapted histories provided a colorful range of imagination for a kid from Oklahoma. I was fascinated with the details of each era, and I dreamed of traveling the globe like the ancient explorers and cartographers did. After so much classical influence, it’s unsurprising I turned into something of a romantic.

Those characters pierced the unknown without flinching. There was no technology to back them. They were the masters of their domains and faced the world solely equipped with a couple of gadgets, a map, and a whole lot of charisma. It was the ultimate testament to the limits of individual capabilities.

In the weeks leading up to my first solo travel stint, I romanticized my meanderings as such. Before even touching down, I envisioned myself navigating dusty roads via physical local maps and a compass, allowing word of mouth from locals to direct me, writing letters back home on old-school postcards, and blazing trails into my personal unknown as if I were one of the characters I read about as a kid.

I wanted to be the main character of my own novel.

Inevitably though, it is the folly of all newborn vagabonds to tether themselves to the technology of the modern travel industry rather than find their own ways. Within a week, my romantic expectations of the road clashed with the convenience and functionality of my phone.

The compass and map dissipated while Google Maps reigned supreme. Local recommendations took a backseat to Culture Trip articles. Instead of blazing new paths, I followed the well-laid-out ones of the traditional backpacking circuits. There was little spontaneity; I was almost always certain of where I was going, how I would get there, and what I would find upon arrival.

This friction between my romanticized hopes and my iPhone-driven reality stayed with me for my first eight months on the road. I believe this friction to be a right of passage for most salty vagabonds. For those seeking the true flavor of the road, the smartphone is one of the biggest villains on that quest. Travel solo for long enough, and there will come a point when you want to lob that phone out of the nearest bus window.

I couldn’t though. Although I knew life without my phone would be more spontaneous and present, I was too hooked on using it for every aspect of my travels. I needed external discipline to free me.

Social Severance in Salvador

That external discipline was granted to me about eight months into my first vagabonding stint, albeit by undesirable means. If you haven’t read yet, below is a story about getting my phone mugged at gunpoint in Salvador, Brazil, and the unforeseen difficulties of traveling without it:

Bad Travel Review of the Week

This one made me chuckle. There is nothing quite more entertaining than negative reviewers.

I never will understand the internal rationalization it takes to decide it’s worth it to waste one’s own time complaining about an inanimate water fountain’s placement. Hard to imagine the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport has a personal vendetta against thirsty travelers either.

My favorite part here is the reviewer interpreting the airport’s response as a scare tactic. Best find a different layover airport for the foreseeable future, pal.

Bonus Video Collab

Recently, I went on a mission with Zane Jarecke to try the local fruits of Colombia in Cali’s Galería Alameda. Colombia’s range of produce is endless and, to a couple of gringos, unrecognizable. In fact, we didn’t even understand how to eat most of fruits. Although the day started off rocky with a bit of chunchullo (a cow’s fried small intestine), we recovered with a tropical fruit tasting spread that would put CostCo to shame.

Find Zane’s other videos and travel essays via his website (zanejarecke.com) and on Instagram (@zanejarecke).

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More adventures brewing…

-Ferg