A traveler who realized that she is a traveller

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I don’t know if I have something to say to the world.

But I definitely have a severe need to express myself to whoever is eager to read and listen.

Yesterday I turned 24. My mother was having me at this age. What am I having? A great number of roads hit, an even greater number of stories listened and told, a degree in public relations, travelling and job experience in a bunch of southamerican countries, several we-will-wait-for-you-no-matter-what friends, three broken hearts, some useful knowledge ranging from how to make a fire to how to write press-releases. I’ve recently got back home from an 8-month unbelievable adventure in North and South Americas, and given that I am a young Russian girl travelling alone, I should be at least grateful to all the higher powers that I am still alive after what I’ve done. I am a hitchhiker and a couchsurfer, entirely independent and savage traveller; I do believe that mental freedom comes along with physical freedom, though I am completely unaware of what I am actually doing. Surely, I research a lot while travelling, but mostly I just rush into whatever opportunity comes, feeling an itching desire to advance, move forward, explore, cognize, run, run, run.



I began my travels in October 2014, when I bought a one-way ticket from Saint Petersburg, Russia to Bogota, Colombia. I had no idea what I was putting myself into, but it felt right. Looking back at that times I utterly regret that I haven’t started writing this thing back then. But what’s done is done, and it obviously took me whole southamerican continent to realize that I do need to share my experience by means of blogging.



I’ve worked as an English teacher for kids in Barranquilla, Colombia, for a good two months period, later moved to United States for another month to live in NY for a while and then to hitchhike down the coast to Miami, Florida. After getting tired of using English instead of my beloved Spanish, I flew to Lima, Peru, and got contaminated with a freakily insane idea to cross southamerican continent using only my thumb to move around. At that times hitchhiking across latin american countries sounded crazy not only to my friends, but to myself. 5000 kilometers later I proved myself wrong. In hectic two months I got from Lima to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, using cargo trucks and personal vehicles, bikes, boats and my very own strong legs. All free of charge, as you can guess.



Peru was a real gift for a start – I found myself a two-week job in Lima as a hostel manager, taught dancing privately, even got engaged with a local dancing school as a volunteer consultant. I’ve spent some fascinating time in Peruvian desert on a lost oasis, witnessed mysterious Nasca lines, couchsurfed in god forgotten towns, hiked Machu Picchu, met an incredible amount of people with twisted destinies and inspiring stories to tell, and, frankly speaking, just ordinary people, who are not a bit less interesting then my colleagues travellers with there outstanding insights. After accidently crossing the border with Bolivia I’ve found myself camping on an ancient Inca island in the middle of lake Titicaca with a bunch of latin americans from all over the continent – that was the moment when it appeared to me that I am no longer a Russian-speaker in a typical sense, and Spanish conversations are neither challenging nor beyond my understanding anymore. In fact, I started to obtain far more pleasure from talking to my hispanohablante friends than from skype conversations with my family.



After wondering around Bolivia for a while (which was by far not the best piece of my trip) I crossed the border with Brazil and got in Rio right in time for the carnival. Drunk carnival week got me the sense of Brazil, and I took a decision to stay in Rio for as long as I could afford. For two months I worked as a bar tender, living in a hostel for free by an arrangement with the bar owner, but after one misfortunate night that involved violent attack, robbery and abuse I left Rio for good. I submerged into central Brazil, getting some rest and peace in Belo Horizonte and a number of other cities, hiked and camped on Paraty peninsula, lived in a hippie village, stayed in a campus community on the island of Florianopolis, and all that time I was slowly moving south, planning to cross the border with Argentina. By that time I already knew that I need to get a break from all that impossible mess of happiness, misery and day-long friends. I needed to go home, I needed to process all that happened to me, to talk to people who know me for at least some decent amount of time, to assure my family that I hadn’t gone nuts, to reboot my brain, to realize what I gained though my trip, to change clothes and equipment for god’s sake! I was crossing border with Argentina expecting to find just another southamerican country to explore, which by that time felt more like a routine than an adventure. I was so much mistaken.



I fell in love with Argentina. Even twice. After all the horror of Brazil (though I had numerous positive moments in this country as well) Argentina seemed like a fresh breeze on a stuffy day. I’ve spent a month there, couchsurfing in Buenos Aires and then moving to the city of Tandil by invitation of a dear person. Magic sort of ended when I arrived to Uruguay to take my flight back home, no offense to any Uruguayans that are reading this, but Montevideo appeared to be the most out of my league city in the world.



Montevideo, Panama City, Santo Domingo, Frankfurt, all the 42 hours of my flight were worth choking with tears while landing in Saint Petersburg. The first Russian sign in 8 months saying Добро пожаловать в Санкт-Петербург made me laugh like a psycho. I was home.



So, as I said, I’ve turned 24 yesterday. I am home for two weeks already, and I am still petrified. People around do not understand my Spanish. Prices in supermarkets are in rubles. My instagram is not booming with likes. I do not have to wear one of the same four sweatshirts anymore. I am sleeping alone in the room, in my own bed. Vodka is not something outstanding, and food tastes familiar. I do not need to use google maps to get to a particular spot in the city. I am home! I’ve just got it. I am a traveller. Now forever. A traveler who realized that she is actually a traveller. My friends and acquaintances are treating me like some sort of legend. I returned a hero, like I’ve been to a war or something. I’ve made it home, and now every each person feels obliged to pay me respect. People are sincerely interested in my experience, some not that sincerely, but they still ask. All of them. The same damn questions, which I gladly answer. My social life has been divided in “before” and “after”. Those who now me better update me with what had happened while I was gone; and even before listening to my traveling stories they all, all ask the same thing: so what’s next? What are you gonna do? Give me a break, really, I’m trying to get used to talking Russian to a bus driver, I need time to think! Those who do not know me that well tell me with a chuckle – so, you’ve done all that amazing things, now you are experienced and blah blah, so you are finally gonna find a real job and live a normal life, settle down, try to make something out of you?



Yeah, right. Settle down. After all that I’ve seen, all the opportunities that I’ve been exposed to! Oh dear lord, are you kidding me?! After what I’ve done, and I am speaking spiritually, I have no options, I am going to advance! How can I lock myself up in an office cubical after climbing the fucking Huaynapicchu mountain?! How can I take subway to work every day after hitchhiking 700 km per day with total strangers?! How can I go to sleep at 10 pm after observing a sunset on the roof of a House of the rising sun with a bunch of hippies?! How can I speak Russian in this damn monolingual country after learning Portuguese in two months just to be able to work in Brazil?! How can I spend a Saturday night in a cheesy bar downtown after dancing tango all night long in Buenos Aires with a 90-years-old professional tangero? How can I wake up by the sound of an alarm-clock after being woken up in a tent by the sound of braking waves? How will I explain my employer why I have a “mate cup” on my table? How will I explain my neighbors that I am listening to cumbia music at 4 o’clock in the morning? How can I listen to a friend talking about his two week long holiday in all-included comfortable hotel in Egypt after sleeping in a tent on an amusement park territory because there was no safer place around? How am I gonna talk to people who think that their boss is the biggest problem ever after surviving a storm in a fisherman’s bout in Atlantic ocean?! How am I gonna respond to my girls friends complaining about there complicated relationships after dealing with everyday conversations in argentinian spanish with a person who matters?! How can I stay at one place for half a year after visiting 7 fucking countries in eight months?!!



I am extremely happy to be home. I’ve missed my family, friends. I’ve missed my apartment. I’ve missed my culture and Russian mentality, I am it’s carrier, of which I am proud. Home feels safe. It is a sensation that I’ve been craving for a great while. But still. I am not gonna stay here, at least for now. My home city is the most gorgeous mixture of amazing architecture, high-level culture and underground vibes in the world. My friends are faithful folks. My family supports me in all my decisions. But still. I do not belong here till I see it all. The whole world is waiting for me to explore it. The first autumn leaf falls in Saint Petersburg – and I am out of here, seeking for happiness in constant moving and cognizing. Like a great song once said, un paso – y me voy para siempre.



Right now I am elaborating a plan and saving money for another transatlantic flight. I am aiming at Argentina, those parts that I didn’t manage to know. I wanna go far south, reach the End of the world, Ushuaya, Tierra del fuegos, cross the border with Chili, explore this marvellous country (where I already have some friends after previous trips), maybe work on an Argentinian farm, or as a tour guide in Chilean Andes, or go to some sunny beaches of Ecuador, who knows. Anyway, I am going forward.





Yeah, as I’ve said, I turned 24 yesterday. A great part of life is behind me. But even a greater is ahead. I am taking my time to rethink all that have happened for the past year. And now I know for sure only one thing. Every each person has two lives, and the second one starts the moment you realize that you have only one life.

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