A Barefoot Existence

January of 2013 had me leaving Thailand, vacationing in Bali, and towards the month’s end, I found myself back in true civilization in Dublin, Ireland. After a grueling flight with plenty of layovers, at approximately 8:00 in the morning on January 29th, I came to Ireland for the first time.

In an effort to stave off the jet lag that would surely be coming for us, we checked into our hotel and spent the day wandering the streets of Dublin. At 2:00 pm we were already in The Quays pub in the infamous Temple Bar area, pints of Guinness and Bulmer’s cider in hand, listening to a live band play classic Irish music.

After a brief search for an apartment, we fell in love with a beautiful, two-bedroom apartment in the suburb of Howth. The landlord opened the door and we were greeted with a beautiful, panoramic view of the harbour. We decided on the spot that we would take it. Howth is a wealthier suburb of Dublin, and it’s close proximity to the coast means that seafood restaurants and markets reign supreme – not ideal for a vegetarian such as myself, but Tommy was in heaven with the selection of fresh seafood available to him. In stormy weather, the harbour wall would overflow with white-capped waves, and sea foam would float over for children to play in as if it were snow. I loved living there; I loved that I could regularly see seals in my front yard, I loved the feeling of going for a run among the harbour wall, I loved that I lived close to the former house of W.B. Yeats. The nearby coastal cliffs were a beautiful and scenic walk, where you would see dolphins swimming in the water below. It was exactly like standing on the very edge of the world.

Now, 4 months later, I can say that Dublin has become my favourite city I’ve ever been to. The whole country is wonderfully beautiful, so green even on the greyest, rainiest days. The old buildings contribute to the feeling of history and a certain quaintness absent in most major cities. When you walk down Grafton or Henry Street, there are numerous artists selling prints and paintings, many musicians playing instruments and singing to enthralled crowds. That is easily one of my favourite things about Dublin – it’s always so musical. It’s as if the city has its very own heartbeat.

My initial decision to leave Koh Tao was greatly influenced by my inability to continue diving. After falling in love with the sport – enough to become an instructor – I found an old injury putting a dent in my life-as-a-beach-bum plans. Back when I first arrived in Thailand, I was in a motorbike accident that ended in a sprained foot, a severely scraped face and a separated shoulder – the latter of which had come back to haunt me. It appeared that after an insufficient recovery period from the original injury, constantly lifting tanks, heavy crates, and dive equipment, the weakened muscle of my left shoulder had again separated from my clavicle. It got to the point where I had DMTs throwing my equipment into the water before I could put it on, but eventually even wearing my BC and tank was too much for my shoulder to handle, and it would ache for days. Unable to dive, work, and keep myself entertained, I slowly started to come down with island fever. When the opportunity to go to Bali - and eventually Ireland - to meet Tommy came up, I packed my bags and left Thailand behind.

Bali was much different than I had expected – I was thinking I was going to be visiting another small, laid-back island like Koh Tao, but Bali was much, much bigger, busier and more overwhelming. The streets are packed with motorbikes and cars, causing many traffic jams, and the sidewalks are swarmed with tourists, keen to enjoy Bali’s cheap culture and beautiful beaches. Easily the most irritating thing about the island is the shopping vendors – don’t you dare glance at their wares unless you want to be harassed for several minutes, even as you walk away disinterested. I started to tire of the shopkeeps very quickly, often forgetting my Canadian manners and just employing an easier method of ignoring them.

Bali was beautiful – our hotel was in the busy district but still tucked out of the way, with multiple pools and luxurious rooms – but unfortunately, my first few days there were marred by an onset of extreme dehydration. The constant, excruciating leg cramps, the headaches, the dizziness, and the fainting spells followed by mild seizures didn’t exactly make for a restful few days in my new paradise. I would find myself on the ground with no recollection of falling or losing consciousness, Tommy holding onto me to stop me hurting myself. After being hospitalized twice and tested for every possible disease, I was given painkillers, sleeping pills, muscle relaxants and the doctor’s orders to drink a lot of water and a lot of electrolytes. Being in the sun accelerated the dehydration so I spent most of the first few days in bed, afraid to stray too far in case I fainted again. I constantly saw lights in one of my eyes – a strange little side effect that took weeks to fully recede. A few months later, when I was filing for my insurance to cover my medical costs, I found out that the hospital had diagnosed me with Dengue Fever – a dangerous, mosquito-transmitted disease rampant on Koh Tao as I was leaving – and I was never told about it.

Luckily, after about 4 days I started to return to normal, and was able to enjoy the sunshine, poolside, listening to my favorite music on my newly repaired iPod. As I basked in the sunshine, I contemplated just how very lucky I am to be doing what I am doing, what I have done, and what I will do in the future. I may have had to take a break from my amazing new job, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was giant striding back into the ocean.

10 days in Bali passed by incredibly quickly, having spent the entire time (after my illness passed) by the pool, enjoying the sun and each other’s company. Soon enough it was time to re-pack our suitcases and head to the airport. We were leaving behind the sunshine and heat of Thailand and Bali to relocate to the clouds and rain of Dublin, Ireland, a city I’ve always wanted to visit. We said goodbye to Bali, and 25 hours later, after a three hour break in Kuala Lumpur, where we enjoyed unlimited glasses of wine, and a short stop in Abu Dhabi, we stepped off the plane and into our new life.

“If you never stop when you wave goodbye, you just might find, if you give it time, you will wave hello again.”

I find that, between check-ins, layovers, and my occasional overnight stay, I spend a fair amount of time in airports. I think airports are really interesting places for a number of reasons – it’s amazing to me that they are always in motion, people coming and going every hour of every day, going someplace new, someplace revisited, somewhere they call home. I find it so interesting, and almost sad, that airports are repeatedly full of millions of people who may never meet each other, may only fleetingly see someone’s face, may never know someone’s story.

More than anything, more than the international and unknown locations, the movement, and the intersecting lives of strangers, I find that airports reveal the truth. Not just in the way that the security guards and machines reveal concealments and deceits, but also in the way that airports seem to unlock something in a person’s emotional depths. I find that the interactions between people in airports are probably some of the most honest expressions of human emotions you can see. Saying goodbye in an airport seems to be infinitely harder than saying goodbye anywhere else, and being reunited in an airport might be one of the greatest feelings there is. I’ve seen some really wonderful hellos in airports: flowers and kisses, tears, handshakes and hugs. The goodbyes are always the hardest – there’s always the person who has to compose themselves, turn around and walk away. It’s so hard to be that person, and even harder to watch them walk away from you.

I have been incredibly fortunate in my life to have met a truly wonderful array of people, and my constant travel leads to several hellos and even more goodbyes. We’re always in motion, coming and going, country to country. It never gets easier – I still can’t say goodbye in an airport and maintain my composure – but it’s just something I’ve gotten used to. Funnily enough, sometimes we discover strange, shared coincidences that lead us to believe we have been in the same place before.

Maybe we’ve even walked past each other in a crowded airport.

After 10 months living, working and diving in Thailand, I packed up my entire life into my black suitcase and said goodbye to everyone on Koh Tao. I was surprised, as I sat on the ferry and watched the island disappear into the distance, that I didn’t feel a greater sense of sadness leaving it behind; it had been my home since July, and I had met some truly phenomenal people while living there. One person so phenomenal, in fact, that I was leaving the island behind to move to Ireland with him.

Two boats, two busses, and one long day later, I arrived in Phuket, where I would be spending the night before my flight to Bali the next morning. Choosing my usual route of cheaping out and sleeping in the airport, I mentally prepared myself for a long, uncomfortable night. I was lucky enough to be offered a ride to the airport by the nice German girl who sat beside me on the bus, and I found myself in Phuket airport with 14 hours to spare before I could check in. Unfortunately, Phuket airport is a pretty small, useless place, with only one bar (that closes at 11), no free wi-fi, and sadly uncomfortable chairs. After a highly overpriced and flavorless ceaser salad, I found a reasonable stretch of chairs and sprawled out in my typical don’t-steal-my-luggage position, with my carry-on as a pillow and one arm wrapped protectively through my suitcase strap: not the most comfortable of positions, sure, but effective. I actually managed to sleep a few hours, a massive improvement from my last airport slumber party in Christchurch. I woke feeling rather rested, optimistic for my long day of travel.

I encountered a hurdle when I arrived at the check in counter for my first leg from Phuket to Singapore – my bag was 10 kg overweight. They were trying to charge me 600 baht a kilo – so 6000 baht total – for the baggage, but being as that cost more than the flight did, I found a way around it. Through a bunch of maneuvering, several items of clothing shoved into coat pockets, more layers than necessary in a humid country, and a far above the weight limit carry-on bag, I managed to get all of my belongings onto the plane. The doors closed, I settled into my chair, and closed my eyes. On January 19th, 2013, I left Thailand, the beautiful country I called home for so long … moving on.

Today is Thursday, February 14th, 2013. Today, many kilometers, hours, and time zones away, my family is saying goodbye to my remarkable Grandfather. His passing, while not unexpected, has brought everyone in my family both sadness and grief, but while I have been experiencing both of these in floods, I also am confronted with an ongoing sense of guilt. Guilt that I am not there to say my final goodbye and stand alongside the rest of my family as his long, amazing life is laid to rest, but also that I have gone the last 11 months without seeing him. I left home for Thailand in April of last year, and have not been back since, preferring instead the nomadic nature I have been frequenting over the past few years. I think, in general, we who spend so much time on the road take one major thing for granted: our homes. We expect that we can come and go, time and time again, and everything will be exactly as we left it each time we return. My next journey home, I will see just how absurd this idea truly is. The next time I set foot in Edmonton, a certain person will be missing, and his presence will forever be missed.

I have not only lost a Grandfather, I have lost a man who has been a constant presence in my life since my birth; a man who was unconditionally proud of me, and who was always happy to spend time with me. A wonderful, entertaining, loving old guy who I’m very lucky to have had in my life as long as I did.

So goodbye, Grandpa. Here in Dublin, Ireland, I send you all my love. I cannot say thank you enough for all you have ever done for my family and I. No matter which continent I end up on, or which country I find myself in, I will always miss you and hold you in my heart.