The Accidental Traveler

Posted: 05/28/2013 | May 28th, 2013

I can count on one hand all the places I visited before I was 23. Travel wasn’t part of my upbringing. It wasn’t something my family did outside of the occasional road trip to visit my grandmother in Florida.

In college, I skipped studying abroad because I was afraid I might miss something. I went to Montreal twice, because when you’re under 21 and can’t afford spring break in Cancún, Montreal is the closest place to go when you live in Boston. It wasn’t until I was 23 that I left North America to visit Costa Rica, and I only did that because that’s what I thought you were supposed to do when you work. With two weeks of vacation a year, you’re supposed to go somewhere and have fun, right? It wasn’t that I had a burning desire to travel; it was just something I thought I had to do.

But that trip to Costa Rica changed my whole life. After that, I was hooked. I was in love. I was addicted. I needed to travel in my life.

A couple of months ago, I told this story during a radio interview and the host called me an accidental traveler.

I liked that phrase. The accidental traveler.

I’d never thought about it that way before, but it’s fitting.

In the beginning, I had no burning desire to travel; it was just something that happened. Travel became part of my life only as an afterthought. I never woke up wanting to be nomadic.

Being called an accidental traveler made me think about the journeys we take as people.

Are they deliberate, or do they just happen? How many times do we discover our journey only while we’re in the middle of it?

I think about the journey I’ve taken. It began first as a simple desire to travel more, then changed to a stronger desire to take a gap year, and then became wanting to travel forever. I fell into travel writing as a way to make that happen.

Now I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.

Each step, each twist and turn, happened without any prior planning or thinking. In the words of Robert Frost, “way leads on to way.”

I found my path only while I was on it.

My mind sometimes goes back to when I was 23 and in Costa Rica. What made Costa Rica so special was that it showed me I could live life on my own terms. Travel allowed me to do what I wanted when I wanted. It made every day Saturday and filled it with endless possibility.

I think of my friend Chris Guillebeau, who recently finished his journey to visit all the countries in the world before his 35th birthday, and how he described his journey as one that evolved over time:

You want to see a couple of countries.

Then a couple more.

One day you wake up, and you’re on a quest to see every country in the world.

Just like one day, you wake up, and you realize you’ve become a world traveler.

You don’t know how it happened. You can’t really pinpoint the exact moment you or your life changed.

But it did.

Your one-year plan turns into 18 months, then 36 months, and then, suddenly, you’re celebrating five years on the road.

You’re a traveler. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are.

And you sit and write this in your favorite coffee shop in NYC, reflect on how you got here, think about all the other big moments in your life, and realize that the best ones all happened as accidents.

And as you get ready to travel again, you realize that sometimes just falling into something can be the best thing to happen to you.

One day, you set out on a path, and the road twists and turns, and you think you’re still on that same path until you stop and rest. Then you look around and realize you’re not where you intended to be, but someplace even better.

Then there, in this new world, as you get ready to celebrate being another year older, you come to the conclusion that no plan might be the best plan, and you’re happy letting life’s accidents lead the way.

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The Swedish Birthday Party

As I sat in my tuxedo, taking another sip of Swedish schnapps, I turned to the girl next to me and whispered:

“Why are there so many speeches?”

“At birthday parties like this, it’s common in Swedish culture for people to get up and say nice things,” she said. She paused, looking as the speaker regaled us with stories about the birthday boy, and then leaned into my ear again: “It happens so much that when my parents threw a 65th birthday party, they specifically said ‘no speeches’ because they were tired of hearing the same thing and just wanted to drink.”

Annika, sporting de rigueur Swedish features –  blonde hair, blue eyes, and eyebrows that would make Cara Delevingne jealous – was giving me an intro to Swedish birthday celebrations. Just when the night’s speeches seemed to draw to a conclusion, another person stood up to talk about Erik, the night’s honored guest.

Like me, Erik loves any excuse to throw a swanky party, and, as 30 is a big deal in his family, used it to throw a black tie affair that could compete with a museum gala. Though his birthday is in January, he planned the celebration for July, because, as he so accurately put it, “Who wants to be outside in Sweden in January?!”

The event was held in Stockholm’s Djurgården. Djurgården is one of the largest islands in the city, home to Gröna Lund amusement park, the Vasa Museum, the ABBA Museum, and Skansen (an open-air museum of pre-industrial Swedish life). But, more than its museums, this island is famed for its plethora of running trails and gardens. When the weather is warm and the sun shines, Swedes can be found swarming all over this green oasis.

As I stepped out of my Uber on the far end of Djurgården and followed a tiny stone path, I came to Rosendals Trädgård, a greenhouse-like restaurant where dinner would be held. The city seemed a world away in this farm-like setting with rustic buildings and an orchard. Jaunting down another path, I turned into the orchard, where I saw dozens of other people in tuxedos, ball gowns, and suits. It felt more like a wedding than a birthday party. There, with the sun bright overhead and the wind carrying the smell of flowers, we drank, introduced ourselves to each other, and swapped stories about Erik.

Following the Swedish tradition of sitting single guests next to members of the opposite sex, I found myself paired with the afore mentioned Annika, my Swedish cultural liaison for the evening.

In the U.S., birthday parties don’t frequently feature multiple speeches. There’s a toast, and maybe someone says something nice, but a parade of speeches is often reserved for bigger events — weddings, retirements, engagements, and anniversaries. A 30th birthday typically doesn’t fall into the endless speech category.

As the night progressed, there were drinking songs sung, toasts proffered, bottles of wine consumed, language tips given, and dances danced. The horrible schnapps got easier to drink with each toast, and the meal – made of all local ingredients — became a blur of dishes designed to keep us somewhat sober.

In the Swedish summer, when the sun has barely set a midnight, the constant light beckoned us to stay out longer. So when it started to rise again at 2am and the staff shooed us out the door, we moved the party to a friend’s house before finally stumbling to our respective homes around 6am.

Swedes are often thought of as a cold people — and there is some truth to that. An outwardly stoic culture, Swedes often joke about how they will go out of their way to avoid talking to their neighbors. Striking up conversations with strangers is seen as equally odd.

But underneath that hard exterior, you’ll find a people that are deeply loyal and loving of their friends and family.

Attending Erik’s party reminded me how a simple thing like a birthday party can be a window into a culture. When you witness first-hand how people come together to celebrate, you often see how that culture values relationships.

For example, years ago, I attended a birthday party in Cambodia. It was a free-flowing event that focused so much on the food and the shared meal that it made me really appreciate just how central food was to that culture and how meals were used as a way to strengthen bonds between people.

This night, though, as I watched Erik’s brother recite a poem and his friends sing his favorite drinking songs, I discovered the unreserved side of Swedes. Here, everyone talked about how wonderful my friend was — not to grow his ego but to show their love and appreciation for him and for having him in their lives.

And, as I saw the smile on everyone’s faces and the joy in Erik’s eyes, I thought maybe this was a birthday tradition worth spreading around the world.

P.S. – If you’re going to Stockholm, I just updated my budget guidebook to the city based off my last month stay there! You’ll find suggested itineraries, budgets, ways to save money, on and off the beaten path things to see and do, non-touristy restaurants, bars, and much more!! Click here to learn more.

All photos by Erik’s brother Karl!