These are my Momentos, short personal diary entries I write daily – since 2013 – and publish monthly. Some links are affiliate links.
1
Giant came to Colombia to live with me. I guess he expected we’d be out having fun and picking up chicks all the time. He has been doing that, perhaps better than anyone I’ve ever seen, but he’s been doing it without me. I’ve been something of a hermit here, work all-consuming. I’m well aware of the opportunity cost, and I’m at peace with it.
2
I met TG more than four years ago in Vegas at a personal development workshop. Good dude, originally from Israel, he’s been lifestyle designing since before there was a name for it. He just arrived in Medellín, and we sit in a park/restaurant/bar chatting about money, work, women and plans for the future. Big plans. The adventure never ends.
3
I try to read for at least an hour a day, putting in time while eating breakfast, lunch, and before sleeps. This gives me peace, quiet time with a book. So far this year I’ve finished sixty-three. Favorites: The Obstacle Is The Way; Nonviolent Communication; The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible; Guns, Germs, and Steel; Wooden.
4
Whatever was wrong with my dong last year, it’s not wrong now. I feel like a horny teen again, insatiable. This morning I clicked off the neocortex and let the reptilian run wild. Skype calls were missed, emails went unanswered. Finally clocking in now to see that $3,099.43 has been deposited into my bank account. Not quite noon, and it’s a beautiful day.
5
We went rock climbing today. The gym is good, cheap and uncrowded. I’d love to spend a few months immersed in rock face, make that my thing, then move on to dancing, fighting, music, swimming, surfing, public speaking, motorcycle maintenance… and a million more. But first I must crack the money nut. Until that happens, my attention is always divided, my efforts half-assed.
6
This dude at the juice stand talks fast and relentless. I barely catch a word he’s saying. Shouldn’t have asked him for directions in the first place. Finally I smile and nod like a light bulb went off: “Ah, okay! Muchas gracias!” We walk away and she asks what was said. “I have no fucking idea. I just pretended to understand so he’d stop talking to me.”
7
We were fooling around, fell out of sleep and into each other. Then she stopped me, something not right. Lying on our backs now, I see the face of a dog in the ceiling, knots for eyes and a snout, as silence lingers. I’m resisting the urge to rush in with explanations and apologies. Because I don’t feel bad. I’m not sorry. I’d do it all again.
8
I awake to sounds of screams and broken glass. It’s not the first time one of Giant’s ladies has disturbed my sleep, but it’s usually a soundtrack of moans and spanking that does it. This is altogether different. I check my clock. 5:30 a.m. Through the wall I can hear the volume increasing, yelling something about la policía.
9
You leave tomorrow. The next eight weeks will take you through eight different countries. Leaving places and faces, it’s nice to think it’s not goodbye but see you later. Fact is though, most of these places, most of these faces, you’ll never see again. You say you’ll be back someday, you promise to stay in touch, but it’s not entirely up to you. Tomorrow has its own plans.
10
Our third adiós, hopefully hasta pronto. I’m not sure if we’ve gotten better at this, or just grown accustomed. These last couple of weeks with her have kept my heart warm. Once upon a time I wrote about missing people, how that didn’t apply to me. But I’ll miss her. Through all the change and uncertainty, she feels like home.
11
This lady on the bus has been groaning and dry heaving all night, like she’s got the world’s worst case of food poisoning. Weird thing is, nobody has come forward to ask if she’s alright. I wonder if she just died there in her seat would anyone even notice. Of course, I’m no better than the rest. I tell myself I’d attend to her if my Spanish was better, but that’s a lame excuse.
12
Coming up on 7am and I’m running streets named after men I’ve read about. Someone’s playing a trumpet atop the murallas as gangs pull ropes in from the sea. The old city looks good, with sunlight creeping in through the terraces. I’d like to have more time to explore and experience this place, but lots of work to be done before my boat leaves.
13
There’s this weird thing when you pass another gringo on foreign streets: you both kinda pretend not to notice each other. But then, what’s the alternative? Offer some kind of acknowledgement? Maybe a nod and a smile, as if to say, “Hello there, fellow white person. I can relate to your being white in a strange land. That is all. Carry on.”
14
An epic work day if ever I’ve had one. Actually, the last three have seen me put in something like twelve hours apiece at the computer. Intermittent fasting today so I didn’t break for lunch, just plowed straight through. And it felt good, stretching my capacity to do hard, focused work.
15.
On a boat named Maluco, we’re literally sailing off into the sunset, heading west from Cartagena towards the San Blas Islands. The captain, his wife, and two bothers are from Venezuela. Myself and a couple from Australia has us at capacity. I lay out on the cramped deck for a few hours and watch the land fade with the light.
16
I’m trying to work on my Spanish a bit on the boat, chatting with the Venezuelans. At breakfast this morning they were telling me about black magic back home. From what I could gather, it’s increasingly popular. You wear white for a year and hope for a spirit to choose you. Later we talked about Sinead O’Connor and navigation of the celestial variety.
17
The San Blas Islands are straight out of a postcard, the type of scene most people would describe as paradise. We drop anchor off a patch of sand and palms no bigger than a football field and snorkel the afternoon away. Come nightfall we feast on soup and lobster under a star-filled sky, catching glimpses of strange sea creatures by flashlight.
18
More of the same today, but it doesn’t get old. This morning I floated in a trance as a tiger ray circled, like I was hypnotized by a gigantic underwater butterfly. Later we moved to another island and I snorkeled for a good two hours more, can’t get enough of that alien world beneath the waves, full of life my eyes had never seen before.
19
I saw a shipwreck this afternoon, couldn’t quite reach it on a dive. Thinking about that now in the dark. We’re on the last stretch to Portobelo, couldn’t sleep with the rough seas so here I am up on deck. Nobody speaks. We just sit, feeling the wind, watching the stars, occasional shadows towards the shore.
20
Stuck at Jack’s in Portobelo. The captain himself is an interesting cat. Open heart surgery twelve years ago shook him out of a VP position and onto a sailboat, four years solo “until I crossed my wake. It doesn’t count unless you cross your wake.” On an old American school bus some hours later, headed south to the big city, I’ll wish I’d asked him how it felt at the end.
21
Here it is again. New town, starting from scratch. Where do I stay? Where has good wifi? Where’s the laundrette? Where’s a good place to eat? How do I get to the bus station? I stayed in a shithole last night and have been battling slow wifi all day. It’s exhausting. And I’m tired already. That deep, can’t-keep-doing-this kinda tired.
22
Suffering now from all that snorkeling, sunburn has me scratching. Every time I say to myself, “I wont be out in it for long, no need for sunscreen”, I’m proved a fool. It’s getting ridiculous here in this hotel room, skin aflame. So I make myself lie motionless for ten minutes, arms to my side, breathing through the fire on my back.
23
A metro, two buses, a taxi and a boat to get from Panama City to Bocas del Toro. The second bus is tiny, but they pack about forty of us in the thing, old ladies standing up cramped in the middle. We spend a little more than four hours on there, through winding country roads, the engine groaning when we crawl up anything resembling a hill.
24
All night work session. The Internet is much better here when it’s dark, so I drag myself out of bed at 2am and put a solid five hours in. Gotta do what you gotta do. Later I grab a quick nap and tell people about the ginger scouser. “He won the island in a contest. Oh, and he’s the only person ever to visit every country in the world without flying.”
25
Power and Internet in short supply on Jinja Island, but we have a fine Christmas nonetheless, sitting around most of the day, feasting and chatting. I’m glad I’m here, with friends. This is my fourth consecutive away from home. Budapest, Chiang Mai, Qingdao, now Bocas. Next year: Slieverue, County Kilkenny.
26
Sometimes a memory hits you and your behavior suddenly makes sense. I’ve long noticed that I have an aversion to letting attractive women know I’m attracted to them. More like a fear actually. I have to make a conscious push to overcome it. Why is that there? Flashback to age seventeen: red face when my buddy announces to the group that I fancy one of the girls.
27
I wonder if we go through phases of introversion and extroversion. Lately I’ve been feeling more of the former, craving my quiet time, happy to pass up opportunities to be social. (I say lately, but it’s been most of this year.) And routine, I’ve been craving that, too. Interesting how these were the very things I was eager to move away from four years ago.
28
It’s almost 5am in Bocas, trying to figure out my next move. The Internet has been shit all night, barely got any work done, and this room is costing me $75 a pop (peak season). I’d like to make a break for Costa Rica at sun up, but it’s too late to book the shuttle. Might just turn up there at 8am and see what happens.
29
Sitting chatting with a 72-year old Colombian dude at the hostel in San Jose. He plays guitar, likes to dance, and thanks God for everything. My Spanish really should be better by now. I’ve been slacking on the practice, unable to drum up the mental energy to get out and speak regularly. That’s the only way to take the next step with this.
30
“…the issue I’ve been dealing with lately is that I’m succeeding at a lifestyle I no longer enjoy very much (i.e. the digital nomad lifestyle). Pretty much what I went through five years ago when I found myself succeeding at the 9-to-5, basketball superfan lifestyle (my teenage dream) but not really enjoying that anymore either.”
31
On tonight of all nights, San Jose is like a ghost town, as if they don’t celebrate the new year. I sit and chat at a bar with a young German lady, resisting the temptation to tell her what to think when she confides in me her doubts about religion. I’m back to the hostel and happily asleep before midnight, the first time I can remember missing the changeover.