These are my Momentos, short personal diary entries I write daily – since 2013 – and publish monthly. Some links are affiliate links.
1
“It’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
2
Standing waiting in what’s apparently la zona roja. I’m not exactly sure what time she’ll get here, but not to worry: I brought a book. Part of the reason I like this one so much (the book, not the girl) is the two faces of courage it depicts. One character always fearless, the other always terrified. You wish you were more like the first, but then you wonder if that’s really courage at all.
3
Prime example right here. It’s 2:55am, pulling the night shift again because the Internet is better then. Except when it isn’t, like tonight. I would have had this project wrapped a week ago but for shitty connections. Tomorrow we hop a rental car to tour the country, but I’ll have this unfinished business hanging over me. Not really traveling, not really working.
4
We’re staying at the best hotel in town. Which isn’t a big thing when the town itself is a bit of a shithole. Apparently the government has all but abandoned the place, and the murder rate is five times higher than in the capital. Three people spoke to me on the street, all asking for spare change. But hey, the wifi is fantastic. So, you know, it all balances out.
5
The plan was to watch the sun rise out of the Caribbean, then drive all the way across the country in time to see it sink into the Pacific, stopping off at the nation’s tallest volcano along the way. Well, woeful weather ruined the first two-thirds of that plan, but we finished strong and got to see wild crocs along the way. Not a bad day.
6
What’s the difference between backing your rental car into a palm tree and worrying about it, and backing your rental car into a palm tree and shrugging it off as no big deal? The difference I’m thinking of is one word. Five letters. Begins with M. (Another difference has nine letters and begins with I, but no telling how that will shake out.)
7
That goodbye was the culmination of what’s been bothering me the past few days. No hug, no take care, no thanks for doing all the driving. She walked away as if from a stranger. Part of me wants to pretend nothing’s wrong, but a bigger part know we have to talk. Writing this so I’m more likely to do the latter. I don’t want her hearing it here first.
8
Today I sat and worked for eight straight hours without a break, save some quick trips to the restroom. And you know what? It felt great. Reliable internet, getting into a good flow, trucking through the to-do list. The work I’m doing isn’t ideal, but the act of working fills me up. Even if I had all the money in the world, I’d still long for the grind.
9
I have a recurring item on my to-do list. It reads, “Remember: someday you will die.” I have to check it off every morning, gives me pause. More so today, as I get off the phone to my grandmother back in Ireland. She just spent a week in hospital, hanging in strong despite a weak heart. She talked a lot about family, how lucky she is to be surrounded by people who care.
10
Half-assed baggage check at the cross from Costa Rica into Nicaragua. The guy didn’t take a thorough look at any bag on a bus full of them. This is a recurring theme. With the security I’ve seen the last couple months, I could have easily smuggled a backpack full of cocaine all the way up from Colombia. Or an exotic animal. Or a dead hooker.
11
Still the weirdness, the distance, despite what I said yesterday. So I spoke up again, said I thought it best we part ways. This kind of conversation is always a struggle for me, always over-thinking it ahead of time, tormenting myself with self-doubt, second-guessing. But in the end, I remember that it’s my life, and I get to choose who’s in it.
12
Riding out of Moyogalpa on a dirt bike I just rented, sun setting to the west, Mercury and Venus beginning to shine through, volcanoes dominating the skies to the south and east, singing songs of freedom. This island is nice, tranquilo, but it gives me pause that the rental price on this bike is 15x the daily wage of most people living in Nicaragua.
13
Up at four and zooming across the island to a hacienda in the dark. I hire a guide and we hike the volcano into the clouds, hardcore with mud and near-vertical clambering. We’re up and down in five hours, then I take the bike on a lap of the island, along dirt roads, past waving locals, and kids playing with sticks and bicycle tires.
14
So when they said the bus would take me to Granada, what they meant was the bus would take me some of the way there, and then I’d have to get out and wait on the side of the road for another bus, and this other bus would actually be a van, carrying more people than the regular bus. On the bright side, the entire journey cost less than $3.
15
I can’t remember the last time I was in a church. This one is gigantic, with four chapels and three naves (whatever a nave is). I sit for a bit and listen to old ladies chanting something about a corazón, then go stare at the candles and think of my grandmother. On the way out three beggars ask for money and a young cat offers el diablito.
16
It’s almost midnight, gate still chained, don’t fancy waiting out on this shady street for three hours. I swing my big bag over first, nothing breakable in there. Then I let my smaller bag follow, the bigger one acting as a crash pad. Quick look around, coast still clear, so I spring myself up over the fence. If nobody’s home, I’ll have to do all this again in a minute.
17
Crossing into Honduras, twenty of us gathered around the driver as he calls names and hands back passports before we can reboard. A beggar wanders over. He’s in his fifties, face all weary, clothes all scuffed up. Standing there with his crutches, I wonder how he lost the leg. He watches the driver, eyes hopeful, as if waiting for his name to be called.
18
If I have a theme this year, it’s focus. My tendency has always been to take on too much, and then get scattered, not giving myself enough time to think. I’m going to try hold back on the workouts, for example, because that’s really just a form of procrastination for me at this stage. The money-making must come first. Once I crack that, everything else gets easier.
19
Antigua is a little colonial town surrounded by volcanoes, full of cobbled streets and broken steeples. It was Guatemala’s capital until earthquakes wrecked the joint back in the eighteenth century. I step off a minibus, check into my hostel, and go for a wander. My new favorite thing is finding an old, quiet church for a wee spot of meditation.
20
This guy is on some high level shit, business did half a mil last year. Earlier he showed me his goals and values all written out in great detail. Now he’s quizzing me on my business plans. With a few sharp questions he exposes giant flaws, crucial considerations. Mind blown. The highlight of my time in Central America may prove to be this very conversation.
21
After that chat last night and reading about EV this morning, I sit in a coffee shop in San Marcos and crunch numbers, estimate odds. The figures I end up with don’t look good. My work plan for New Orleans will have to change, Amsterdam too. Time to cut the bullshit and focus relentlessly on the one thing most likely to get me where I want to go.
22
Just the two of us atop this mountain. I’m convinced it’s a shakedown, so I tell him I’m leaving and make for the trail, fully aware that he ain’t happy and there’s a machete strapped to his hip. But he goes for rocks instead, gathers up a couple and assumes a throwing stance, daring me to take another step. “En serio?” He nods wide-eyed, as if to say, “Go ahead, see what happens.”
23
Acknowledging others. It’s such a simple thing, but I often fall in with the rabblement and blank my fellow humans. I let myself off the hook in busy surroundings, but no excuse on quiet streets or in half-empty coffee shops. Why are we so hesitant to say hi, offer a nod, maybe even a smile? What is that fear? Rejection? Embarrassment? Strangers?
24
We’re already a few miles into Mexico by the time I realize, jacket and ear buds left behind on the other bus. Shite. It’s not so much that I mind losing those things — though that jacket was my oldest possession, and I was using the ear buds daily — it’s more the carelessness that bugs me, being absent-minded. I take some breaths and try to forgive.
25
I’m wearing three layers, and a t-shirt over my head. Just another ice-cold bus trip in Latin America, where the a/c is either on full blast or not at all. I’m poked awake twice during the night by police inspecting the vehicle, wanting to know where I’m from, where I live, and if the little Mexican boy asleep in the next seat belongs to me.
26
The twelve hour bus to Mexico City ended up taking seventeen hours, and that was just fine with me, stuck into a good book as I was during the long crawl through traffic on the home stretch. I must have got a solid three hours of reading in, then walked the two miles to the hostel, stopping off en route at a busy breakfast place and a quiet church.
27
Started off in great form today, but ending on a low. I think I’m just lonely again, passing through these towns, not really knowing anybody. Met a girl off Tinder this afternoon and she was cool and everything, but fuck, I don’t know, man. There was the language barrier, and the fact that I’ll be out of here in two days. It all seemed so pointless.
28
This is interesting. I’ve never been kicked out of a UNESCO World Heritage site before. The security guard escorting me to the exit hardly seems interested in my excuses. Doesn’t help that I’m offering them in broken Spanish. Probably sounds something like this to his hears: “No sign. I not know. Why no sign? My friends not here. I no come in this way.”
29
I wake up from a dream in which I’m vomiting, and find myself actually vomiting. All over the hostel bedsheets at five in the morning. Not sure what it was that I ate, possibly those street tacos or the hostel breakfast. Montezuma’s revenge. As I try clean up without disturbing the roomies, I realize it might be a very long day ahead. I’m due to board a 20-hour bus this afternoon.
30
US-Mexican border. The final big hurdle. Once I’m beyond, the rest is easy, downhill all the way home. But you hear horror stories about this crossing, regular people refused entry for no good reason. I step to the window and hand over my papers. Eventually the agent asks that one question, my response to which always raises eyebrows: “How long have you been traveling?”
31
Two days in San Antonio, not very pleasant thanks to this lingering diarrhea. But balancing it out are these two dudes I’m crashing with. They’ve taken me around to buy meds, do laundry, see some sights. Andrew has even paid for a couple of my meals. Last time I Couchsurfed was almost three years ago in Iran, kindness much the same.