MIAMI?

CONTINENTAL DRIFTER
23rd Installment: Coming Home? by Elliott Hester
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I'm worn out. But blissfully so.
 
Having just completed a one-year, around-the-world adventure through more than 50 destinations in 22 countries on 6 continents, I can say, with some degree of authority, that the world is still a beautiful place. It has warts, to be sure. There are dangers, both real and imagined. But because of the people I met along the way, and the kindness they bestowed upon me, this once-in-a-lifetime travel experience has cemented my faith in humanity. It also changed me in ways I had not imagined.
 
First, I realize how fortunate I am to have been born in a country where prosperity is a relatively attainable pursuit. In Argentina, where my journey began in October, 2002, the country's catastrophic financial collapse makes the U.S. economic predicament seem trivial by comparison.
 
While walking along Florida Street, a popular pedestrian mall in Buenos Aires, I saw hundreds of people lined up in front of Banca Nazionale. They were there to trade weakened pesos for dollars. Farther up the street at an ice cream shop, nearly 1,000 job applicants stood in a massive queue, hoping to fill one of two available positions.
 
And yet the tango halls teemed with revelers. As did the soccer stadiums. Restaurants served heaping plates of asado (barbecue) to financially-strapped patrons who danced to Argentine folk songs until the wee hours of the morning.
 
In Papeete, Tahiti, where a box of Fruit Loops goes for $6.63 at the local grocery, I learned to appreciate the value of a dollar. (A one-hour connection at an Internet café cost nearly $10.00, as did a late-night, four-minute cab ride.) Fiscal absurdities aside, I got the chance to sail on the Aranui, a cargo ship that operates from Tahiti to the beautifully isolated Marquesas Islands.
 
Ua Pao, Tahuata, Fatu Hiva, Hiva Oa. While passengers took shore excursions to one mist-shrouded island after another, the crew unloaded precious cargo: food, building materials, heavy equipment, beer. The ship is a blessing for islanders who, for the most part, are cut off from the rest of the world.
 
But 13 days of frenetic island hopping soon got the best of me. With a few days remaining on the Aranui's itinerary, I jumped ship at Nuka Hiva. A similar desertion took place here in 1842, when Herman Melville abandoned the whaler Acushnet. For a month he lived among cannibals that once inhabited the island. Based on the experience, which landed him in a Papeete prison, he wrote Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life. It was the first of five successful novels that preceded his literary masterpiece, Moby Dick.
 
In contrast to Melville's thrilling island adventure, I stayed a few days and went goat hunting with a friendly local.
 
From Nuka Hiva, I flew to Papeete and onward to Sydney, Australia. Days later, a Greyhound bus dropped me off in Coober Pedy, a dusty opal mining town in the middle of a flat red nowhere. Here in the heart of the outback, the intense sun can push temperatures past the 120-degree mark. Consequently, half the 3,000 residents live in elaborate underground "dugouts" equipped with all the comforts of home – except air-conditioning. Dugouts maintain an average temperature of about 68 degrees.
 
I slept underground at Radeka's, a dugout youth hostel. The owners, Yveline Page and her boyfriend Tony Karetsian, are two of the friendliest proprietors on earth. In addition to taking me on an afternoon mining expedition at their private opal claim, I was invited to barbeques where Tony prepared great-tasting sausages. Although I ate two or three helpings, they refused to charge me for what I consumed.
 
Traveling north, I soon found myself in Brunei, home to His Majesty The Sultan. During this year of living aimlessly, my one big splurge was a three-night stay at the five-star Empire Hotel & Country Club near the capital of Bandar Seri Begawan. Hours after checking into my opulent suite, His Highness Shaikh Khalifa Bin Salman Al-Khalifa, the Prime Minister of Bahrain, arrived with an entourage. They occupied 40 rooms, including the palatial Emperor's Suite, which, at $13,000 per night, cost a tad more than mine.
 
After Brunei, the days and destinations began to fly by. I ate scrumptious $3 Thai meals, prepared by vendors on the streets of Bangkok. I marveled at the cleanliness and efficiency of Singapore's state-of-the-art subway system. I watched with utter fascination as the Balinese sun dipped, like a ball of melting butter, into the Indian Ocean. I stood transfixed in front of India's Taj Mahal, unable to fathom how a structure of such delicate magnitude could have taken shape from human hands.
 
Made of white translucent marble and imbedded with thousands of tiny flower petal-shaped gems, the Taj was inspired by a broken heart. After his wife died during childbirth, the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan ordered the construction of this palace-like mausoleum which was completed in 1653.
 
A hired car had taken me to Agra from Delhi, primarily to see the Taj. But on the return trip, I was hit with a case of "Delhi Belly." At about the same time, I became somewhat disenchanted with the notion of traveling alone. Lord knows that the best time to be by one's self is while suffering from cataclysmic diarrhea. But when I had partially recovered and prepared to take a 35-hour train ride to Mysore, India, "aloneness," which I had hoped this trip would offer plenty of, seemed like the world's most overrated concept.
 
How many times had I dined alone in one fantastic restaurant or another? How many spectacular sunsets had I been privy to? How often had I walked, unaccompanied, through ancient churches, mosques, and temples?
 
Just when I started feeling sorry for myself, I got in touch with Raian Irani, a stranger from Mysore who was kind enough to accept my phone call. His name had been mentioned in an email from Ram Prabhu, a stranger from Cleveland who was kind enough to provide the contact. (Weeks earlier, Ram read about my trip in this newspaper column.) "Make sure you visit Mysore," he said in a brief message. "Most tourists never see the south of India, Raian is a good man to know there."
 
I arrived in Mysore in May, at the height of the SARS epidemic. Despite the fact that I had worrisome symptoms (fever, dizziness, headache, sore muscles), Raian, a prominent local businessman, insisted that I stay at his home. I accepted the invitation, believing that Delhi Belly was the cause of my illness. But as servants carried my bags into the house, I wondered if SARS had taken root. After all, I departed Singapore a few weeks earlier, just as the first cases were being diagnosed there.
 
After two bed-ridden days in a guest room, I feared the worst. Raian drove me to a medical clinic. In front of the crumbling building and along the dusty street, cows meandered freely. They seemed as much a part of the traffic flow as the motor bikes, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, push carts, trucks and busses. I remember stepping from the car and staggering past an ox-driven wagon. The massive bovine creature, and its creaking load, could have rolled straight out of the 17th century.
 
I followed Raian up the stairs and into a room where a doctor appeared. Raian greeted him like an old friend. "Be careful," he said jokingly, "this guy just arrived from Singapore." The doctor quickly donned a surgical mask and gloves. He began the exam, using an antiquated metal tongue depressor that was as heavy as a paper weight.
 
A few days and antibiotics later, I recovered from what turned out to be the flu. Along with Raian, his wife Shahanez and their young son Jazed, I piled into the car and drove south to Udagamandalam (better known as Ooty).
 
Nestled high in the Nilgiri hills, and surrounded by coffee and tea plantations, Ooty was founded in 1821 by British colonists seeking respite from the scorching summer heat. It is still home to the Lawrence School of Lovedale, which, not coincidentally, was in the midst of its 145th anniversary celebration when we arrived. Raian's teenage daughter, Vashte, is student here.
 
During the day, we attended theater productions, art exhibits and equestrian events put on by students. At night we retreated to the Irani's second home, just downhill from the school. We gathered around the blazing fireplace, immersed in tea and conversation: Raian, Shahanez, Jazed, Vashte and me – a continental drifter who no longer felt like one.
 
From Ooty, I drove to Bangalore and caught a series of flights that ultimately delivered me to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Farther north, the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela rank among the world's most underrated architectural achievements.
 
Sometime during the 12th or 13th century in this remote mountain town, craftsmen carved 11 churches out of volcanic rock. Like pieces of cake cut from the center, square trenches were dug out of the nearby hillsides. From the resulting blocks of rock they fashioned steps, windows, doors, façades. Finally, the interior rock was scooped out, leaving vestigial columns for support.
 
But poverty weighed heavy on my heart. Not far away, in the Ethiopian town of Bahar Dar, I walked down a dirt road and was besieged by dozens of homeless children. (I later learned that this town, and hundreds like it, is rife with kids who've lost parents to war, famine, and more often than not, AIDS.)
 
Barefoot, ragged, their faces caked with dust, two of the more persistent boys asked for shoes, not money. It was impossible to deny them such necessities. I bought them new shoes, socks and shirts. Never in my life have I been rewarded with such appreciative smiles.
 
But the next morning as I left my hotel, four of their friends were waiting. They needed shoes, socks, shirts.
 
Because I am of African descent, I was often met by stares in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. But the gawking seemed to come out of curiosity rather than contempt.
 
In St. Petersburg, Russia, while walking along Nevsky Prospekt, the city's main thoroughfare, I was approached by locals on at least a dozen occasions. Russian women, and occasionally men, implored me to pose with them for photographs. During one encounter, two women kissed me on each cheek while a third aimed the camera. Then they switched positions.
 
I'd hoped to spend about $60 per day during this one-year expedition. Having calculated my expenditures, however, it appears that I've spent closer to $75 or $80. Europe killed my budget. A strong Euro, paired with stints in expensive cities like Rome, Helsinki and Athens, had me forking up nearly $110 per day. Low-cost destinations like Indonesia, Ethiopia, and India helped balance the scales. In Delhi, for example, the air-conditioned Hotel Ajanta was a dream at $14 per night.
 
After a year like this, most travelers would welcome a trip home. I would too, if I had one. But giving up my Miami Beach apartment and selling my possessions made this adventure a financially attainable one. In the process, I've experienced true freedom.
 
So I'll continue to live my life as a continental drifter. I'm in Barcelona at the moment, taking Spanish classes, munching on tapas, and trying to find my way around this lovely Catalonian metropolis. But Valencia is only a few miles down the coast. Madrid is a shuttle flight away. And at the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula lies Morocco.
 
Hmmm Morocco. I wonder what it's like this time of year.
 
 
TIPS FOR AROUND-THE-WORLD TRAVELERS
 
• Purchase airline tickets from a travel agency specializing in multi-segment trips: These two leading agencies buy discounted one-way fares from a variety of carriers and pass on the savings to customers: AirTreks.com, 442 Post St., Suite 400, San Francisco 94102; tel. 877-247-8735 or 415-912-5600 www.airtreks.com.
Air Brokers International tel. 800-883-3273 www.airbrokers.com.

• Make sure your flight dates can be changed without penalty: You never know how long you'll feel like staying in a particular place.

• Consider a route that provides perpetual summer: Departing from Miami in October, I flew to South America, then west to French Polynesia, Australia, Southeast Asia, Africa and Europe. T-shirt weather stayed with me all the way.

• Choose manageable luggage: Backpacks are de rigueur among long-term travelers. But my large, rolling duffle is less awkward and holds as much gear.

• Obtain travel visas prior to departure: I made the mistake of applying for an Ethiopian visa in Delhi, India. The bureaucracy had me running in circles.

• Get your finances in world order: Set up an online banking account; carry an ATM bank card; make sure your credit cards are backed by world-class banks. (Citibank delivered a replacement MasterCard to my hotel in Riga, Latvia, within 24 hours of my request.)

• Don't sweat over hotel reservations: Outside the U.S., most major airports provide a hotel booking desk. Choose appropriate local lodging from a list of possibilities, pay in advance, receive a hotel voucher and voilá.

• Try not to micro-manage every aspect of the trip: Something will inevitably go wrong. Chill. Adapt. Flexibility makes any trip a more enjoyable one.

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