No Good At Travel

“For someone who likes travel so much, travel sure doesn’t like you…” – My dad

Although I hate to admit this quote, it’s true.

Ever since I was born, I’ve lived and breathed to travel.  However, the ‘transport’ part of travel is something that has never sat with me well.  When I was little, I could lay down between my parents when we rode on planes.  My head would rest on my mother’s lap, and my feet would be thrown on my fathers.  I’m sure this was probably uncomfortable for them, but they never-the-less let me do it, as they knew what would happen if I sat upright throughout the flight –(insert nausea and a throw up bag here.)

Half of my condition was probably psychological, as I grew so fearful of flying that I would throw up before I got on the plane.  In the airport usually, minutes or hours before my flight was scheduled to board.  Then I encountered the hazards of motion sickness on cars, as I recall numerous times throwing up while driving through the smoky mountains, throwing up while sitting in the back seat of a bus on my 8th grade class trip, and throwing up while crammed in a tiny van with 14 Kenyans.  Now that, was one long and unforgettable ride.

My motion sickness came back to me on boats, as throwing up made me unable to complete my open water diving certification at the age of 14.  Not willing to let this stop me, I got certified 10 months later in a small, cold quarry in October in Virginia.  Not something I’d recommend, even to those who are naturally cold blooded.

Don’t even get me started on medications, because for the most part, I’ve tried them all.  Wristbands never worked, all this nonsense about looking ahead towards the horizon required too much concentration, and Dramamine worked for a while.  Then my body decided it would grow accustomed to it, and it no longer works.  I’ve used the patch for the past few years, and it worked like magic (aside from the side effects of dry throat, cottonmouth, and inability to read anything close up for a while.)  But now, it’s seeming to fail me too.

What’s worse is the fact that as I’ve grown older, I’ve found that my motion sickness seems to worsen with age.  Inherited by my parents no doubt, they both have told me my whole life that when they got into their twenties, it gradually went away.  At the age of 21, I have a list of sicknesses and diseases that could top both of theirs combined – easily.  From a peek of death thanks to malaria, multiple cases diarrhea (sorry tmi! :), stints in hospitals due to food poisoning, and many, many cases of motion sickness, it’s hard to imagine why someone like me would even want to keep going, and to keep traveling despite it all.

I can’t tell you why I do, but my inner desire for adventure trumps it all.  There are some vacations that I go on, that I don’t get sick at all.  (Mind you, my parents have never been on any of these trips.. I’m starting to blame them for all of my illnesses.)  I know and believe that what is waiting at the other end is worth it, so I’m willing to endure anything that comes my way.  If going to Africa means I will get malaria— but will also get the chance to kiss a giraffe, get up and personal with a lion and her cub, and meet some of the most different and yet incredible people of my life, I’m willing to take that risk.  Call me stupid, adventuresome, or simply a trooper – it’s these risks I’m willing to take in order to fulfill my desires and dreams.

It’s not fair, really.  Travel shouldn’t be so cruel to someone who advocates it in such high regard.  Hopefully one day travel will love me as much as I love it.  Until then, I will be galavanting around the United States and the entire world in an effort to defeat any obstacle that comes in my way.  I believe the dictionary defines it as …unstoppable…??