At the age of 6, my mom moved me to a new home. A magical and otherworldly wonderland home. The welcome sign at the entrance road to this unfamiliar land proclaimed that you were entering Leavenworth, Washington, the “Bavarian Village.” The sign included a new, unfamiliar, and strange looking group of letters that read “Willkommen.” Beyond this unfamiliar word was a peculiar place. I had the eerie sensation that I had been transported inside a snow globe. From the moment we arrived, I was giddy with excitement at this bizarre and very unexplainable new home. At 6, I had no idea what the “Bavarian” in Bavarian village meant, nor what it was supposed to be ‘copying.’ Other country, other culture, huh? I had not had any geography classes yet in school so this Leavenworth place came as a perplexing shock to my sense of place. But, I liked it. A LOT! I liked how totally different this place was from everywhere else I had ever lived or been to before. The architecture and ornate decoration on the building facades (even the Chevron gas station looked cool!), the costumes and clothing that were on display in the shops, the mountain backdrop and the strange combinations of letters and words(?) like “Der Ritterhoff Inn” and “Edelweiss” or “Alpensee Strasse” written on the street signs and displayed on storefronts.
My mom had moved me and my brother to Leavenworth after accepting a job at the Leavenworth Echo to become a one-woman-show, as the only full-time writer, photographer, and editor for the town’s local newspaper.
The backyard of the house we were renting in Leavenworth was at the base of a mountainside… a mountain, was literally my backyard! To summarize, my front yard was a Bavarian Village, my backyard was a mountain! Everywhere I looked, my new home had endless opportunities for exploration and discovery. Literally everyday, rain or shine, as soon as I got home from school I went searching, just knowing I’d find something new on my mountain, or walking in town… just exploring. Over a two week period my friend Doug and I had absolutely convinced ourselves that there was some buried miner’s gold treasure hidden at the end of Mine Street, up the mountainside, and at the base of this unusually old twisted and double trunk pine tree. This was an ‘X marks the spot’ treasure tree if you ever saw one. We dug, and dug with shovels and a hoe at the base of that tree until we were at least as deep as we were tall… but alas we did not find any gold. Searching for it though, was so much fun I didn’t really care that we didn’t get the gold. Everyday was a new and foreign adventure in Leavenworth. I didn’t know why at the time, but living in Leavenworth left a deep impression on me… it ignited a profound thrill and long-lasting curiosity for the exotic and different places and people of our world.
Unfortunately, after about two years we moved on from Leavenworth. And while sad to leave this amazing and unique place, I remember reflecting, curiously about that word Bavarian. Thinking. Wondering. I want to understand, what is Bavarian?
“The Mariana Islands! I found the perfect place to be a… marine biologist!” This, was my aha moment and answer to a very big question that 8-year old Greg had asked of himself. What did I want to be when I grew up? “A Marine Biologist… and… an explorer!” was my answer. But, my young analytical mind went chugging away to find a more definitive answer this simple question. After six months of research trying to find some way to link those two “professions” together I went searching all over the globe collecting geographical data; excitedly paging through every atlas, National Geographic article, and Encyclopedia Britannica I could get my hands on. Trying to map out my future life as a marine biologist and… explorer.
Why the Mariana Islands? Well, in my intrepid sleuthing I had uncovered they had the greatest potential to be the ‘it’ location for providing unending research opportunities for an up-and-coming marine biologist. And, wow were they remote, exotic, and ripe for discovery and exploration I realized after cross-referencing and reading through all these sources, collecting data, and studying globes and maps. Oh, those days of conducting research before Google were truly exhausting! But, I was intent on finding a strategic certainty for success in plotting out my future… the nerd does run deep in me. (Side note: No posters of movies, jets, or fast cars adorned my bedroom wall. I instead had a huge illustrated guide to the “Creatures of the Deep” poster to longingly gaze at.)
Of course I couldn’t just be a marine biologist. I had to be an explorer and marine biologist. Little did I know it at the time, but this persistent urge to meld discovery and exploration into my fantasy of who I wanted my future self to be was my explorer gene beginning to insert itself into subconscious. So, I had charted my path, I would follow… first finishing my marine biology education at a university (masters, but not doctorate because a doctorate would take way too long), then I would promptly move to the remote Mariana Islands and to explore, urm, I mean, conduct research and establish a career in deep water exploration in the Mariana Islands and of the Marianas Trench. If, as the saying goes, “half the journey is taken in the planning”, then researching my career move to the Mariana Islands was an epic journey to discovery of our world, which also firmly opened my mind to the intoxication of wanderlust, curiosity, and adventure.
Oh... MEXICO!
In 1992, my Dad took me on my first truly amazing and ‘authentic’ trip across the southern U.S. border. We went for a week long fishing trip to the small Baja California village of Loreto, Mexico. (I don’t really count the quick day hop across the border to Nogales, Mexico in 1986…) Similar to my first reactions to seeing Leavenworth for the first time, but on a whole other level, I can remember being excited, confused, and utterly curious to be in Loreto. It was exotic, and so very different in almost every way than anyplace I had experienced before. Stepping out from the airplane my first reaction was total wonderment at how someplace so close to the U.S., and a 3 1/2 hour plane ride from Portland, could be so totally foreign in every way. The people looked and talked different, they had different money, the landscape and nature was like nothing I had seen before, it was sunny and hot and humid! Being surrounded by people speaking another language for the first time was amazing. Then we made our way into the (to me) chaotic streetscape of hawkers, and vibrant colors of the houses, and the delicious smells coming from the plentiful street food carts.
As I would later discover, Loreto was just the first of many intoxicating trips I would take exploring Mexico. Loreto truly provoked my Explorer Gene, into expressing itself and starting me down the path of having a lifelong wanderlust. I had one of my now perennially favorite travel experiences on that trip to Loreto… the marketplace. My Dad took me to the market during one of our non-fishing afternoons and wow, the commotion, the exotic fruits vegetables and fish that are on display, the haggling and cultural distractions you smell, feel, and hear that assault your senses. I was forever hooked on marketplaces from that day forward. Let me say that marketplaces are like living museums to wherever you are in the world… don’t ever miss an opportunity of going to one.
To Taxco, Mexico and Beyond In 1997
I returned to Mexico via Cabo San Lucas, and Puerto Vallarta three more times in four years with my Dad. Thanks Dad!! With each trip I became more and more absorbed with discovery and exploration of Mexico. Until finally in my senior year of high school I learned my senior class trip was to Puerto Vallarta. And I snapped at the opportunity to be the trip organizer, which if I managed to sign up 18 of my classmates I would get an all expenses paid trip as a reward. This would not be just a week long trip with my classmates however, but a open-ended ticket into Mexico. Puerto Vallarta would be just the first stop. Together with the aid of my good buddy Josh, who frankly possessed superior salesmanship skills to me, we quickly earned our free trips by selling the trip to 18 of our fellow seniors. There was also a bit of fortunate timing here since I had figured that when I left to Puerto Vallarta I would’ve just turned 18. I could not legally (or at least very easily) travel by myself to Mexico, as a minor so becoming 18 in time for the trip meant I could travel solo, free and clear as an adult putting my ulterior travel plan in motion… to backpack and begin to truly explore Mexico at my own pace, solo, and off-the-beaten-path as I had been yearning to do. As my senior year classmates headed to the airport to fly back to Portland after 5 days in Puerto Vallarta, I went to the bus station. I bought myself a bus ticket to my first destination, the small mountain town of Taxco. I spent three days in Taxco, staying at my first hostel, and eating my first bug as street food (a Jumil, a stink bug eaten locally during festivals.) I loved every minute I spent in Taxco, but I was excited to move on to my next stop, Mexico City. In high school I had befriended Silvia, who visited as a Mexican foreign exchange student. She happened to live in Mexico City and had invited me to stay at her family home. I’ll never forget approaching Mexico City on my bus from Taxco. It was early evening as a soft electric glow began to grow on the horizon as the bus edged closer in its decent from the mountains into the valley Mexico City lies in. The glow turned more intense as the bus rounded a final mountain corner, bringing Mexico City into full view. This was more city than I had ever seen before; the city’s lights stretched from horizon to horizon in every direction… this city was absolutely massive!
I reunited with Silvia once I had arrived and spent the next week and a half with her exploring Mexico City with a local, trying to be a local. In particular I was in awe by the size and scale of everything there, and nowhere more so than the Zocalo, Mexico City’s truly epic-sized main square. A place where I became enraptured to learn of Mexico’s ancient Aztec history. Paging through National Geographic or an encyclopedia to see pictures of these places when I was younger was a tame reality compared to the reality of seeing them right before your eyes. It was a truly amazing sight, to discover an Aztec temple being unearthed next to the grand, and imposing Metropolitan Cathedral. It wasn’t so much seeing this rich juxtaposition of culture, it was the feelings it provoked, the adrenaline that stimulated and surged through my brain as I wondered in amazement at the foreign reality traveling to this place had brought me. Wanderlust had awoken in me; driving my extensive later travels in Mexico and Central America. This trip was just the beginning.
My trip to Mexico City wasn’t all wide-eyed discovery for me however; it also taught me some invaluable life lessons. In befriending Silvia I learned to listen to and trust one’s intuition. And in one particular instance I learned the benefits of utilizing foresight, considering what-ifs, and planning for contingencies. This last lesson became apparent to me as I was traveling with a debit card as my main source for money, but never withdrew more than $75 at a time from an ATM. Moments before boarding the subway in Mexico City I moved my debit card and all but about $10 from my wallet into my shoes. I put my wallet in my front pocket. When it was my stop, and time to get off, the exit doors on the subway car which I now walked towards suddenly became jammed up with about 5 people. Then, 2 or 3 people came behind me pushing hard to get off the subway, once I broke through and exited the train I took a few steps and… my… wallet… was… gone!
Sure, I was upset that I had been targeted by pickpocketers. But I chuckled because I really only lost $10, and a cheap velcro wallet. I was amused to think about those assholes who would later be giddily opening my stolen wallet, thinking they had scored, and finding a solitary $10 bill as their reward. Then arguing about the waste of time and energy, and how to split it between the 7 or 8 people that were involved. Ha!! This was my first traveler’s lesson in the usefulness of having a ‘dummy wallet’ and in practicing the foresight to have tucked my debit card and cash inside my socks and shoes rather than in my wallet before getting on the subway.
The sense of wonder and awe I felt when I visited the tremendous Zocolo of Mexico City, and pure excitement of getting on that bus from Puerto Vallarta bound for Taxco and seeing the Mexico City lights illuminate the entire horizon as I arrived. I realized that the thrill that comes with discovery of something new and different. As I laid awake, late during the night of my tenth day in Mexico City, I thought about where I was at that moment in time, about what a fantastic and amazing country Mexico was, and about the exhilaration I had felt in choosing to travel. I remember glancing at the spine of my Lonely Planet Mexico laying on the table in my room and thinking… “that big fat 900+ page brick-of-a-book. There is something new to experience and explore on every single page. But when will I be able to come back?” My return flight to PDX from Mexico City was in 5 days time. I thought to myself, “I am in Mexico”… “I-AM-IN-MEXICO, NOW!”
I picked up that guide book, and thumbed to the Yucatan Peninsula chapter. Can I?? Yep! ‘I am not ready to be done exploring yet!’ I muttered to myself. The next morning after phoning my mother to telling her of my change of plans and talk her down from a panic attack*, I phoned the airline and inquired about the cost of changing the date on my departure, “$72” came the airline agents’ reply. Probably the easiest $72 I’ve ever spent… to get another 15 days to travel around Mexico. That evening I said my goodbyes to Silvia at the Mexico City bus station (who incidentally thought I was totally crazy for doing this), onward for Cancun, and the Yucatan peninsula. I was going to experience that picture in the Yucatan chapter of my Lonely Planet with azure waters, palm trees, and white sand beach. A $22, 16-hour overnight bus ride, was a small price to pay indeed.
*She later termed this condition as “itchy feet.”
After 2 nights in Cancun, I was ready to move on. It was an easy choice. In the day trips from Cancun section of my Lonely Planet there was a blurb about Isla Mujeres. I was on the ferry to Isla Mujeres after reading the first 3 sentences in my book. I stayed 3 nights, but I could have stayed a month… paradise found!
I arrived home to Portland in late August, about five weeks after leaving for Mexico… and I could not wait to go back. I wasn’t even close to feeling like I had explored Mexico enough. The day after I got back I started making plans to get to Mexico the very next summer. My Explorer Gene had most definitely awoken. I had spent around $1300 for those 5 weeks in Mexico, which was cheap, but I certainly had some splurges. I was certain I could go back, cheaper next time and for longer, much longer. This was the goal!
I found my returning route to Mexico the following summer thanks to frequent flyer miles and my dad for helping me get set up with them after that first trip to Loreto when I was 14. With the miles I accumulated from those numerous spring break trips to Mexico, I had already managed to build up the 22,500 miles needed to make my next airline tickets to Mexico for just the cost of taxes and airport fees. This was the first time I really fully realized the benefits of airline miles, and budget the amazing potential of this travel hack. Accumulate those frequent flyer miles! Subtract the cost of your flight by using frequent flyer mileage and I didn’t need to save nearly as much money to travel to Mexico. In fact, I’d only need enough money to cover my daily expenses. And so… off I went in the summer of 1998 back to Mexico.
I flew to San Diego, and caught a greyhound bus to the border with Tijuana, walked across the border and caught a local Mexican bus on the other side to the bus station where I caught a longer distance bus to the small Northwestern town of Alamos. I was drawn to Alamos for its colonial architecture and, more crucially, that I had read you could easily come across the Mexican jumping beans scattered around in the scrub brush and foot hills. I did find my jumping beans and once I stepped off that bus, and laid my eyes on the beautiful central square of Alamos from that I knew I was right where I wanted to be. With my home on my back, and a new world in front of me.
I continued on from Alamos, bussing my way all the way to the southern border with Belize and back again to the bus station in Tijuana walking back across the border and catching that very same Greyhound bus returning me to the San Diego airport nearly 12 weeks later. I had traveled a figure “8” of Mexico with the crossover in Mexico City. My figure ‘8’ took me from the Pacific to the Gulf of Mexico to Atlantic, to awesome sights in the verdant and cool mountains through lush jungle, and diverse deserts. Mexico truly has it all! I was amazed, I was hooked, I was… in love with Mexico and with travel. My greatest epiphany was that travel doesn’t have to expensive or costly, it can be super cheap! Way cheaper even than living at home in the U.S. I found that I had spent an average of just $18-20 a day, for my 12 week trip through Mexico (!)… or $1700 for 3 months. (Of course this was in 1998).
In the summer of 1999 I was off, again, for 6 weeks of travel to Mexico City and the Yucatan, and then bussing across the southern border and through the Central American countries of Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, and ending in Costa Rica.
Keeping with tradition of summer travel excursions, I set out in the summer of 2000 for a domestic whirlwind road trip solo tour of the American Southeast that included Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas.
Then in 2001, I graduated from college, and four weeks later touched down at Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport… for 10 weeks of ambitious European discovery and backpackery. Over the course of my prior travels and, ahem… foreign courtships, I had met and befriended many Europeans, this was my chance to connect the geographical dots from Brussels (Belgium), to Trier (Germany), to Zakopane (Poland), to Helsinki (Finland), to Bratislava (Slovakia), and tour as many points in between (or nearby) as I could manage to squeeze in. My country count went up significantly, by 14, on this trip. I was on a travel high, being awe-struck on a near daily basis seeing the sights and experiencing all the cultures. And… there turned out to be two very significant first encounters on this trip. Prague and Ivana.
These last two encounters affected me profoundly and would dramatically change the course of my life. Both were of loves. Love of place, Prague, and love of person, Ivana.
Those who find love know that it is just simply an answer. The question(s) are up to you to try an figure out. They are questions you aren’t either wise or aware enough to ask of yourself, and to a rationality that just fades into the background. You have hopelessly surrendered the questions, in favor of the answer. So… after 5 months back in the U.S., I helplessly surrendered my doubt and uncertainty and unending questions, choosing instead to concentrate on the answers I had been given in Prague. I again found myself stepping foot on German soil in February of 2002, and after staying a few weeks with my good and generous friend Kai in Trier, I sought out to claim my answers in Prague.
So, in late 2001 I made the move to Prague. And found many more answers. A new and dynamic home. A loving relationship. A very good and stable job. Vibrant culture. Travels to someplace new and exciting at every whim. Good and kind new friends. History. And of course, gloriously good beer. This was a very good life. Those two loves formed the bedrock of my perseverance.
And persevere I did… I lived in Prague for seven years. Crisscrossing my new homeland and traveling to new lands every chance I could get. I had chosen wisely.
Of course, it was not all chlebicky and medovik, those first two years, I had some challenges along the way. But I knew I was right where I wanted and needed to be. I was thrilled every minute I spent really living in the Czech Republic*. Even those tortuous eight hours spent queuing at the foreigners police to renew my visa every-single-year, were, I knew… the price of admission for such a treasured filled life.
*Now known as, Czechia.
Ivana and I drifted apart in 2007, but I held strong in my love for Prague and the Czech Republic. For the very fortunate life that I had carved out for myself there. As fate would have it, Prague had in 2007 cast an exhilarating spell on another expat whose path I was about to cross. But, that will be Our Story…
