a whiff of whimsy: tips from a traveling farmer

*Jakarta Globe, 16 Sept 2009

Traveling involves a confection – a whiff of the practical, a dash of the impractical and a stock of the possible. Becoming a traveling farmer is not a common journey to undergo but a feasible one, nonetheless. Though I embark on my journey armed with the alcoholic courage received from my wanderlust, others may do it differently. For those individuals dotty enough to trail my muddy footsteps, a few words of counsel:

1. Planning, albeit loosely, is a prerequisite. Find what you love and email them. Farms and eco-villages provided the best option for a girl seeking an alternative traveling experience. It is also low-cost. For a small fee, I can access the worldwide database of farms, homestays and rural individuals seeking a helping hand on sites such as http://www.helpx.net/ and http://wwoof.org/. In exchange for a few hours of my labour per week, I obtain knowledge of a new language, an abundance of permaculture, carpentry and cooking skills, with free food and lodging to boot. A perfect bartering system.

2. Be flexible. I only realized that my suede boots the colour of Morocco’s desert sand with the peppermint lollipop striped laces weren’t going to cut it in the moisture-laden jungles of South America, when I walked into an army surplus store by accident. It was there in a shop filled with military paraphernalia for budget prices that my Cockney-accented self-professed hobo salesman with the protruding gut told me I should trade up for a pair of British combat boots. “The British army walks the most in the world,” he tells me, vouching for their utmost comfort and durability. Indeed, while ankle-deep in freezing mud hiking the fjords of western Norway yesterday, I did not regret my purchase. My feet were as warm and dry as wholemeal toast.

3. A frequent flyer since I was two, packing my life into a 40 litre backpack is as second nature as writing is for a scribe. When it comes to packing, I follow the saying – “There is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothes.” Layers, layers, layers. Toss in a few t-shirts, undies and bras. My essential pieces include a grey hoodie and a rakish striped scarf. Leave the lipstick, fancy apparel and heels at home. Hairy cows and woolly sheep won’t be impressed by the fashion show. Besides, heels sink in mud. And bring pajamas! This is one thing I never see on a checklist for traveling backpackers and has left me wondering what they wear to bed.

4. Drift and open yourself up for chance, the strangers you meet and the elements you come across to take you with them. It is only then you can grant an audience for an unemployed lawyer to read you the rich passages from Richard III in Perth or stumble across the most talked-about restaurant in Beijing while running away from torrential rain and your inability to comprehend the local transport system.

5. Remember it is the small adventures, the little leaps of faith, that count towards the journey’s end. The time to taste slices of brown cheese and mix it with raspberry jam in Haugesund or a shot of hot chocolate made piquant by a sprinkling of chili powder in Florence. To paraglide tandem down a cliff with a man who doesn’t share your language or be the only pale-faced creature walking down the rural pathways of the heart of Africa.

6. Oddly enough, when we travel out into the unknown, telling ourselves we are adventurous and courageous for doing so, we are simultaneously reaching out for creature comforts to bind us to a place. Upon landing at Heathrow after years away from London, I grabbed a cheese Ploughman’s sandwich and sunk my teeth into the rough bread dripping with cheddar cheese and cubed brown pickles. The sandwich immediately re-established a connection to my days in the Big Ben. It was a memory-filled bite. A bite that brought back summer days sitting on lazy chairs in Green Park. That’s fine. But every once in a while, I stretch myself. I turn away from the cheese Ploughman’s that is calling out my name and head for another concoction, maybe one with hummus and alfalfa sprouts instead. Just to see if I can. To go outside the zone of cozy.

7. Finally, deviate. On your travels, it will naturally occur, anyway. Start small. One day, take your feet somewhere else. Take your shoes off and amble down the green commons of Mega Kuningan. Swing your legs and wrap them around the steel coolness of a bicycle and pedal around your neighbourhood. Instead of going straight home in the evening, drive with a friend and get lost in the many nameless streets that wind through the metropolis of Jakarta. Follow the lyrical note of a street busker. Break a habit. Be tardy. Let your eyes linger on something enchanting, just a little bit longer than usual.

Perhaps this may only make sense when you finally get on that plane headed into unknown territory. For when the clouds break and you see land, you become, each time, an explorer, a pioneer. When the clouds break is the time to brace yourself and leap.

~ by Titania Veda on Thursday, 17 September 09.