don_hoodventures

The flight to Mexico was swift, and upon arrival, a pressing need for the restroom arose. I approached an airport worker for assistance, only to be met with a language barrier. Despite their efforts, I was left to navigate the restrooms on my own. This marked my first encounter with a place where English was not the dominant language. The subsequent hours were a struggle, punctuated by unanswered questions and growing frustration. My brain throbbed in an attempt to bridge the communication gap.

Seeking a solution, I asked for a pencil and paper, hoping to communicate through drawings. After several attempts, I found a kind soul who understood enough English to provide the necessary tools. Exhausted, I sought a place to rest, spotting a janitor cleaning the area I intended to lie down in. I snapped a picture with her, grateful for her fluency in English.

Lunch brought another stroke of luck. I approached a sharp-dressed man, assuming his professional attire indicated English proficiency. My intuition proved correct. He turned out to be an Aeromexico executive, offering invaluable advice and insights into navigating the city.

Reflecting on the experience, I recognize the inherent bias in my initial assumptions about the janitor ‘s language skills. It was a valuable lesson, one that has honed my ability to connect with people from diverse backgrounds.

That was the first time on a trip when I made a gross assumption about someone, by sizing them up, to help me. I have gotten so much better at this skill and have come to rely on it. Years later, during a trip to Norway, sore feet from a long hike left me stranded. I sat down, instinctively sizing up passersby until my gaze fell upon a man working in a garage. Intuition whispered that he was trustworthy, and after a brief conversation, I found myself helping him move boxes before he kindly drove me back to my hostel. It turned out he was a local police officer. This marked my first experience hitchhiking with a stranger.

Returning to the first solo trip, I took a much-needed nap on an enormous, unyielding black step.

I took these pictures of these majestic building above as I sipped on a refreshing bag of OJ, purchased from a street vendor under a streetlight. It was a surreal moment: my first time out of the country, a new friend from another country, the airport exchanged for the vibrant streets of Mexico City, and a delicious beverage in hand.

Our knowledgeable driver navigated us through both iconic landmarks and less-traveled areas, including Aztec ruins and the Palacio de Bellas Artes. He even advised us to roll up the windows as we passed through a rough part of town.

The affordable taxi ride, split between us, stretched our budget further. Witha couple of hours to spare before our departure, we purchased a deck of cards to while away the time. Exchanging contact information with my new friend from afar, I regrated losing that contact information, assuming our paths would never cross again.

Acapulco greeted me with stunning beauty, an all-inclusive resort perched atop a hill with a sprawling vista leading down to a vast cul-de-sac shoreline. This was my first experience with such a setup, an indulgence where everything was readily available, from drinks to meals. The novelty of ordering without a care quickly faded, replaced by a cautious awareness of being alone in a foreign land.

My week-long stay was punctuated by daily explorations, venturing further out each time. Walmart was a mile away presented a fascinating glimpse into local prices, while Day three brought the serendipitous encounter with Acapulco’s Bike Day. The closed streets pulsed with energy as bikers raced and paraded, vendors lined the sidewalks, and mini bars sprang up. My first authentic street tacos, a plate of five small corn delights, fueled me as I mingled with the crowd, my limited Spanish blending me seamlessly into the throng. Despite my casual attire – mismatched tank top, swim shorts, and flip -flops – I felt a sense of belonging, comfortably engaging with the friendly locals, their rapid Spanish met with my laughter and occasional “Si”.

Being alone in my granted me a bit of paranoia every now and then. At times, each shadow passing by my door seemingly felt like a potential threat. My room, larger than expected, offered a balcony that could accommodate my mattress. One night, fueled by adventure and wanting to make the most of the moment, I moved the mattress outside, only to be plagued by fear of an intruder breaking in without me hearing a peep. I wanted fall asleep under the stars. Needless to say, the mattress soon returned to its rightful place.

This holiday in Acapulco offered a constant stream of unexpected encounters. One evening, I joined a group by the bar, their spirited conversation punctuated by one man’s confident, albeit rudimentary, English. He proudly counted to 10, eliciting laughter and applause, including from me. Later, he sought me out, eager to practice his limited English. Our conversation, a mix of Spanish and broken English, was punctuated by laughter, both at his drunken enthusiasm and my struggle to grasp his words.

Loneliness began to gnaw at me, the lack of fluent English taking its toll. A brief encounter with a gift shop girl, unable to utter even a “yes”, sparked an attempt at communication through a Spanish-English translation book. It proved a futile effort, highlighting the difficulty of translation without a solid grasp of the language.

A glimmer of hope arrived in the form of a couple from Dallas. English flowed freely, albeit with me as an eager third wheel. The longed-for invitation to join them never materialized, leaving me with a pang of longing, a feeling I imagined mirrored the experiences of foreigners in America.

Desperation prompted me to utilize a free pass to a strip club, a decision I quickly regretted. The watered-down drinks, the graphic displays on the TVs, and the awkwardness of the VIP room left me yearning for familiar shores. I declined the taxi driver’s persistent offers for “real fun”, opting instead for a return to the safety of the resort.

My last night was a quiet affair, a reserved table at a restaurant, a book, and a gentle sea breeze. Looking back, I recognize this first solo trip, my first flight abroad, as a catalyst for the adventurous spirit that now defines my life. The initial nerves, the cautious steps, and the bold ventures all built towards the person I am today – a seasoned solo traveler, a backpacker, a hitchhiker, embracing the thrill of the unknown with a newfound confidence.