Traveling, Laziness, and Internalized Capitalism

the big questions are starting to haunt me. — Quito, Ecuador

A week ago, I frantically asked a friend: “Did you notice I didn’t write anything this week?” His answer, of course, was, “um… no?”

These past couple of weeks, I really felt the brunt of being very lost. Two weeks ago, I left Medellin, a city I’d stayed in for over a month. I felt comfortable in Medellin, and as I filled up my packing cubes I realized that I don’t even like traveling this part of traveling — saying goodbye to go someplace new. Most backpackers love staying on the move, sprinting through cities in rapid succession and doing all that they can in the hours they’re given. If I could have it my way, I'd just exist in several places at once, never having to pack up my backpack again, or say goodbye.

I’ve also felt horribly, utterly, unproductive. Six weeks into this sabbatical, the big questions are starting to haunt me. Am I spending my time wisely? What will I have to show for myself? What can I do to keep myself from descending into laziness? What can I produce to make all of this time worth it? I had grand plans for the sabbatical, but they weren’t always panning out. I haven’t found time to take any online classes. I haven’t even looked for any contract work yet. My Spanish language acquisition, despite all the time I’ve spent on it, is slower than I want it to be (why did I think I could become semi-fluent in a month?). Sometimes, even though I’m in an exciting new city, I sit around and do nothing.

I’ve always loved to travel, but, like many people, I’ve used it as a way to escape my own problems. When you’re surrounded by a culture you’re never experienced before, you can almost forget that your own reality exists — for a moment.

When I told my friend how guilty I’d felt about not writing, or not using my time wisely, he reminded me of the exact problem I was running away from this time — my internalized capitalism, or the idea that if I’m not producing something, my days have no meaning. It’s a sucker of a problem to wrestle with when you’re unemployed. If I’m not working, or not looking for work, do I have any value?

Whenever someone tells me how amazing it is that I bought a one-way ticket to South America after I got laid off, I feel like a little bit of a phony. I didn’t choose this, not really. I didn’t go in with a plan — I still need to figure out how to fill my days, how to make some extra money. Some days, I wish I was living a more familiar life — working 10 hours a day, squeezing in a happy hour, and then throwing a piece of salmon in the air fryer. Packing up my suitcase and hopping on a bus every couple of days this past week reminded me of that. It also reminded me that I can’t outrun the emptiness that unemployment has left me with — and that rather than filling it, I should learn that my existence is very much worth it, even if I don’t produce a thing.

What I’m Up To

Despite all of this, the past couple of weeks were overflowing with incredible moments.

Cali

Before Quito, I was in Cali — my favorite city in Colombia by far. The vibes in Cali were just immaculate. The salsa capital of the world, music was always playing in the streets of Cali. You could feel the salsa (and bachata) in the way people talked, the way they moved; there was a relaxed, intimate, sing-song presence to every encounter. Though it’s a sizeable city, my neighborhood of Miraflores often felt like a small town; everyone you passed by would greet you with a buenas. Despite Cali’s reputation, I felt safer walking through its streets than I did in Medellin.

Go under each of the bells of this huge trumpet in downtown Cali, and you’ll be surrounded by salsa music. We’d see couples — and friends — pop under one of the bells for a quick dance, and then go on their way.

Manizales

Leading up to Cali, my friends and I stopped in Manizales, a city in Colombia’s coffee region. Sadly, the coffee in Manizales was kind of trash; since Colombia doesn’t have much of a coffee culture, almost all of its high quality coffee is exported. The highlight of our few days in Manizales was a visit to a coffee farm, or hacienda, about an hour outside of the city by minibus. Mad respect for the workers who pick our coffee beans — we were at it for 20 minutes and didn’t even pick enough for half a cup of coffee. The tour was incredible; along with learning all the steps that go into processing coffee beans, we did a few experiments to test how factors like water temperature, brewing time, and methods change the taste (I learned that I liked my coffee a little more sour, so I should keep the water temperature high and the brewing time to a minimum). With these variables, as well as the variables that control the taste of the coffee beans (like the soil, the weather, size, when they were picked), you can never have the same cup of coffee twice — which is kind of exciting.

Our tour guide at Hacienda Guayabal explaining the different stages of growth of coffee beans (eventually, they’ll replant these and they’ll become big coffee trees!)

Jardin

While Cali was my favorite city in Colombia, Jardin was, of any place I had been to in Colombia, my favorite location. Jardin (literally meaning garden) is a tiny town off the tourist radar — we only stopped by because a wonderful woman working at our Spanish school recommended it. The main town measures about five blocks wide — go a block farther and you’ll run into a farm with horses; walk 10 more minutes and you’ll hit waterfalls. I felt my cortisol drop as soon as I got off the bus in Jardin; I felt that I could’ve stayed there forever.

Jardin was too incredible for words -- and for only one picture. A waterfall just outside town, views from a restaurant in town, me exiting a cave (yes there were lots of bats), and Jardin's church square looking extra lively for Catholic Easter.