Though I haven’t written much about them, travel days are one of the largest aspects of being on the World Race. Over the course of these 8 months, I’ve spent hours and hours (days and full weeks, actually), on planes, trains, busses, taxis, boats, the bed of pickup trucks, sketchy car rides at 1 AM to cross borders, and so on—you name it, we’ve done it.
Everyone copes with travel days differently. You have the people who buy AAALLLLLLL the snack food and soda in advance so they’ll be able to eat every time they’re bored. The talkers who are just so excited to see all their friends from other teams. The people who get carsick and have their constant supply of Dramamine. The movie junkies who are determined to get through at least 4 new movies on the plane. There’s the introverts, prepared with 36 books, 6 new albums and a new podcast series, and who will attack you if you interrupt them. And if you’re Connor, you just put on a face mask, ear plugs, and pop sleeping pills for the entirety of the ride (“How to get through any travel is just not be conscious for it. You can’t have a bad time if you’re not having a time.” ~Connor)
Once, we were taking a bus from Chile to Peru that was supposed to be 30 hours long…until it broke down in the Chilean desert for 14 hours, and turned into a series of 6 busses lasting 76 hours and ultimately resulting in half the squad being in the hospital with strep and salmonella. (Yes, that actually happened).
But believe it or not, that wasn’t our craziest travel day…
Travel out of the mountains looked unlike anything we’d done so far. Reaching Parbung from Sielmat, where we’d stayed for Month 7, meant a 15 and a half hour car ride in the back of a pickup, standing or sitting on top of all our luggage. After the village, we were told we’d continue on to stay in Hmarkhawlien, Assam, via boat, after a short drive. We assumed the most painful and uncomfortable travel was over. That is, until the morning we left, when the pickups we’d gotten used to were replaced by a dump truck.
A single dump truck. For 43 people, with all their luggage for a solid 9 month journey.
For 3 and a half hours.
Let me tell you, I have never been more excited to see a river in my life than when we arrived at the site where our boats would pick us up! But when we arrived at the river, we found we didn’t have two boats like we’d expected, but only one, meaning we’d have to pack all of our stuff and ourselves in half the space.
We got loaded up and settled in on the boat, and everything was going fine. Of course, our motor then died after an hour or so heading downriver, and frequently did so throughout the rest of the day. We then had to get out of the boat and repack our luggage and sit on top of it, so that weight would be distributed more evenly (who needs seats, anyways?)
And then there were the security checkpoints, when we’d come out so the Indian government could take photos of us and take an unreasonably long time getting our passport info (let me tell you people, TSA is wonderful). Thankfully, we made it to Hmarkhawlien—at 2 in the morning, after 15 hours piled into a boat, traveling nonstop for 19 hours straight. And when we did, our hosts had been increcibly kind and prepared for us with a delicious late-night rice and potato curry!
Travel days, in spite of being unusual and uncomfortable, tend to be the moments when I’m forced to step back and say, “What even is my life right now?” This latest travel day was no exception, by any means. This is a memory I’ll definitely never forget. I hope this brings a smile to your face and you’re able to get a good laugh out of this story—I know I certainly have in hindsight! Thanks for reading, friends!
Grace and Peace,
~Joel
