In Colombia ,
I met a Scot. We bonded over Mojitos as we watched the sun set in the ocean
just beyond our little table in the thatch roofed bar. We got to talking about travel as travelers
often do, and the conversation turned to how one prepares for a big trip. I said the planning is all part of the fun for
me, and the anticipation of the trip is nearly as great as the trip itself. I
liked imagining what it all would be like, who I would meet, what I would see,
how my plans would change to go in this or that direction once I got to talking
to locals and travelers. It is as though
before the trip happens, it can be anything you want it to be, and is.
She agreed, but she took the
planning, and especially the packing, a bit further as I noted when she showed
me an Excel spreadsheet documenting everything, and I mean everything, she was
taking on her one month trip to Colombia . There was a color to show that she had packed
it and a different color to show that it still needed to be packed
As I looked through the list I
laughed a little at how ridiculously detailed it was. She counted out the
amount of tampons she was bringing- 27. A number she admitted was much too high
for a trip that would only involve one menstrual cycle, and who can count on
that when one is traveling anyway. A few spaces below, I noticed another
equally humorous addition to the list of things to pack. Condoms- 14. At least
she’d need the tampons.
I asked about the condoms. Oh yeah, she laughed. I didn’t have to actually pack those, they
were in there from the last trip to Thailand I took. All 14 of them. We both
laughed, and then I had to admit, mine were too. And perhaps not even left over
from the last trip, but from the last two or three trips I’d taken, all however
many of them were in there to begin with.
I
had to check and see if they were expired. I don’t know how long they’ve been
in my bag, she continued. Me either, I agreed and made a mental note to
check mine when I returned to my hostel later that night.
They were not, in fact, expired,
but nearing the date nonetheless. And I made another mental note to stock back
up on condoms upon my return to be prepared for the next trip I take.
All of the talk about condoms,
expired or not, got me thinking about hope. Isn’t that why we packed them, ever
so faithfully, each time we left the country? In the great hope that that
fantasy we planned in our head in the weeks leading up to our departure, would
this time work out. We might meet the
man of our dreams, the man we may one day marry and have an incredible story to
tell about how we met in such and such far away place. Or, at the very least,
we might have one magical night with an exotic foreigner we met in a bar and
made love to on the beach under a full moon.
Bragging rights to those we left back home. And even if it was only that
one night, the condom came in handy. And my friend the Scot would have to add
one more condom to her toiletries to get her number back up to 14 and satisfy
her spread sheet.
I haven’t yet bought the condoms.
I’ve been back in the states nearly a month now. It makes me wonder if hope has
an expiration date too. Maybe not buying
the condoms means I’m giving up. Is it
possible to use up all your hope and be left with none when you need it most?
I do not think
there is a store we can run into, heads bowed in embarrassment as we reach the
counter to pay. It’s just me, buying more hope.
Maybe I’ll buy the
condoms.
No comments:
Post a Comment