solotravel – Brooke Lyn Landon

Why Japan Is Freakin’ Awesome

Japan is freaking awesome. It’s been my lifelong dream to come here and it did not disappoint. If I told you all of the reasons why I love Japan, you’d have to pull out a futon and get in your pajamas. So, for times’ sake, I’ll tell you something that I found extremely fascinating and wonderful.

In America, if you dressed up like you were from a utopian universe where everyone was cracked out of their minds, I think it’s safe to say you’d be heavily judged. Here, it’s simply the way they’ve chosen to express themselves. In Tokyo, if you want to shave an image of Elmo on the back of your head, or dress like you’re about to do some really kinky shit the moment you turn the corner, no biggy! Feel like giving us Mary Poppins wing woman vibes? Go for it!

Where I’m from, saying we have freedom of expression is dropped almost as much as veganism and CrossFit. Yet, it seems like we have the freedom, but not the courage to do so in a society that is so quick to judge someone based on their appearance. It’s as though we’ve blocked ourselves from even letting our minds explore all of the possibilities because of our unconscious fear.

I saw a chick that looked like she came straight out of a sci-fi movie. I instantly questioned if I was cool enough to live in a place like Tokyo. The creativity and intent put behind their appearance comes across as an art form and expression of self, rather than an attempt to stand out for the sake of attention and/or brainwashed ideals alone.

Look, I’m not saying that everyone back home isn’t expressing themselves. (But if you’re triggered by what I’m saying you may want to look into that) I’m emphasizing the vast range of ingenuity and inspiration that Japan has. Many people elsewhere do express themselves the way they’d like, but maybe even they don’t know all of the other options they have that would suit them too.

I know half of the people that I see post on my Facebook newsfeed wish everyday was Halloween, so why are we not living like it is? If you’ve been dying to buy that BDSM looking necklace (guilty as charged) or give yourself a haircut that’s out of this world, go for it. Dress up, have fun, be you, and think big… If you want to that is.

Don’t assume the next time you see me I’ll be looking like I came out of a cosplay convention. I really don’t have the will or patience. I love Japan because it’s quirky, innovative, beautiful, culturally rich, has incredible food, and hands down the best people watching opportunities of anywhere I’ve ever been.

The Bus Ride From Hell

Many people refer to the sleeper bus from Laos to Vietnam as the bus ride from hell. I think that’s an understatement. This ride felt like purgatory on steroids. I’ll tell you why.

I get to the bus where I see several other Americans waiting to board as I notice people from Laos getting on one after the next. Turns out, we have to wait until all of the locals board.

“Interesting, but no biggie, I’ll wait.” My ignorant, cheery ass thinks to myself, without a clue of the purgatory that awaited.

After waiting for what seems like forever, he gestures for us to come in as though we’re late. Then, I find a place in the back and put my stuff there.

“Nooo!! No!” The driver shouts at me to move. He shouted like he was the kind parent that yells at his kids in public and you’d think to yourself, “Yeah, that poor kid is going to need intensive therapy and be really fucked later on in life.”

Apparently, that back seat wasn’t back enough. I have to share a small space near the freakin’ toilet with the other Americans with no room between us. Essentially, I had to share a bed with strangers unlike any of the people from Laos. I’d be the first to admit I’ve grown up with white privilege. For one of the first times, I felt like it was a disadvantage, and related to other races on a different level than before.

I couldn’t sleep whatsoever. For the first 15 hours the bus swerved and bumped around the mountains and dirt roads of Laos. I regretted not wearing my sports bra. Several times I was legitimately concerned for my life and the girl by my side who would probably get knocked out from me crashing into her. I grabbed on to my seat like the bus drivers imaginary kid would probably hold on to his mother when his dad yells at him.

Finally, the bus stops at 2AM at the boarder as we wait for customs to open at 6AM. My heart dropped as my eyes widened when I heard him take the keys out of the ignition and felt the AC turn off. Next this you know, I’m sweating my ass off to the point where sweat is dripping down my back and face. If there was a white flag, I would have waved it. I felt like crying.

At 5:30 AM I finally decided to try sleeping in the isle because I couldn’t sleep on that faux leather piece of shit. The floor was better, but I still felt like I was lying on a tortilla bought at the dollar store.

Less than 30 minutes later I hear yelling that customs are open. The customs were so chaotic that I’d rather go through the New York, JFK airport, during the holidays. If that didn’t make your skin crawl, you’ve either had a supernatural experience at JFK, or you have never been. No one spoke English and people dismissed you like you were the vein of their existence. Thankfully after customs the roads were smoother and generally it wasn’t as hellish.

Long story long, it was 15 hours of hell, and 12 hours of meh. I’m sure some busses are better than others. So, if you want to take on an experience like this, just make sure it’s more like a bed and less like one of those leather chairs you’d find in a retirement home minus the arm rests and padding. If there are blankets with cartoons and flowers on them, run away because that would be my bus. Also, be prepared to be treated like you don’t exist and surrounded by complete chaos for 15 hours or so.

For the record, I don’t regret it. I would never look back on a plane ride to Hanoi, Vietnam. The bus to Vietnam will be something to remember, and content for a blog post.

What I Realized From Having a Virus in a Developing Country

Yesterday, I spent several hours getting pumped with fluids in a hospital bed, in a developing country, alone. Believe it or not, those were the best three hours of that day. Well, not too hard to believe considering it was cheaper and easier than getting care in the US, I felt like a queen, and got to nap with no other agenda. Fuck. Yes. Every adults dream.

I thought by this point I was good enough to muster the strength of a 4 hour bus ride to Vang Vieng, Laos. Now however, I’m crippled with concern that this bus will be showing waterworks starring me. Main Attraction: Projectile Vomit Everywhere. I have a plastic bag ready, and trust me, my fingers have never been crossed so tightly because I want that show cancelled.

I always joked about how I was one stomach flu away from my ideal weight. Be careful what you wish for. Not only is that a load of BS, but it’s probably the opposite. The laundry list of food I’m going to want to tackle once I get my appetite back will give me enough rolls on my sides to feed a Mormon family. I can’t even imagine how the Australian dude who was next to me with Dengue fever is going to feel.

It puts things in perspective. Fuck being an “ideal” weight. That shit isn’t even ideal. It’s a standard created by mentally ill people. Screw all ideals! Most people are pretty messed up in the head, so I think it’s safe to say the only logical ideal we should strive for is to be genuinely healthy and happy. That may be a no brainer, but hear me out.

When I took 8-10 gym classes a week and counted calories like it was my day job, I thought I was being healthy. What that’s really called is an eating disorder. When I was feeling good as a result of having social recognition and approval from other people in high school, I thought I was happy. That was masked insecurity. It’s harder to be truly happy and healthy regardless of our outside circumstances than we think. Though I’m constantly getting closer to that real healthy, happy place, I’d be lying if I didn’t internally huff and puff trying to fit into my old pair of shorts earlier today.

I think the first step to transcending the bullshit of expectations and unhealthy ideals is to become aware that life, for the most part, is a set of ideals and expectations that have been created by mentally sick people. People who thought happiness came from somewhere or something else. Or that if you didn’t have your life a certain way at a certain time, you were less than. By acknowledging that, at least I can be aware of the bullshit that it is. Awareness, patience, perseverance, and self acceptance of wherever we are, is a recipe to a genuinely healthier, happier life, and a smoother drive to Vang Vieng. I’m pleased to announce that I only have 20 minutes left of the ride, and I think the French boys next to me will stay dry.