Ten Years a Nomad

by Matthew Kepnes

  But life isn’t like the movies. Scott wasn’t coming back.

  Scott was always happy, talkative, and energetic. If you asked him how he was doing, he would almost always say he was at nine or ten. He had the unique ability to make people feel energized about even the most mundane things.

  His death threw me for a loop. In Scott’s last blog, he talked about his struggle to balance work with his desire to get off the grid. As he said, “I almost decided not to book this Tanzania trip because I didn’t think I could (or should) step away. How ridiculous is that? To pass up an adventure I’ve talked about for years—because I’d convinced myself I couldn’t disconnect. Or more truthfully, because I couldn’t find the courage to do it.”

  I saw myself in Scott’s words like I’d never seen myself before. He realized that always being connected created an unrealistic expectation for both himself and his community. That was exactly what I was doing. We shouldn’t always be connected. Always being connected is not healthy or productive. No wonder I was constantly burning out. We need to sign off and interact with people in real life.

  * * *

  IN THE DAYS AFTER HIS DEATH, Scott’s wife Chelsea told a reporter that he had truly disconnected from the distractions in his life. “He left us in one of the most beautiful places either of us have ever been. He was so happy. He was disconnected from everything other than nature and me.” Scott’s father said that “Scott lived more in his short thirty-three years than most do in a lifetime.”

  His loss was a tragedy—but it was also an end to a life well and deliberately lived.

  Scott’s passing made me question a lot of aspects of my life. What was I doing with my life? What was this all for? Scott lived his life in the most daring way possible, and he inspired people along the way. I was trying to do a version of that myself—but Scott’s death reminded me that we can take none of our plans for granted. Just as soon as he started on his quest, he was gone.

  If Scott had been alive, he’d tell me to stop delaying and take action.

  This moment put into perspective a feeling I’d been struggling with for a while: you can’t run away forever. As much as I hated to admit it, I was wrong, and everyone else was right. I was running. I was trying to have my cake and eat it, too and in the end, the thing I loved most—travel—had become an albatross that kept me from truly being the person I wanted to be.

  So, inspired by Scott, I decided to finally take the trip I had been dreaming of for years: one final trip through Southeast Asia and South America. I wanted to try once more to get it out of my system, or at least to confirm that, whether I liked it or not, I was a nomad who was destined to always travel.

  I needed to find out who I was. I needed one last big trip. I needed to know, to try to work on finding a balance, to come to terms with myself and what I really wanted. Travel had done that once before for me. Maybe it would do it again.

  I needed a sign.

  And I found one in the unlikeliest of places.

  12

  The Light

  We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.

  —JOHN STEINBECK

  LOVE REVISITED ME LIKE a long-lost friend in 2015. It was the kind of love that makes you question the direction of your life and gives you visions of families, minivans, and white picket fences.

  I was in Laung Prabang, Laos. After the bars closed, all the backpackers went to the local bowling alley. Bars in Laos are supposed to close at midnight but, because corruption is rife, the town’s bowling alley paid off the local officials to stay open. Since it was the only place open, it was the one place everyone went to.

  I was at the bar ordering a drink when someone stepped up to the bar next to me.

  “You’re Nomadic Matt, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love your blog, man. I’ve used it many times on my trip,” he said to me shaking my hand. “There’s a girl in our group who also likes it, but she’s too shy to say so. She was the one that spotted you, actually. Come say hi if you have a chance!”

  I looked over to see a blonde-haired woman in the corner.

  “Cool. I might. Thanks,” I said grabbing my drink and heading back to my friends.

  Back at my table, everyone around me was in an intense conversation. As I sipped my drink, uninvolved in any of the conversations, I grew bored. They were talking in languages I didn’t understand and I wasn’t motivated to interrupt them and ask them to speak English. I looked back at the guy and his friend, got up and walked over to them.

  I said hello again to the guy from the bar and introduced myself to his friend.

  “I’m Matt,” I said.

  “I know. I’m Charlotte,” she replied.

  I laughed. “Yeah, your friend said you knew me. I guess just force of habit, right?”

  “Are you American? Where are you from?” I continued.

  “Yeah, I’m from Chicago. It’s funny seeing you at the bar in Laos. Small world,” she said dragging out the last two words a bit awkwardly.

  About five-foot-seven with long blonde hair and chestnut colored eyes, this girl with freckles and an awkward manner was captivating. I don’t know if love at first sight exists, but the moment I met her came as close as I had ever come to believing in it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  We spent the night talking to each other, diving deep into our travels, how we ended up in Laos, how she ended up quitting her job, her previous life working and living in New York City, my recent summer living there, our likes and dislikes. The conversation flowed like the bowling alley beer we knocked back.

  When the night ended, and everyone headed back to town and said their good-byes at the town square, we lingered awkwardly.

  “Let’s go visit some of the temples and wander around the city tomorrow,” I said.

  “Sure, that sounds fun,” she replied.

  “How about 9:00 AM? That’s not too early, is it?”

  “No, it’s fine. I haven’t done much sightseeing yet, so that will be good. You can help me with filming a video.”

  “Sure! No problem,” I said with a smile.

  There was an awkward silence between us. The kind of silence where you wonder if you are supposed to go in for a kiss or just say goodnight.

  Fuck it, I thought. I went in for the kiss.

  She kissed me back and then took a step away.

  “Wow, that was unexpected,” she said. “But not that bad.”

  She smiled.

  I kissed her again and we walked back to her guest house.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. 9:00 AM, right?”

  “Yes, I’ll meet you here!”

  I leaned in again and we kissed passionately for what seemed an eternity. Breaking away eventually, Charlotte said goodnight, went into her guesthouse, and I skipped home to bed where, unfortunately, I didn’t manage to get much sleep.

  In the middle of the night, I awoke with a sharp pain in my stomach. I looked at the clock. It was 3:00 AM. I bet it was those chicken skewers I had earlier. I knew they tasted funny. As dawn broke, and the crippling certainty of food poisoning worked its way through and out of my exhausted body, all I could think of was that I had no way to contact Charlotte to tell her that I was basically dying from street food. But there was no way I was going to stand her up. Who knows where this could lead, but it would go absolutely nowhere if I didn’t show up and didn’t say why. So I rose from bed and took a shower. Chugging a bottle of water, I combed my hair, shaved, and put on clean clothes, trying to make it appear I was healthy and rested.

  It took me some time to find Charlotte’s guesthouse. It was in an alley off the main street that looked very different in daylight. Once I found it, I went inside and looked around. Charlotte wasn’t there. There were a still a few minutes before nine. The check-in lady gave me weird looks as I stood there so I went back outside and waited.

  “Sorry I’m late. I’m pretty hungover and I woke up late,”
she said coming out the door a few minutes past nine.

  “It’s okay. I’m not feeling too well either,” I said as we hugged hello.

  We walked to the main town square and had smoothies from the stands that were a staple of every traveler’s diet here. They were cheap, healthy, delicious. Everything you needed.

  We sat at one of the plastic tables in front of the stalls, and got lost once again in conversation. Before we knew it, over an hour had passed. Realizing the time, we got up to sightsee and walked to a nearby temple, Wat Mai. Located on the main street, it was a multitiered temple with a fire-red roof accented in gold, dating back to 1780.

  We were walking around the temple’s large courtyard when it happened.

  “Uhhhh, Charlotte, I think I am going to be sick. Hold this,” I said handing her the rest of my smoothie. “I’m really sorry … just … just … I’ll be right back,” I said, trying to run out of the temple grounds.

  I didn’t make it ten feet before I keeled over and vomited my smoothie onto the temple courtyard. I’m pretty sure this was not the kind of sacrificial offering a Laotian Buddhist temple is built to accept, so I scurried out to the street and continued to throw up. I took out a napkin from my bag, cleaned off, and then went to a nearby bathroom to wash up. Composing myself, I walked back to Charlotte who stood there dumbfounded.

  “Sooooo sorry about that. I think I ate something bad last night,” I said as my cheeks flushed red. “I am really sorry. This is the most embarrassing thing ever.”

  She handed me back my smoothie.

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “No, it’s okay. I feel a lot better now. I just shouldn’t have forced this heavy smoothie into my stomach,” I said. “I thought it would help. I was up all night sick. I think it was dinner, ’cause it wasn’t the ‘I drank too much’ kind of sick.”

  “Why did you come out if you weren’t feeling well?”

  “Well, I had no way to reach you. I didn’t want you to think I was some sleaze who cancelled because we didn’t hook up last night. And I didn’t want you to think I just made plans so I could hook up with you either. I actually really wanted to hang out with you today.”

  She laughed.

  “I probably would have thought that.”

  “Should we get out of here before anyone notices I just threw up? It’s probably super sacrilegious.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

  We smiled at each other and walked out of the temple. I grabbed some water from a vendor to rinse the taste of sick from my mouth and begin to replenish my fluids so I could make it through the rest of our stops: first, the palace, which was now a memorial and history museum about the days when the country had a king; then climbing Mount Phousi, a large hill in the center of town, to the temple, Wat Chom Si, on top where you got sweeping views of the city, the river, and the far-off jungle.

  After Wat Chom Si, we ate a simple lunch of soup—that was about all my stomach could handle at that point—and headed to my guesthouse, where I brushed my teeth and grabbed my bags. I was transferring to a hotel by the river, because the current place I was in was fully booked. The new hotel was a beautiful building with teak rooms, a balcony, a bathroom, air-conditioning, and TV. It might not have been much to anyone else but, to a backpacker who spends most of their time in $5 a night dorms, this opulent $20 a night hotel was a palace. Stepping into my room, I could see Charlotte’s eyes widen and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was: I could get used to this!

  The following day we went to see the Buddha caves. Getting in a long-tail boat near town, we took a tour up the Mekong River to Pak Ou, where over four thousand Buddha statues are located in a series of caves on the river. These caves are important shrines to the local people and we saw many locals burnings incense and offer prayers. With the two hours upstream from Luang Prabang, it was a relaxing day taking pictures on the river and enjoying the sounds of the jungle as we came back.

  “Why don’t you come stay with me? It will save you some money on your room.” I asked as we drank beers and watched the sun set over the river.

  “I dunno,” she said.

  It had only been two full days and nights but travel speeds relationships up and with no plans to stop seeing her, it made sense to me. However, Charlotte told me she was still hurting from her previous relationship—one that helped spur this trip—and wasn’t quite ready to make that kind of emotional leap yet. They had been together for a decade—her one serious boyfriend—and he had cheated on her.

  “Well, it’s up to you. I already booked the place.”

  The next morning as we laid in my bed, Charlotte looked at me with an awkward, coy smile and said, “Shit, I forgot to extend my last place. I’ll have to move in with you, I guess. Hopefully it won’t be weird!”

  “Charlotte,” I said with a laugh, “we’re always weird together. That’s why we get along!”

  She laughed in agreement.

  What was supposed to be a few days in Luang Prabang became a week. There isn’t much to do in the area once you’ve seen all the temples and gone up river, but with the cafés, beautiful sunsets, and sleep-inducing hangovers, it’s easy to find yourself stuck there for longer than anticipated.

  And, as Charlotte and I both had online jobs, we had plenty to do during the day to occupy our time. We would wake up, eat a delicious breakfast, head to a funky café to work, wander the city, take a nap, and relax. We revisited temples, waterfalls, and bars.

  But, eventually, we had to say good-bye. She was going toward Chiang Mai for Loi Krathong, where Thais celebrate the lunar new year and send thousands of lanterns into the air for good luck. I was going to keep exploring Laos with some friends who had come to visit me.

  After she left, we stayed in constant contact. Every day was bookended with a call or FB chat. We made plans to meet back up in Bangkok. I rented an Airbnb and met Charlotte at the airport. I was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe it. She was here in real life. She hadn’t found a reason to leave. I hadn’t found a reason to run. For the first time in a long time, someone liked me as much as I liked them, and I hadn’t screwed it up by either being too needy or too rooted to my work.

  Charlotte was everything I wanted in a woman. I’d found pieces of her in the other women I dated or hooked up with, but the fact that they were never all in one package was one of the ways I explained to myself why I’d been single for such a long time.

  The truth, though, was that I never really wanted a girlfriend. I loved the idea of a girlfriend—someone to explore with, someone to love me, someone to love back, someone to be a constant in a lifestyle that always fostered change—but in reality, Samantha rightly guessed I wasn’t ready to commit to a long-term relationship. Travel was my first love. I wasn’t ready to get tied down. I wasn’t ready to commit to something serious and long term. Travel made it easy to avoid commitment. It let me never get too close or emotionally vulnerable.

  But, now in Bangkok, with Charlotte sitting next to me, I felt ready to finally take the leap.

  * * *

  LOVE ALWAYS SEEMS TO HAPPEN when you least expect it. I wasn’t looking for love on this trip. I simply wanted to come to peace with myself and what I wanted out of my life.

  I found that peace in Charlotte. She showed me that I wanted to settle down. That I was finally ready. In her eyes, I saw a future.

  We stayed together for the remainder of her time in Thailand before she flew to Australia. She was doing a working holiday and joining the ranks of the thousands of backpackers who go to Australia each year to work and earn money for travel.

  When she left that fateful December morning, I was as depressed as I had even been over a girl. Though I didn’t tell her then for fear of pushing her away, I knew I was in love. I couldn’t remember ever having really loved someone like this, and seeing her walk away crushed me.

  After she left, I needed to get my mind off of her, so I headed to a destination that had long been on m
y list: Isaan. I had never been able to get to there, despite over a decade of coming to Thailand. My original plans fell through as I became a teacher and, every subsequent visit to Thailand always seemed to pull me elsewhere.

  Thailand’s Isaan region was still one of the most under-visited parts of the country. Travelers simply pass through it on their way to Laos, or skip it altogether in favor of places like Pai, Chiang Mai, or the islands of the south.

  All of which was fine by me.

  Isaan—a land of mostly farms and villages, architecturally uninspiring cities, and spicy and delicious food (some of the best in Thailand)—is one of those places where you can get off the trail and see what life, unspoiled by tourists, is really like in Thailand.

  I took scenic bike rides through the rice fields, farms, and small towns, and down dirt roads. I visited ancient Khmer temples where I was the only Westerner, with groups of Thai kids giving me funny looks. I visited national parks and dusty villages with incredible local markets, and was taken to play badminton by local teachers I met while eating in Ubon Ratchathani.

  It was marvelous, but it wasn’t the same without Charlotte. I wanted to share the fun and joy with her and I counted down the days until I’d see her again.

  We continued to talk every day. I would retreat back to my hostel to work and talk to her. We’d talk about our days, laugh at each other’s jokes, discuss the news, and spend hours just daydreaming about life. It always felt as if she was in the bed next to me.

  I had our whole future mapped out. I’d meet her for New Year’s in Bali, go back home to speak at the New York Times travel show, then visit South America before heading to Australia and New Zealand with her. In June, when her brother got married, she’d come back and we’d hang out in the States, she’d be my date to my roommate’s wedding, and then we’d just keep traveling and live happily ever after.