Travelling as an Introvert

The Introverted Traveller

Just to give a little bit of context; I've always been quiet. In school I'd never raise my hand even if I knew the answer, teachers would comment that I was a daydreamer although they didn't phrase it in such a nice way. Dozy, that's what they used to say to me. It's a memory that still hurts. I'd pretend to write so that I wasn't asked a question in front of the class. Despite appearances I was paying attention, I just never let on; because if I looked like I knew the answer I might be asked about it or singled out. Being singled out in front of the class was the worst.

Quiet, shy with anxiety induced blushing. That last part is a wordy way of saying 'I go red all the time'. Not only if I'm embarrassed but if I see a friend in the street I'm not expecting to see or if more than a couple of people have their attention on me. Public speaking is a no-go and I find it very tough even joining a conversation at a party. Being kind of quiet is one thing but the fear of going red when I speak makes things so much harder.

There are lots of people I wish I had the courage to talk to more; when I was at university I had a network of my closest friends but struggled widening the net, I couldn't just walk up to someone and have a chat even if we were on the same course. The blushing would stop me, if it was someone I was intimidated by in any way or someone I admired then I knew I would embarrass myself so it was easier to not say anything. On my Fine Art degree I think I only had one critique with the whole class in three years, on my Fine Art Masters degree I didn't have any.

Now, being a shy introvert while travelling is hard. I'm lucky in that I have an outgoing other half who is able to chat to people freely. He can engage with strangers easily, enjoys socialising and doesn't fret about saying the wrong thing. He asks the questions and starts the conversations. I sit there listening, sometimes I try to chime in but a lot of the time I don't. If there's a social gathering going on in the hostel I usually won't take part. I find crowds or more than a few people overwhelming and small talk very tiring. The other day in Bogotá for example; Craig joined in with cocktails and chat with a large group of backpackers while I retreated to a quiet table to write in my journal and pet the hostels German shepherd. Like that wonderful Gemma Correll illustration I'm the one on the floor stroking the pets at a party. I worry that I'm perceived as grumpy or unfriendly sometimes because I'm not joining in. I'm sure my other half wishes I was more outgoing too; it would make things easier. It's always up to him to ask the bus driver if we're going the right way or to get directions from a stranger in the street. 

This is a very personal thing for me to write. Because being introverted, shy and awkward induces anxiety and makes me a very emotional person. On this trip I've cried a lot, when things haven't gone as planned or when I've found being away too overwhelming. I'll sometimes think about my quiet place at home, visions of surrounding myself in the cosy duvet that's thousands of miles away. 

Only in recent years have I learned why I am the way I am and by learning a little about myself I've also learned to accept myself a little more too. I read Quiet by Susan Cain recommended to me by an online friend. It radically changed the way I thought of myself and helped me to understand what being an introvert means. I've learned that I'm an INFJ personality type, apparently the rarest. It means that I'm a person that needs time to recharge often, that I can also be highly sensitive too. It also means that I'm a great listener to those that I feel connected with and that I have a great deal of compassion for others. It's what makes me a creative person, I see the world in a different way and I think (and overthink) a lot. 

I find it so challenging to travel, even with a partner because it goes against that voice in my head that says stay at home, you don't want to interact today. But, travelling is what I do and it is a big part of who I am. I've learned that I can be adventurous and quiet. I carve time out to be by myself which is a hard thing to do in a backpacker community but it's necessary for me. And I'm learning not to apologise for it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's ok, I'm realising that I don't have to be an outgoing person to be a traveller. It's not all Full Moon Party's and bar crawls. It's whatever I want it to be, slow days at a hostel, peaceful walks through national parks and plenty of time for contemplation.

Over the course of this trip I've worried somewhat about the way I'm perceived by others but by being away and out of my comfort zone I'm slowly learning not to care and to instead think about the positives of being an introvert. I take time to listen; to birds singing and to people chatting. I look more closely at details and thoughtfully leave myself notes to remember how I felt at that moment. I let my imagination run wild and ponder the big questions. I'm grateful to be able to see the world through my own special lens, one that transforms landscapes into paintings and flora into poetry. Being the quiet girl allows me the time to contemplate and when all is said and done I wouldn't change that for anything. 

Are you a quiet person, a traveller or both? Does it feel like being introverted stands in your way at all or that it defines you in a negative or a positive way? I'd love to know your thoughts. 

La Paz, Bolivia

We arrived in La Paz early after an overnight journey by coach. We were staying in the Sopocachi area near the cable car station. After breakfast at the hostel we got chatting to Ollie and Deniz and took a taxi to the Witches Market together. We wandered around the stalls which sold everything from llama jumpers to coca leaves.

We had lunch at a café, the little old lady owner said she'd make us big sandwiches to entice us to come in. When the sandwiches came we couldn't help but laugh, we ended up with two tiny slices of bread toasted on one side with a slice of cheese in the middle. We paid the bill and promptly moved to another café as we were all still hungry. While Deniz and I relaxed in the café Craig and Ollie popped to the tour office opposite and booked our Death Road tour for the following day.

Death Road

Little Helper

Morning, we rushed out of the hostel to get to the meeting point about twenty minutes away. I hadn't a clue what to pack for a day cycling down 'the worlds most dangerous road' and was feeling quite nervous. We boarded the minibus and met our guide. After a stop to pick up more passengers and waterproofs we were on our way. We were given coveralls, helmets and pads to wear and then we arrived at the start of the cycle. First of all came the safety advice which was pretty basic, there were two rules; "don't be f*cking stupid" and "don't take f*cking selfies". The guides words not mine. We toasted to Pachamama with a bottle of liquid which was almost pure alcohol, a drop on the ground, a drop on the front tyre and a swig ourselves. The alcohol burned my throat and made everyone pull the most unattractive faces.

We started the ride, the ground was damp and the air slightly misty. The road was smooth tarmac which made riding a breeze. Craig started to get frustrated as we were at the back and the girls in front were going too slow for his liking, for me it was about the perfect speed. The rain came, drenched us then went away again and the scenery was very impressive despite the low clouds clinging to the landscape. We stopped just before a bridge and cycled along a small stretch of road that was all loose stones and gravel. We were told if you can handle this then you can do Death Road. I was a little bit apprehensive, my wheels seemed like they could easily slip on the rocks so I was slightly worried about the more challenging terrain yet to come.

Cycling Under Waterfalls

Crossing the Finish Line

We threw the bikes on the minibus roof and drove to the start of Death Road. The landscape was phenomenal. Steep tree covered cliff faces and a dirt track that wound its way through the landscape were what faced us. We started the ride, I stayed at the back to ease into it. Eventually I overtook someone and found myself on the road with no one else to be seen. I had the whole landscape to myself and it was glorious. The road surface was better than I'd predicted and I kept to a speed I was comfortable with. During the ride we went under waterfalls and dangled our legs over the cliff edge for photos, we rode through deep rivers where my shoes filled to the brim with cold water and I managed to get so far behind I didn't know which way to go. By the end my brakes were starting to give up and so was I. For a ride that is primarily downhill I was exhausted. Craig was in his element all day, he raced ahead and I barely saw him. At the end as I rode in I got a high five and was so relieved, I'd not come off, not veered off the edge and had survived! We ate a buffet lunch and then headed back, the journey home would be a few hours so our guide suggested we buy bottles of cuba libre and turn it into a party bus. We turned the music up and drank our cocktails, singing along and chatting. As the sun set some of us *cough* Craig *cough* started to feel a bit worse for wear. By the end of the journey I think we were all broken, I saw some things which still make me smile and cringe to this day. But, what happens on the party bus stays on the party bus.

The next day we decided to take a ride on the cable cars to see views of La Paz from above. The locals use the cable cars in the same way as the buses so the ride was very cheap, it's a normal way to commute for them. La Paz from above is a sea of red bricks, all the buildings look the same and the views stretched on for miles. Once on ground level we treated ourselves to dinner at the restaurant we went to with Ollie and Deniz, it was international food and therefore higher prices but was delicious.

La Paz from Above

Sea of Red Brick

The next few days were a blur. We both woke up feeling absolutely awful. My whole body ached and I couldn't work out what was wrong. La Paz is at high altitude and so we thought maybe that was the reason why we felt so bad. We'd been in high altitude places for a while but had perhaps over exerted ourselves while here and not allowed enough time to acclimatise. We spent a few days in bed only venturing out to go to the pharmacy. We didn't want to stay in our hostel any longer as despite being ill we were being woken by staff late at night to answer questions and couldn't sleep with all the noise of guests coming and going. We moved down the road to a lovely bright room but despite the nice surroundings Craig wasn't improving. I was getting stronger each day but after about four days Craig could barely keep consciousness. I had no idea what to do so I spoke in broken Spanish to the hostel manager. He advised me to take him by taxi to a nearby clinic, altitude sickness can be fatal in serious cases and I was worried sick. Earlier in the year Craig had been admitted to hospital twice with kidney stones and all those feelings of worry resurfaced. I guided him to the taxi which the lovely hostel manager had prepaid for us, he could barely walk. Once at the clinic he was in a hospital bed within minutes and hooked up to a drip and oxygen. After several hours in hospital his strength was returning. Somehow he'd developed a throat infection alongside altitude sickness so he was given antibiotics and soroche medication to take.

The following day we left La Paz and took a coach to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca, we were at even higher altitude but it was the only way to move on with our trip and continue to Peru. Our plans of spending days island hopping on the colossal lake were dashed, neither of us were feeling well enough. We spent our two nights wandering very slowly, eating and watching films in our hotel room. It was a shame to end Bolivia in such a way but we can't dwell, we saw some amazing sights in our four weeks in the country.

 🎥 Bolivia:

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Sucre, Bolivia

After a whirlwind few days exploring Salar de Uyuni, getting stranded in a tiny town and an unexpected stop in somewhat dilapidated Oruro we finally arrived in Sucre via Potosi. We had booked ourselves into Casa Verde for the festive season, I was looking forward to some quiet and uneventful days.

Our last Christmas away from home turned into a bit of a disaster; without internet I struggled to call home and was desperately homesick. Craig and I had an argument about something so laughably petty, but the emotional stress of the day blew it all out of proportion and we didn't speak for several hours. Eventually we realised how silly we'd been and had a picnic on the beach, I got to speak to my mum and all was well. Despite the happy end I didn't want a repeat of that day and so made sure we'd have internet to call home and a kitchen to prepare a lovely dinner to make being away bearable.

Casa Verde was beautiful. We had a huge double bed in a private room with hardwood floors and an en suite. The courtyard garden featured a small undercover pool, sun loungers and a variety of pretty pots filled with plants in bloom. The kitchen was like something from a country living magazine, Belfast sinks, a huge cooker and a beautiful central wooden table.

Case Verde Plant Problem

Jesus in the Courtyard

We spent Christmas Eve and the day before at the Central Market buying supplies for our festive feast. We decided to attempt to make a fruit crumble for pudding on Christmas Day and so bought the various ingredients from stall holders and the supermarket. We watched Miracle on 34th Street to try and get into the Christmas spirit, outside it was hot and so completely different to home.

On Christmas Day I woke up super early to call my mum, speaking to her was all I needed to make the day a happy one. I spoke to my little brother too and exchanged messages with my cousin Lily. I agreed to call again later in the day so that I could FaceTime my grandparents and family. After a relaxed morning we started work on our Christmas dinner, or as close as we could get to one with the ingredients we could find. After much Googling we made vegetarian gravy completely from scratch to go with our pile of roast potatoes and veggies. We didn't have scales to measure anything but our apple and cherry crumble with cinnamon looked pretty decent too.

We sat in the courtyard garden shaded from the hot sun and enjoyed our dinner. The crumble with ice cream was a triumph and I was so pleased that our day away from home was going well. Craig FaceTimed his family and I had a long chat with my Dad and FaceTimed my family too. The evening was spent watching films, playing games and stuffing our faces with Pringles and chocolate, just as it would have happened in the U.K. 

We enjoyed our down time at Casa Verde but unfortunately couldn't afford to stay for the entirety of our time in Sucre. We moved just down the road to the Spanish School which was incredibly cheap. Our first of ten lessons took place on December 28th with the lovely Shirley. We went in knowing just a few Spanish words and could only count to about five. By day ten we could count upwards of 100, knew colours, days of the week and a whole load of new vocabulary. We took our new language skills to the market and immediately noticed that we got better prices by using Spanish and it was also a lot more fun.

We'd spend our days having a two hour lesson in the morning and then wander the pretty 'White City' in the afternoon. It felt more like we were citizens of the town than tourists, we were never in a hurry anywhere and milked the concept of 'slow travel'. It was so refreshing and in complete contrast to the rest of our travels, both backpacking and trips closer to home. We never go on holidays where you do nothing for days on end so this was a complete change for us.

Apart from a visit to Santa Clara convent and an evening at a traditional Bolivian dance show our two weeks in Sucre were blissfully quiet. Wandering, cinnamon tea, café stops and shopping at the market were our daily rituals.

Bells of Santa Clara Convent

Inside Santa Clara Convent

While we had plenty of time to think and reflect we decided to change our plans somewhat. After four months of purposefully not planning too far ahead we decided to do the opposite and make some plans that would hopefully help us see more of the world in our year away. We thought about what we really wanted to see and do and decided that we really wanted to see some of Central America and India.

After a conversation with my mum and brother we decided to fit in a week in New York, my favourite city and meet them there. Flying directly from South and Central America to India was very expensive and involved long lay overs in various places. Combining a week in New York worked out the same price for us, and who wouldn't want to include the best city on earth in their trip? 

We spent a stressful day booking flights from Mexico to New York and from New York to India. I booked the flights for my mum and brother and an Airbnb in Brooklyn for us all to share. We'd given ourselves just four full months to get to Cancun in Mexico, the challenge gave us a new sense of excitement and anticipation for what was ahead.

On our last day at the Spanish School we had our lessons and went out for ice cream with Shirley. As we left Sucre with our backpacks on the sun was setting; the city sky glowed pink. It was a beautiful end to our two weeks as guests in the 'White City'.

 🎥 Bolivia:

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