S. Bedford - Its Only the Himalayas: And Other Tales of Miscalculation from an Overconfident Backpacker

S. BEDFORD is an indie backpacker who has accidentally locked herself in the bathroom in over fifty countries. She calls Toronto, Canada, home base, and Its Only the Himalayas is her first book.

Copyright 2016 by S. Bedford

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stores in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For more information, contact the publisher:

Brindle & Glass
An imprint of TouchWood Editions
1031075 Pendergast Street
Victoria, BC V8V 4E4
brindleandglass.com

Edited by Colin Thomas
Cover design by Margaret Hanson
Text design by Pete Kohut

Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-927366-48-6 (epub)

We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and of the province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

For Sara

PROLOGUE

My mother: Wherever you go, whatever you do, just dont do anything stupid.

IT WAS SUMMERTIME in Toronto. For residents who spent most of the year cursing the masochistic pioneers thatd selected this frozen landsicle (and not some coconut-strewn beach like their clever Spaniard counterparts) to be the New World, this was a cause for celebration. Parks flourished with life as dogs and lusty young couples frolicked under the shade of leafy maples. Patios were crammed elbow to elbow, pint to pint, as friends gathered in droves while exasperated waitresses crowd surfed with pitchers and hot wings. Canadians never let a drop of sunshine go to waste.

I, however, was miserable. And I had no idea why. All right, that isnt entirely true. Id just dropped out of university for the second time. I was one of those crowd-surfing waitresses. I lived with my parents, which had its perkssuch as no rent and the occasional happenstance of cut-up fruit in a bowlbut it also meant that, well, I lived with my parents. Id thought that your twenties were supposed to be the ideal balance between the freedom of adulthood and the boldness of adolescence. It was the decade when the dreamers became the doers, when opportunity and full heads of hair abounded, and when potential was harnessed into tangible success.

And here I was, fucking it up.

Admittedly, it hadnt all been a wash. In between my attempts at academia, I had backpacked through Europe and Australia. In Italy, I tripped over the same cobblestones as the Romans one millennium earlier. And in Queensland, I was chased by a crocodile. Okay, okay, it was actually a wallabybut not when I retold the story to my friends. In these moments, life was exhilarating and dirty and absurd, and I was ass-over-teacup in love with it. But then I returned home and became just another disenchanted youth with a drink tray, stinking of spilled beer and squandered vitality.

Worse still was that my friends were now all graduating, fresh-faced and full of earning potential. Some of them were getting business cards, for Christs sake. Like Sara: she had always been intelligent, pragmatic, and successful in everything she pursued. While the rest of us flip-flopped over our majors like, ah, flip-flops, shed flourished as a top nursing student.

After graduation, she also backpacked through Europealthough her experience was quite different than mine. My lackadaisical organization meant that, instead of following a sensible loop around the continent like most people, my route looked more like a map of the London Underground. Sara, however, had planned out every hour of her trip. Before she left, she even secured a position as an RN at a busy downtown Toronto hospital. I figured that when she returned, shed move into a gentrified walk-up decorated with vintage furniture and potted herbs, and begin a happy life as a real personwhile Id continue to dither in pre-adult limbo.

But then she rang me up one August afternoonher plane having just landed that morningand my preconceived notions suddenly went sideways.

It was the most incredible experience ever! she gushed, high on life and jet-lag pills. And not just the historical and cultural elements. I mean, that was greatto see in person what Id learned about in schoolbut what I really enjoyed was the experience of travel. Obviously it wasnt perfect, because nothing ever is, but that was the beauty of it. It was the challenges that made it an adventure and not just a vacation.

As she went on, I leaned against the windowsill and stared out at the world. The shadows were lengthening as the sky turned the electric blue found only at summers end. I could see the moon already, a waning ghost trapped in the branches of a dead tree like a lost kite. Hearing Sara rave about her trip brought a bittersweet ache to my chest as I recalled my own adventures in Amsterdam and Edinburgh.

I dont even want to unpack, she said, sighing. I just want to go again!

But you must be stoked about beginning your life here, I countered. Youve got your career to look forward to, and youll find an apartment soon.

Im not as thrilled as youd think, Sue. After that trip, it seems like no matter what I do in Toronto, it wont compare. She paused. Before I left I had this idea in my mind that I was going to do Europe, check it off the list, and then come back and commit to whatever it is everybody expects me to do here. But now, I dont think Im ready to give up on traveling. In fact, I feel like Im just getting started.

It shocked me to hear her talking like this. If I didnt know any better, Id swear Little Miss Status Quo had developed some sort of wanderlust.

I have a distant cousin who did a yearlong trip around the world when she was our age, I said. It took her at least that long to save and prepare, but god, could you imagine how awesome that would be? A year of excitement and ridiculousness and grit.

Sara groaned enviously. Of escaping maturity and expectations.

Of realization and self-discovery.

Of just once choosing the fun path instead of the responsible path.

Of no longer submitting to crappy jobs and haunting failures and cut-up fruit in a bowl!

Whats wrong with cut-up fruit in a bowl?

Uh never mind. We fell silent, each lost in our own radical sabbatical fantasy. A trip like that would be not only wickedly awesome, but also wholly transforming. And wasnt that the real reason why people traveledto find themselves and answer such plaguing questions as what the hell now? To return with both a sense of direction and a stellar photo collection? It wouldnt quite be CV -worthy of course, but it would be a stepping-stone toward whatever it was that the road inspired us to do.

You know that if you ever were serious about something like that, Id totally be on board, right? I said. Just say the word, and its done.