Stirring Point

It’s been 12 years since my last visit to Continental Europe. To a Catholic, that sounds like the beginnings of a confession. For a traveler, though, it means a wider range of flavors have stolen my appetite. Visits to Iceland, Greenland, and England aside, my travel sights have been aimed toward sections of the world demanding greater effort to navigate—or so it feels. Lebanon, Iran, Israel/Palestine, Pakistan, Kashmir, Algeria, Ethiopia—the list goes on. I say “feel,” knowing my word choice is vague. But the feeling is tangible, and for more than a decade, it’s saddled me with blind spots that kept a portion of the world out of view. The locations I’ve cared about promised to disfigure my comfort zone and show me how humans are living remarkably divergent lives—lives difficult to comprehend from afar. These places yank the chords of curiosity, and my fixation with them has caused an imbalance in perception. It’s time to correct this. Slightly.

Today, my partner and I are off to Helsinki, Finland, for the start of a 3-week trip. From Helsinki, we’ll travel by ferry across the Baltic Sea to Tallinn, Estonia. We’ll then travel by train to Riga, Latvia, before following the rail line onward to Vilnius, Lithuania. From here, we’ll slide down to Krakow, Poland, where I’ll attend a Jiu Jitsu camp, and she’ll push on to Berlin. Our time is limited, but we’ll work to slow down the hands of the clock to enjoy every scent and flavor the Baltics can offer.

Thankfully, training Jiu Jitsu has given me the chance to chase discomfort wherever I travel, adding some additional shine to most places. To be clear, travel to Europe has always been attractive and I’m grateful for every visit. But over the last 20 years, traveling has morphed from a way to see the world into a way I feel the world. It’s become a way to feel its hardships, its needs, and its pain. The world, at times, slams its knuckles right into your face when you’re traveling and I have no intention of trying to duck that punch. It’s taught me to adapt; it’s taught me how to read people. It’s shown me how to walk toward the unknowns in life with greater poise. Mike Tyson famously said, “Everyone has a plan until you get punched in the face.” Name a better way to see how you’ll react.

It can’t always be like that. Or it can, but eventually, one’s perception skews to the extreme. Every moment becomes a chase, like a drug addict after a fix. And this ignores the beauty of balance. Meaning, joy, hardship and growth are everywhere. So, on this trip, I’ll spend each morning training Jiu Jitsu with local practitioners, battling ass over elbows to submit each other with chokes and joint locks. Then Kendal and I will spend our afternoons lost in the corners of winding alleyways, sipping freshly ground coffee, and walking the long halls of historic museums. We’ll taste local delicacies at dinner and seek out low-key music venues to fill our nights. We’ll read, I’ll write, and we’ll take our time as we go.

This is a departure from my past travels. 8 months ago, I was in Pakistan’s Gilgit-Baltistan region, dreaming of how to slip over the border into Wakhan National Park in Afghanistan, en route to Tajikistan, with no finish line in mind. I was dreaming, not planning, but the idea shot lightning from my fingers and I felt more alive than ever. Moving beyond the boundaries of comfort still feels like the best way to understand the world, but it’s probably a good idea to remove one’s foot from the accelerator from time to time.

It needn’t be all or nothing. Fighting and writing were the pillars of my last adventure, and I’ll carry these passions with me everywhere I go. This time, however, I’ll slow down, check my spartan attitude at the door and embrace some of the brilliant flavors that Europe has to offer.