• October 18, 2017

    The Dirty (And Dirtier) Secrets of Traveling

    Traveling is glamourous. It effortlessly hints at wealth, freedom, beauty and youth, making it seem unattainable to anyone with a full-time job. Hell – just a few minutes on Instagram will lead you to believe that all of the travel bloggers, explorers and adventurers have a perfectly manicured life. Their days are beachy and soaked in champagne and tanning oil. Their evenings are moonlit and wrapped in romance. It’s perfection. And it’s also bullshit.

    Traveling is Dirty

    Now, I’m not talking about the occasional traveler on a 10-day vacation. I’m talking about real travelers. The ones that are crossing countless borders, conquering mountains, sipping ayahuasca and searching for enlightenment. The people that post their latest slice of paradise (myself included) and make it look like they’ve been given keys to a perfect life. We’re liars.

    Spoiler: We Smell

    My bright eyes and beaming smile might have you fooled, but after 4 flights and 22 hours of travel I am absolutely disgusting. Airplanes make you stink, the food makes you stink; we’re human and we stink.

    When I’ve been searching for my hostel for an hour hauling around a 20-pound backpack, I am not a precious flower. I am gross.

    Even under the best hygienic circumstances it can be difficult to keep it together. Lots of hostels don’t have hot water, and finding your cleanest outfit can be difficult when you only own five of them and washing machines are sparse. Have you ever wondered why so many traveling photos are taken in swimsuits? Because our clothing is really, really dirty.

    There Are Bugs Everywhere

    I grew up on a farm, so I thought I was prepared for the amount of creepy crawlies that I would encounter abroad. I was wrong.

    In Spain a 3-inch cockroach crawled up my leg while I was sitting on the toilet, so I left my pants in the bathroom and never looked back. In Costa Rica I bathed in bug spray because dengue fever was akin to the common cold. I’ve found bugs in my bed, shoes, backpack, beverages and bra (seriously) and I can safely say I’ve eaten a few ants just because I was too lazy to pick them out of my food. Someone told me they’re full of protein.

    Other Travelers Can Be Terrible

    I like to think that there’s an unspoken bond between travelers and that we approach one another with care, respect and courtesy. While that might be true in most cases, there are some undeniably terrible travelers out there. People that use the airplane bathroom barefoot, have rambunctious sex with a vocal local in the hostel bed above you, steal your food and purposefully fail to assimilate because they can’t speak the language. Sometimes the worst part (and best!) part of traveling is sharing a living space with complete strangers.

    We Get Sick

    There’s a reason that Mayo Clinic has a page titled “Traveler’s Diarrhea.” New environments and bacteria can quickly lead to some of the most tortured travel you’ve ever experienced. It’s hard to enjoy the the Louvre when all you want to do is watch Netflix in the bathroom or have your mom feed you chicken noodle soup.

    It’s Hard, But It’s Worth It

    Despite the dirty days and long, sick nights, traveling still makes my soul vibrate. I’ve cried far more tears of joy than I have of pain, cultivating new forms of patience and building lifelong connections with people along the way. I quickly learned that I’d rather live out of my backpack than feel safe – and that’s okay. Adventure isn’t always glamorous, but it gives you a worldwide sense of community and belonging. A shopping spree or a fresh manicure can’t hold a candle to a warm beer on the beach with a stranger.

    Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond. 

  • September 6, 2017

    Can Talking to Strangers Actually Help Us?

    Travelers rely on the kindness of strangers. Without them we’d often be lost, hungry, confused and begging for the next flight home. It’s almost as though the stranger only emerges in times of true desperation – whenever your phone runs out of battery, your suitcase is stolen or you find yourself without a bed, a smiling stranger appears to help you find your way. And yet as children we’re haunted by stories of strangers hiding razor blades in candy, driving unmarked vans and harboring sinister intentions towards anyone that crosses their path. We’re not afraid of getting in a car accident, we’re afraid of the next door neighbor.

    Children are bathed in a wide-eyed world of trust. They believe that everything they’re told is true, that people are inherently good and that cats have 9 lives. It’s a beautiful, blind world that we live in as children, but our naiveté is inevitably wielded against us as we grow older. Soon we discover that people lie, the world can be a terrible place and our childhood pets will eventually die – and that sucks. We reemerge into the world as adults with a furrowed brow and a sudden distaste for anything that challenges our way of life. Selflessness becomes a fable that is fluffed-up in news stories or an act that underhandedly demands something in return.

    At some point we have to relearn how to trust strangers. Why? Because it’s the only way we’ll discover our likeness in the face of a human that we know nothing about. It gives life to empathy that overlooks fundamental differences. I’ve relied on the kindness of strangers from all over the world – people who spoke different languages, practiced different religions and held radically different beliefs from my own. And still they extended an olive branch to me – a stranger – without letting judgement or prejudice hinder their act of giving. Never forget that you’re a stranger, too.

    I’m not suggesting that you start hitchhiking or lend your couch to someone (although there are countless people who do so on a daily basis), I’m simply encouraging you to find a little more trust in your day. When you trust a stranger something special happens. A connection is created – an unspoken nod to mutual existence that says “We’re human.” Why is it that strangers emerge in times of trouble? Because we all know what it feels like to be scared. Putting yourself in the place of a stranger reinvigorates the loving acceptance that we so willingly spouted as a child. We’re able to forget our biases and see the stranger as the emotions they’re feeling, rather than the beliefs that they hold.

    I can’t promise that every interaction with a stranger will be positive. The world isn’t filled with positive people. I can promise, however, that the exchange of mutual trust will bring us all a little bit closer.

    Become the smiling stranger in someone’s story.

    Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond. 

  • June 9, 2017

    An Open Apology to Minnesota

    As soon as I was old enough to be insolent, I wanted to move to the city. My small Minnesotan hometown always felt stifling, despite being surrounded by vast farmland dotted with countless lakes. Sure, I could go for a swim whenever I wanted, but who was going to force me to read Chaucer? Where was I going to protest for women’s rights?

    College bound and swaddled in naïveté, I traded parental supervision for a 450-square-foot apartment in Minneapolis. I was happy(ish). I loved the University of Minnesota and I hated mathematics. I turned 21 and discovered alcohol tasted exactly the same as it did when I started drinking it four years prior. I had relationships and I ended them. Nothing around me ever seemed to change, and I grew to detest the places and people that I loved.

    After seven years in Minneapolis, I grabbed my knapsack and set out for the Windy City, hoping the late nights and loud trains could satiate my desire for unpredictability. I got a job at a marketing firm and wore business-y dresses. I exercised relentlessly in an attempt silence my stifled creativity. I was unhappy(ish). No matter what I did, I kept getting that “I’m perpetually dissatisfied and I don’t know why but I’m sick of getting parking tickets and being harassed by men on the street,” feeling. So I started traveling.

    I’m happy.

    Visiting my parents has always been something I’ve enjoyed. In my younger years, escaping the squalor of my own life and enjoying a fridge filled with free food was actually form of therapy. And yet, it always felt…lacking. Everything looked exactly the same, and nobody seemed to mind.

    But this visit, something changed.

    After four months outside of the United States, soaking up other cultures, landscapes and cuisine, I returned home to the unfamiliar. And don’t misunderstand me – it’s not that after a brief stint away I’m returning “cultured” and “Omg the United States looks so different because I just lived in Spain and you guys don’t have tapas wtf!” It’s simply that after becoming accustomed to viewing places with an open mind and virgin eyes, I suddenly realized that I may have been too hard on Minnesota.

    Somewhere along the way, I forgot that Minnesota was special. The cool, mossy bark of long-fallen trees under a canopy of fluttering oak, or the smell of your skin after you’ve spent an afternoon on the lake. Was I really too busy to notice? Fireflies, campfires, the bounty of my mom’s garden or the tiny feet of a dragonfly – everything that seemed normal I dismissed as boring. I forgot that the songbirds are deafening and the wood ticks are numerous. I forgot how brisk and earthy the air smells in the morning.

    I’m guilty of severe under-appreciation.

    It might seem normal to float down a river with a case of beer and your best friends, but to most people, it isn’t. Our ability to bike, run, kayak, canoe, hunt, fish, swim, wakeboard, ski, snowboard and sled at various points throughout the year is remarkable. Sure, it’s cold and seasonal affective disorder is a bitch, but there’s beauty in it, too.

    I’m sorry, Minnesota, for neglecting you. You’ve been remarkable this whole time – I just couldn’t be bothered to notice.

    Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond. 

  • April 23, 2017

    The Traveler’s Travel Essentials

    Packing for a long (or unending) trip isn’t easy. Before I left for Spain, I remember sitting on the floor staring woefully at my backpack, wondering how I was going to fit everything that I needed into one carry-on item. I ferociously googled all the tips and tricks to traveling light, and still failed to close my bag without using my full body weight to threaten the longevity of the zipper.

    Now, I’m surrounded by people who are living out of their suitcases. I could probably name every item in their wardrobe, and even pinpoint the last time they did their laundry. There’s no better resource for anyone caught in the throes of packing than those of us who have become the masters of trial and error!

    Ask a Traveler – What Do I Pack?

    1. Never leave home without an extra battery

    Okay, I’ll admit it. My mom actually packed this one for me. I had no idea how valuable having an extra charge would be until my phone was on 3% and I was wandering around lost in the mountains. Whether you’re running out of juice on an airplane or you can’t live without music, there’s no reason to reject a full battery.

    2. Keep your feet happy

    How many pairs of shoes did you pack? (Flip flops don’t count.) If the answer is more than 2, that’s too many pairs of shoes. Could you comfortably walk 15 miles in both pairs of shoes? If not, exchange those stilettos for a pair of hiking boots and move on.

    3. One outfit for every occasion

    Unless you’re planning on going to a wide variety of important cultural events, this should add up to around 5 outfits. One pair of shorts, one swimsuit, one sweatshirt… the list goes on. Once you’ve finished selecting your wardrobe, look through it again and choose as least one item to leave behind. I promise.

    4. Plan for pain

    I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you’re traveling you’re probably going to get sick. Ibuprofen, antibiotic ointment, antihistamines, and antidiarrheal/cold medicines should be at the top of your list. It can be difficult to find what you need when you’re feverish in a foreign country, so having these essentials at hand can ease your recovery. For preventative measures, don’t forget to grab a probiotic and vitamin!

    5. Climate change is real

    If you’re not used to the sun, wind, cold or sand, you won’t be able to survive without a few essentials to keep your skin hydrated. Lip balm, vaseline, your favorite lotion and some SPF 50 will help counteract the effects of a new climate. Sunglasses, a baseball hat, durable water bottle and multi-purpose, lightweight blanket will ensure that you can fend off whatever mother nature throws your way.

    6. It’s the little things

    Fingernail clippers, earplugs, tweezers and q-tips are my favorite multipurpose items. I used my tweezers to pull sea urchin out of my foot the other day.

    7. Never travel without a towel

    Regular towels take forever to dry and demand a lot of space in your bag. Invest in a travel towel.

    8. Lock it up

    There are a variety of different locks that you can use to keep your things safe. A padlock will be perfect for hostels, but it can also help to have a miniature lock for the zippers on your bag. I like to believe that people are inherently good, but… sometimes they’re bad.

    9. There’s no place like home

    When your home is on your back, it’s important to cultivate your own space – no matter where you are! I carry lavender candles and a few keepsakes (notes, pages I’ve torn from books etc.) to remind me of the people and places that make me feel whole.

    This is by no means a comprehensive list, but you won’t catch me without any of these travel essentials. Questions? Ask away! I’m surrounded by travelers from every country who love to share what they’ve learned! Sometimes I know what I’m talking about, too.

    Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond. 

  • April 11, 2017

    The Traveler’s Moment

    Every traveler has a moment. I’ve spoken with people who have been traveling for five months, and I’ve spoken with people who have been traveling for five years. Almost all of them are able to identify the moment (or series of moments) in which they decided to trade tradition for travel. The moment where they found the courage to take the leap and embrace the unpredictability that only exploration can bring.

    For some people, this moment is an almost immediate shift in thinking that occurs after a traumatic, life-changing event. For others, it’s simply acknowledging their inherent need for cultural exchange, and finding the strength to reject the societal expectations that have been sculpting their lives since birth.

    I met a man who was propelled by heartbreak. After eight years, his girlfriend dumped him and left him for his best friend, leaving him to question, well… everything. He told me, “I could never get her to make me a coffee. That was her thing. For some reason, our entire relationship, she would always refuse to make me a coffee. Every time that I asked her, she would tell me to make my own coffee and walk away. Then, the day I got back from vacation, I walked into her apartment and she asked me, ‘Would you like me to make you a coffee?’ And I knew.” Within months he quit his job as an upper-level customer service manager in Italy and became the co-owner of a surf camp in Tenerife. A stack of surfboards now accompanies him on his morning commute to the ocean.

    Most travelers have spent at least a little time behind a desk. Answering telephones, filling out progress reports and rejoicing in 10 fleeting days of vacation per year can actually be an important catalyst for those who finally say “I’m done.” I spoke with a Russian woman who took leave from her job in order to volunteer in Iceland. Despite staying one month in what was an empty and relatively desolate area, she came home from her first international exchange feeling as though she had finally met “people who were alive.” Determined and terrified, she returned to work and immediately tendered her resignation with the phrase “I would rather die from hunger than live in a cage.” She has been traveling for seven years.

    There’s a shift that happens during the traveler’s moment. Bliss, euphoria, enlightenment – call it whatever you want. It’s mesmerizing. Suddenly and all at once, the narrow, predictable path of your life branches into countless trails of opportunity. Instead of a future built around one company, one job and one profession, you are surrounded by unburdened potential. The direction of your life is dictated by you, not by your next employee evaluation, and you have the ability to do, see and be whatever you want.

    Sometimes, however, the traveler’s moment is birthed out of necessity. Those of us (myself included) who are fortunate enough to seek out travel independently reflect on our newfound lifestyle with smiles and pride, whereas others see it as a long-overdue turning point.

    Five years ago, a man from Italy was laid off of his job as an architect. Soon after, he received a phone call from his mother asking him to board a plane and meet her at her sister’s home in The Traveler's MomentNaples. When he arrived he learned that his aunt had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, two years prior. She survived for another 21 days. In those painful three weeks, as he helped his mother care for her ailing sister, he was struck by the painful fragility of human existence. He recalled those who had only made a brief appearance in life, and mourned the loss of the people that they could have become. In that instant, he chose to travel and consume the beautiful, fleeting moments of life as quickly as possible. As we spoke, he marveled at the time we shared together and grinned. “When again will this happen? Just now. Right now.”

    It is often said that those who are traveling are searching for something. I’ve been told time and time again that traveling will be a good opportunity to “find myself” and that I’ll be sure to “find what I’m searching for.” Perhaps it’s my own naiveté and I am unknowingly on a long and desperate hunt for self-actualization or the romance of the century, but I like to think that traveling is an outcome of having already discovered what I’ve been looking for.

    Photos by Jokke De Roo

    Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond. 

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