Travel Blogging 2 🏖️

It has become dark [on Phu Quoc island]. After I turn the engine on, it dies off right away, as I'm driving my scooter uphill. Maybe getting fuel from the plastic bottle was a bad idea, after all?

But then it's starting up, and it's fantastic. I'm driving through the cool evening air, and it's better than any air conditioner. I'm overtaking other drivers, I'm accelerating, I'm having a good time. Many don't have lights, but I'm cautious.

— Wer ist Tương Nguyên? / Who is Tương Nguyên?, loosely translated to English.

Sometimes it's asking a lot of me to force myself back into a particular point in time. In July, I finally reached the point of my travel blogging where I started writing about my adventures in Vietnam. When I left Australia behind mentally, it took me a couple of weeks to get in the spirit of travel blogging about this new country.

Coming to Asia again after such a long time was a big deal for me. What thoughts went through my mind then? What was the culture shock like? What did it feel like to leave the comfort of an English-speaking country and have no way to talk to anyone without the use of a translator app? What was so exciting about Vietnam?

The challenge of writing a travel blog is capturing the sensations of being in a place far away. If you let a lot of time pass between experiencing these sensations and actually writing about them, you'll forget a lot of the details that define your trip. As a consequence, my travel blogging becomes less and less accurate over time. The blogging sandwich was a way to keep up with the habit of writing about my trip. But that didn't really work out during intense times of travelling.

Writing in the moment

The amount of details that gets lost if you travel blog with this much delay is immense. These days, I'm writing about the Vietnam adventures that took place over half a year ago. Of course, I took notes that I can refer to. Also, I took pictures that take me back. But is it really enough to tell the story accurately? Is it really enough to do my Vietnam trip justice?

A couple of months ago, with an effort to capture more of the sensations that define my travels, I tried something new: writing in the moment. When we were in Japan, we stayed in probably the most boring place the suburbs of Tokyo had to offer: a little place called Takasago:

Takasago is the epitome of the Japanese suburbs, the epitome of boredom. If you walk through the little town's streets, you notice how everything looks the same. Just as the streets start to become slightly more interesting and bring a bit of colour into the sadness of the suburbs of Tokyo, there's hope raising in the mind of the Central European visitor to discover a coffee house.

But this is still Takasago and the colourful road markings are not introducing spaces to satisfy the desire for caffeine but instead for beauty parlours, hairdressers and a small vegetable market (that seems to be a highlight of this town, as a long queue of Japanese suggests). Takasago represents a sharp contrast to the over stimulation that is usually associated with the Japanese culture.

But in all its boredom and dreariness it still emits a soothing effect on the weary mind of the traveller that has travelled for too long and subconsciously longs for a place like Takasago. A place that offers seclusion, boredom and calmness in a world that is far too exciting, far too fast-paced, far too much of the modern world.

— Takasago (unreleased), loosely translated to English.

Also, the somewhat boring Playa Delfines on the beaches of Mexico's Cancún can be exciting if you pick up a pen and write into your little notebook here and there:

"Sophia!", I shout. But Sophia's not responding. "Sophiaaaa!", I shout again, this time louder. "What kind of crazy waves are these?", I shout as she turns around. Three seconds later an enormous wave crashes over me. Whoosh! Another one hits me. At this moment I have to think of my surfing instructor, Chad. When I had missed the opportunity of riding a perfect wave and just fell off my surfboard instead, another wave was never far away. Oh, the swell!

Back on the beach, under the protection of a big parasol, I observe a middle-aged man as he's taking a stroll. He extends his arm, in which he holds his smartphone. At first, I think he's casually filming the shades of the Caribbean blue, without properly looking out to the sea. But then I realize that he seems to be in a video call, supposedly sharing the moment with his loved ones.

Two parasols to our right, I see a young woman in a bikini, wearing a hat and turning around in a circle, as if she's dancing. What joy of life, I think for a moment. As I look out to the ocean and see its breathtaking beauty, I can relate to her. As a matter of fact, I feel like dancing, too! But then I notice a tripod standing next to her. Mounted on top is a smartphone. "Instagram", I think bitterly. "What artificially constructed joy of life", I conclude my inner monologue.

— Playa Delfines (unreleased), loosely translated to English.

Isn't it ironic that everyone in this short story didn't seem to be right there in the moment, whereas I, the silent spectator, captured the sensations of this time and place perfectly thanks to the power of writing in the moment? 🤓