The Medicinal Powers Of A Good Plan

“Travel is not an adventure until you have a good plan”

– Tour Flyer

I loosely grasp the colorful flyer handed to me by the lady at the reception desk and immediately scan the beautiful images positioned next to the tour names and prices. At the top left corner in bold print it reads “Good Prize”. This leaves me to wonder whether they, in fact meant to write “Good price” or not. Either way, it kind of works. I’m all for a good prize AND a good price. Which, it seems to be. For the Ijen crater tour that my friend Alex and I are interested in doing it comes to 350,000 rupiah each. The tour includes the jeep transport (this was proven to be absolutely needed), the guide, gas mask, entrance ticket, a waterfall, and return drop off. Seemed reasonable, and to be honest I wasn’t up for wandering the streets and trying to haggle and find a better deal for once. For convenience sake, we booked it at the front desk for a 12:00am pick up later that night and headed back to our room to try to get some rest.

A couple of minutes later, as I was sitting on the bed, I glanced at the flyer again and read a quote that was sprawled across the top that I had somehow missed earlier. It read, “Travel is not an adventure until you have a good plan.”

‘What an interesting quote.’ I thought to myself. Besides my appreciation for the hotel’s marketing techniques to sell more of their tours, the quote also made me question whether or not I believed in its validity or not.

Some of my best adventures have come from not having a plan, just going with the flow, seeing where the world takes me. But for those who know me best, they’ll be the first to tell you that my spontaneity has limits. Everything in moderation. I like to structure my travel the same way I try to structure my life, with a solid game plan with room for flexibility and adaptability. I try to keep an open mind about my plans and the acknowledgement that my interests and wants may change along the way. And that’s ok.

However, I learned from an early age, that having a good plan has multiple positive effects. Growing up, I tended to suffer from anxiety a lot. From where that stemmed from, I’ll never know but I think the easiest way to sum it up is that I feel a lot and I think a lot. So, while going through the height of this struggle I was grasping at ways to combat the overwhelming and sometimes paralyzing emotion. One way that seemed to always work the best was planning. Writing my thoughts, problems, the obstacles I expected to encounter, goals, and steps seemed to take the weight of them out of my chest and mind and put them on the paper instead. And after they were out, I was able to analyze them, rearrange them, and conquer them in a way that I couldn’t previously. So, for me, planning had always had a medicinal effect, I guess you could say. And it proved, yet again, to come to my rescue recently during one of the most stressful times in my life.

5 days ago, I was traveling with two English friends I had made a couple weeks previously in Bali. I had met Louis and Declan on my first night in Bali actually. One of the guys in my room had welcomingly invited me out to the nearby club with some of the other travelers he had met in our hostel. Looking back now, I’m so thankful that I agreed to the invite because little did I know that the people I had met that first fateful night would weave in and out of my travels for the weeks to come.

After that first night we all met, a few of us continued our journey together to Canggu where we partied to the early morning and ate some of the most colorful dishes I’ve ever had in my life. After our three day stay there, three of us headed towards Ubud. Louis, Declan, and I (or how only I seemed to call us: the three musketeers) arrived at our hostel on August 2nd. Over the next two days we visited the famous monkey temple, rented motorbikes, bathed ourselves in the holy water temple of Pura Tirta Temple, swam in the waters of Tegenungan waterfall, and walked along the stunning rice terraces.

By this point we had shared a lot of ourselves with each other. Like only traveling does, we bonded in a way that was indescribable. Just at the start of a six-month travel itinerary, Louie and Declan had a fresh, uninhibited view of the nuances of what to expect from this kind of world. I enjoyed being a part of that. It made me appreciate and reminisce on when I, myself, had first began exploring new countries. However, regardless of how new they were to traveling they still welcomed me into their ranks with open arms. This, I think, was more of a testament to their character than anything else. And what characters they were!

They seemed to also balance each other very well. Traveling with someone is never an easy task but they seemed to make it look effortless. They knew their strengths and utilized each other in ways that benefited the group. Like all boys, they ragged on each other with almost every other sentence they spoke. But it was always in good fun, and they always seemed to know where to draw the line. They were aware of each other in a way that made me miss my sister, a relationship of mine that worked very similar to theirs.

During one of the first nights in Ubud, Louie had fallen ill with a case of the “Bali Belly” and Declan and I had ventured out into the town to get some dinner together. As had been the trend for the past week, we continued to get to know each other better and speak about all kinds of topics. But one particular comment he made really made an impression on me. He said that he had to give credit where credit is due because without Louie he probably wouldn’t be where he is right now. It was a beautiful thing to witness, a friend expressing appreciation for another’s strength and its significance in his own life. The loyalty they showed for each other, even when apart, was admirable. It just goes to show for the kind of people I was lucky enough to travel with, even if it was only for a short time.

But I digress.

A couple of days later, after Louis had made a full recovery, we decided to climb the infamous Mount Batur. We woke up at 2am to meet our guide at the lobby of our hostel. We then proceeded to spend the next 7 hours driving, climbing, sweating, falling, freezing, and laughing our way up to the top of this ominous mountain. Unlucky for us, it had recently rained, so the already arduous climb became all that much more difficult as the earth turned to mud and the rocks broke away under our feet. Coming off of a recent knee injury I was a bit worried about what effects the strain and altitude would have on my knee. I also didn’t want to slow down our group of 6 and be the reason we didn’t make it to the top in time for sunrise.

However, I pushed through the cold and soreness for as long as I could. But when I began to start feeling light headed and losing balance more often, I slowly started falling behind the pack. However, just when it felt like I was spending more time on all fours trying to pull myself up this mountain rather than just using my feet, I reached up and instead of grabbing hold of a sturdy rock, I took hold of Declan’s reassuring hand. He had stayed behind and to help me navigate the slippery gravel in order to catch up with the group. Even when I regained my footing and I no longer needed his hand, the reassurance of knowing he was there for me helped me make it to the top. And sometimes that’s all you need. The knowledge that someone is there to catch you should you need it gives you the strength to do what you may have previously doubted was possible.

At the top, the clouds rolled in and the rain began again. We couldn’t see the sunrise but the effect of the fog surrounding us was still a mystical experience. And after accomplishing that climb together, I felt even more grateful for this adventure, rain or shine (but only rain).

A couple of hours later we returned to the hostel drenched to the bone and shivering to eat a quick breakfast, shower off the pounds of dirt, and climbed into our warm and welcoming bed. We slept for a few, much needed, hours and all awoke at our own times. We sat outside on the patio in front of our room that overlooked an immense jungle. The slow rain, vivid colors, and warm tea made it a perfect way to wake up after a long morning and renewing nap. After, talking about life and the amazement of what we had accomplished earlier that morning, we decided to go out and celebrate a bit.

We decided on this nearby Reggae restaurant that seemed to have space for a band and had a couple of pool tables in the back. We order food and began sharing some of our favorite pictures from the earlier hike. The waitresses cleared the table and the boys decided to splurge and order a desert for themselves.

Declan was a few bites into his banana foster when Louie snapped his head up in his direction and asked, “Is that you shaking the table?”. I knew immediately what he meant and at that moment, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Within a split second we all knew that his foot wasn’t the cause of the shaking.

This is an earthquake.

Somewhere in the distance I heard cutlery dropping and chairs screeching. I saw out of the corner of my eye the table to the left of us all rise and take off running.

We each did the same. First Louie, then Declan, and then myself. We ran alongside other customers and servers, all heading towards the front of the restaurant where the relative safety of the street beckoned.

Within seconds, we were outside, scanning the scene for answers to questions we didn’t voice aloud. What is happening? Are we okay? Is there anyone injured?

This last thought quickly brought me out of my daze and I swerved in circles checking the faces of the people around me.

No signs of pain or blood.

I scanned the nearby stores and restaurants and craned my neck to peer down the length of the street.

No signs of collapsing buildings or fires.

Okay, this is ok. We’re ok. Breathe.

I’ve never experienced an earthquake before, so I wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was or what I should be doing. I looked at the boys and I saw the same shock reflected on their faces. I quickly texted my family and then proceeded to post a video on social media to somehow document the moment.

Louie put his arm around me and asked if I was okay. It felt like the weight of his arm was the only thing keeping me grounded at that moment. To be honest, I don’t remember if I replied or not, we just stood their facing into the restaurant watching the hanging lamps sway ominously from side to side. We stayed that way for a while, or maybe it was only seconds, I couldn't tell which.

Eventually, the waitresses and bartenders made their way back into the building and we followed suit (mainly for lack of a better plan). We sat back down at our table and began to nervously laugh about the experience. We each texted our family and our friends who we knew had been traveling close to the area where the earthquake originated. We reflected on our luck for not being on the same mountain we had climbed hours previously during this earthquake. We each searched our phones for information on what had happened and what was to come. The reports from Lombok were devastating. The earthquake had rocked the island with a force of 7.0 magnitude and was then followed by a second earthquake 30 minutes later of a 6.8 magnitude. If it felt this strong all the way here in Ubud, we could only imagine how bad it must have been there. Sure enough, the tsunami warnings began, and the reports of the rapidly climbing death toll quickly flooded all of our news feeds. Our hearts and minds were with all of the poor inhabitants of that island.

It was surreal to witness life continuing as usual after such a terrifying experience. The talented bartender began flipping the bottle behind his back and pouring shots again. The table next to us continued to eat their (now cold) dinner. The band picked up their instruments and began to play again. We attempted to do the same and moved to one of the open pool tables. We started playing a game, Louis verse Declan and I. After three turns I knew I wasn’t in the right head space to play. I was distracted. And every time I took my stance, the cue just shook in my hand. I excused myself and sat on the ledge to watch them continuing to play.

I knew the feeling that was beginning to surface. It was slowly choking me. My chest felt impossibly heavy and the every second that past, the harder it became to breathe.

I was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

I became very aware of how I was sitting and attempted to smile and come across relaxed. However, my hands gave me away. I viciously rubbed one hand over the other again and again. I needed a rhythm to try to regulate my breathing. This was one technique that I had learned years ago to try to combat this emotion and prevent myself from mentally spiraling.

Declan came over to me and stood close. He put his hand over mine and said, “I know how you’re feeling and it’ll be ok.”

A couple of days previously, during one of our deep conversations, I had divulged to him the extent in which I used to suffer from anxiety attacks and how it still surfaced every now and again. At his particular moment, I had never felt more thankful for my willingness to be an open book and share my experiences and past with others. It was because we had shared this bit of ourselves previously that he was now able to say and do exactly what I needed to help me through the terror that was building in my mind.

This brings us back to my particular opinion on the importance of having a plan and the technique that used to help me cope when I was younger.

Having a solid plan.

I think that it has something to do with the illusion of control. Feeling like you have some say in a situation that feels uncontrollable can help alleviate the crushing helplessness you may feel in times like these.

I knew we had to make some sort of plan if I had any chance in trying to gain some sort of peace for the time being.

So, as a group we reviewed a few of the things that we knew for certain….

1) Our hostel room was on the bottom floor of a tall building

2) It’s safest to stay outdoors

3) We were all little bit scared

4) There might be another earthquake and if so, we weren’t prepared

So, the next logical thing was to find a solution that adhered to all of those things….

1) We would stay at the bar for a couple of hours

2) Here we could easily run to the street again if we needed to

3) We would stick together

4) We would go back quickly to the room and pack an “emergency backpack” in case we needed it

It sounds silly but it helped us. We all agreed on the plan and we rushed anxiously back to our hostel. We packed passports, money, chargers, water, snacks, and a few other essentials. The boys, funnily enough, also packed some non-essentials. Some of which included Louis’ lucky lighter that had been with him for years and Declan’s ‘lucky’ denim shirt. Insert eye roll here. They sure did know how to make me laugh.

We headed back to the bar and reflected on how we felt now. Although we were still a bit shook up. We realized that it could always be worse. We were safe, we had what we needed to survive, and we had each other. And that’s all that mattered. With that in mind we headed to the dance floor with a few beers in hand. And as the anxiety started to work its way back down my throat, I looked around at these boys that 8 days ago were strangers and felt more appreciation for them and our friendship than I could have ever originally imagined.

And the new plan we’d attempt to follow for the rest of our travels would be to try to make the most out of every single precious moment we had been given….