The Ki to victory

After four quality hours of sleep on a bench in the Auckland international terminal, I untied my bags from my wrists, threw my heavier backpack over my back and my lighter one over my chest and began roaming around the airport as the blurry clock informed me it was a bit after 5 a.m.

I can't decide which backpack I hate more. The heavier one of course threatens to give me permanent back problems. (I frequently find myself rubbing my back up against corners of chairs to work the knots out like an animal taking care of an itch.) But the lighter one I wear in front makes me feel like I'm experimenting on what it feels like to be pregnant. Wandering around with my added 100 lbs. is never comfortable, but I have no other choice.

The roaming was very aimless. As if airports aren't unpleasant enough, airports at 5 a.m. are extremely uneventful. I made a few laps and then decided to drop my bags, charge my computer and lie across the floor.

"Brian," someone called out.

I looked up. It was Ki. Ki and I shared the same eight-bunk hostel in Queenstown, New Zealand about five days prior. We had a few nice chats, but never exchanged e-mail address or phone numbers. It's very typical to connect with a person for a day while traveling only to never see them again. Ki, a 29-year-old Korean from Toronto, was on track to be one of these people. But here we were, both waiting to hop a plane to Sydney.

We were booked on different flights that were to leave a half hour apart. Ki had already booked a hostel. I agreed that once I landed I would go to the nearest phone, book a room in his hostel, catch a shuttle from the airport, and meet up with him by lunch time. We parted ways, looking forward to becoming travel companions once we crossed the Tasman Sea. It's really impossible to be completely lonely as a single traveler. Somehow you always connect with someone. Everything feels like a random act of fate when you try to analyze it, but really it's just life.

My flight was delayed two hours, then another half hour once on the runway. I wondered about Ki and how this would affect our plans. Upon my arrival in Sydney, my stomach cramped up, and continued to get worse. The first thing I did in the airport was not a phone call to the hostel.

I tried Pepto Bismol, took a few deep breaths, and ate some peppermints like my grandma always advises in situations like this. Other than that, I was out of ideas, and nothing seemed to be easing my discomfort.

I needed money for a shuttle ride, so I went to the nearest ATM.

"Cannot read card," the message read.

I put the equivalent of a 1st grader on my back and my soon-to-be-born over my stomach and marched to the next ATM. I threw my kids on the floor again.

"Cannot read card," the message read.

I put my kids back on.

There was one final ATM in the airport. The third time was not a charm. There was a scratch on the stripe on the back of my card that was causing this problem. I was in Australia with no money and some sort of stomach virus. I went to call Andrea, who had been settled in Coogee Beach in Sydney for two weeks by now. The payphone could not read my credit card. I kicked my bag and hit my head against the giant glass window in front of me. A security guard stared but said nothing.

I wanted nothing more than for this to be a dream. I wanted to wake up and be in Iowa with my family and friends, laughing, not having to run to a public toilet every 15 minutes. For the first time on my travels, I did not want to be in another country. For the first time, I hated traveling.

But I couldn't just curl up into a ball or tap my shoes and wake up in Iowa. I had to do something.

I came up with a great plan to have someone at the convenience store punch in my ATM number and give me cash back. They informed me they did not have this capability, but that McDonalds did. I grabbed my kids and marched directly to the golden arches. After waiting in line for 10 minutes, I ordered a cheeseburger and asked for the maximum $100 in cash back.

"The machine won't read your card," the kid at the counter informed me.

"I know. I've been having trouble with it. You just have to punch in the numbers and then the expiration date."

"Oh, we can't do that here," he said.

"Are you sure? I think you can do it anywhere."

"Yes, but not here. Why don't you go to an ATM?"

"Because the ATM is not reading my card."

"Yeah, this isn't either."

"I understand that. That's why you have to type it in."

"We can't do that."

It appeared I was hopeless.

"Okay, thanks."

"Do you still want the cheeseburger."

I didn't want the cheeseburger in the first place, and now I couldn't pay for it if I did want it.

"No thanks."

I went to the bank in the airport to see if I had any options. Upon showing the lady my ATM card, she informed me that they did not do withdrawals and that I should go to the nearest ATM. I told her why that was not a good plan, and neither was McDonalds, and that I was now officially "desperate" on the alert level.

She said they don't normally do this for customers, but she could use my credit card to take out money. I don't know how this works, but I didn't ask questions. I thanked her, took out a big chunk, not knowing if I would be able to do this again, and thanked her a few more times.

I asked her for some coins for the payphone.

"I'm sorry, we don't give out coins here, but the convenient store should be able to help you."

Of course. Why would the bank have coins? At least she didn't direct me to McDonalds.

I called Ki's hostel. No rooms. The guy on the phone suggested another one nearby. I called it. No vacancy. He recommended a third place. This time the third time was the charm.

I checked into the Pink House. My stomach was still trying its best to ruin my day. I walked to Ki's hostel, but the guy at the front desk told me he had gone out for the day. I decided to walk to the famous Opera House. Upon reaching it, I took a few pictures, then my stomach decided it was a fitting time to act up again. The walk back to the hostel seemed to take much, much longer. I decided it was best to stay at my home base for the remainder of the day.

Staying in my room were three Norwegian girls, a couple from Germany and two guys from Denmark. They invited me downstairs to play cards and drink beers, but I had to decline, apologizing and explaining to them, in as little detail as possible, that I was not feeling well.

Every half hour or so I would have to run across the hall to the bathroom. And if you can't come to this conclusion on your own, hostel bathrooms are not the most fun places to hang out. By that evening, I had the graffiti on the wall in the stall memorized. It was nothing special. The typical curse words and "so and so was here" and then an arrow pointing to "so and so" claiming that he is gay. It was something to look at nonetheless.

On one of my trips back to the room, Ki appeared. I explained to him what took me so long to reach downtown, and that I was not feeling well. I attempted to help him cook a pasta dinner, but spent most of the time curled up on the couch in the lounge, wondering when the next stomach cramp would become too much again.

I agreed to meet Ki in the morning and went to bed around 10 o'clock. I wondered how much my roommates hated the guy who kept getting up for some reason every 45 minutes or so. Finally, around 6 a.m. I felt so guilty for continuing to open and close the door of the bedroom that I dragged my weak body to the lounge.

There was a girl in there who couldn't sleep either. I opted not to tell her why I was so restless.

She was watching Oprah. The show featured the cast of Brokeback Mountain. This happened to be my first glimpse of TV in 2007. I wanted anything to occupy my mind. I didn't care that it was Heath Ledger talking about making out with a guy.

I gave in and went to the doctor down the street around 9 a.m. He told me it was a common stomach virus and that I should do nothing about it but wait it out. I was $50 down with advice I didn't want to hear. I spent the rainy day lying in bed reading and thinking. It was nice, however, to have a bit of time to do nothing but reflect. This did lead to me becoming very homesick. I wanted my family and friends to march through the door. They did not. I hadn't actually taken a good chunk of time to think about my trip since I left. I convinced myself that afternoon that I hated traveling.

***

The next day Ki and I booked a Greyhound bus north from Sydney to Cairns with unlimited stops along the way. The doctor had been right. It only took about 24 hours for the virus to pass. Aside from being a bit dehydrated, I was feeling good again.

The next night Ki and I hopped the 9:45 p.m. bus to Byron Bay. It was a 13-hour ride. Luckily I had a row of four seats to myself, and I slept most of the way. All the bus rides and multiple-person hostels have gotten me used to sleeping under any conditions. I was worried that my stomach issues would resurface, but it appeared I was fully healthy.

I found that ATMs that suck in the card opposed to swiping it through quickly can read my card and give me money to buy cheeseburgers or anything else I might want.

I planned on staying in Byron Bay for a couple days. Ki and I checked into a hostel a block from the beach. Staying in our room was an 18-year-old from Belgium named Jerome and a 28-year-old from Switzerland named Phil among a few others who passed in and out. Each day was sunny and hot. Phil, who is on a one-year surfing trip around the world, said that life begins when your feet are tan. I looked at my feet. They were tan. Life was good.

Ki, Phil, Jerome, and I instantly became friends. We did everything together - went for a run to the lighthouse, rented bikes, hung out at the beach, drank boxed wine at night. Each night a group of people would gather outside our room, grabbing chairs and flipping over garbage cans to take a seat. I can't remember whose idea it was, but someone suggested we go around and say where we came from. The answers created a moment I won't forget:

Japan, Israel, Canada, the states, Switzerland, Belgium, Sweden. There were no repeats. Everyone shared his or her travel plans. We all had different stories, but we were all doing the same thing in a way. Exploring.

I ended up staying in Byron Bay for five days. Each night I told the guys I was going to leave the next morning, but I never did. I couldn't. They told me they didn't want me to go. "Why would you leave when life is so good?" Ki asked. Jerome told me that sometimes it was a good idea to stop and smell the roses. I learned that was true.

I left the guys this morning. We exchanged information and gave each other guy hugs. At that moment I realized how much I loved traveling.