Confession Time

I have the impression that some of you might think that I'm an adventurous sort. That I'm a good traveller. That we must really have things together to come out here for a while to live. I shamefully admit that I might have reinforced that idea here and there but it's time to come clean. That's not me.

For months before we came my mantra was, "I don't want to go." So we would go over our options. Again and again we'd wade through the river of reasons the decision had already been made. And almost the instant I recommitted myself to the idea I'd have flashbacks of Vietnam (not the war) and think again, "I don't want to go."

Of course, it is a great opportunity and, as predicted, I don't regret being here. But I'm no great example of traveling genius. In fact, I might just barely fit the definition of a traveler at all since I spend most of my time avoiding meeting the chaotic face of Bangladesh head on.

For example, a true adventurer traveler buys the Bradt guidebook as a weight to assist their dive into a new culture and country. They understand the hip author's derisive comments about touristy hotels with clean sheets. I, on the other hand, look for phrases like "interact with the locals" and automatically want to cross that beach or restaurant off the list.

I do wish I were a little more of the adventurous traveler type. I'm surrounded by cool expats, faculty and staff of the university, that swap developing country stories like baseball cards. I'm awestruck by their confidence and endurance. I wish I were more like that. But it's time to be honest. I'm not.

I just felt like you should know.