Thank you to Jessie Kwak of www.bicitoro.wordpress.com for contributing as the May 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a new feature on the 15th and 30th of each month from a new adventurous traveler.

The travel bug bit me early. We can blame my parents, who bravely trundled my sister and I along on road trips, camping trips and even to Venezuela almost as soon as we could walk. I eagerly embraced study abroad programs in university, and had trouble staying in country for more than 18 months at a time after I graduated.

Seattle Skyline (photograph by Beth Yost)

Lately, life circumstances have meant that I can’t just jaunt down to South America at the drop of a hat. When waiting tables I could take 6 months off no problem and know that I’d be able to talk my way back into a job when I got back to town, completely broke. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work as well with an “adult” desk job. I mean, paid vacation is awesome, but I hear they want you to come back after your two weeks is up. Seriously.

I’ve always been the kind of traveler that spends a lot of time in one place, rather than trying to fill up a backpacker’s bingo card of destinations. When I returned solo to Venezuela in 2006, I had intended to backpack through the whole country for two months. I accidentally acquired a job in the tiniest little border town in the Gran Sabana, however, and spent six months in the same village. When I got home people asked me about Angel Falls, Los Roques, the beach. I’d seen none of those things, but I wouldn’t trade the friendships I made in Sta Elena for all the tourist hotspots in the country.

In a way, that’s what I’m doing now. My husband and I are putting down some tentative roots in the quirky strange enclave of “Georgetown, Seattle, WA,” and I’m trying my best to explore like a local.

What I miss about being on the road, however, is the way that I react to travel. The way my senses open up, and my curiosity is piqued by everything. Nothing is ugly when you’re traveling, nothing is boring, nothing is mundane. But when you’re putting down roots? It can be easy to let your sense of curiosity dull. I’ve found that at home I’m much less likely to ask “Hey, what’s that? Where does that road go? What does this taste like? Who is that person over there?” Familiarity with your surroundings can act like a pair of blinders, and it can be hard to keep your explorer’s mind limber.

Take a tour

I always cringed at the idea of joining a tour group when traveling. Being herded along with a group of camera-happy tourists twice my age is not my idea of a good time. A few months ago, however, I joined up with a tour put on by (http://localistseattle.wordpress.com) Localist Seattle, a tour company that specializes in planning personalized tours. This tour was of my neighborhood and promised Beer, History and Art. I was so in.

So on a sunny Saturday in March, my husband and I joined with a group of camera-happy tourists twice our age to learn about the buildings we walked by every day. I met my neighbors, and learned that the street I live on used to be lined with roadhouses during the Prohibition where upright Seattleites would come party. How cool is that?

That got me delving deeper into what types of tours are put on in Seattle. Sure there’s the Underground Tour, and the tour of Pike’s Place Market, but there are also groups putting quirky tours of haunted houses and grunge history landmarks, and there’s even a Georgetown Haunted History Tour put on every October with locals acting out scenes at Georgetown’s ghost hotspots. Cheesy? Sure. But it’s still a cool way to stay curious about your city.

Get on your bike and ride

One of my favorite ways to explore is through cycling. I commute by bike to work at least 3 days a week (barring hail storms and pouring rain), and it’s my main form of transportation for getting around town, too.

Traveling by bike forces me to take routes that are off the beaten path, which in turn has introduced me to parts of Seattle that I never would have run across otherwise. Driving on the highway might get me there faster, but if I slow down and find an alternate way to bike to my destination I always run across something new, whether it’s stopping in a cool foreign market for sausages on my way to a barbecue or just pulling over to photograph a neat old building.

When I’m traveling I’ll walk for hours just to see what I might run across. As a local, my cycling equivalent is to always work to discover new routes, new links between neighborhoods, new alleyways, new destinations.

Talk to the locals

There’s something about traveling that breaks me out of my introvert’s shell. Whether it’s drinking on the hostel patio or chatting with an unidentifiable-foods vendor in a local market, I’m constantly surprised by how much more open I am to making conversation with strangers when I travel.

Baker Lake Trail (WA)

Back at home, however, I often go about my day with blinders on. Seattleites are notorious for keeping to themselves, but my hesitation to invade my neighbors’ privacy often keeps me from making new friends and learning about my world. To that end I’ve made a resolution to treat my casual interactions in Seattle the same way I would in another country. After all, you never know who you might meet.

Make time to explore

My weekends all too frequently get eaten up by to do lists and chores. With so many irons in the fire it seems wasteful to do what I used to do when I first moved to Seattle—just hop on a bus to see where it goes, then spend a few hours wandering through a new neighborhood.

Don’t forget to treat regular trips like an adventure. Going to catch a show at your favorite venue? Instead of driving from your house to the adjacent parking lot, having a drink in the venue bar and then going straight home once the music’s over, try leaving early and taking the bus, riding your bike, or even just parking a dozen blocks away and wandering through the streets like you would do in a new city. Don’t forget to stop in that Assyrian Market that has always intrigued you. Don’t forget to talk to the guy behind the counter and ask about a weird product you’ve never seen before. Don’t forget to read historical plaques and take snapshots of cool architecture.

Don’t forget to have fun.

What to Read More From Jessie?

Jessie Kwak

Jessie Kwak is a Seattle-based writer who’s always looking for her next adventure. She especially likes ones that involve exploring cities, camping, discovering new and tasty brew pubs, and cycling. Together with her photographer husband she traveled through Peru and blogged about it at www.unpavedsouthamerica.com, although lately she’s been ranging a little closer to home and pursuing her adventures on two wheels. These days you can find her on her bicycling and crafting blog, www.bicitoro.wordpress.com and on Twitter (@jkwak).

A big thanks to Kim of  So Many Places for contributing the following post as the February 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

On my blog I’ve documented the two-year journey my husband and I have been on to save money, sell our stuff, quit our jobs, and set off to travel around the world.  There have been many ups and downs, and I’ve tried to write honestly about them all.

One undeniable downer is the negativity I am sometimes met with when I tell people about our plans.  I try not to spend too much energy dwelling on these negative interactions, but the truth is that there are plenty of naysayers, and it can be discouraging to encounter them.

The sad truth is that not everyone will support your dreams, especially if your dreams are unconventional.  Do you want to take a job as a financial analyst and buy a four-bedroom house in the suburbs?  Sure, most people will get behind that.  Do you want to move to Paraguay for a fire-breathing apprenticeship?  Prepare yourself for naysayers.

Based on my own experience, below you’ll find a list of common naysayers and some strategies I’ve used to combat them.

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A big thanks to Amanda Patterson of Amanda Elsewhere for contributing the following post as the January 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

First, a ditty: wear sunscreen. Baz Luhrmann was right; no other advice matters. Second, I found a mouse, dead, on the floor beneath my cubicle desk a couple weeks ago. My second thought upon this discovery was: what is this a sign of? (My first thought being, of course, to run far away and not return until long after building maintenance removed it, and also to lay upon whomever I ran into my tale of woe).

You see, I suffer from all of the common fears in some degree or another: heights, doctors, failure, clowns, that the Bachelor may not find true love. But mice terrify me the most, for reasons I can only half-heartedly explain. They’re small and fast and seem to only be seen peripherally, out of the corner of my eye, running along a wall. You know who else does that? Ghosts.

Anyway, I only had a few days to contemplate what it all could mean (Is my career dead? Am I going to die in my cubicle too? Will I ever find the courage to quit office life to travel the world?) before a startling, tragic development occurred at home. My apartment, it seems, harbored mice as well. And my cat, it seems, loved to catch them and re-gift them to me. I will spare you all of the grisly details except that after a few instances of me standing on a chair, screaming in petrified terror (alone), I decided to take control.

Google told me that to loudly direct profanities at my well-meaning animal companion was not very polite of me.  So when it happened again, sometime between midnight and 1am on a random, thankless Tuesday night, I lulled cat-and-prey as far away from my bed as possible, calmly caught the mouse in my boot, and deposited it outside.

You know what was weird about that? After all the hoopla and the panic and the overturned furniture and the crying, it all ended quietly. No one was around to high-five me, no strategically placed person with a beer on hand to toast me. That was 100% personal satisfaction.

Do you know the kind of euphoria that accompanies conquering your fears? It feels goddamn great and now I’m pretty sure I can do anything.

“What does any of this have to do with anything?” you’re wondering.

Well, it’s the middle of January, and I want to talk about your resolutions. This is a call for a resolution revolution!  Let’s call them Travelutions! The following Ten Travelutions are some of mine and they can be yours because, after all, what is the point of a New Year except to drink a lot and to earnestly try to better yourself? As travelers, and more pointedly, Girls Who Get Around, I think we’re all actively seeking this already.

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My dinner consisted of a family-size bag of “Cool American” flavored Doritos, gas station fish and chips, and a ginger ale. I sat in my rental car alone with my not-so-fantastic feast, killed the engine and turned the lights off. No plasticware, no napkins.

My car faced west and sat at the northern most point of the small fishing village in Iceland, wedged somewhere between the sky and the frigid dark ocean. The sky had not yet revealed its intentions—complete cloud coverage or to surrender to the stars. I kept my fingers crossed for the latter. I had hoped to see the Northern Lights.

The moment was both pathetic and peaceful.

With not much to think about and no one to talk to, my mind wandered to the odd predicament I found myself in just prior to parking my car.

I had arrived in the village a couple of hours earlier. My car crept through the desolate streets as I looked for a place to sleep and to grab a bite to eat.

The wind whipped around every corner and the boats rocked in the harbor while I searched for signs of life. Colorful box houses sat modestly hiding the town’s inhabitants. Where is everyone?

A couple children rode by on bikes and stared at me as if I’d just slaughtered their beloved house pet.

Hostels were closed, bed and breakfasts were closed; even the large hotel on the hill had a note taped to the door, “ For accommodation, please call…” (Number provided with no area code). I sat in the empty parking lot contemplating plan D.

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I’m certain I forgot something.  I’m 35,000 feet in the air aboard a Boeing 747 in route to Reykjavik and my thoughts become all-consumed with visions of checklists and potential horror stories.  Where’s my passport? How am getting from the airport to my hostel? Is my coat warm enough? Did I forget to pack tampons? (As if they don’t have them there.) What’s that out on the wing?

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