Trust Intuition When Traveling
I always trust my intuition when traveling. It is my assumption that I ride the train of logic and sense only up to the point of making a decision. I use conscious thought as a mere guide, as when I make a decision I think that I rely on other emotions that seem to have little to do with processed thought. When I feel an intuitive urge, I go with it, no matter how nonsensical it may seem.
Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Ankara, Turkey- March 21, 2009
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I awoke this morning in the living room of my couchsurfing host in Ankara. I woke up before everyone else, and began tinkering away at the computer. An hour or two passed and Chaya joined me on the awake side of life. We chatted for a second, she got annoyed with me for unknowingly drinking all of the bottled water in the house, and I shut down the computer.
We sat on the couch together idlely chatting. I then got a feeling to leave. We arranged to stay in Ankara for two days with this host, but this seemed to be an entire day too long. I wanted to get out. Something arose in me and told me to get out of that house and out of Ankara. The sun was shinning through the windows and our hosts were not yet awake. It was 11 AM.
We packed up our bags and made a quick exit.
It felt good to be walking down the street completely unencumbered with an entire country open for my navigation. We made our way to the bus terminal.
As has become usual in Turkey, the bus depots are full of runners trying hard to take you to this or that bus company. After finding out where you want to go, these men grab you and try dragging you to a place where you can buy a bus ticket.
I do not mind these fellows, as I know that they cannot really pressure me into going anywhere or buying anything no matter how many times they yank on my coattails or chatter in my ears. So I walk slow, greet people with smiles, and try by best to walk along my own course, which generally goes right past the runners and on to the various bus company’s ticket offices.
We were searching for a sign on the bus company’s placards that read, “Sanliurfa,” as this was were we wanted go. The bus runners were yanking at my arms and trying to pull me this way or that way, chattering “Istanbul? Eskisehir? Antalya? Izmir?” One fellow in particular latch onto me like some sort of seaside barnacle and ran through a list of nearly every destination in Turkey. I ignored him. At the end of his tether he finally muttered in defeat the word, “Urfa?”
I gave in and nodded my head. He was bound to find out where I wanted to go at some time or another, as there was no shaking this fish off of my line. He began trying to talk to the bus companies for me, but I did not heed his efforts and talked for myself. A nicely presented bus company offered a price of 40 Lira for the 12 hour ride to the far southeast of Turkey. I shrugged my shoulders and bobbled my head a little.
I looked at Chaya. We were expecting to have to pay 50 Lira for this trip, but figured that we may as well ask the other bus companies for their prices. We moved on to another bus ticket office with our barnacle friend still attached to us. A crappy looking company offered us a fare of 30 Lira each. This price was good, but I simply did not have a good feeling about it. So we returned to the first bus company and I told the man behind the desk how I was offered a cheaper price elsewhere.
“Yes, but this is a good bus, high quality. The other bus is not good.”
I expected him to say as much, but at least he did so with a smile.
I offered him 60 Lira for two people. He laughed at me and wrote the number 75 down on a piece of paper. I promptly scribbled out his 75 and replaced it with my own 65.
He laughed at me and made a joke or two to the man sitting next to him in Turkish. They laughed together and agreed to my offered fare.
Chaya and I paid 32.5 Lira ($18) each for an 8PM bus that should arrive in the heart of Turkish Kurdistan by 8AM the following morning.
The man behind the counter then asked me my name. I told him. He wrote it down on the ticket like W-E-I-D. It was good enough.
He read my name of his own creation and then exclaimed, “Oh! Weid! Like Dwayne Weid! Miami Heat!” he spoke with loud gusto.
“Yes, like Dwayne Weid, Miami Heat,” I responded faint heartedly.
He then handed over the ticket with a few more Turkish jokes that only the man sitting next to him could understand. Chaya was smiling over my shoulder, this purchase felt right.
Why did I pay 2.5 Lira more per ticket?
Because it just felt right.
I have no explanation beyond that.
I trust my gut when traveling. I use a paltry sense of logic to get me up to the plate, beyond this, I just do whatever I feel I should.
All decisions are ultimately based on emotion and intuition alone, so I fail to cloak the driving force behind my choices with a phony sense of logic.
I take the path that me feet walk to of their own accord. Yet far, it has not lead me off of any cliffs or down into any rings of burning fire. Impulse, happenstance, and intuition are my only guides in a world of infinite possibilities, chances, and Open Roads.
“Most decisions are not made using logic, which we all recognize at least at an unconscious level . . .When a decision must be made instantly, it is made through a system of emotional bookmarks. The emotional system reacts to circumstances, finds bookmarks that flag similar experiences in your past and your response to them, and allows you to recall the feelings, good or bad, of the outcomes of your actions. Those gut feelings give you an instant reading on how to behave. “ -Laurence Gonzales, Deep Survival
“We think we believe what we know, but we only truly believe what we feel.”-Laurence Gonzales, Deep Survival
Trust Intuition When Traveling