The Strange Economics of Subjective Experience

July 25th, 2013

Early on in my travels I developed a fascination with the economics of life on the road. Travel comes in many forms, and the one which intrigued me most was budget travel. ‘Budget’ is an icky word in the minds of most. It implies a low quality product, and I think provokes the deeper fear of labeling oneself as a low quality person. When I was a poker player I was fortunate in that I had an easy time side-stepping and/or suppressing such self-deprecating notions. I was able to support myself over the Internet, and simply made a logical choice to live in places where life was cheap.

All good poker players are by their very nature good analysts. Becoming good at poker significantly improved my reasoning skills, and honed my ability to make decisions based on available evidence. Poker also highlighted the imperative of checking emotion at the door, both when approaching a decision and when encountering the result.

I was able to apply the thinking and reasoning abilities of poker to other areas of life, with good result. However, when I began to apply similar methods to quantifying things like subjective experience, happiness, or what I should do with my life, the equations either broke down or produced very strange results. Emotion and feeling are units inextricably tied into the analysis, and couldn’t be ignored in these cases.

I knew beforehand that life was precious; that things like emotion and feeling predominated what most people consider life. What I didn’t know was that, in an extraordinary contradiction to what I believed, life was cheap. Full, productive, and meaningful lives could be had for next to nothing. I was terrified. There seemed to be nothing left to strive for. At the age of 25 I calculated that I could, in some very real sense, retire if I wanted to.           

Now, I don’t think any financial adviser in their right mind would have agreed. I didn’t have that much money saved up. My calculations condemned me to a simple and humbling existence in some of the poorest nations on earth. There was no room in my budget for things like visits home to see friends and family. Such a trip would have cost almost three-quarters of my yearly budget. There was also no room for a family of my own, unless my hypothetical future wife were to provide the means. Also, I’d be forever confined to living in a culture that was not my own. However it was, and still is, an interesting notion to play around with. Do I really need to strive for anything more; can I really retire indefinitely?    

At the time of this realization I was backpacking through Laos, and was supremely happy travelling on $20 a day. I was hardly budgeting, and I assumed that if I lived there I could easily make due with less than half of that. Were I to retire right then and there, I assumed a modest return on some kind of investment vehicle, 3% inflation, and generous interpretations of data coming from studies of happiness and subjective well-being. Aside from never being able to afford to see my family again – a variable which I think I calculated differently at the time – the numbers worked.

I had assigned myself an imaginary budget of between $3,000 - $4,500 a year. This sum does not confine one to living in abject poverty in much of the world; far from it. I would have been able to own a simple home, hire a full time maid/cook, and have access to the Internet, which means essentially endless quantities of books, movies, information, and education. There was even room for a bit of additional travel, and I would've had the ability to move if I decided to. There are many places where such numbers work; places which are quite safe, and where billions of people already live.

To be sure, it was a radical idea. What’s more shocking, however, is that there is so little evidence against it. It would be a simple life, but by no means a life devoid of positive emotions, good relationships, engagement in activity, a deep sense of meaning, or even achievement. It all depends on how wisely one spends their time.

I have put this theory to the test from time to time; the theory that a full and meaningful life can be had for $10-$15 a day in some places. The most recent example would be the previous two weeks. Having just paid my bill I’ve come to see that, quite by accident, I kept to this budget. I have a spacious room with high ceilings, decent furnishings, and an attached bath. My room overlooks a garden, and there are mountain views in the distance. I order room service at my leisure, eat out when I please, and read, write, and think prodigiously. There are occasional yoga classes, excursions to see the local sights, or simply go for a walk. Leh is a charming town, and there is plenty of social activity. All this has cost me about $12 a day for the last two weeks. I have been lacking a bit in some areas, but ultimately that is due to my own efforts, or lack thereof.

I don’t think I’ll ever wake up one day and say “Okay, that’s enough. I’m retiring.” I’m 29. It’s a bit too absurd, even for me. However, weeks like the ones just past always remind me that this is a possibility.  Could I be happy living 3 months in Nepal, 6 months in India, and 3 months in Sri Lanka? Surely, but it would depend primarily on how I spent my time.

“In short, I am convinced, both by faith and experience, that to maintain one’s self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if we will live simply and wisely.” - Henry David Thoreau

We are all on our own path in life. However, I think we obsess too much on the external – the kit, the gadgetry, the sweet new gear which will supposedly help us walk on our path to happiness and fulfillment. It’s all too easy to forget to actually walk on the path. We ignore the fact that, for the most part, we already have all the equipment we will ever need; the path is waiting.

For me, it has been excruciating to let go of literal and psychological securities to such an extent that the raw essence of lay exposed. The result is wonderful, but often the process is difficult. It is painful to acknowledge that my life is not unfolding in the way I thought it would; not even close. That said I am quite happy, as I think I should be.

I have no idea where the future will lead me, but I try and spend a few minutes each day being deliberately grateful for all that I have already. A large part that gratitude is the realization that I have learned to love simplicity to such an extent that all of my practical concerns are already met. Hallelujah! Travel alone is what woke me up this this realization, and know I’m not the only one.

Some years ago I became friends with a fellow online poker player, Zack Prager, while we were both living in Buenos Aires. While travelling, he too began to drift away from poker. When he moved back to the US, it was to get a masters in Positive Psychology from U-PENN. Afterwards, he started a website which gradually makes users happier because it has them focus on gratitude. Gratitudebucket.com is a cool concept, and I hope it works out for both Zack and its regular users. I haven’t asked him directly, but I would assume that the simplicity which a certain style of travel yields gave Zack space to realize the importance of pursing happiness directly. That’s what the science of Positive Psychology, and gratitudebucket.com are all about.

I’ll conclude this rambling entry with personal musings about education which I so desperately wanted to include, but struggled to find a segue for. As I mentioned earlier, in the past two weeks I’ve read a bunch of books. I’ve had the free time to finally sit down and read Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, a multitude of Eastern and Western philosophers, and even the latest book on Positive Psychology: Flourish by Martin Seligman. I’ve also had time to enjoy some good literature, both classic an modern. As always in these moments of repose, I found time to reread select passages from “The Good Book”, which, being an atheist, is how I refer to Thoreau’s Walden.

By my calculations, the cost of attending private university in the US for one year could be exchanged for one or two decades of self-education whilst living simply in the developing world. Safety, a commodious abode, and beatific surroundings need not be sacrificed.  Thanks to the Internet, many lectures by world renown professors are available to all. Hundreds of hours of quality lecture and debate can be downloaded for free off of YouTube and other websites. Thousands of books are available online, many for free, and can be read on a device such as my much beloved Kindle.

   

I think many people fantasize about having the time to ponder life, to read the classics, to obtain an education rather than a degree. As in movies, the imagined montage is easier and more enticing than the snail-paced actuality. Universities can and do serve a tremendous benefit to both the pupil and society. They can greatly speed up the process of education, provide an invaluable network and setting for education, and only a university can provide an actual degree. What seems ludicrous to me is the cost – a phenomenon specific to America. 

I have learned more in the previous two weeks than I have in some time. I could have learned far more, but I lack the optimal setting and discipline which a university environment might provoke. However, I am completely free, and am learning for the sake of learning. To the curious, to the work weary, to the seekers and searchers out there, I only want to make this world more well known. For a Westerner who is fully aware of one side of the coin, the world of budget travel is rich with insight. A year of absolute freedom, self-education, and self-exploration can be had for far less than most expect. In fact, I’ve always noticed a direct correlation between how little I spend, and the increased richness of my experience. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: “Budget travel is worth paying extra for.” Strange economics indeed. 

The First Rule.

July 17, 2013

Having passed slightly more than a week in Kashmir, I left feeling somewhat defeated. I returned to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, and have had time extract what lessons I could from my time in Kashmir.

I made my way to Kashmir via the road from Ladakh, India’s high altitude desert state.The mountains which hem the horizon in Ladakh are barren; their snow-capped peaks give way to gently sloping fields of auburn rock. In the valleys lay oasis, which receive vital nourishment from the annual melt water. Scraggly shrubs and slender trees abide and endure alongside brave human beings. Most of the inhabitants of Ladakh are Buddhist; many of them refugees from neighboring Tibet.

The road which connects Leh to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir in India, spans about 450Km (about 300 miles). Given the strategic importance of the road to the Indian army – for Kashmir is a disputed territory – I thought I might have an easy ride the whole way. For the first few hours of the two day trip, I travelled on the best road I have seen since arriving in India.

As I left Leh behind the road gained some altitude, and all trace of human habitation disappeared. I rode on bone straight road which bisected a cold desert plane some 12,000 ft. in elevation. For the first time since New Delhi, I could cruise in top gear. The engine struggled a little, however, owing to the altitude.  Towards the horizon on either side were mountains; ahead of me lay empty road and broken rocks which glowed like rusty embers in the light of the rising sun behind me.

After some time the Indus River appeared on my left, and the road wound down to follow alongside it. I passed through a few small towns which were similar to Leh, though much smaller . Eventually, the quality of the road deteriorated to a point where I rarely made it out of 2nd gear.

There were two small passes to cross, but they presented no trouble at all. The passes were both around 13,500 ft. in elevation; a far cry away from the nearly 18,500 ft. passes I managed to get over on my way to Leh and Nubra Valley.

The boundary between Ladakh and Kashmir is inscribed on the Earth by Mother Nature.Environmental change is sudden and obvious. The ruddy and lifeless expanse of Ladakh is replaced by an endless carpet of green vegetation which binds the base of steep limestone mountains.

The people change too. The Llamas and Sino-Tibetan faces so common to Ladakh immediately give way to an all Islamic atmosphere. Old men showcase long white, or henna colored beards. The dress indicates their faith, and numerous Mosques replace the Buddhist Monasteries of Ladakh. The architecture makes a sudden and dramatic change as well. The short and squat mud-brick rectangles which house the residents of Ladakh are replaced by more European looking houses, which display pitched rooftops made of sheet metal.

Girish – my Indian friend and passenger since Manali – and I spent the first night in Drass, just over half-way to Srinagar; about 8 hours ride from Leh. We were quickly baptized in both versions of Kashmiri hospitality. Having come to a stop in order to scout for a guesthouse, we were bombarded by frenzied shouts and gesticulations. The loudest and most vivid of all won the day.

A man was flailing his arms and shouting “You need room? You want food? Take room! Take food! Come! Come!”

I was unsure whether we were being invited or ordered into his establishment, but such practices are commonplace the world over.However, there was a unique amount of gusto in his appeal, and he appeared to be on the verge of having an aneurism. We negotiated a price without dismounting from the motorcycle. The threat of our impending escape, coupled with Girish’s fluent Hindi, secured us a fantastic rate.

With daylight left to burn, Girish and I walked to a neighboring village. Our arrival was met expressions of playful surprise. The people were somewhat shy, but many delighted in having their picture taken – a fact which I surprised me. I’ve found that people unaccustomed to foreigners are generally camera shy, if not downright camera terrified.

We were approached by a man who spoke a bit of English, and introduced himself as Gulab Muhammad Teacher. He was in fact a teacher, and he quickly invited us into his house for tea. He was most pleased to have us as a guest in his home, and repeatedly said so. His family gathered in the kitchen area, while Girish and I enjoyed as much tea and biscuits as we could handle. Gulab offered us lodging for the night and was kind enough – and cognizant enough – to clarify that it would be free. Girish and I were touched, but explained that we had already purchased a room for the night.

We passed some time exchanging basic cultural information. Astonishment filled the room when it was revealed that I was 29, unmarried, and not engaged.

“So, you will not marry then?” asked Gulab.

“I don’t know. Maybe not, but in America getting married after 30 is okay.” I replied.

“Wooooooooow.” Said everyone.

We took some pictures of the family by request, which they found very entertaining. Gulab inquired about how he might get a copy of the photos. Girish instantly offered to mail then from New Delhi, but eventually it was decided that I’d simply deliver them on my way back to Leh – a task which I’ve since had the pleasure of completing.

The following day Girish and I made our way to Srinagar, which is the most populated city in Kashmir, although it is very spread out. The neighborhoods are more like cities within the city. The city limits extend nearly 25km in all directions, and few of the buildings are more than three stories high. We quickly found very reasonable accommodation on a riverside boathouse in a not so touristy neighborhood.

The owners took us in graciously, and told us that we were part of the family. I soon found out that they took this literally. After we had secured the motorcycle and unpacked our things, we got visits from the whole family. Without warning, the door would slide open and we’d be introduced to this sister, or that cousin, or so-and-so’s nephew. I’d be lying if I said that this didn’t bother me slightly as it continued for the duration of my stay. I enjoy solitude, and was exhausted from travel. I wanted to nap and read my book, not explain myself and my plans over and over again. However, as far as I could tell, it was a kind and curious gesture. For the first few days I never locked the door, and welcomed all visitors.

Girish flew back to New Delhi from Srinagar after one day. Due to tiredness, I declined to go sightseeing with Girish, which was fine. I spent the day napping, reading, and entertaining my many guests. After Girish left, I set about trying to get to know the Kashmiri culture, which included getting to know more about Islam. The people I met in the streets surrounding my neighborhood were generally kind, and very inquisitive. Many of them were literally awestruck to see a Westerner walking the streets, and delighted in a simple exchange of words and basic information.

I detected an innocence among the people that I was familiar with, and skin deep notions about Westerners were hard to shake, although I tried. I befuddled many by saying that I had not come to see the sights, but rather to get to know the people. Most didn’t understand what I meant, and instantly offered to accompany me to the sights, lest I miss them! There was always an uncle or brother who sold tours; we could always arrange it for the following day. The price was always fair, or could be negotiated to the going rate in an instant, but that required knowing what the going rate was.

In the touristy sections it was another story altogether. Nobody was shy, and even fewer understood what I meant when I spoke; probably because they never listened to a word I said, particularly if those words were ‘No thanks’ or ‘Not interested’. I couldn’t walk for long without acquiring a “passenger”: a person who simply must accompany the solitary traveler wherever he is going. In my neighborhood it was usually a genuine encounter. In the touristy sections, introductions were always the beginnings of a sales pitch, a fact made obvious when they announced that they didn’t want to sell me anything.

Some version of these events is true for travellers the world over. The only differences are degree and style. In some places, such importuning salesmen are the exception and not the rule, and in some places enterprise is savvy enough to get customers to happily consent to exploitation. Casinos come to mind. In other places people have to hustle, or at least they think they do. Thanks to travel, I’m quite accustomed to hustlers, smooth talkers, and snake charmers alike. I’ve learned to occasionally delight in the art of bobbing and weaving with such fast-talkers.

I’ve developed a few rules and protocols for such situations. Time and time again, I’ve found that by far the most important rule is this: Be kind. I know it sounds sappy and cliché, but it remains the most important rule. If you aren’t kind, you’ll lose, one way or another. Being genuinely kind feels far better harboring animosity. By being kind to another, you are being kind to yourself. 

Being kind by no means obligates one to willful exploitation, but rather it calls one to the duty of retaining their composure. Awareness and composure are the foundation of kindness. In my opinion, awareness, composure, and kindness are the three most important rules for interacting with other people. Skillful application of these precepts may not always lead to the most “victories”, but should produce the most happiness, and isn’t the greater victory?

When it comes to the charmers one inevitably encounters while travelling, I employ some more nuanced rules, such as: Never forget what it is you want to accomplish;politely redirect any conversations towards that end. Never feel embarrassed or awkward; retain the ability to state how you feel or what you think honestly , without the slightest trace animosity.Never be on someone else’s schedule; don’t make commitments to meet a salesmen later if you don’t actually want to. I have many, many, more, but they are all derived from a state of authentic kindness in some way.

During my solitary week in Kashmir, I lost sight of my central rule. I was able to dodge most cons, and other unsavory encounters. But gradually, my kindness waned and I began to harbor negative thoughts about the people around me. Unsurprisingly, people started to annoy me and I became irritable.

The final blow was dealt when I was invited to lunch at the house of my host family. Their son, Shanawaz, had told me that of course lunch would be free. We shared a friendly relationship, and I had taken him out for a big lunch the previous day so I thought perhaps my invitation was some sort of reciprocation, if not a genuine act of hospitality.

We passed the following afternoon at his parents’ house, and made small talk before lunch. At the end of a delicious meal, I stood to leave and the father asked me openly for some “baksheesh”, indicating a tip for his wife, the cook. I think if I brought my ‘A-game’, I might have simply smiled and politely refused, stating that it made me uncomfortable and sad to even be asked, which was the truth.However, I reluctantly gave what by Indian standards is a large tip ($2), and was promptly asked for five times that amount – enough to pay for the whole meal. That request I refused, but with feelings of spite and anger which festered at the core of my being.Ultimately I conquered myself, but in doing so opened up the opportunity to revisit one of the most important lessons travel has ever taught me: always be kind.

Difficult people and trying circumstances are not unknown to the traveler. It is precisely these challenges which make travel “fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness” as Mark Twain penned. It has been a long time since the trials and tribulations of life in a foreign culture have affected in a negative way. Still, I feel that the benefits far outweigh the cost. Life lessons of how to conduct myself in trying circumstances are worth a few petty annoyances and aggravations.

I should add that I’m fairly certain that, of all the numerous people in Kashmir who tried to persuade me out of a few dollars, I don't think anyone intended to do me any harm. Indeed, most of the harm done was self-inflicted, and came in the form negative thoughts and emotions which I foolishly held on to. I’m also certain that from their point of view, they were acting in a just manner; and perhaps they were. Perhaps the customs are simply that different. Although I was aware of all this as it was happening, I couldn’t maintain my composure. In violation of my first rule, I lost my grip on kindness for a few days. In the end, there was no harm done. I didn’t blow up on anyone, although I came close. As it was mere trivia in the grand scheme of things, I had an easy time letting the aggravation go. I learned the lesson, and left all angst in the past, where it belongs. 

Entering Kashmir

July 7th, 2013

Finally, the time has come for rest and reflection. I’ve been back in India for exactly one month and, India being India, I’ve been exposed to lifetime of differing experiences. I’ve seen the super-rich, and the super impoverished. Nature has attempted to melt me in the high heat and humidity of New Delhi, and a week later She attempted to freeze and suffocate me in the frigid, dry, and high altitude waypoint of Sarchu. I’ve been surrounded by teeming crowds, and vacuous open spaces. The only constant I’ve had to hang onto has been the unyielding helpfulness of every Indian I have met. Without a doubt, I would not have been able to manage the previous month without the kindness of strangers.

Unlike in SE Asia, the trip itself has kept me quite busy. The demands of India’s billion plus personalities are more than ten times that of Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia combined. One in seven people alive today are live in India; a land roughly one third the size of The United States. Demographics aside, I’ve been to India before, so I had a vague idea of what to expect, which is to say I knew to discard all expectations.

Getting the bike through customs was slow going, as was getting it repaired. Fortunately, I managed to get complete both of those tasks within a New Delhi week, roughly equivalent to a New York minute. I’m not sure which pace of life I prefer, but simply knowing what to expect dissolved most of my irritation.

The last three weeks have been spent on the road with my friend and couch-surfing host Girish Meshram. He had some vacation time available, and decided it was a good idea to use it to escape the 100+ degree heat and humidity of New Delhi. I too thought this was not the season to visit New Delhi, and I plan to wait out the sweltering Indian monsoon season in and around the cool and dry Himalayas.

Back in Delhi, Girish asked if I wouldn’t mind a passenger for a couple of weeks. Given the fact that I hadn’t ridden the bike with a passenger before, and that I’d be traversing some of the most challenging roads in the world, I had my reservations. Even now, I don’t consider myself a seasoned motorcycle veteran. I started riding just two years ago, and I had only ridden some 4000Km on a motorcycle before I decided to ride one across Asia. I’m no mechanic either, but I’m learning – fast.

Suffice it to say, I decided to give it a go. Fortunately, Girish and I completed our journey safe and sound. All told, Girish and I covered almost 1000 Km of brutal road, broken highway, and yak-covered plains on our way to Leh, the capital of the state of Ladakh. Filled with dubious confidence upon completion of that segment, we zealously extended our itinerary. I soon found myself attempting an 18,300ft pass into the Nubra Valley, and onwards to the village of Turtuk, which lies just 150km east of Islamabad, Pakistan. In fact, until 1973 Turtuk was part of Pakistan. However, during one of the many spats between India and Pakistan, Turtuk somehow became part of India. So it goes.

Inspired by what we saw there, Girish and I added an additional 500km to the journey, and switched the terminus from Leh to Srinagar, the capital of the Indian occupied area of Kashmir (to which India, Pakistan, and China each claim about a third).

Since my arrival in India, Girish and I have spent nearly three weeks in close quarters. We’ve talked about a great many things from politics, to religion, to life in India vs. the West, to education, to philosophy, to how to live a life in this world regardless of where, when, or in what circumstances you were born. Beyond these wonderful and insightful conversations, I’ve enjoyed interacting with people with exceedingly different points of view on what life is all about. Fortunately, nearly everyone I’ve spoken with has found sufficient happiness, fulfillment, and contentedness with life.

My nervous system is currently too addled to think lucidly about all I have seen and done since arriving in India. Piloting a heavy motorcycle with passenger for 8 hours a day surly takes a toll. I’ve seen the most beautiful places in all my life, so that’s good. I learned much about driving and fixing my motorcycle, which is also good. Somewhere in there, I was found myself to be happy, and completely satisfied with life; also good. But, right now, I’m simply exhausted. For lack of words to express what I mean: LOOK! Pretty pictures! Enjoy.

Note: Many thanks to the Indian BRO, or Border Roads Organization. Building roads is tough work, especially in the developing world, and especially at 5000 meters (over 3 miles) in elevation. Not only do the roads need to be built, and rebuilt, often by hand, but they need to be cleared and maintained as well. Landslides are the norm. Each year when the snow melts, the roads open back up. And, each year, new problems are revealed. Thousands of migrant workers, mostly from Bihar, India’s poorest state, are tasked with solving so many problems, relying so heavily on sheer endurance, and a beatific expression of the human will for a better life. Their toil is endless, their work arduous. Like every Indian I’ve ever met, their hospitable attitude towards a foreign visitor is unending. They’ve shown me that we humans can endure the unendurable, and that we can do it with a smile.

Note 2: Most photo credits to Dr. Girish Meshram and his excellent new purchase: a Canon D600 I believe. Great shots man! 

Note 3: The Internet is in a horrid state here in Srinigar, and for 1000 kilometers in every direction.Please excuse the slapdash posting of photos. Its a miracle I got them up in the first place. I think there are more, and I'm sure there much to be written.