My Abusive Traveling Relationship
By: Reuben Salsa
Tags: Adventure, Travel, Ideas, Salsa, The Bad Influence

I often read about how great traveling is. The cultures you get exposed to. The people from all over the world you get to meet. The wonderful sights and historical buildings you can view. It all sounds like a paradise.

There are also cautionary tales. Awkward situations. Areas where cell-phones fail to penetrate and nobody knows where you are. The dodgy shanty towns that twist and turn into a world of confusion.

What if you’re not ready to travel?

My last year in England was a nightmare. I had dabbled far too often in recreational drugs and was having a meltdown. I had become very anti-social and lived like a recluse. I no longer wanted to be in public.

No need for details, we can all imagine what mental psychosis feels like. I knew I had to get away. Far away. I wanted to become anonymous. Part of a crowd. Hidden.

Travel was my extreme solution. Not to Europe, a one hour drive back to safety, but somewhere as far away as possible.

An acquaintance also had the same idea and was looking for a travel companion. Safety in numbers. I agreed immediately. I didn’t care where I went, I only wanted to be gone.

Northern Richard was to be my anchor.

I had only met him a few times on the scene. He was very sarcastic with a major chip on his shoulder. He spoke in a ferocious Derby accent. Certain people mocked him for being born north of London. He was angry at southerners. His gentle derision would soon descend into outright hostility. I questioned if he was the best person to begin my journey with but I had no other takers.

We rolled a dice to decide where we would go. ‘Dice Man’ was big on the student curriculum! Australia would be our first country.

We bought tickets that included a stop-over three weeks in the Philippines.

In less than two months, I would be alone and abandoned in the Australian outback.

It was clear the moment we boarded the first plane that we wouldn’t get along. His temper would often flare up at his exhaustion with being in my presence. He loathed the sight of me.

By the end of our time together, he wouldn’t even acknowledge anything I would say.

I was in an abusive relationship but too scared to leave.

I felt guilty. Most of what he said had a grain of truth. I was a leech, a parasite. I had lost myself. I couldn’t cope with talking to people. I was paranoid and reclusive. Mentally, travel should have been the last thing I should have done. With every encounter of strangers, Rich would do all the talking. It was him and his gift of the gab that attracted people. I hung back. I allowed him to do all the talking.

I let him make all the decisions.

There were moments when we became united. Where we enjoyed life together, experiencing the same highs. We scuba-dived off the coast of Cebu in the Philippines. We sang and drank together in a band. We took speed and rode the jeepney’s all night. He was always cool under pressure. Self-assured.

He was everything I wanted to be as a traveler.

We touched down in Sydney having spent the entirety of the plane ride in silent anger. He seethed and raged at having to arrive at another country with me by his side. I felt I had no other choice. It was another new scenario and he was my only recognizable anchor.