I met Brendon on the third floor of the Oriental Guesthouse in the summer of 2012. He congratulated me on finding the Oriental; at $6 a night, it was the best value in Leh. Leh was no longer the bargain it used to be. Every summer he came back, there were more tourists, more trinket shops, less hospitality.
Brendon had been living at the Oriental for two months. He showed me inside his room. There was a little bedside radio, a borrowed Lonely Planet, and a tidy pile of short-sleeve, collared shirts. I assumed he was some kind of academic--a bachelor archeologist on sabbatical.
I asked when he was going home. He wasn’t sure. He still had several continents to cover: Africa, South America, and a return to the US. he’d been traveling for the better part of the past 12 years.
Traveling for years at a time was easy. It took three things: “time, money, and no meaningful obligations or relationships at home.”
I spent a week trailing Brendon's frayed backpack through Leh. He knew the names of all of the temples and some of the cute backpackers. We got apricot juice at Dzomsa, roti fresh from the kiln, veg thalis for the local price in a dim shopping complex.
Traveling for years at a time was easy. It took three things: “time, money, and no meaningful obligations or relationships at home.”
I spent a week trailing Brendon's frayed backpack through Leh. He knew the names of all of the temples and some of the cute backpackers. We got apricot juice at Dzomsa, roti fresh from the kiln, veg thalis for the local price in a dim shopping complex.
He’d fallen for a girl here a few years before. He showed me the creek where they’d gone skinny dipping. It hadn’t ended well.
It wasn’t his first heartache. He spoke obliquely, then gradually, directly, about a less nomadic era--a time with an apartment, a job, and a wife in London.
He showed me his old press pass from his reporting days. Twenty years later, he still looked like roughly the same man: lively, rangy, and a little scared.
Brendon met his future ex-wife in the summer of 1983. His drunk, naked friend had fallen off of the third floor of an apartment building and broken his neck. Brendon went to the hospital to wish him well.
He encountered a ditzy blond with “a great hourglass figure and an interesting face”. She was a big-eyed, big-mouthed “Goldie Hawn”--a massive flirt, who “adored being the centre of attention.” Brendon persisted over a rival suitor and began dating the hospital blond.
He encountered a ditzy blond with “a great hourglass figure and an interesting face”. She was a big-eyed, big-mouthed “Goldie Hawn”--a massive flirt, who “adored being the centre of attention.” Brendon persisted over a rival suitor and began dating the hospital blond.
Five years into the relationship, Brendon's girlfriend gave him an ultimatum: get married, or split up. “Without thinking about how someone could even think like that, I said ‘okay’. Big mistake!”
Married life was “mostly okay.” They had a London apartment, jobs, and pets. On weekends, when she left to visit her family, Brendon had time to himself. They tried, unsuccessfully, to conceive. He remains thankful for that failure.
Brendon said he and his wife never fought. Nonetheless, when he left for a two month getaway to South America, his wife threatened divorce. He returned, homesick, to his wife, only to watch his father die. Brendon left his job, saw a therapist, and got handed a prescription for Prozac.
Married life was “mostly okay.” They had a London apartment, jobs, and pets. On weekends, when she left to visit her family, Brendon had time to himself. They tried, unsuccessfully, to conceive. He remains thankful for that failure.
Brendon said he and his wife never fought. Nonetheless, when he left for a two month getaway to South America, his wife threatened divorce. He returned, homesick, to his wife, only to watch his father die. Brendon left his job, saw a therapist, and got handed a prescription for Prozac.
His wife became “cold and distant.” They tried marriage counseling, but she skipped sessions.
They separated. Brendon's mother, aware of his wife’s “ abandonment complex” and eager to end her son’s marriage, suggested an excursion. And so Brendon embarked on an overland tour to India.
“Shit hit the fan” when he left. His wife filed papers for divorce. “I was given a month to hand over the money or she'd get to steal the apartment we co-owned.”
Sixteen months of bloody legal tug-of-war ensued. Brendon skedaddled, “taking every penny I had left and determined to stay away for as long as possible. At that stage, I would have been happy never to return to the UK.”
They separated. Brendon's mother, aware of his wife’s “ abandonment complex” and eager to end her son’s marriage, suggested an excursion. And so Brendon embarked on an overland tour to India.
“Shit hit the fan” when he left. His wife filed papers for divorce. “I was given a month to hand over the money or she'd get to steal the apartment we co-owned.”
Sixteen months of bloody legal tug-of-war ensued. Brendon skedaddled, “taking every penny I had left and determined to stay away for as long as possible. At that stage, I would have been happy never to return to the UK.”
Brendon’s inheritance money fueled four years on the road.
Ten to twenty dollars a day bought him a seat on bare local buses, a bed at the least-bad budget guesthouse, and a couple of meals at the local soup shack.
Sometimes he’d linger in a town--Leh, Dharamsala, Jerusalem--for a few months. He spent his waking hours reading, walking and talking--making friends, and always returning for the BBC World Service at sunset.
He schlepped from hotel to guesthouse, from Beijing to Kathmandu. With his wife stonewalling divorce and little else to return to, Brendon spent the early oughts on the move.
Then, just over four years after leaving England, he returned. His mother and her partner were on the verge of dying. “Which they did, on the day I arrived.”
His wife came to the funeral. “Because I was still dumb enough to love (or be in love with) her, we got back together, without my realizing what she was up to.”
He spent the next year in England. The ex-wife had ambitions for getting pregnant and co-owning a place together. Brendon slowly decided that the hypothetical baby was strategic: “If she had a kid, she could steal the whole lot whenever she wanted.”
They separated. Brendon hit the road for another 19 months, returned to try to win her back, and, failing to do so, resumed traveling after five months. He was gone for almost two and a half years. When he returned, he was finally able to close out the divorce, “one month short of 13 years since she'd left me.”
Why had he stuck it out so long, I wondered?
“I was very attached to her. Or ‘in love’, if you prefer.”
He went on to describe her insecurities, her narcissism, her insistence on doing things her way.
“As my cousin recently said, "Victims become bullies". I guess I'm a masochist!”
His wife came to the funeral. “Because I was still dumb enough to love (or be in love with) her, we got back together, without my realizing what she was up to.”
He spent the next year in England. The ex-wife had ambitions for getting pregnant and co-owning a place together. Brendon slowly decided that the hypothetical baby was strategic: “If she had a kid, she could steal the whole lot whenever she wanted.”
They separated. Brendon hit the road for another 19 months, returned to try to win her back, and, failing to do so, resumed traveling after five months. He was gone for almost two and a half years. When he returned, he was finally able to close out the divorce, “one month short of 13 years since she'd left me.”
Why had he stuck it out so long, I wondered?
“I was very attached to her. Or ‘in love’, if you prefer.”
He went on to describe her insecurities, her narcissism, her insistence on doing things her way.
“As my cousin recently said, "Victims become bullies". I guess I'm a masochist!”
Brendon’s next trip--the one I met him on--lasted 39 months. “By that time, I knew it wasn't just India I was bored of, but the whole lifestyle.” Africa “failed to engage me”, Latin America “was even worse”, and he was “pretty nonplussed” by the US.
He is back in the UK now--stuck “middle of nowhere” Wales now, staying with a friend. It rains a lot, and he has no car. He spends his time reading and courting Tibetan and Portuguese mistresses.
His peers are in the job-quitting, wife-leaving, Ferarri-buying era of manhood. But Brendon's no longer interested in travel. His goals are domestic: “A home, some kind of occupation (to keep my brain busy as well as my time), and an emotional life.”
I asked him what he’d learned from at all. “I've had a lot of time to think, obviously, but don't know if I've come up with any particularly good answers.”
“Was it a total waste of time? I hope not, but it certainly lasted longer than it needed to.”
He is back in the UK now--stuck “middle of nowhere” Wales now, staying with a friend. It rains a lot, and he has no car. He spends his time reading and courting Tibetan and Portuguese mistresses.
His peers are in the job-quitting, wife-leaving, Ferarri-buying era of manhood. But Brendon's no longer interested in travel. His goals are domestic: “A home, some kind of occupation (to keep my brain busy as well as my time), and an emotional life.”
I asked him what he’d learned from at all. “I've had a lot of time to think, obviously, but don't know if I've come up with any particularly good answers.”
“Was it a total waste of time? I hope not, but it certainly lasted longer than it needed to.”