How I realized the question of “How many countries have you been to?” is as misguided as “How many people have you slept with?” what’s more important, and why you might want to consider the same.
By the time I was 30, my goals were to:
- Visit 100 countries
- Bang 100 chicks
I’m not sure which was stupider.
In retrospect, they’re pretty similar. Shallow goals of a misguided guy who didn’t know what he wanted. Fortunately, I learned to change my mind about them before I went too far.
I didn’t visit my first foreign country until after graduating high school.
Well, technically, that’s a lie. I’d been to beach resorts in Mexico and the Caribbean, but I’m not counting those. That’d be like counting blow-up dolls as sexual partners.
My real first time was a two-week Europe trip with my family in the summer before my first year of university.
It was so much better in real life than I had imagined. The tastes, smells, beauty, and exoticness I experienced as we road-tripped in Provence and cycled down the Danube thrilled me. I wanted more and more.
It took me a few years to get some more, but when I did I made up for lost time.
On a Rampage
After university, I scored big time. I got a job in Switzerland that gave me the fuel for my burgeoning country counting addiction: big money and easy access.
So I went on a rampage. From March to November one year, I traveled to a different place every weekend except three. I can’t even remember the names of all the countries I visited or what they looked like anymore. My hazy memories are all jumbled together in a big orgy of one-nighters and STIs (stupid travel itineraries).
But I enjoyed it and bragged about how many countries I’d visited.
And I wanted more. I’d plowed through Europe so it was time to get more exotic.
That’s when things started to change.
Somehow, I managed to convince my bosses in Switzerland to relocate me to my company’s office Panama. It would back the perfect base to add some Latin American countries under my belt.
But something unexpected happened soon after I moved to Panama: I fell in love with the country.
Panama won me over with her warmth, affordability, wildness, and petite size. And I took our relationship seriously. I learned her language, cheered for her national teams, and even (almost) began to appreciate her food. I had just as much fun and made more lasting memories getting intimate with one country as I had making fly-by-night visits to a dozen different ones.
To be honest, I wasn’t completely monogamous during my two-and-a-half years in Panama. I had dalliances with Peru, Chile, Colombia, Cuba, and Costa Rica. But I’d toned it down big-time compared to Europe and my Latin American escapades were longer and more meaningful.
Dumping Country Counting For Good
By the time I pretired from my job in Panama and returned to Canada, I’d completely stopped caring about how many countries I had been to.
When people asked me my “number,” I’d tell them in full honesty that I had no idea. It wasn’t a humble-brag way of saying it was so many I couldn’t keep count. I truly didn’t care anymore. And I didn’t care about how many countries anyone else had been to either.
Coincidentally (or maybe not?), around the same time that I threw away my goal to visit 100 countries by the age of 30, I also threw away my goal to sleep with 100 girls. That’s because I met my now-fiancée, Kim.
Even though Kim and I have given up on caring about or counting how many countries we’ve been to, we still get around. The difference is we don’t go to new places out of a desire to brag about bagging it to friends, compete with other country counters, or reach some arbitrary goal. We go because of a true respect for and curiosity about that country. (Or because of long layovers.)
Who knows? Maybe an unforgettable fling with a new country could lead to a long-term relationship down the line.
…But who’s counting?
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