Throughout the years I've spent traveling the world, there's one question that I've encountered time and time again. It's a query that transcends cultural boundaries, originating from individuals hailing of all levels of development. This question is the epitome of mystery, the quintessential enigma that ignites unbridled curiosity and even humorous misconceptions: How do I finance my trips?
It's a scenario I've encountered countless times – being in a social gathering, surrounded by new faces. You know, the kind of spontaneous encounters that spark casual conversations. These moments often unfold in bars or parties, where folks gather to unwind, escape the routine, and perhaps indulge in oversized glasses of beer or pricey drinks (again and again) for which they paid small fortunes. Amidst this setting, there I stand, clutching a simple glass of water, greeted by a suspicious inquiry: "So, how do you bankroll your adventures?", to which I retort with a grin: "Well, it's simple – I don't drink alcohol!".
What at first glance might appear as a casual joke, a prelude to delving into a weightier subject demanding meticulous explanation, actually holds a key kernel of truth. In essence, it hints at the initial facet of unraveling this enigmatic conundrum. Therefore, this leads me to the first juncture where the veil begins to lift on this lesser-known riddle.
1 - Savings: what are your priorities?
Ever since I was a child, my certainties in life have been few, and as an adult, they've dwindled even further. However, one unshakable truth that has persisted from the very moment I gained a semblance of reason is my unwavering desire to travel the world. Since those early days, I'd be hooked to world maps, scrutinising every label on them. This fascination seamlessly transitioned into the present. Nowadays, I find myself equally entranced by Google Earth, zooming in at 100% to explore the intricacies of diverse terrains, the contours of cities, and the outlines of towns. It's an insatiable craving for exploration that propels me forward, an insistent yearning that has always delineated the boundaries of my priorities.
Coming from a middle-class family in Argentina, where the economy is as stable as a Mongol trying to walk straight after downing 8 bottles of vodka, and the currency is worthless, I had essentially one viable option: work hard and save diligently.
For years, prior to each trip, I've meticulously saved every penny in my pocket for the purpose of travelling. Just like an ant laboriously transporting crumbs to its nest, I've consistently put all my skills to work, solely driven by the aim of amassing funds to explore the world. That became the priority around which all other aspects of my life revolved. On the other hand, since money was always limited and difficult to save, and I clearly understood that I could not have everything I wanted, establishing priorities became essential. I had to choose, so establishing priorities turned into a crucial necessity. Decisions had to be made.
And I yearned to trek across the Himalayas on foot, instead of buying a car. The allure of getting into the heart of the Congo, inhaling the raw scent of the jungle, eclipsed any desire for a flat-screen TV and a PlayStation. Rather than taking out a loan to buy a house and enslave myself to a mortgage for the rest of my life, I wanted to sit and watch a sunset in Santorini from a Greek white house perched on a cliff. I was also never interested in eating out at expensive restaurants in Buenos Aires; instead I craved to sit on a Kolkata street, to savour the food from a humble stall. My wardrobe wasn't destined to overflow with the latest fashion either; my dream was being on a secluded Indonesian island, ideally dressed in nothing but simple rags. Scribbling travel notes onto a small notebook's textured pages, caressing the paper's beauty, outweighed any desire for the latest and greatest Mac.
I've consistently been faced with choices, and I've consistently aligned my priorities accordingly. This has led me to work various roles, from office manager to computer technician, 3D artist, English teacher, graphic designer, architect, and photographer – all with the singular goal of saving to fund my travels. As a result of the monetary difference that I was gradually making due to the choices I had made, I would keep every penny in order to travel.
Therefore, this isn't a mystery at all. It's the art of saving and then channeling your funds into what holds the greatest worth and significance for you. Within your daily daily, where do your priorities lie? Where do you prefer to invest your money? Is owning a car a higher value than securing a plane ticket to your dream destination? Does a massive TV with a Netflix subscription outweigh the experience of witnessing an unforgettable scenery with your own eyes? What is it better to you? A dinner at a fancy restaurant? or eating out on the Namib desert under a zillion stars while savouring the white rice that you just cooked for yourself? – where do your preferences truly lie? When you've nailed down these answers, the solution becomes crystal clear.
I opened this piece with an anecdote that carries more weight than it may initially appear. When the inquiry about how I fund my travels arises from individuals who, in a single evening, spend on beverages what I spend in a week or more of world exploration, the contrasting priorities become starkly evident. Neither of these preferences is inherently wrong; as I mentioned, it's fundamentally a matter of individual priorities.
From this point, the next query emerges: how much must one save to embark on a journey? This, in turn, leads me to the second facet that demystifies the enigmatic financing of my travels.
2- Austerity: What kind of travel experience do you expect?
Just as during the period of saving before embarking on a journey, I had to make the conscious choice to forego numerous desires, pleasures, comforts, and daily luxuries, life travelling would not be different. I realised that in order to travel as extensively as I desired, I would have to make similar sacrifices during my travels. Once again, I was well aware that, at least in my personal situation, having it all wasn't feasible.
Luxurious hotels boasting pristine and scented sheets, taking a hot shower every day, privacy and good views were never a necessity for me. Nor were moving around in efficient air-conditioned transportation, eating in expensive restaurants, snacking on delicacies at every corner, buying souvenirs, and paying an admission fee to every tourist attraction. If my travel aspirations revolved around such opulence, it would undoubtedly demand more time and strenous savings efforts. Consequently, it would also limit the number of destinations and drastically shorten the duration of the trip.
However, this isn't my aspiration. My focus exclusively centers on the act of travelling, with comfort and luxury being pretty much irrelevant to me. I have a very deep appreciation for simple things and I derive much contentment from it. I find solace in sleeping virtually anywhere – be it a bed, a wooden floor, my tent, or beneath a mosquito net, indoors or under the open sky. The necessity for a daily shower or dining at opulent, sanitary establishments doesn't hold sway over me. I relish bathing in rivers or with a simple bucket of water, without the need for hot water. Street stalls and local eateries are nothing but a blessing, and I'm equally content with preparing my own meals. Variety doesn't rule my plate; I can subsist on white rice or pasta if need be, and I'll remain entirely content.
In addition, my decision to travel by bicycle allows me to utilise my own physical stamina for transportation, significantly cutting down the costs. This remarkable degree of flexibility, adaptability, and the ability to derive happiness from the simplest of things allows me to extend the duration of my travels and the utility of my money. While many may prioritise luxuries, for me, the true luxury lies in the sheer experience of exploring the world, immersing myself in daily cultural encounters. My travel expenditures rarely exceed $10 per day, and often dip comfortably below $5.
The degree of comfort one desires while traveling is a deeply personal choice, unique to each individual. Regardless of the approach chosen, the level of travel comfort significantly influences the amount of money required to save and the duration of the saving process. So, what's your preference?
3- Generate income while traveling (optional and ideal)
I firmly believe in the utmost importance of self-sufficiency, which is why I've never embarked on a journey without ensuring I have ample savings to fund any trip I wish to undertake. Relying on others is something I avoid at all costs, and burdening someone else with the task of lending me money due to my own reckless financial decisions while traveling is out of the question. Therefore, my foremost priority is having sufficient funds to cover the entire journey. This includes the extra money for the post-trip, which is crucial to be able to settle somewhere and cover the costs of daily life until finding a stable job.
Now, the prospect of generating income while on a trip is truly extraordinary, as it enables me to preserve my savings or use them sparingly. This offers a heightened level of freedom and tranquility, as the ever present fear of running out of funds fades away.
In recent years, I've modestly achieved this by fusing my passion for photography and storytelling with my unwavering wanderlust. By blending a frugal travel lifestyle with moderate income and maintaining savings as a safety net, the duration of my travels can be prolonged with a sense of ease. I would wholeheartedly recommend this approach to anyone. Strive to harness your individual skills and channel them towards generating income while on the road. Admittedly, it might not as easy, but I genuinely believe it's an endeavour worth undertaking.
Conclusion
I think part of the curiosity and prejudices surrounding those of us who travel a lot stem from the odd misconception that travel equates to a luxurious experience. It seems, for some strange reason, some struggle to connect our journeys to a straightforward personal investment. Instead, they view it as a privilege reserved solely for the financially wealthy. This baffles me, as when I observe the material possessions people accumulate – the fancy cars, the extravagant homes – I don't find myself skeptically pondering: "How on earth did they afford that car?" My instinctual assumption is that they toiled, saved, and then materialised their desires. Just as I wouldn't contemplate asking them: "Hey, how did you manage to finance that 50" AMOLED curved screen TV, that latest model car, and that great apartment?" Because, unless they're engaged in some murky business, I naturally assume that their possessions are the outcomes of prudent financial choices and hard-earned labour.
In parallel fashion, my journeys are the product of my aspirations and values, intertwined with a rather frugal material existence. I haven't had a car until I was 40, I don't own property, and I possess fewer possessions than many. I forego insurance payments and avoid taking on credit. Yet, I've traversed nearly 100 countries, explored thousands of cities, towns and villages. I have also made hundreds of friends all over the world and fostered the quality of meaningful experiences that will stay with me forever. This is where my true satisfaction lies, and this is where I choose to invest my money. There's no grand enigma behind it all: 1- priorities, 2- austerity, 3-work
