You have to take risks to succeed in life. Adapting every year to another culture along higher education; it being Danish, Belgian, English, Kiwi or French, was a risk I was willing to take. I was sitting next to Argentinians in Danish language class and I got to know a Brazilian guy who was injured because of being too adventurous like me at the hostel in New Zealand. I learned about French culture in the UK as the French were over represented at the university over there, and cooked Chinese noodles with dried mushrooms in France as the Chinese were plentiful at business school. My housemates taught me how to cook pizza and brownies, and my flatmates specialities were pasta and quiche. These ravishing encounters made sure I wouldn't be hungry any longer for daily international contact.
Going on an adventure to new places has become like juice which I have to keep drinking. Having picked out furniture across second hand stores in Denmark for my studio was the first shot to create a comfortable corner to live in. After stuffing my dad’s utility trailer he made me realise other countries also have supermarkets, even providing more interesting goods then back home. By now I can easily manage to size down my green backpack to fit the Ryanair cabin requirements; though I have to keep smiling at check-in so they do not check its weight. After all, an adventure is better with an overload of social contact than with an overload of stuff.
I have been brought up in a small village where most residents spend more time talking instead of booking their tickets to embark for their dream destination. Therefore I was soon characterised as the travelling guru by acquaintances back home, which was not such a surprise to me. For me the substantial culture shock came when I moved back for a couple of weeks, or months. Confronting the same people with different ideas, balancing life on a thin red line keeping different opinions exist in harmony. After all, that is what Belgians are good at.
Walking in India on the railing of the causeway Ponte Conde de Linares from Panjim to Old Goa was probably the most physically unsafe road I walked on so far. Passing across the depleting railing, the loose electric wires and stinging bushes were one thing; getting used to the deafening honking of vehicles and unpredictable traffic driving by on my second day in India was another point. An unnecessary risk, given we paid for a full-day taxi driver which we asked later to drive 14 kilometres (8,7 miles) from where he dropped us off earlier that day. Disbelief and insanity prevailed his facial expression when he figured out we actually walked. That hot afternoon taught me a lot about Indian infrastructure and mostly myself. It turned out to be the perfect plunge into Indian culture, something a taxi ride along this same road could never have achieved.
Therefore find the red line you want to travel along, and keep your optimal balance between challenge and enjoyment :)
