This summer I worked with an eighteen-year-old Etonian. He spoke of ‘bumping into’ David Cameron at chapel, meeting Elton John, as well as hobnobbing with Damian Lewis and Tom Hiddleston at alumna events. He wore the uniform of penguin tailcoats to school every day. Dubbed as one of the best young musicians in the country, he was a cellist. A bloody good cellist.
Needless to say, we had absolutely nothing in common. He was an alien to me. I was pretty sure I was going to hate him.
However, the best thing about stereotypes is that they are made to be broken, and so to my surprise we actually got on like a house on fire! He worked hard, had a great sense of humour and taught me a lot about Eton, one of the oldest schools in the world so old that it even predates Shakespeare. Did you know that the original school ‘houses’ come from Eton because the students were categorised according to which houses they boarded in? Gryffindor and Slytherin, you are welcome.
Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was out of place teaching English at Italian summer camps. Why was he singing songs about magenta flamingos and Obama llamas, face-painting and playing countless games of Olly Olly Octopus?
This was a guy who casually mentioned that he might stay in a ski chalet next to Richard Branson’s in the winter. Having just finished his ‘A’ Levels, he was contemplating taking up another language before applying to Cambridge in the New Year. He’d also spent a few weeks touring Spain with his cello, playing for the masses.
What was he doing here?
At one of our obligatory after-camp spritz sessions, the other tutors and I asked him this very question, and his answer was not what I expected:
“I’ve spent my whole life playing the cello. Not to brag, but I’m really good at it. My cello got me a scholarship to Eton, as well as other competing schools. Without sounding arrogant, I’m one of the best young musicians in the country. Everyone tells me that with my talent I should become a professional cellist.
But I don’t want my cello to define me.
I’ve looked into becoming a professional musician, and I’m not sure if it appeals to me. It’s competitive, it’s difficult, and sometimes it’s a career that doesn’t pay off. I want to enjoy playing the cello, as much for myself as for other people.
I want to take a gap year. I want to have different experiences. I want to travel and work abroad. I want to learn languages. I want to study at a university. I want to figure out what I want from life.
So… here I am without a cello.”
YES. THAT.
I told him right then and there that I was going to steal that line, and so I have.
For someone with only eighteen years behind him that is probably one of the most mature and profound things I have ever heard. It clicked with me straight away, as I’m sure it does with a lot of people.
One of the reasons I love travel is because it challenges you. Not in the way you might think – negotiating a city you don’t know, grappling with foreign tongues and learning about different cultures (though those are all worthy and rewarding challenges too) – but in how it challenges who you are.
Essentially, who am I when removed from everything that I know? Away from friends and family, away from home, away from the creature comforts that I take for granted, away from my ‘cello’. When everything external is stripped away, who is left? What lies at the core of who I am?
And the glorious thing is that the answers are different every time.
My own ‘Here I am without a cello’ moment is happening right now. Despite having lived abroad for five years, most of them in Hong Kong, you may be surprised to learn that I do not consider myself a ‘traveller’. I have worked abroad, travelled to work, worked to travel, taken vacations that haven’t lasted more than ten days, or trips home that haven’t exceeded a few weeks. I have relied on mostly teaching English and sometimes other employment (when I can find it) to fund my explorations, and it’s a system that has done pretty well. It’s been lovely playing my cello.
But I haven’t done the backpacker thing until now. I was put off by a lack of available travel companions (I can’t do it by myself!), a lack of money (Why am I always broke?) and a lack of confidence (What if X, Y or Z happens?).
Now I’m doing it. It’s terrifying, but I’m doing it.
Myanmar – Laos – Cambodia – Vietnam – Indonesia
These are the corners of Southeast Asia that I’ve always wanted to visit, but have never gotten around to. Now is my chance. Now these places will be my home for the next several weeks. I have a little money, a little time, I’m on the right side of the world and… well, I promise I’m working on the bravery part! I don’t feel ready, but does anyone ever feel ready for a solo backpacking trip across countries they have never been to before?
If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.
I flew into Yangon, Myanmar (Burma) yesterday with a big backpack of heavy stuff I will probably chuck after five minutes, a small backpack of valuables that I’m paranoid someone is going to run off with, and that’s it for the next forty-five days. It took a few deep breaths, but I deliberately didn’t pack any stringed instruments.
Here I am without a cello.
Wish me luck!