Fear dissolved in a frappuccino
by Sandra Reid.

As I placed my new hiking boots in my bag, my stomach churned. Traveling for me had been a life-long dream but unforeseen circumstances had caused me to question my timing. Aside from usual fears that plague first time, single, female travelers, SARS was slowly creeping from one Asian town to the next and had crossed international borders while war demonstrations were a daily reminder that the world was not at rest. Viruses' and vicious leaders dictated how we should live our lives and fear seemed to be the consensus.
Slowly I zipped up my backpack remembering the last few months of preparation. I had stayed at home too many nights, eating cheap ramen noodles to afford this trip. I was damned if fear was going to stand in my way. I embarked on my adventure amid severe government warnings, the disapproval of friends and the silent worry of parents. My destination was Asia. It was March 2003.
Arrival into Beijing airport was as expected _ loud, chaotic and unorganized. Assuming this in advance I had hired a guide to retrieve me from the madness and drop me securely into a medium priced, no frills hotel. I awoke in a pool of sweat.
The next morning the guide appeared at my breakfast table with a list of activities to fill my day. From crowded minibuses to manic-taxi drivers, ancient Buddhist temples to dim-sum restaurants, my guide did the traveling, I simply followed. Was it fear, ignorance or the thought of being alone that keep me close to him? It was time to break free.
I shed the comfortable constraints of my guide the next day and boarded a train. Shanghai presented itself 24hour later. Alone in the city, I wandered about, a gentle knot in my stomach. The huge street signs and billboards were like childish scribbles to my eyes, while my ears heard millions of voices, but understood not a single word. The buses were packed, the streets choked, restaurants mobbed. I saw no other travelers that day. SARS seemed to have emptied China of its tourists.
I chose a new adventure every day or strolled the Bund, the river that snakes through Shanghai, dividing the old historic side from the ultra-modern. Growing up in Ireland I had a certain vision of what Asia looked like. It was nothing like I had imagined. I was overpowered by the images that surrounded me. Advertising, marketing, fashion, religion, nightlife and cuisine challenged me to break the mold of the world I had created. It was so different from any place I had ever been. I was enthralled. At night, goose bumps covered my arms as I drove around the city that I had nicknamed 'the Las Vegas of the east' for its flashing neon lights. For a few brief moments I forgot about SARS and the war.
After three days of exploring, exhaustion set in. I had absorbed so much in the last few days, my senses were saturated. Before I had left home, my mind was secretly overwhelmed with the venture I was about to embark upon. Now there seemed to be no room left for the actual adventure. My mind was over-stimulated. I needed to rest.
I arose on the morning of day four to find city skyscrapers lit up with a white sun as azure skies made their first appearance since my arrival. My thoughts weighted me down. I had hoped an early night would re-charge my batteries, renew my enthusiasm for the unknown, but it was just too much. I had to stop. Despite my stern resignation not to fraternize American franchises like MacDonald's and Starbucks while traveling in Asia, I felt the pull of the familiar.
Across the Bund, I sat outside the Starbucks coffee shop on the cool grass. Alone, it would have stood elegant and modern, as all the buildings were on the east side of the Bund. But from the green and yellow trade mark colors, to the menu in English and tasty assortment of pastries, it was just one of a hundred I'd seen, scattered around the globe. I sighed with relief. It was so familiar. The toilet had a seat. They provide toilet paper. Two ply. It was brilliant white, a rarity in Asia. The bottom line was, I didn't need to absorb and wonder. The images and words, uniforms and Styrofoam cups had all been previously processed in my brain. I stopped, I drank, I listened, but most of all, I just let it all out. The fear of traveling as a single girl, fear of SARS, fear of war, fear of hating traveling, fear of being alone.
I had visited many beautiful places in the last five days, bowed low to Buddhist monks, prayed with tiny, old ladies in temples, shared noodles with business people in crowded, dingy restaurants. As I sat on the lush grass, I thought about the last few days. I felt empowered by my simple achievements. I wasn't afraid. I was in love with the chaos that was China, all that made me wake up and take notice. Suddenly, I became aware of the music being pumped through the American audio system as I sat on the Chinese lawn. It was the Dubliners. An Irish band seldom heard outside of Ireland. Two little nuggets from home, one from Ireland, my birthplace the other from my new residence in America had found me and helped me settle into Asia.
As I sat there relaxing a strange thought occurred to me. I had found solitude in Starbucks. A commercial chain devoid of atmosphere, coziness or character. I laced my fingers around my cool frappuccino, listening to the familiar sounds of the Dubliners and smiled. I had found my own Shangri-la for a day.