An inferiority complex.
Such a diagnosis leads some to build tall towers boldly emblazoned with the family name. To seek riches, or internet infamy.
My own complex led me to the far-flung Fijian dependency of Rotuma. Why yes, tale as old as time.
While my travels to date seemed adventurous to many, they felt tame compared those of my traveling peers. Study abroad? English-speaking Cambridge. Watson Fellowship? I traversed Eastern and Western Europe while my fellow-fellows hitchhiked on boats around the Indian ocean, or studied trance dancing in Northern Africa.
Even my time working in Antarctica was, truth be told, rather easy. Sure, I slept in a tent on the snow, but someone else covered all my booking details, food, and housing. Heck, even my haircuts were provided on the Ice.
So I was determined to find Real Adventure after my time at McMurdo Station on the southern continent. Where else to find it, but the last page of the Lonely Planet guidebook to Fiji. The last page, that’s where the real oddball stuff is, right? So flipping to the final page, that’s how I decided on Rotuma.