Spotlight Interview: Sebastian Modak

SPOTLIGHT INTERVIEW:

SEBASTIAN MODAK

What is the most times you’ve traveled in one year? My guess is our Spotlight feature TCK has you beat—by a long shot.

Freelance travel writer and multimedia journalist Sebastian Modak spent 2019 circling the globe as the New York Times’ “52 Places Traveler,” reporting from every destination on the NYT’s “52 Places to Go” list. That project won him the Bronze Grand Award for Travel Journalist of the Year by the Society of American Travel Writers (SATW) in its annual Lowell Thomas Travel Journalism Awards.

Sometime last year I stumbled upon Sebastian’s Condé Nast Traveler essay, “For Third Culture Kids, Travel Is Home.” In it, he describes how “a TCK’s roots, flimsy and widespread as they may be, cover large distances and bridge divergent cultures”—and as such, “the TCK is a test-case of a more connected, less nationally-focused world.” That essay, along with his “52 Places” experience in 2019 and its exact opposite—being stuck at home in 2020 due to the COVID pandemic— sparked my curiosity and an invitation to interview him for this issue.

Sebastian has lived in six countries on four continents and is of mixed Colombian and Indian heritage. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, Afar, and Condé Nast Traveler, where he was an editor and staff writer. When he’s not traveling the world, he can usually be found in New York City.

"As I looked at some of your work and your website, I realized that besides a New Delhi connection (American Embassy School), we have both also lived in New Jersey and Hong Kong, so I thought that was kind of cool!"

Really? That’s cool. I was born in NJ, so “pregrades;” I left when I was two years old and then went to Hong Kong from there.

"I read that one of your first memories was in Hong Kong."

Yeah, and it’s interesting, too, because I lived in Hong Kong from when I was two years old to about five, and then I moved to Australia after that, and I lived there for two years. But I hardly remember anything about Australia, while my memories from Hong Kong are really vivid. It’s very interesting what had an effect on me, what stuck with me in my memories.

"Can you tell us a little about your parents and their cultural backgrounds?"

My mother is from Colombia, from Medellín, and my father is from Mumbai, India. They met in the US in university and moved to New Jersey, and that’s where they had my two brothers and myself. My dad worked in telecommunications, which is what sent him around the world. We left New Jersey and then were in Hong Kong for three years; then Sydney, Australia, for two years. After that we were in Delhi for five and a half years, and then finally we moved to Jakarta, Indonesia, for five years. That’s where I spent high school.

Graduated from high school there; went to the States for college. I’ve been in the States mostly since then, although I did live in Botswana twice in the past ten years or so. Then I had a crazy 2019 where I was in a different place around the world every week! That’s the abbreviated story.

With some friends at Tung Po Kitchen in Hong Kong

"Do you have an affinity for either of your parents’ ethnic or cultural backgrounds, or do you feel you’re just a great blend of the two (plus others)?"

I think it’s a blend of the two, but also neither, which I think is a pretty common story among people who grew up the way I did. When I’m in a neutral ground—let’s say, like the US—it’s easy to talk about it, or to own it, in a way. But when I’m in India or Colombia I feel like an imposter.

And here, honestly, in the US I feel like an imposter, too, despite my American citizenship from birth. So, it’s just what so many people like us have to get used to: that sense of “imposter syndrome,” that lack of full ownership that comes with this kind of upbringing.

"So, where is your family living right now? Is everybody spread out everywhere?"

Yes—my parents are in Dubai; they’ve been there for a few years. They continued to move, even after I was the last one to leave the nest. I’ve got one brother who is currently in Florida and another one who is in northern California. So, the three of us have ended up in the US for now. Like so many other people, I haven’t been able to see them for a while because of COVID.

"You’ve written that it was when you were in New Delhi at the American Embassy School where you first learned about the concept of TCK—where you first heard the term used. Can you talk a little about that?"

Yeah, I remember very well the first time I heard the term and started understanding what it meant. The school had some kind of event in the auditorium where they had a speaker come in who was talking about the concept of third culture kids—I don’t remember who it was or what their background was—perhaps a child psychologist or author. But I remember them talking about third culture kids, and this lightbulb went off in my brain as I thought, This describes me perfectly!

Thinking about it now, though, I wonder if they would frame it in the same terms today, because I think there is a level of privilege that wasn’t quite acknowledged in the same way at the time. I remember the talk addressing identity and belonging, but not really addressing the fact that we were also the one percent in most of these places in which we were living, you know? I see how the understanding of TCK has changed and become more nuanced with time, but back then I was just a nine-year-old boy hearing this for the first time and thinking, Yeah, cool! That’s what we are—my Japanese friend and my Finnish friend sitting next to me in this auditorium, we’re all part of the same belonging. I remember feeling some comfort in that.

"Do you speak any other languages, either fluently or passably?"

Yeah, I speak Spanish close to fluently—not quite as fluently as I should, being half- Colombian, but almost there. In many families of multiple languages, kids end up speaking one language with one parent and another language with the other parent. I wish that had been the case for me, and I think they tried to make that the rule, but by the time the third kid (me) came around, the rules had sort of fallen by the wayside. My dad didn’t speak Spanish, so at the dinner table it was always English. I’ve also never lived in a Spanish-speaking country, so that’s a big part that’s missing for me. I could get by in Bahasa Indonesia, back in the day, but most of that is gone. I went back to Jakarta a few years ago on assignment and it was like my tongue was weighed down—words that used to come out so fluently were just gone. I was saying Spanish words when I meant to say Indonesian words…

Visiting a sculpture by Dasha Namdakov on Olkhon Island in Siberia’s Lake Baikal.

"What are one or two areas in which you see your TCKness impacting your life, either positively or negatively?"

This could be interpreted as either good or bad, but it definitely informs my choice of profession and why I ended up traveling for a living, and writing and speaking about travel. The obvious side of it is that I was brought up traveling and it’s what is normal for me. I wrote about this in that (TCK) piece, but there’s a familiarity to the whole process of traveling.

But I also think, as a travel writer, it gives me—I don’t want to say an edge—but a unique perspective on issues that come up around travel writing, around authority, around writing about a place—you want a local’s perspective, but do we really have the right to be writing about other places around the world while pretending we have this kind of authority?

And I think I was basically raised to never think I had that authority. I was never an authority on anywhere—including those places where I was ostensibly from. There’s a kind of global outlook and humility that comes from that of just being, like, I don’t know anything about any of these places. I just lived a surface-level existence in all of them— or at least a surface-level understanding. So, I think that does help me in my work in a way, from going into every place with a clean slate, without preconceptions that I might otherwise bring, or without thinking I already have some sort of authority to say certain things about a place.

Beyond that, I have—like many TCKs—an inherent restlessness about staying in a certain place for too long. It drives my partner crazy. I’ve been with her for over a decade, and she was born and raised in one town in New Jersey mostly. There’s a constant conversation that happens: “So where else do you want to live? Where else could we go?”; and she’s like, “Well, where do you want to go, and how can we make it happen?” and I’m like, “I don’t care—let’s go anywhere! It doesn’t matter—you name it, I’m down. We’ll try it out for a couple of years…”

That carries over to other areas of life, too, in terms of a lack of maturity, kind of, regarding putting down roots. It’s a weird way to put it perhaps, but it’s just not necessarily something on my priority list. Or hasn’t been until recently for me, when for a lot of people that comes earlier in life. I’ve just been more restless.

So, those are just two ways my TCK background affects me, but I know there are multiple ways that I probably don’t even fully realize.

"I find both of those answers fascinating. The first, because you understand that you’re going in (to a new place) not knowing anything, and knowing that you don’t know anything. I would say that although I’ve seen some TCKs have the same outlook regarding travel, I’ve also seen the reverse, which is, “I know everything…” Some people never do break out of that place of privilege and staying on the surface, so it’s cool hearing you speak about it that way.

And secondly, regarding relationships, I’m always curious about who TCKs end up with in terms of significant others. Some end up with someone who’s totally from the same place and has never been anywhere, and others have to be with someone who’s also a TCK or from another culture. It’s interesting."

Yeah, and I think no matter what kind of background or upbringing, people end up different—they channel those influences in different ways. I have high school friends who, after living in five different countries and attending international schools, have ended up married at the age of twenty and settled in a small town in Oklahoma. They have two kids by the age of thirty and they’re very happy with that life. Then I have friends who are still living like they’re eighteen and bouncing all over the world.

Those are two extremes, but I think it can manifest in very different ways. I feel the pull of all those ways—on the one hand, I see that friend in Oklahoma and I think, This is what I’ve missed my whole life, because I’ve never had that stability. But then on the opposite side, there’s the pull to just keep moving and keep seeing new things because you’re addicted to all that newness. I feel both those forces at work, and it’s a matter of navigating it all.

Searching for ice caves on the shore of Lake Superior in Ontario, Canada.

"Some TCKs— probably many— would be envious of your career. Can you talk about how you ended up being a travel writer?"

It was never an intentional thing. If you talk to people who knew me as recently as college, I wasn’t like I’m going to be a travel writer. I was always into writing and traveling, but it happened sort of accidentally. In college I had two majors and two minors because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to study. I just took classes I was interested in and hobbled together a degree based on that! I wanted to do writing, but spent time after college doing more academic writing, and then I thought I wanted to get into video. I lived in Botswana and hung out with some hip-hop artists for a year to document their experiences. So, I was kind of all over the board. I’m a musician too, so I spent some time in bands and touring. And then just over time I fell into writing about travel, and as basic as it sounds, it’s just a combination of loving to write and loving to travel. And then realizing I had something unique to bring to it—a unique perspective that resonated with people.

You know, that story I wrote for Condé Nast years ago about TCKs, I pitched it as part of a package, and I remember my editor being like, “OK, I guess. It sounds like a bit of a self-indulgent project; I don’t know if it’ll get any traction really—but sure, why not? Include it in this package of stories about psychology and travel.”

And it just blew up. For a few weeks I was getting constant messages and I kept seeing it being shared around the TCK community. I was getting emails from people I hadn’t heard from since elementary school saying, “My mom sent this to me!” It was crazy. It went to show how many people like us there are; and it’s not just third culture kids—it’s people who are children of immigrants, immigrants themselves, people who’ve had to leave places involuntarily… this whole melting pot of people who are all in a place not their own. I think that reaction is testament to what I found when I got into this profession: I do have something to say that does resonate with people, and not even just with those who grew up the way I did.

At the Registan in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.

"My next question is probably going to be impossible, but do you have a most memorable travel moment? It can literally be a moment—like “I feel so alive and so connected to the world right now!”—that kind of snapshot moment."

Whew! There are a lot… The ones that come to mind first are the most recent ones, from the crazy 52 Places trip. The commonality between the ones that come to mind first are that they all involve people. I think rather than going to a specific experience, I would say I saw some incredible things over the course of my travels in 2019. I mean, I saw a total solar eclipse, I saw fjords in Scandinavia, I saw penguins in the Falkland Islands, and just incredible things. But most memorable are the people. The family in Washington State who let me stay on their farm. They found out it was my birthday and they didn’t want me to spend it alone, so they killed one of their ducks and made a feast for me and brought me into their home. I’m still in touch with them today. Or, like the guy I met in Uzbekistan who dropped everything to take me around, and drove me to a game of buzkashi, which is a horseback-riding game involving a dead goat.

There are so many people who stopped and opened up their world to me, and it was when they didn’t know I was a journalist for the New York Times—it was really just a human connection. They were like, “Oh, you’re here alone? You’re trying to have an experience to learn more about the place I call home? Let me show it to you.” The most memorable moments like that showed me the common humanity we share and it made me question my own approaches and reactions—like, would I do that? If I was in New York City and I met someone who was visiting for the first time, would I drop everything and show them my city? It makes you want to be a more generous person

"It gives you hope for humanity."

Yes! Especially recently, with all that’s going on, we’ve seen some of the worst impulses of humanity, but I still to this day believe that far more people are good than are bad. I believe that based solely on the experiences I’ve had while traveling.

Visiting a colony of King penguins in the Falkland Islands.

"Our theme for this issue is about crises and disasters. Have you ever experienced a large-scale crisis or disaster in a place you happened to be? How did it impact you?"

I was in school in Jakarta from 2001 to 2006, so it was right after 9/11. There was a slew of bombings in Indonesia, in Jakarta itself, and then there was the night club bombing in Bali in which I lost people I knew.

So, I felt it in a lot of really direct ways, even to the point that the school was closed for several weeks because they’d determined it was one of the top targets of a local terrorist group in Indonesia. We came back to school and they had completely redesigned it into this fortress, which was a big shock to the system: suddenly we were going to school and there were Indonesian armed special forces guarding it from outside.

It’s interesting, because I remember the shock and the grief we all felt when this was all happening, but it’s also interesting how we took it all in stride. In the sense that our perspective shifted and a new normal set in. I also remember the sense of community that came up around it—you know, We’re all in this together and will look out for each other.

I felt that a lot while growing up, and not just in Indonesia. It’s an example of the kind of community that grows within the TCK community. I was also in Indonesia when the (2004) tsunami hit—I remember the way our community would come together with service projects and fundraising whenever there was a disaster. There was this sense that we were guests in this country that was graciously hosting us and the least we could do was use our positions of privilege and give back in these times of crisis. That was a constant for me growing up—there was always a focus within the international school community on service, especially in times of crisis.

"Shifting gears quite a bit, is there one thing you always take with you on your travels? (Passport doesn’t count.)"

Yeah, besides the obvious… These days my latest thing is merino wool. Just merino wool everything. That fiber—I know it’s naturally occurring because it’s, you know, wool, but it feels like witchcraft. It doesn’t make sense. You can wear it for multiple days. It keeps you warm when it’s cold; it keeps you cool when it’s hot—it’s just the perfect travel material. It has changed the way I travel. Now my whole suitcase is basically merino wool.

"So, my last question is, what’s next for you?"

I hope to get some more international travel in during 2021 and have more stories to tell, but I’ve also kind of been enjoying learning more about this country—my latest host country, if you will. In terms of bigger projects, I’m still freelancing, writing for the New York Times and other publications. I’m in the early stages of working on a book that will hopefully combine all these thoughts I have about travel, what home means, what travel means in relation to concepts of home. So, hopefully, that will come out sometime in the next, I don’t know, twenty years or so, at the pace I’m going. Besides that, it’s all very open; a few little pipe-dreams I have in the works, but we’ll see.

Check out more about Sebastian Modak at his website: https://www.sebastianmodak.com.