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Why do we travel?
By MARTY LESHNER © St. Petersburg Times, published January 7, 2001 Long ago, on a cruise that delivered me to a remote atoll floating somewhere in the South Pacific, I stumbled upon a group of fishermen. None spoke English, but several spoke French and -- though my grasp of French is rickety enough to abrogate international treaties -- I was eager to have a conversation. Eventually, the subject shifted to my travels, the chunks of the world I had seen, and my confessed joy in the discovery of new people and different places. "Have you traveled?" I asked one of the fishermen. "No," he replied, smiling as he surveyed his quintessential South Pacific paradise of a home. "What for?" Having found contentment at home, he knew no reason to roam. So, indeed, why travel? Because each trip is pregnant with possibilities: There are new people to meet, novel adventures to experience and perhaps even an emerging new you to encounter. When I ask friends why they travel, they rattle off familiar rationales and agendas: "I just like to hit the road and see what happens." "All I want to do is kick back and relax." "I hear the ruins there are magnificent." Whether journeys are perceived as cultural or commercial, educational or entertaining, programmed or passive, and whether they are made up of days on the run or days to rest, the trip invariably teaches us about who we are, what we believe in and what we enjoy. Impatience, compassion, extravagance, spontaneity, fear, comfort, pleasure, reserve and curiosity are often our travel companions. At home, we may be shy with strangers, yet, on a trans-Atlantic flight, our congenial seatmate soon hears the unedited saga of our lives -- busted dreams, lost lovers, loving children, lasting memories. . . . Boarding an airplane, a train, a bus or a ship somehow may signal newfound freedom, liberation of spirit and a willingness to experience the excitement of new friendships. During a cruise, passengers sometimes discover not only shipmates but also soul mates, kindred spirits primed to be a fourth at bridge, to share a cab en route to a heralded castle and to experiment with a recipe more esteemed by locals than by your esophagus. At cruise's end, you pose together for photos, exchange addresses and phone numbers, and pledge to visit each other ashore or to coordinate future cruises. Ultimately, you may not see them again, but the interlude remains intimate and intense. Travel is as much about who we are as it is about where we are. We cannot help but observe ourselves as we are observed by others. In Nairobi's City Market, I was drawn to a woman whose incandescent smile competed for attention with the gorgeous, fresh-cut flowers she was selling. She was eager to test her commendable, conversational English, and we found ourselves talking, in turn, about California ("You know Hollywood?" she exploded with disbelief), the local cuisine, the gracefulness of Kenya's giraffes. Eventually, it was time for me to go, and I extended my hand in friendship and farewell. She picked two red roses from her stock and placed them in my hand. It was a gesture both touching and tender. I reached into my knapsack and handed her two current paperback bestsellers I had recently finished. "Practice your English," I said with a smile. And, truth to tell, this simple exchange lingers along with images of elephants. Travel is theater: It invites us to extend our boundaries and to play new roles. Is that you sipping ouzo, singing fado, tasting eel, donning a caftan, riding a donkey, boarding a helicopter, ogling a kilt in the shop window? At home, you probably adhere to a set routine centering around family, home and work, all seemingly predictable and safe. Yet, once upon a time in Marrakech, you followed a guide you had scarcely known for 10 minutes through a labyrinth of alleyways, in a dark souk, where you hoped to find the carpet of your dreams. Travel encourages exploration and invites new experiences. Above Australia's Great Barrier Reef, an energetic Aussie (is there any other kind?) persuaded me that snorkeling in this ethereal liquid wonderland would be a world-class adventure, "a must." A skittish diver, I donned the requisite gear, submerged and followed my guide. Behold! I proceeded to "meet" schools -- no, whole universities -- of fish amid the world of coral. A giant green humphead wrasse, perhaps sensing my uncertainty, swam alongside me, a self-appointed tour guide heading me toward scurrying hermit crabs, trees of staghorn coral and a band of trumpetfish. Magical. Also memorable. Because each of us is different, travel is different for everyone. Some countries connect with us while others may not, for our personalities inform each journey. For me, Egypt was mystical, romantic, often chaotic, vibrant, spiritual, dramatic and enduring. Years after my last visit, I can still vividly recall camel rides around the Sphinx, bargaining for a caftan at the Khan al-Khalili bazaar, walking -- with wonderment -- through the Temple at Luxor, taking tea with a charming jeweler who cajoled me into buying a cartouche, and sailing down the Nile -- a river whose vista still manages to masquerade as timeless. Travel may involve challenge and uncertainty. For starters, how did we manage to begin our journeys having packed all the wrong clothes and forgotten trusted toiletries? Ultimately, travel encourages us to include the world's conflicts and celebrations in our thinking. Dubrovnik, Jerusalem, Belfast resonate not only in view of current and continuing world events, but through the lingering lens of personal visits. Devastating typhoons, civil unrest and border disputes as well as festivals, coronations and the World Cup somehow connect us in a vivid and visceral way because we have been there, we know them, we remember. If we are willing to learn it, one of travel's major lessons may be that the world is smaller than we imagined, and some hearts may be larger. Marty Leshner is a freelance writer who returns from his travels to a home in Los Angeles.
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From the Times Travel page
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