So What's It Like to Travel? Introduction

Author's note: I have been asked by a few of you what it is like to travel. This will be the first in a series of stories to answer that question. Or at least the question, what's it like for a quirky 47 year old American woman to travel!

When I was 18 years old, I saved my babysitting and teaching swimming earnings and planned a post-high school trip to Europe. The prospect of such an adventure had worked me into an anticipatory froth and I couldn’t imagine that landing in London wouldn’t be such a monumentous occasion that I wouldn’t be immediately, noticeably, inalterably changed. Different. Everything would be different, powerfully different. So I land in London, holding my breath to contain the excitement from bursting me apart and…and everything’s the same, except I’m in London.

That was the first time that I understood that travel isn’t a novel color, it isn’t a new pair of shoes, it isn’t the first day of school; it just is.

Sure, you’re seeing new things, eating new foods, experiencing new cultures, meeting new people, but it all just happens, flows, is. This is not to say that travel is without extreme emotions and experiences but they all happen in a fluid way, as part of life’s continuum. You’re still yourself, and while you may experience internal changes, they are not abrupt; it all just is.

Throughout my life, whenever I have found myself in a new situtation – through pleasant means or not – I am rarely profoundly surprised. The perpetual refrain that results is, “Huh, so this is my life now.” It may be a life that is happy, or stimulating, or dull, or challenging, or even sorrowful, but whatever it is, it just is. And so with travel.

Here’s what else travel is:

1. It is thinking you understand a circumstance, a place, a people, even a word, and realizing – when additional information is supplied – that you don’t have a clue; your interpretation is way off base. For example, in New Zealand, I was bothered by the “tree plantations” that I saw on many previously denuded hillsides. I couldn’t understand why they planted these trees in even vertical rows. Not only did it look peculiar and spoil the illusion of wilderness, it seemed design to promote erosion. When I mentioned this to a New Zealander who knew something more about forestry than I do, he said that the planting in that way was easier to do and easier to cull the trees as well, and that once the trees were culled, the rows were lost and the result was as I might expect.

Another New Zealand example took place in Auckland as I was walking alone down a main street toward my hostel about 10:30pm, clad simply in jeans and a T-shirt. I sensed a car slowing down driving at the pace I was walking. My city smarts immediately clicked in as I became fairly alarmed (and annoyed), expecting either a flasher (this has happened to me before) or a robber with an accomplice lurking somewhere behind me. I resolutely did not look over at the car, quickened my pace so as to be nearer to a group of people walking in front of me, and kept moving until I was inside the hostel door. Later, in telling this story to an Aucklander, I was introduced to an explanation I hadn’t considered. “Were you on Queen Street?” he asked. I nodded yes. “At the top of the hill near K Road?” Yes again. He laughs, “That’s where the prostitutes roam; the man in the car thought you were a hooker!” “In jeans?!” I exclaimed. “My, things are less formal in New Zealand."

In the Philippines, the horse on which I had been riding wouldn’t eat the apple I offered to it as a treat at the end of the ride. Flatly refused to even smell or lick it. It never occurred to me that a horse wouldn’t like an apple until it was pointed out to me that apples don’t grow there. (I suppose that comes more under the category of Duh than making my point. But it was a cute story anyway, huh?)

2. Travel is living with a series of bad decisions and disappointments with grace and equanimity. Many of these decisions and disappointments involve ordering food or choosing lodging. It’s like a series of blind dates – you don’t know what you’re going to get until you open the door.

It's finding out that ice coffee in Australia is made with cream, ice cream and topped with whipped cream -- not the best choice for the lactose intolerant.

It's chosing a hostel in Wellington, NZ because the guide book says the owner is "quirky" -- and we like quirky -- but finding out that quirky now means an eccentric with cleaning amnesia.

It's forgetting to get cash from an ATM in Canberra before starting out for the day and finding out that there are no ATMs, and I mean none, anywhere near the places where you're sightseeing and you're supposed to catch a bus back to Sydney soon and you have zero money to take a bus or a cab to the bus (or to an ATM, for that matter) because you gave the last cent to a cab driver who took you to your destination even though you didn't have enough money to pay him in full because you forgot to go to an ATM!

It's having the flexibility to take a bus from Ayutthaya to Bangkok any time that day but chosing one that gets you to Bangkok in time for the afternoon rush hour so that the taxi ride from the bus station to the guest house costs three times the cost of the bus ride from Ayutthaya!

I allow myself to say a couple of "that was stupid" and then I just let it go. Presumably I'll know better next time. (But you gotta remember that I've been married and divorced twice so that assertion is questionable.)

3. Travel is finding joy in unexpected places and being open enough to do so. The amazing landscapes, seascapes, architecture, and flora and fauna are obvious sources of joy; you expect to be thrilled by these things.

It’s moments like the night when I decided I wanted to try to see the Mir Space Station fall from the sky. I pulled over my rental car across from a wide open field in hopes of getting a glimpse. Next to the car – in the other direction, however – was a most amazing sunset over yet another splendid New Zealand lake. My head spun back and forth between the views, much like when I was in Yellowstone National Park and a coyote walked by just as a geyser was spouting in the other direction. After I gave up on Mir and the sunset was over, I used the flashlight I had found on the ground where I parked the car (nice benefit!) to find my way back.

On my first night in Melbourne, I decided to do a quick walking assessment of the area where I was staying so that in the morning I could efficiently find breakfast, a bank machine, an internet place, and a drug store. While doing this night-time wandering I instead found myself on a night-time tour of beautifully lit landmark buildings.

4. Travel is being willing to be charmed by any person or place or thing – a child who says you talk funny, a Cambodian town with dirt streets that feels like a frontier town, a sand painting on an Australian beach.

5. To maintain an even keel, there are times when you need to do things that help you feel at home. One night I made a large bowl of popcorn after most people had gone to bed and sat on the only couch in the common room eating it and reading a great book. The only thing that would have made it a complete Deborah moment is if I had been in bed. Other times that I have felt more Deborahish were swimming in a lap pool and spending four days at a blues and roots music festival.

I do not want to imply that I am blase' about travel. Far from it. With each day that I travel, I become astounded with the previous day, especially when I realize that I've overcome a fear. It's just that while you are doing it, it is just what you are doing. It just is.