Why travel?

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, several spoke French, and--though my grasp of French is rickety enough to abrogate international Treaties--I was anxious to have a conversation with the locals.

Eventually, the subject shifted to my travels, the chunks of the world I've 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.

There is a philosophical incentive, I guess: We are on the wave of a new millennium--a landmark, a milestone, a lure. Yet, admittedly, travel in today's troubled world involves challenges and, to many, may imply inherent risks.

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"; "I can't wait to shop"; "All I want to do is kick-back and relax"; "I hear the ruins there ale magnificent...." Whether journeys are perceived as cultural or commercial, educational or entertaining, programmed or passive, comprising 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.

We travel, sometimes unknowingly, to learn about ourselves in the process of learning about others. Impatience, compassion, extravagance, spontaneity, fear, comfort, pleasure, paranoia, reserve, and curiosity are often our travel companions. So are our idiosyncrasies: Okay, so you like to gargle at 3 in the morning, and I like to sleep with the window wide open when it's winter in Warsaw. (Tip: "Audition" each other on a weekend getaway before booking a world cruise.)

Boarding an airplane or embarking on a cruise ship somehow may signal newfound freedom--a liberation of spirit and a willingness to experience the frisson of new friendships. During a cruise, passengers typically 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 much heralded castle, and to experiment with a recipe more esteemed by locals than by your esophagus. At cruise 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 or may not see them again, but the interlude is intimate, intense, and remembered.

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?

Travel encourages exploration and invites new experiences. In Australia's Great Barrier Reef, an energetic Aussie (Is there any other kind?) convinced me that snorkeling in this ethereal liquid wonderland was "a must." A skittish diver, I donned the requisite snorkel gear, submerged, and followed my guide. Behold! I proceeded to "meet" schools--no universities--of fish, frisky citizens of a condominium-sized world of coral. A giant green humphead wrasse swam alongside me, a self-appointed tour guide apparently determined to introduce me to scurrying hermit crabs, trees of staghorn coral, and a band of trumpetfish preening as if to toot their own horns, Magical. Also memorable.

Travel involves a certain degree of uncertainty and challenge. Newspaper headlines may tell of terrorist threats and violence. Airport security, a staple of contemporary travel, may signal necessary searches and inevitable long lines. We then venture forth on our adventures into lands perhaps best known for aggressiveness--in both spices and merchants--as well as questionable drinking water, spontaneous strikes, and weather that vacillates between sultry and subarctic.

And ultimately, travel touches the world. Bali, Istanbul, Hong Kong, Madrid, Jerusalem--all resonate not only in view of past and/or continuing events, but also through the lingering lens of personal visits. Devastating typhoons, civil unrest, epidemics, and border disputes--as well as film festivals, the Olympics, and the World Cup--somehow connect us in a vivid and visceral way because we've been there, we know them, we remember.

But travel is personal. I would have difficulty chronicling visits to musty museums, bat caves, and batik factories, but I can recall, in detail, the skill and kindness of a physician in Brazil who tackled my troublesome sinus infection and had me accompanied to two pharmacies so I could get the exact medications I needed.

If we are willing to learn it, one of travel's unexpected lessons may well be that our tense world is smaller than we imagined-and some hearts may be larger.

COPYRIGHT 2004 World Publishing, Co. (Illinois)
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group