The Philosphy of Travel

     Travel meant luxury.  Not only was it a luxury to go on vacation each summer, but it was a time in which my parents and I left behind a world full of cruel intentions and escaped to, generally, someplace warm.  My childhood summers from roughly ages seven to twelve are a blur of airplane rides, steak houses, and hotel suites.  I could pick the memories apart for you as easily as I could pick apart the photographs that immortalize them—they’re in a box, in the basement, stuck together with good intentions and time.  Here we see an Embassy Suites in San Diego; over there is a Ruth’s Chris in D.C.  And then there were the hours and hours of sipping Cokes and nibbling pretzels in cookie-cutter hotel lounges—you could have told me I was in any state in the country and I would have believed you. 
     All this isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy myself.  We each had a day or two of planned activity, designed to fit the needs of the person.  My mother’s vacation days generally consisted of antique stores and colonial houses; beaches and lighthouses; vineyards and butter molds.  My father would find the historical sites in the area—battlegrounds and battleships; presidential libraries and war monuments.  My days consisted of the most interesting plans, of course, often focused on amusement parks and aquariums; roller coasters and water rides.  After each day of casual sight-seeing, we would return to our comfortable hotel, or perhaps find a restaurant in the area to enjoy.  Luxury, comfortableness, relaxation.  That is what travel was in my family.  For, if you were going to spend money to leave home and visit a location, why should you feel uncomfortable in the process?
     Now here I am, a child raised on fine wining and dining, about to head out with a small suitcase filled with four days worth of clothes, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and a couple notebooks.  Everything about the trip should prove to be uncomfortable—the excruciatingly long flight, staying in family’s homes (not hotels), eating local cuisine (not steak), and the lack of communication with the Japanese folk around me.  What’s fantastic, though, is that it is the uncomfortableness that makes me confident in the worth of this trip.
     I have come to know two definitions of travel—vacation and exploration.  Sometimes the two can be combined, but generally one chooses to travel with either one or the other in mind.  Vacations are what my childhood consisted of.  Their purpose is rooted in relaxation.  Exploration is something that I have always desired, but am generally unfamiliar with.  That sort of travel involves the stretching of the mind, body and soul (these parts of the being aren’t listed for convenience’s sake—each is stretched uniquely).  Exploration has deeply spiritual elements, rooted in a desire to learn and grow and understand. 
     The mind is stretched most obviously through a greater understanding of the world and culture.  Comprehension and open-mindedness are attained, in theory.  One’s idea of the “right” way to do things is stretched to include the thought that other cultures aren’t “wrong” and you are “right,” but everyone expresses and lives differently. 
     The body is stretched through physical exhaustion, jet lag, and different senses taken in.  It is often said that traveling to a different country is like visiting another planet—the smells, tastes, and sounds are all different and over-stimulating at times.  Allowing your body to adjust and partake in a different “world” stretches you to not rely on comfortableness in order to be satisfied with your surroundings.
     Finally, and most significantly, is the spiritual growth that occurs.  Traveling to a different part of the world can effect moralistic and faith values.  Sometimes a person of faith might find their personal beliefs challenged due to experiencing another culture.  Maybe a larger world view is attained, or maybe you don’t consider your way to be the way after seeing different religions practiced.  Other times, travel is a re-affirmation of your beliefs.  Sometimes moral views are enhanced through seeing the ways in which others live—one traveling to Africa, for example, might find a new passion for poverty or AIDS. 
     Outside of organized religion and morals, however, is one last part of the spirit.  There is a certain mythic side to everyone—a side in which travel might appeal to.  Why do we make pilgrimages to ancient sites?  What is our human fascination with old things?  Why do we care?  There is something about being human that desires to go back to our roots, perhaps in an attempt to learn more about who we are.  I won’t find any of my literal roots in Japan, of course.  But there is a universal quality to being human that appeals to a world traveler.  We are all on the same planet paving our way through life.  The universal spirit of mankind intrigues me. 
     If someone were to ask me why I’m traveling, I would say for exploration.  They would ask me how I could have fun wearing dirty clothes and not using a hair dryer or having a laptop with me.  I would simply inform them that I am not taking a vacation.  I am leaving the Shire—not taking it with me.