Week 8 – Travel

I have loved travel for most of my life. And when I say travel, I don’t mean holidays. I mean what I would call real travel. Not cocooned in some 5 star hotel, whilst the locals can’t afford food and drink. Not soothed by air conditioning when the locals live in temperatures that could cook an egg. And not visiting a place, to stay imprisoned within the confines of a resort, never to venture outside, to interact with the locals. I want to sample some amazing street food.

When people tell me they have been to a certain country, when in fact they never left their international hotel resort drives me mad. If you are going to visit a country, visit that country, its people, and its customs. India is not best seen through the windows of your air conditioned tour bus. You won’t see some of Mexico’s best temples, from early civilisation, from your lounger in a US run holiday resort. Yes Cancun, I am looking at you. And the UK is not best seen from an open top bus in London. Whilst I’m on that point, no open top bus is probably good advice, knowing the English weather.

The amount of people visiting from overseas who tell me they went to the UK and loved London. If I had a Bitcoin for every time somebody here asked me when do I “fly to London” whenever I visit the UK, I still wouldn’t understand Bitcoin. By the way, I blatantly stole that one, so if you are reading this, over your freshly baked focaccia, I do heartily apologise. The blank stares I get when I ask them what they thought of the Lake District, or Edinburgh, or anywhere beyond Watford confounds me.

One of the greatest travel writers, Paul Theroux, said “tourists don’t know where they have been, travellers don’t know where they are going.” And that encapsulates the feeling, the joy, of travel. Waking up one day, not knowing where you will be going to bed. And the freedom that gives. Backpacking. Independent travel. Whatever label we want to give to it, it is about immersing yourself in a country, and a culture. Find your favourite bakery. Favourite spot for morning coffee. Order it in the local language. Laugh along when you get it completely wrong. Walk the streets, smell the smells. See what the locals do. Just sit, and people watch. And let your mind wander. A form of meditation.

This is the travel that I have in my heart. What I yearn for most days. Trapped in an office, earning the money to be able to go off and do these things feels like a Faustian pact. Modern life has a way of keeping you in chains. To enjoy a lot of the things that we want to enjoy, we need money. And so we sell our services, to the highest bidder. A means to an end.

And this is where our life conditioning comes in again. We are told that we need to work hard, save lots of money in our superannuation, or pension, and then, when we reach retirement age, which seems to keep creeping inexorably up, we can take that money and “enjoy” life. And I have seen how that works out for a lot of people. My own father amongst them. His dream was to retire and move to Spain. A very modest dream. And that man worked harder than anybody I have ever known. Then and now. He never got to live out his dream. Cancer took his dream away.

I read of people who strive every day, struggle every day, ticking off the days to retirement. Then retirement comes along, and they are suddenly struck down with a fatal heart attack.

I am not naive enough to think this is everyone. Lots of people do get to retire, and go off and do the things they have dreamt about all their hard working life. But I would rather not take the chance. Every day I bottle all these feelings, keep the lid on them, do a job that I feel trapped in, office bound. That I am doing this until some arbitrary date seems pointless. I have money in the bank. And I have my health and fitness. So why am I not travelling now? That it was I am passionate about. There are places in the world I am desperate to see. Why am I still ironing shirts for work on Sunday afternoons, and not packing my bags?

Only I can answer that.