Day 12: Where Do You Want To Go?
Jun. 13th, 2014 04:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmet! wanted to know what sort of experiences I seek out when I travel to other countries. Remember, folks, if you have a topic you'd like to give me, there are still slots left open at my tell me what to talk about post for this month! The 16th and the 17th are a blank slate, as are the 23rd, 24th, 25th, and 26th of June. That's only 6 more topics! Get 'em while they're hot! Or, in this case, maybe a little tepid.
Onward!
It's safe to say that I am an enthusiastic traveller. I don't travel nearly as much as I would like to, because of work and financial considerations, but I love to travel.
The first time I got on a plane I was, if memory serves, three or four years old, and I was travelling with my mother to go see her best friend in Toronto. I was very excited about the plane, although I was not particularly well-behaved on that flight. Oh, sure, I was quiet and sat still, but I have a distinct memory of getting mad at my mother for something and deliberately up-ending my tiny cup of apple juice onto her tray and into her lap. I don't actually remember what happened after that, but I expect that the Wrath of Mim™ came down on my head swiftly and terribly. ;)
Luckily, since then my travelling habits have improved considerably.
I got the travelling bug from my parents. After all, the story of how they got married is a travel story. See, they met at my godparents' wedding in December 1970, fell in love at first sight, talked all night instead of paying attention to the wedding, and immediately began seeing each other. In January of 1971 my father bought my mother a book on Afghanistan, which she read in a single night and then passed on to him. He read it also in a single night, and that's when they decided that they had to go see that country. They left a few months later, flew to Paris, rented a two-door Renaud, and drove to Afghanistan, by way of Pakistan.
The trip took them three months, during which time my mother came down with dysentery while they were in Pakistan, but they kept going once she was recovered. They got to see the Buddhas at Bamiyan (the ones the Taliban blew up well over 10 years ago—and my mother cried when we saw the news), and at the end of their trip they ran out of money and coasted into Montecarlo on the last fumes of gas in their car. My grandparents were living in Montecarlo at the time, and so they took them in, and that's when my father very properly asked my maternal grandfather for permission to marry my mother. (Although I should note they would have gotten married anyway even if he'd said no)
There followed nearly a decade of travel after that, mostly to various countries in South and Central America, before they decided to try to have children. Although the travel stopped for a while right after I was born for nearly a decade, the moment they figured I was old enough to take with them on trips, that is exactly what they did. We'd already been taking car trips since I was four (most of them to Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick and the United States right across the border from Quebec), so travel wasn't new to me. Even plane travel wasn't particularly new, since I'd been on a plane to Toronto a few times in my life already.
What was new was taking the plane to a different country. My first international flight was to Washington when I was ten, and then to Paris when I was twelve. After that we travelled to Europe at least once a year until I started university. I also got to go on two trips by myself, organised by my school as exchanges with students in Louisiana (New Orleans) and in Italy (Sardinia).
Therefore, my travel habits are very much like my parents' travelling habits. They have always been particularly scathing about organised tours, about the busloads of tourists who let themselves be shepherded about mindlessly, shuttled from one point of interest to another with breaks in-between for shopping at malls. I quickly learned that the "best" (my parents' definition) way to travel was to go alone or with only one or two people, and to research the new country ahead of time as much as possible. Both my parents and I have dozens of travel guides and other books on the countries we visited in the last few decades. For countries we visited more than once, we generally bought updated guides and newer books as we went, and would often compare and contrast with the older books to see not only what had changed in the countries themselves, but how travel itself had changed and how the perceptions of the books' writers had changed as well.
My own practice when coming to a new city is to walk and walk and walk. I got this particular habit from my father, who is even more of an inveterate walker than I am. My mother is less fond of walking, and is more likely to spend an entire day in one spot, usually a museum or an art gallery, taking her time in order to view all the art there. My father and I prefer to take in the city from the outside first, exploring all the streets and bridges and monuments. Like my mother, though, I also like to take a few days out of my trip to go visit museums, or actually go inside the monuments and see what's happening there. I seek out the points of historical interest in the city to visit, and even before I ever get on a plane there's usually at least one or two places that I've already decided I need to see before the end of my trip. The rest of the time I give myself a few ideas for the day and otherwise let my planning be as flexible as possible, so that I don't feel stressed or rushed during my trip.
On longer trips, I tend to do something that neither of my parents do: if the weather permits, I go find the local parks and sit down with a notebook. Sometimes I'll find a café near the park, order a coffee and whatever local food there is to be had, and sit for as long as I can reasonably stay there, just watching the world go by. Sometimes I'll write in my notebook, sometimes I'll just watch and feel the city hum around me. I love to experience the flow of people as they come and go, because it's different in every city. I love hearing everyone talk in different languages, even when I sometimes can't understand what they're saying. Sometimes I'll bring a book with me and read in the sunshine for a few hours, until my eyes start to hurt a little.
Even though I've been told that my way of travelling is "not normal" (apparently everyone but me and my parents likes to shop), I can't bring myself to find fault with it. I can't envy anyone who doesn't go to another place and simply want to breathe in its air and feel the different energy all around. For me, travel is the joy of discovering other places, of doing things I would never get the opportunity to do at home. I have been to markets in other cities, but generally refrain from going into large chain stores that can be found anywhere in the world. What would be the point of that?
Actually, I think I'll include a paragraph I wrote (for a Leverage fanfic story) right after I returned from Rome in 2011. The trip was fresh in my mind, and so I was able to infuse the story with all my sense-memories of the city. To this day, The Built in a Day Job remains one of my favourite stories that I have ever written, because it reminds me of that whirlwind trip through Rome I took and wished had lasted for three weeks instead of three days.
Actually, I think this is what I look for when I travel: stories. It's not entirely surprising, when I take the time to think about it. I am not only a storyteller, I am also an audience, a listener, and a reader.
When I travel I don't necessarily participate in the narrative, but I witness it, and that's just as important.
Onward!
It's safe to say that I am an enthusiastic traveller. I don't travel nearly as much as I would like to, because of work and financial considerations, but I love to travel.
The first time I got on a plane I was, if memory serves, three or four years old, and I was travelling with my mother to go see her best friend in Toronto. I was very excited about the plane, although I was not particularly well-behaved on that flight. Oh, sure, I was quiet and sat still, but I have a distinct memory of getting mad at my mother for something and deliberately up-ending my tiny cup of apple juice onto her tray and into her lap. I don't actually remember what happened after that, but I expect that the Wrath of Mim™ came down on my head swiftly and terribly. ;)
Luckily, since then my travelling habits have improved considerably.
I got the travelling bug from my parents. After all, the story of how they got married is a travel story. See, they met at my godparents' wedding in December 1970, fell in love at first sight, talked all night instead of paying attention to the wedding, and immediately began seeing each other. In January of 1971 my father bought my mother a book on Afghanistan, which she read in a single night and then passed on to him. He read it also in a single night, and that's when they decided that they had to go see that country. They left a few months later, flew to Paris, rented a two-door Renaud, and drove to Afghanistan, by way of Pakistan.
The trip took them three months, during which time my mother came down with dysentery while they were in Pakistan, but they kept going once she was recovered. They got to see the Buddhas at Bamiyan (the ones the Taliban blew up well over 10 years ago—and my mother cried when we saw the news), and at the end of their trip they ran out of money and coasted into Montecarlo on the last fumes of gas in their car. My grandparents were living in Montecarlo at the time, and so they took them in, and that's when my father very properly asked my maternal grandfather for permission to marry my mother. (Although I should note they would have gotten married anyway even if he'd said no)
There followed nearly a decade of travel after that, mostly to various countries in South and Central America, before they decided to try to have children. Although the travel stopped for a while right after I was born for nearly a decade, the moment they figured I was old enough to take with them on trips, that is exactly what they did. We'd already been taking car trips since I was four (most of them to Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick and the United States right across the border from Quebec), so travel wasn't new to me. Even plane travel wasn't particularly new, since I'd been on a plane to Toronto a few times in my life already.
What was new was taking the plane to a different country. My first international flight was to Washington when I was ten, and then to Paris when I was twelve. After that we travelled to Europe at least once a year until I started university. I also got to go on two trips by myself, organised by my school as exchanges with students in Louisiana (New Orleans) and in Italy (Sardinia).
Therefore, my travel habits are very much like my parents' travelling habits. They have always been particularly scathing about organised tours, about the busloads of tourists who let themselves be shepherded about mindlessly, shuttled from one point of interest to another with breaks in-between for shopping at malls. I quickly learned that the "best" (my parents' definition) way to travel was to go alone or with only one or two people, and to research the new country ahead of time as much as possible. Both my parents and I have dozens of travel guides and other books on the countries we visited in the last few decades. For countries we visited more than once, we generally bought updated guides and newer books as we went, and would often compare and contrast with the older books to see not only what had changed in the countries themselves, but how travel itself had changed and how the perceptions of the books' writers had changed as well.
My own practice when coming to a new city is to walk and walk and walk. I got this particular habit from my father, who is even more of an inveterate walker than I am. My mother is less fond of walking, and is more likely to spend an entire day in one spot, usually a museum or an art gallery, taking her time in order to view all the art there. My father and I prefer to take in the city from the outside first, exploring all the streets and bridges and monuments. Like my mother, though, I also like to take a few days out of my trip to go visit museums, or actually go inside the monuments and see what's happening there. I seek out the points of historical interest in the city to visit, and even before I ever get on a plane there's usually at least one or two places that I've already decided I need to see before the end of my trip. The rest of the time I give myself a few ideas for the day and otherwise let my planning be as flexible as possible, so that I don't feel stressed or rushed during my trip.
On longer trips, I tend to do something that neither of my parents do: if the weather permits, I go find the local parks and sit down with a notebook. Sometimes I'll find a café near the park, order a coffee and whatever local food there is to be had, and sit for as long as I can reasonably stay there, just watching the world go by. Sometimes I'll write in my notebook, sometimes I'll just watch and feel the city hum around me. I love to experience the flow of people as they come and go, because it's different in every city. I love hearing everyone talk in different languages, even when I sometimes can't understand what they're saying. Sometimes I'll bring a book with me and read in the sunshine for a few hours, until my eyes start to hurt a little.
Even though I've been told that my way of travelling is "not normal" (apparently everyone but me and my parents likes to shop), I can't bring myself to find fault with it. I can't envy anyone who doesn't go to another place and simply want to breathe in its air and feel the different energy all around. For me, travel is the joy of discovering other places, of doing things I would never get the opportunity to do at home. I have been to markets in other cities, but generally refrain from going into large chain stores that can be found anywhere in the world. What would be the point of that?
Actually, I think I'll include a paragraph I wrote (for a Leverage fanfic story) right after I returned from Rome in 2011. The trip was fresh in my mind, and so I was able to infuse the story with all my sense-memories of the city. To this day, The Built in a Day Job remains one of my favourite stories that I have ever written, because it reminds me of that whirlwind trip through Rome I took and wished had lasted for three weeks instead of three days.
There's nowhere on earth like Rome in the springtime. The air is filled with the scent of lilacs, the sun rises early and sets late —much later than Eliot is accustomed to in Boston this time of year— and there never seem to be any clouds in the sky. In Rome you can walk just about anywhere in the city within two hours: everything is accessible without relying on anything but your own two feet, and Eliot has never liked being dependent on anyone or anything but himself. The springtime attracts tourists, too, milling throngs in which it's easy to lose yourself, to become another faceless part of the scenery. No one looks at you twice in Rome, especially if you walk at a casual pace, if you let yourself trail along the lungoteveri, soaking in the sun's rays reflecting off the water and up into the hanging branches of the chestnut trees that have been planted all along the banks of the Tiber and form a protective canopy over the sidewalk.
Actually, I think this is what I look for when I travel: stories. It's not entirely surprising, when I take the time to think about it. I am not only a storyteller, I am also an audience, a listener, and a reader.
When I travel I don't necessarily participate in the narrative, but I witness it, and that's just as important.
