I love the adrenaline rush that comes along with travel, whether it’s stepping off the plane, walking onto a chaotic street in a city I’ve never visited before, taking in a breathtaking view or sunset or having a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, like camping in the Sahara or sailing on the Nile.
But in my mind, these activities are linked more to tourism than to actual travel. Making a distinction between “tourism” and “travel” (and, indeed, between “tourists” and “travelers”) has always been an extremely contentious task, but to me the difference lies in the long-term impact a particular experience has on you.
While tourist activities might make your heart pump or a smile come across your face momentarily, experiences rooted in travel affect you profoundly and alter you permanently.
To be sure, connection with other people is probably my favorite of the long-term impacts travel has had on me. The most meaningful encounters are often also the most momentary. When I visited Beijing’s Forbidden City in 2010, I was stressed out for a number of reasons. An elderly passerby practically begged me to take his portrait. He smiled wider than anyone else I’d ever seen, in spite of the fact that he had almost no teeth. “Don’t worry, be happy” indeed.
I’ve also had the opportunity to connect with other travelers, thanks in large part to the social environment of hostels and lo-tech forms of transport. En route from Thailand to Cambodia, I encountered fellow southerners Amber and Kale, with whom I would travel the coast of Vietnam. This past March in Noosa, Australia, I made the acquaintance of Genevieve, a young Canadian student whose verve and passion for travel continues to inspire. And I met Bianca, my best friend, at a Paris café in 2007.
Perspective
Travel also provides you with a broad perspective it’s difficult to get any other way. One of the most profound illustrations of this for me has been how travel in developing countries has impacted my perception of life in America. The perspective travel affords you doesn’t always present itself in terms of cliché dichotomies like rich vs. poor, however.
As you may or may not know, I lived in Shanghai for the better part of a year. The economic and professional benefits of my having lived there notwithstanding, I was positively sickly by the time I left. When I boarded my plane to Vietnam at the end of my stay, my skin was more broken out than it had ever been, my eyes and lungs were infected and I was gauntly thin from frequent food borne illness. Anybody who doesn’t believe that humans are destroying the environment needs to live in China!
Shortly after departing China, I spent two weeks in Muslim Malaysia during the holy month of Ramadan. Adherents to Islam fast every day of Ramadan, consuming food and water only after the sun has set. It sounded ridiculous to me, so I naturally had to try it — it was positively harrowing, even for a day. The rationale my friend’s mother gave, however, put it into context. “During this time,” she explained, “we are equal, just as we always are in the eyes of God. Rich and poor alike go hungry.”
Endurance
I have fallen ill on the road my fair share of times, usually to the tune of once per trip. Sometimes it isn’t surprising — I probably shouldn’t have eaten the street meat I spotted on the way to Essaouira Morocco. On the other hand, I didn’t really expect to spend Christmas day slumped over a toilet after a meal in Shanghai. The great thing about getting food poisoning so often is that I know what I’m in for as soon as the first symptoms set in, and pace myself accordingly.
I knew after my third trip to the restroom when I was touring Australia’s Whitsunday Islands, for example, that my sickness wasn’t going to be over quickly, yet I felt comfortable enough in my discomfort the following morning to board the Greyhound bus as planned and head north to Magnetic Island. The takeaway is that while I certainly don’t enjoy sickness any more than I ever have, I am now able to cope with it, to be present in my own misery, more than I ever have been.
Even if you’ve got an iron stomach, taking long trips like I do boosts your endurance in and of itself. In short, you become stronger and more resilient the more often you travel.
Humility
Travel is also very frequently a matter of swallowing your pride. My last night in São Paulo, Brazil, I headed out to a bar on Frei Caneca Street with Will, my favorite of the too-many men I met in Brazil’s underrated megacity. We were having a tender moment together when an oaf I would later found out he knew shouted something obnoxious in my direction. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I had officially been asked to leave.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of putting up a fight against the extremely built door guy, and found myself quite literally thrown on the pavement and kicked in the face. Although I was able to walk without feeling pain after only a few days, the scar on my face remained for several months. More importantly, however, I learned that you shouldn’t always fight something, even if you truly believe yourself to be just. As one of my favorite quotes says, “it’s more important to be smart than right.”
Of course, you won’t always have your ass handed to you physically, even if someone threatens to do so. While visiting Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, I negotiated (or so I thought) a fixed rate of 300 LE for a taxi to and from Ras Mohammed National Park. Unbelievably, the driver demanded 900 LE from me when he dropped me off and I staunchly refused. After being made to fear for my life and my camera, we met in the middle (600 LE) — and I had a new appreciation for the importance of compromise.
Robert Schrader is a travel writer and photographer who’s been roaming the world independently since 2005, writing for publications such as “CNNGo” and “Shanghaiist” along the way. His blog, Leave Your Daily Hell, provides a mix of travel advice, destination guides and personal essays covering the more esoteric aspects of life as a traveler.
