Are You A "Bad" Traveler...???

http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/0...ows/index.html

July 27, 2008

Travel Narrows


"Most of us are good at a few things and bad at a longer list of other
things. I am a bad traveler and I wonder if others share my infirmity.

In the past couple of months I have taken two trips, one to New Zealand and
another to England and Ireland. Both were the result of invitations to give
a talk or participate in a conference, but in each case there was ample time
left over to do the things that travelers do.

I tried, but I just couldn't get the hang of it.

The manifestations of my incapacity were physical, although its root causes
were not. In the course of a week's touring of Ireland, all my usual little
ills returned - *mouth sores, intestinal difficulties (a euphemism), clogged
nasal passages, and what one might call "strategic fatigue." Strategic
fatigue sets in whenever I enter a museum (when I saw that the display case
containing the Book of Kells was surrounded by other tourists I didn't have
the strength to push myself forward) or when I approach an ancient site (at
Clonmacnoise, the location of an ancient abbey, I retreated immediately to
the coffee shop and never saw the ruin) or when the possibility of getting
out of the car to enjoy a scenic view presented itself (I protested that it
would take too much time, or that we needed gas, or something equally
feeble).

The one time I tried to be a good sport and a good tourist was at Carrowmore
Megalithic Cemetery in Sligo, which, as far as I could tell, consisted of
clumps of small rocks placed at inconvenient distances from one another.
These rocks were, I was told, tombs and significant stone circles. It was
lost on me, but I dutifully trudged around a large circle taking pictures.
The reward for my efforts was the discovery later in the day that, sometime
during our exercise in archaeological reverence, a backpack containing my
wife's clothing and jewelry had been stolen from our rental car. That'll
teach me!

It was the fact that my wife was with me on this trip that alerted me to the
extent of my problem. She was supposed to have accompanied me to New
Zealand, but couldn't make it at the last moment. I attributed my inability
fully to respond to the considerable glories of New Zealand to her absence.
Had she been here, I told myself, I could have fed off her enthusiasm and
taken pleasure from her pleasure. But in Ireland both her enthusiasm and her
sense of pleasure were abundantly visible and still I couldn't do much more
than go through the motions. It's not that I didn't recognize the beauty of
the landscape or the majesty of the monuments. I couldn't rise to the level
of appreciation they deserved.

Why not? What's wrong with me? There are two answers to these questions.
First, I just don't care about seeing sights. In London, I ended up at
Milton's burial place by accident. I was there for a concert. Churches,
famous squares, wide rivers, forests, cobbled streets, scenic vistas,
castles, grand gardens . . . I go Spiro Agnew one better: when I've seen
one, I've seen one too many.

But behind the lack of interest in sightseeing is something deeper and more
unsettling. When I ask people what they like about traveling, they usually
answer, I enjoy encountering different cultures and seeing how other people
live. I am perfectly happy with the fact of other cultures, and I certainly
hope that those who inhabit them live well; but that's as far as it goes.

By definition, a culture other than yours is one that displays unfamiliar
practices, enforces local protocols and insists on its own decorums. Some of
them even have different languages and are unhappy if you don't speak them.
To me that all spells discomfort, and I don't see why I should endure the
indignities of airplane travel only to be made uncomfortable once I get
where I'm going. As for seeing how other people live, that's their business,
not mine.

For a while, I tried to attach my feelings about travel to some honorable
moral or intellectual tradition. I recalled some poems by Ben Jonson in
which he praises Sir John Roe for the Roman virtue of being always the same
no matter how extensively he traveled ("his often change of clime, though
not of mind.") But I had to acknowledge that the springs of my own
sensibilities had more to do with parochialism and sloth than with some
noble capaciousness of mind. In the end, I just have to admit that I was
born without the travel gene, which probably means that I was also born
without the curiosity gene, and that I'll just have to live with it.

Or, rather, my wife will..."

/

""Fly By Air"" wrote in message
...



"Most of us are good at a few things and bad at a longer list of other
things. I am a bad traveler and I wonder if others share my infirmity.


Unfortunately, instead of staying home, whining idiots like this persist in
clogging up places I want to see.

Cheers,
George W Russell
Bangalore

On Jul 28, 8:01*pm, "\"Fly By Air\""
wrote:
[snip]
Why not? What's wrong with me? There are two answers to these questions.
First, I just don't care about seeing sights. In London, I ended up at
Milton's burial place by accident. I was there for a concert. Churches,
famous squares, wide rivers, forests, cobbled streets, scenic vistas,
castles, grand gardens . . . I go Spiro Agnew one better: when I've seen
one, I've seen one too many.

But behind the lack of interest in sightseeing is something deeper and more
unsettling. When I ask people what they like about traveling, they usually
answer, I enjoy encountering different cultures and seeing how other people
live. I am perfectly happy with the fact of other cultures, and I certainly
hope that those who inhabit them live well; but that's as far as it goes.

By definition, a culture other than yours is one that displays unfamiliar
practices, enforces local protocols and insists on its own decorums. Some of
them even have different languages and are unhappy if you don't speak them.
To me that all spells discomfort, and I don't see why I should endure the
indignities of airplane travel only to be made uncomfortable once I get
where I'm going. As for seeing how other people live, that's their business,
not mine.
[snip]

This person should find some comfort in the knowledge that they
are not all that alone. Without trying to be dismissive of other
peoples
travel choices, my observation of friends who cruise, or visit "all
inclusive resorts",
is that they seem to have a bent similar to this person. Many cruise
oriented
vacationers quickly get to a point where the rarely venture off the
ship in port. A stated attraction to both the ship and an all
inclusive
is the familiarity and predictability of basic services like food,
money,
and language.

In essence some folks want to "get away from it all". "It All" of
course including anything new and different.

"Fly By Air" wrote:
http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/0...ows/index.html

July 27, 2008

Travel Narrows


"Most of us are good at a few things and bad at a longer list of other
things. I am a bad traveler and I wonder if others share my infirmity.

In the past couple of months I have taken two trips, one to New Zealand and
another to England and Ireland. Both were the result of invitations to give
a talk or participate in a conference, but in each case there was ample time
left over to do the things that travelers do.

I tried, but I just couldn't get the hang of it.

The manifestations of my incapacity were physical, although its root causes
were not. In the course of a week's touring of Ireland, all my usual little
ills returned - *mouth sores, intestinal difficulties (a euphemism), clogged
nasal passages, and what one might call "strategic fatigue." Strategic
fatigue sets in whenever I enter a museum (when I saw that the display case
containing the Book of Kells was surrounded by other tourists I didn't have
the strength to push myself forward) or when I approach an ancient site (at
Clonmacnoise, the location of an ancient abbey, I retreated immediately to
the coffee shop and never saw the ruin) or when the possibility of getting
out of the car to enjoy a scenic view presented itself (I protested that it
would take too much time, or that we needed gas, or something equally
feeble).

The one time I tried to be a good sport and a good tourist was at Carrowmore
Megalithic Cemetery in Sligo, which, as far as I could tell, consisted of
clumps of small rocks placed at inconvenient distances from one another.
These rocks were, I was told, tombs and significant stone circles. It was
lost on me, but I dutifully trudged around a large circle taking pictures.
The reward for my efforts was the discovery later in the day that, sometime
during our exercise in archaeological reverence, a backpack containing my
wife's clothing and jewelry had been stolen from our rental car. That'll
teach me!

It was the fact that my wife was with me on this trip that alerted me to the
extent of my problem. She was supposed to have accompanied me to New
Zealand, but couldn't make it at the last moment. I attributed my inability
fully to respond to the considerable glories of New Zealand to her absence.
Had she been here, I told myself, I could have fed off her enthusiasm and
taken pleasure from her pleasure. But in Ireland both her enthusiasm and her
sense of pleasure were abundantly visible and still I couldn't do much more
than go through the motions. It's not that I didn't recognize the beauty of
the landscape or the majesty of the monuments. I couldn't rise to the level
of appreciation they deserved.

Why not? What's wrong with me? There are two answers to these questions.
First, I just don't care about seeing sights. In London, I ended up at
Milton's burial place by accident. I was there for a concert. Churches,
famous squares, wide rivers, forests, cobbled streets, scenic vistas,
castles, grand gardens . . . I go Spiro Agnew one better: when I've seen
one, I've seen one too many.

But behind the lack of interest in sightseeing is something deeper and more
unsettling. When I ask people what they like about traveling, they usually
answer, I enjoy encountering different cultures and seeing how other people
live. I am perfectly happy with the fact of other cultures, and I certainly
hope that those who inhabit them live well; but that's as far as it goes.

By definition, a culture other than yours is one that displays unfamiliar
practices, enforces local protocols and insists on its own decorums. Some of
them even have different languages and are unhappy if you don't speak them.
To me that all spells discomfort, and I don't see why I should endure the
indignities of airplane travel only to be made uncomfortable once I get
where I'm going. As for seeing how other people live, that's their business,
not mine.

For a while, I tried to attach my feelings about travel to some honorable
moral or intellectual tradition. I recalled some poems by Ben Jonson in
which he praises Sir John Roe for the Roman virtue of being always the same
no matter how extensively he traveled ("his often change of clime, though
not of mind.") But I had to acknowledge that the springs of my own
sensibilities had more to do with parochialism and sloth than with some
noble capaciousness of mind. In the end, I just have to admit that I was
born without the travel gene, which probably means that I was also born
without the curiosity gene, and that I'll just have to live with it.

Or, rather, my wife will..."

I suspect it's a mixed bag for most of us. I've happily wandered around
Carrowmore (after walking from Sligo) but then passed up opportunities
to visit Yeats' grave while hitchhiking to Donegal and back. Some day I
may forgive myself for that.

And then there are places I have no desire to go. I'm sure they're very
nice in their own way, but I just don't care. There's no question that
wanderlust is expensive and time-consuming; with only so much time and
money and Immodium, you have to pick your battles.

So there's no need to apologize. You are what you are, and I'm sure
your wife likes you anyway. But please don't confuse Spiro Agnew with
James Watt (he was quoted while talking about Redwood trees).

Louis