Editor’s Note: Every so often we here at Viator start thinking about the meaning of travel — what’s it all about, why do we do it. See below for Philippa’s contribution to this growing topic. Also see Scott’s rant about Why we Travel, Rod’s Throw Away the Guidebook and Jane’s How to Travel (When You’re Not Actually Traveling).

Why do we travel?

In the last few years, I’ve done a lot of travelling. I’ve been to fantastic places, seen amazing things. But did I always know what I was looking at? And does it matter?

I know people who plan trips well in advance. They lock themselves into dates and flights and hotels, and they do a lot of reading. Guide books, national literature, internet sites. They know exactly what they should see, know the significance of it when they’re seeing it, and tick it off the list as “seen”, collecting the obligatory photographs along the way.

Not wealthy, just optimistic

I have no problem with that. It’s just I travel very differently. Perhaps I miss out on a lot of what they gain from the experience. But perhaps they miss out on a lot of what I learn and experience. Throwing away the guidebook and camera lets you actually see something. On a tram in Rome, I heard two women talking:

One: And tomorrow we should do the Vatican.
Other: I guess it’s going to take ’til about Wednesday to have done Rome.
One: Yeah, there’s a lot we have to see here.

Should? Do? Have to? Are these words that put blinkers on travel?

I suppose an important – and lucky – thing for me is that currently travel is my life. I have no home; I have storage units, one in London, one in Australia. I have three suitcases: a week, a month, more than six weeks. So I basically land somewhere, wander around to get a feel for it, find coffee, read books, have my computer nearby so I can get on with my writing, watch DVDs if I feel like it, sleep, don’t get too hooked into worrying I might waste a moment of being in that place or exhaust myself trying to see it all in one go. That’s not to say I don’t seek out the heart of the place, just that the place will remain; I can come back. And no, I’m not wildly wealthy, just optimistic.

This is old, it must be special

Recently I went to Egypt. I’d wanted to see the pyramids since I was a kid, captivated by their enigma and exoticism. I’d had this romantic dream of wandering up to the pyramids, staring at them, being moved by them. We ended up with a driver/guide although our hotel was just down the road in Giza. I had to let go of my dream. And I was really glad I did. I’d done no reading on Egypt since I was about 12, the Lonely Planet guide was deep in someone’s bag and, strangely, walls can’t actually talk. Our guide told us some really interesting things, helped us bribe a policeman to let us into the Pyramid of Cheops and saved us from sunstroke because, actually, the pyramids at Giza are quite far apart.

In Lisbon we wandered the streets, looking at buildings and monuments, blown away by the beauty and the sheer life of the city, but with little knowledge of their significance or history. Later we filled in the information with some reading and a bus tour, but at first it was pure response. Although with the inescapable: ‘this is old, this is Portuguese, this is a civic statue, this must be special,’ reason for looking in the first place.

I like travelling like that because it gives me fresh eyes – sure, they are Australian, 21st-century eyes, but that is who I am, when I live and inevitably the filter through which I understand things. But for first impressions, I really like responding to something without preconception. Does anyone ever really see the Mona Lisa anymore, or do they just see a ‘famous painting’? I remember being in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and there was a couple behind me when I was looking at ‘Sunflowers’.

Him: Do you want to look around?
Her: Nah, I really just wanted to see that one cos I’ve got the poster. Let’s go.
Him: Okay.

These people didn’t see Van Gogh. I know they are not typical travellers, then again, maybe they are in these days of guidebooks and must-sees. We all have such preconceived notions of what places are about, what is the most important thing that we absolutely must see, and the impression we should take back with us, that we risk failing to see the reality, the lives, the unique moments all around us.

Let’s get lost

One of my favourite things is getting lost. Just wandering through a place, following my nose and exploring: real life is in the washing hanging between buildings in Zagreb, kids playing football in backstreet Venice, the suburban supermarket in Bratislava. I’ve also stumbled across the homeless congregated beside the river in Rome, and inadvertently crossed boundary streets between safe and unsafe areas of New York; when getting lost you still have to stay aware and hold onto a healthy degree of respect for the unknown place you’re in.

I’ve been lucky to work in many places: Croatia, Slovakia, Poland. In that situation you can scratch a little below the surface. But there are many, many places I’ve visited for only a few days and I’m the first to admit that some of those visits have had very superficial agendas: I was ‘The Sound of Music’ tourist in Salzburg, I went to Egypt specifically to see the pyramids, I ran from mosque to hammam to market in Istanbul.

Other cities, I have just wandered and stumbled on things and missed many must-see sites; there is a long list of things I don’t even know I’ve missed. But I’ve still had an experience of those places, seen them through my eyes not those of a tourist guide/book, and interacted with people who actually live there. And does not going inside Sagrada Familia in Barcelona mean I haven’t really been to Barcelona? Haven’t experienced Gaudi? I feel like I have. I have seen some of his buildings, had a response to them, then read a bit, understood what he was trying to do, and evaluated that according to my own initial response.

I studied art history at university and on my first trip to Europe I went from gallery to gallery ticking things off (and realising the futility of studying art when you see only out of context reproductions of works of art). I don’t think I actually looked at any of those artworks. I don’t feel like I stood in front of any one and thought about how it made me feel, or what I saw. I was programmed and having secondhand responses. Now, I’ve forgotten so much of what I learnt that I can stand in front of a painting or sculpture and really see it. Or so I like to think – I know I still ascribe value (or not) as soon as I know who the artist is.

We have a very monetary and hierarchical way of seeing the world. Of course some things are important because they have shaped our culture into what it is, and some people have risen above the pack in terms of their vision and their ability to give the world great gifts. But are they the only people worth consideration? And are the things worth a fortune the only things worth valuing?

Ignorance is possibility

Sometimes my way of travelling is deeply flawed: I got off a train in Vienna and didn’t even know which way the city centre was – the man I asked thought I was quite idiotic. I’ve eaten some terrible meals, paid way too much for things, missed looking at important monuments.

But I’ve had adventures, I’ve been surprised by the world and the people in it. I’ve nearly been swapped for three camels in Cairo, drunk red wine mixed with coca-cola in Zagreb, taken nude mixed saunas in a squat in Amsterdam. I’ve been offered work in porn on the streets of New York, thrown out of a mafia party in Bratislava and offered a Russian tank in a market in Warsaw (two weeks delivery). Then there were the World War II bullet holes in the walls of my apartment building in the ghetto area of Warsaw, and living in the building of the first bank in Zagreb, chandeliers and all.

Information is power but perhaps ignorance is possibility. I want to be awed by the depth of history, the beauty of genius, the wonder of our world as much as anyone; I just don’t want to be blinkered by other people’s interpretation. Or my own preconception.

Maybe I need to visit everywhere twice: once in ignorance, the second time with guidebook in hand. If only I was wildly rich… Anyone want to buy some optimism?

–Philippa Burne

This entry was posted on Monday, May 5th, 2008 at 12:00 pm and is filed under Destinations, Europe, The Art of Travel, Travel Inspiration. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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