Why he doesn’t travel anymore

Today I'm bringing you a translated article from the Czech travellers' portal Hedvábná Stezska, which is Czech for “Silk Road”. The article is by David Kučera, a well-known Czech traveller and travel writer. It was him who inspired my thirst for exotic adventures when I was still too young to get out on the road by myself. Through his writing, I started to discover what's going on on this Planet and how people live.

Revisiting David's website after many years, I was intrigued to find that the latest article he had written was titled: “Why I don't travel any more”. I'm sharing my translation of it with you because I think many of us, expats, might find some revelations in it. It’s looooooong, so I’ve added some photos from my past travels to break it up.

(It was an interesting linguistic experiment to do this translation – suddenly you find yourself writing somebody else's words, using vocabulary and phrases that you would never otherwise use. I should do this more often to enrich my own range of expression.)

Why I don't travel anymore, by David Kučera

Often we ponder over the reasons why we travel, what it gives us and what it takes from us, why exploring the world has become our biggest passion. But so far we haven’t asked why some of us are quitting travelling …

“Silk Road” asked me for an article on the topic “why I don’t travel any more”. Before setting out to pen it down, I reminded myself what I wrote a few years ago in my traveller’s profile. Among other things “… I would like to stop travelling …”, because “… I will be more complete when I stop feeling the need for exotic things, which really just fill my voids and that only for a few moments.” Well, has the time come yet?

Escape

The gradual evolution from a desire to explore the world to exploring yourself – for many years, that is how I saw my motivation for travelling. To be on the road meant a sense of freedom; to always go forward, visit exciting places, taste exotic delicacies, to uncover the mysteries of foreign customs. Travelling expanded my horizons in the sense of uncovering the human tendency towards one-sided comprehension of things, it offered me the opportunity to confront different points of view and realize the relativity of each one of them.

In comparison, the reality at home seemed a lot more sobering – the everyday routine, dissatisfaction with the role of a cog in a wheel, unsolved problems which seemed to magically disappear while I travelled, then reappeared when I returned home. So travelling became a drug, which was hard to resist and easy to succumb to.

On the road, I feel exceptionally satisfied, so why couldn’t I experience the same feelings at home? Is it even possible for me to combine the euphoria I get from travelling with everyday life? – I once asked myself.

The search for these answers brought me to a chain of other, nearly existential, questions. At the end of it, I concluded that behind all those various reasons for travelling, there is one common thread – escape: escape from the dysfunctional family I came from, from the daily grind, from the never-ending confrontation with ignorance, from my powerlessness over the breakdown of society, from frustration that reality isn’t what I’d like it to be; an escape from reality. Behind the pretext of exploration, I was hiding the need to use new adventures as a way of silencing the annoyances of life – a constant stream of intense sensory experiences guaranteed that I would always “have something to remember, or at least something to look forward to” and that there would be almost no time to concern myself with unpleasant or painful matters.

Overwhelm and Forget

From this point of view, everything unexpectedly started to make sense. Freedom? - yes, when I can choose, then I'd prefer to freely think about pleasant things, and freely forget the unpleasant ones. Always forward? - yes, to not look backwards and to not return to the past, because then I might see what mistakes I have made. Exciting places? - yes, the more, the better, just to make sure the excitement does not end and that I don't have to spend time occupying my mind with thoughts about myself. Exotic delicacies? - yes, with good food it's always easy to forget about things. Foreign customs? - yes, the more knowledge I accumulate, the more I will feel that I am worth something.

To overwhelm ourselves so much that there is no time to think about difficulties and pains, that is, after all, the way that our civilization has been functioning in the past couple of decades, so I didn't find it strange in any way. Until the time when my accumulated and unsolved problems and pains started to catch up with me, when I started doing things that were hurting the people around me and that I later regretted, at times when I was dissatisfied without any tangible reason. My favourite sentence “I work eleven months so that I can live for a month”, referring to a month's holiday spent on the road, showed that I didn't believe I could live life to the full. The decision to make a change forced me to reconsider my priorities in life.

All this happened about four years ago, approximately at the time when I wrote the profile I mentioned at the beginning. Nevertheless … to begin living the change was more difficult than just realizing its necessity.

The first year, I again escaped onto the road, although I was able to observe my feelings with the knowledge that I am escaping. The year after that, our son was born, and we almost immediately took him with us to Asia for work. After a few months, as soon as everything new and exotic became routine, my shadows reappeared. I couldn't even hide from them out there. Wouldn’t it be more meaningful to stay at home and work on yourself, than to waste time in a pleasant, but, nevertheless, an illusion, on an adventurous, but, nevertheless, an escape? – I again asked.

Third Reaction

The journey of self-discovery that I have been on since, is fascinating and painful at the same time – my mind fights the changes in all sorts of ways, but from a certain point on, the return to old habits is not possible. That is why, today, during every significant activity, I ask myself: Why are you doing this? Is it pushing you somewhere or is it purposeless? From time to time I still feel the insincerity of my answer, but after realizing that humans simply think what they want to think, and not what the reality is, I take this as a fact that I just need to live with.

It is exactly this twisted perception of reality that is the basis of the “clever” concept of escape. My negative feelings resulting from everyday routine, from the role of cog in a wheel, from frustration that the situation is not developing how I would want; these feelings don't have anything to do with reality, but they come from something that I call “third” reaction.

I have observed three basic reactions to reality: either I accept reality, or I try to change it, or I will forever occupy my mind with it without accepting it or changing it. From my personal experience, the first two reactions appear to be constructive, the third is unhelpful. When I look at my life, which is full of “third” reactions, it becomes easy to discover where the big part of my feeling of dissatisfaction comes from. It stems from issues that remain “hanging” with me as a result of the “third” reaction – and in time they build up – instead of passing through me and clearing up space.

Why I don't travel

Travelling is slowly stopping to be an escape and it is becoming one of the many ways to embrace reality. Even today I consider it to be an inexhaustible source of inspiration; but it is questionable whether I need this type of inspiration right now, when I feel more drawn towards other ways of putting together my picture of the world.

Beside my inner state, the external conditions have also changed. Children came, and although it is possible to travel with them in just about any way, we observed during our stay in Asia – and later here in Europe as well – that our small children prefer staying longer in fewer places, rather than moving frequently and spending every night in a different place. Likewise, for us, it became more important to create an inspiring home for our children, so this is where an appropriate part of our energy goes now. And last, but not least, we are finding out that, as parents, we always have more to learn – about ourselves, about our attitude towards others and life itself – so we are actively working on this area as well.

Travelling still remains, and will remain, a part of my life – if it will make sense in the context of the current stage of my life. Right now it would be, for example, going to work abroad, in the future travelling with my children – to guide them through the diversity of the world, if they are inclined in this way. But … tomorrow it could all be different.
I wish you that you get at least as much out of travelling as I got; mostly I wish you that you recognize the role that travel plays in your life better than I managed.

David Kučera is a traveller and an author of many articles about the meaning and effects of travelling on the world. You can learn more about him on his website for independent travellers ecesty.cz

Whitstable: pretend like it’s the weekend

It seems we’re having some sort of tropical rain storm outside today, so I’m glad to be in the comfort of my home with a cup of coffee, ready to tell you about my trip out of London yesterday.

While the newspapers worry about another steaming volcano in Iceland threatening to ruin people’s Bank Holiday jet-away plans, I wisely choose a “beach holiday” reachable by train. After a bit of Googling, I decided it was going to be either Camber Sands near Rye or Whistable. The Internet gave me the impression they were both idyllic beach towns. The Internet is a liar.

Whitstable then. 

Lately, I have spent much time fantasizing about leaving the London madness, “quitting the rat race” and relocating somewhere quieter. This trip was the sobering up I needed. Our train to Whitstable passed through some pretty rough towns. Rochester … whatever happened in Rochester? Rochester is like a broken home, all sadness, ghosts and rust. Sure, the property prices are probably lower there. For a reason. It was a slap in the face. Not all small towns are full of smiling children playing in green fields, or happy parents sipping Fairtrade caramel lattes with gold dust sprinkled on top. It reminded me what I escaped from 9 years ago. The small-town boredom, teenagers hanging out in dusty car parks, hating everything and everyone, no opportunities, no possibilities, nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Whitstable wasn’t that much better. The Internet gives you the impression it’s a gourmet paradise, a fishing village where posh Londoners come for their seafood. I was mildly disappointed. There are far more trees and green spaces in my neighbourhood in London than the whole of Whitstable. The grass is not greener, but the concrete sure is greyer.

The locals were a friendly bunch, though. We stopped an older couple to ask them for directions, and they explained to us that the name Whitstable comes from “White Staple” because they used to have salt pans here. But now they don’t make salt any more, because this is Britain and nobody makes anything in Britain these days.

We tried to make the most of the rocky beach, eating strawberries and reading in the sun. I’m currently re-reading Jack Kerouac’s “On The Road”, so my head is full of images of the California sun, endless highways and hobos hitchhiking across America with barely a dollar in their pocket, laughing and enjoying an ultimate freedom on the road. I’m travelling in my head … with Mr. Sal Paradise and his fellow bums for company. It’s a fun journey.

The lady who sold us the strawberries mentioned something about divorcing her husband after 20 years. She said it with a brave matter-of-fact voice that was supposed to make it sound like nothing was happening, but, deep down, you knew she was totally gutted. I felt sorry for her, in this town, alone. Her strawberries tasted good.

It was my first time ever tasting oysters! Hey, I come from a landlocked country. We don’t eat oysters there. They tasted just like the sea. Yeah, it was exactly like Eating Sea.

 
A dad and his little kid were flying a kite on the beach. The sky was glorious.


One of the things Whitstable is supposedly known for are the funny street names.

My friend M. lost his shoes in Whitstable. He left them on the beach and then the high tide came and took them. He had to travel back to London barefoot. Hardly anyone on the Tube noticed. Hilarious.

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Camber Sands next time.

Judy’s Affordable Vintage Fair, York Hall

Yesterday I spent a nice girly afternoon at Judy’s Affordable Vintage Fair. The fair is held regularly at York Hall in Bethnal Green, just across the road from the Museum of Childhood. (If you didn’t have much a childhood, go view it displayed behind glass cabinets?)

I had been missing these girly outings; most of my days are spent hanging out with boys which is what happens if you go to engineering school. I do love my platonic boyfriends, but boys just don’t understand the importance of dresses, necklaces, bracelets, hats, bags, shoes and cupcakes.

I totally fell in love with this fur coat. (PETA members turn away! I like warm things and I apologize for my primeval taste in fashion.) I’ve been wanting a nice fitted sheepskin coat for a long time but this one came as a surprise. It was so perfect with the embroidery and all, but it’s totally the wrong season for it. I really should not be spending my summer budget on winter clothes, so I decided to leave it there. My heart is crying a little right now.

And then I found this pack of amusing coasters. Destiny or what?

This dress reminded me of the one Sarah Jessica Parker wore for the London premiere of Sex and the City. So cute.

The best thing about rummaging through clothes racks at a vintage market is imagining stories about the previous owner of these outfits. Especially with some of the more crazy drag-queen outfits. Who wore that? Where did they wear it? Whyyyy did they wear it? I start imagining cabaret evenings in smoky halls fifty years ago, a lonely magician performing old tricks on stage in a shiny jacket, a bored audience, a tired waitress with bags under her eyes, a guy sitting by the bar alone, searching for his lost happiness at the bottom of a glass of whisky … or maybe a jolly evening of night dancing with friends in the swinging sixties, with high-maintenance hair and bright lipstick.

One of the stalls was selling old post cards and some of them had writing on them too, so I spent a bit of time reading them. I love sending post cards to friends, but thinking up something short and witty to say is often a difficult task. Plus, postcards are not sealed so I am always aware that the postman might be reading it first. Usually I end up writing something mundane like “Greeting from Paris/Vienna/London. It’s sunny here and we have visited a lot of museums. Miss you, xxx Lucie.”

Next time I can write, “There are such lots of goats about.”

Another thing this vintage fair reminded me of was rummaging through my mother’s cupboards. My mum used to be very crafty, she could sew, knit, crochet, embroider and used to make beautiful clothes for herself and for me when I was a kid. I used to have the best fancy dress costumes; my mum would spend weeks sewing sequins onto my princess dresses and I loved it. For herself, she used to make ball gowns, and then she would wear them to actual balls and do actual ballroom dancing. They’d dress up with my dad and my grandma or maybe a neighbour would babysit and there would be this Sense of Occasion in the house.

So my mum used to have supplies of everything. Buttons, fabrics, lace, ribbons, wool … I used to take it all out and look through her supplies when I was little, and she’d get angry at me for making a mess. Times have changed. The skills considered essential for a 21st century woman are totally different. Instead of sewing and ballroom dancing, I’ve learnt how to speak English, invest on the stock market and program in Java.    

My mum also used to have these beautiful wooden carved boxes full of jewellery. And ooooooh, did I like rummaging through those when I was little.  

I bought many, many necklaces and bracelets at the vintage fair; it’s one of those things I find hard to resist. Now I just need the beautiful wooden boxes for them.

Another one of the stalls was selling these old fashion magazines from France. Everything in them was hand-drawn and it reminded me of the old Burda magazines my mum used to have. Instead of being told what outfits to buy and where, there were patterns for making those outfits. 

We ended the girly afternoon with a nice cup of tea, served in nice vintage cups.

Just. One. More.

One last exam tomorrow. I promise there will be lots of posts about fun activities in London afterwards. Mostly, I promise this to myself.

Meanwhile, one of my course mates sent me this rather hilarious link to Wikipedia’s entry for burnout.

I thought burnout was something crazy people did; crazy people who need to be taken out of the office on a stretcher one day, only to be forever known as “the dude who used to work here shhhhh let’s not talk about it out loud but he lives in some rehab facility up in the mountains now”. People who end up wearing flowing white gowns (which look nothing like wedding gowns), walking slowly, mumbling nonsense and who, once in a while, have to be wrestled to the floor by nurses and injected with tranquilizer. (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest comes to mind, or that rehab place from Norwegian Wood.)  People who may have tried going postal. But no, the according to Wikipedia (that most-respected source of all knowledge since the Bible), burnout seems to be something that we, Normal People in the city, exercise daily. Here we go, the phases of burnout:

• A compulsion to prove oneself
• Working harder
• Neglecting one's own needs
• Displacement of conflicts (the person does not realize the root cause of the distress)
• Revision of values (friends or hobbies are completely dismissed)
• Denial of emerging problems (cynicism and aggression become apparent)
• Withdrawal (reducing social contacts to a minimum, becoming walled off; alcohol or other substance abuse may occur)
• Behavioural changes become obvious to others
• Depersonalization (life becomes a series of mechanical functions)
• Inner emptiness
• Depression
• Burnout syndrome

Superman returns.

Exam revision. You wake up, you work, you go to sleep. There’s only one journey: apartment to department. You’re so nervous you can’t stomach any solid food, so your diet consists pretty much of the following: Haribos, Muller rice, McDonald’s (their burgers and buns are designed to be extra soft so that you can gulp them down as quickly as possible without chewing). You wash it down with Coke or coffee, giving you those bloodshot eyes and a pulse that feels like there’s a DJ playing head-bashing remixes of dum-dum-dum inside of you.

You don’t do laundry any more, leading to some interesting wardrobe combinations. You haven’t taken the trash out for two weeks. You stop going to the supermarket and only dash out to the 24/7 shop when you’re out of Coke, Muller rice or Haribos. You ran out of toilet paper so you’re using those paper towels from the kitchen or Kleenex instead. Then you ran out of hand soap, so you’re using shampoo for that. You wear earplugs all day long to block out everyone and their talking, talking, talking. Why is everyone talking all the time? Get back to work!

You haven’t spoken to another human being for at least a week, not counting the dude at the 24/7 shop. You’re so tired you need to use a calculator for basic stuff like 5 x 7. You want to sleep all the time, but you can’t sleep because you’re too stressed out. You know there’s not enough time to do all the past exam papers for all your subjects, even if you stopped sleeping altogether. The left half of your brain hurts from doing too much maths and logic. Bed hair becomes your normal hairstyle, every day.

Your face looks so bad that the dude in 24/7 starts greeting you with, “Good morning, sir.” (This has actually happened.) You hallucinate and start seeing Osama bin Laden everywhere. He’s driving the car that goes past as you walk to the 24/7 shop. He’s the guy behind the counter at 24/7. He’s Obama’s head of security. He’s Sasha’s and Malia’s babysitter. He’s your laundry guy. He’s running a surf shop in L.A. with Michael Jackson and Elvis … 

The only measurement of time that matters to you is “days till next exam”. Your answer to any invitations from friends is, “after exams”. There are about 500 items on the “after exams” to- do list, starting with “get so drunk you forget your name”. (You sarcastically  call that a Fresh Start.)

Then your body says fuck you and gives up. You have two choices:
a) Be a modern person and start taking Prozac. There’s medication for everything these days, right? Order it from some dodgy website in Canada if you don’t have time to go to the doctor. (Let’s face it, there’s no time.) Stay at home and work even longer hours. See how long you can keep it up before you actually need to call 999. Treat it like a competition.
b) Go to the park, get some fresh air. Take out those ear plugs and hear birds chirping. Yeah, there are actual birds in London. Wow. Go swimming, sit in the jacuzzi for half a hour and do nothing. Have dinner with friends. Eat. Sleep. Forget work for a while. Admit you’re not Superman.

So, I’m taking it slow for now, despite the fact that I have 5 more exams to do. Last week I had a nasty reminder than I’m only human and that I’d better stop ignoring my basic human needs.

Bonus point: I started to like London again. It’s not such a bad place if you make the time to enjoy it.

>> photos from Hyde Park and Gloucester Road Tube station <<