It's not WHERE you travel, it's WHY you travel...

I read an interesting opinion article recently... The author argued that the act of travelling is not, in and of itself, something to be proud of. Now, as a fellow world traveler, this gave me some pause... I absolutely admit to being proud of my "global citizenship." I have been to 5 of the 7 continents, am constantly in a state of planning my next adventure, and consider world travelling to be more than a fun hobby or expensive pastime... It's a lifestyle; an important part of my individual identity. I am absolutely guilty of putting my global adventures down in the "success" column of my life.

Yet there was something to his argument, that I couldn't quite put my finger on...

It made me think about many of my friends, family, and acquaintances that speak proudly about their global adventures backpacking around Europe, taking cruises to the Caribbean, or touring the "Wonders of the World."... While fun and interesting, these are not, in my opinion, accomplishments. Now I say that, fully admitting that I have also spent my fair share of time on sandy beaches; backpacking around hostels in Paris, and London; and taking touristy photos atop Machu Picchu or in front of the Eiffel Tower. I am absolutely just as capable of being an obnoxious, vacationing tourist...  In fact, I love playing the tourist, on occasion.

But those aren't the trips I boast proudly of. (After all, anyone with enough money and a healthy appetite for adventure is capable of that kind of luxury travel.) That's because...

When I think about my 2008 trip to Peru, I don't think about Macchu Pichu... I think about a morning break I took one day, outside the makeshift medical clinic I had been working in. We were in a tiny, remote village, whose name I don't even remember, somewhere above 15,000 feet in the Andes Mountains. I remember sitting down with a group of Quechua women that were waiting in the impossibly long line outside the clinic. I recall the feel of the rough alpaca wool they placed in my left hand, along with the hand-carved wooden spindle the went into my right. The area filled with boisterous laughter as they watched me try to master the impossibly complex set of motions required to spin wool into yarn by hand. I watched their faces light up in disbelief at the 20-something year-old woman who didn't know how to perform this seemingly simple task. I remember not knowing the language, and simultaneously realizing that it didn't matter. Later, as I continued to watch their experienced hands fly in mesmerizing motions, a little boy in a light blue sweater found his way into my lap... I still have his picture tucked away somewhere. His tiny, dirty fingers gently pawed at a curl of my hair; exploring, touching, memorizing this foreign texture and person. When I think of Peru, I think of that morning.

And when people flash pictures of grand cathedrals in Europe, I think about the times that I've felt closest to God while traveling... In particular, I think of the day I spent in a sweat lodge in a little village outside Xela/Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. Not a grand cathedral, but just as awe inspiring... I can still smell the overwhelming aroma of the eucalyptus leaves, dipped in boiling water and then used to gently beat the naked bodies inside. I recall the group of women who'd brought me there... Quiche-speaking Mayan midwives, whose holistic relationship with Mother Earth, wisdom passed down through centuries, made childbirth seem more like a euphoric expression of the body than a biological process, wrenched in pain. I remember the heaviness of the air inside. The transcendent state of being brought on by their soft meditative chanting and rhythmic swaying. I remember being overwhelmed with a sense of something more than myself... Perhaps God, nature, or something entirely unknown. It was one of the first times I truly understood that human beings can express their spirituality and humanity in so many vastly disparate, yet shockingly beautiful ways.

When I travel, I do so to learn, absorb, and embrace openly... When I leave, I go with humility, leaving behind as much of my own needs, desires, and preconceived notions as possible. When I return, I am always somehow less American, yet more human. I don't travel for my own pleasure, although I do find it pleasurable. I reap an inordinate amount of knowledge and happiness out of my travels, but those always seem to come incidentally in the quest for something more... Despite my initial intentions, I always receive more than I give.

Those are the things that truly make me proud... They make me proud because it's not where you travel, but why you travel that matters. It takes courage to leave America and travel to a foreign country; to leave behind your safety net. But how many people who travel REALLY do "leave" America... How many people are guilty of going to a new country, but only speaking English? How many times have I seen tourists frequent a McDonald's while just across the street sits a local deli, restaurant, or street stand run by a local business man or woman? How often do people visit a culture, but never take the time to talk to someone who actually lives there? Find themselves in a new city, but never walk down a single street not outlined in their travel guide? Yes, it is courageous to board a plane, but it is something more to leave behind your comfort, ego, and own culture to truly embrace a new one. It is wonderful to want to learn about a new culture, but selfish to take without contributing something in return to the people you learned from.

Travel can be so much more, if you focus on why you go instead of where you go...

With Love from Lesotho... Mary E.