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Journey, okay. And Destination?

Road trip for her, road trip for him. In short, it seems that everyone likes it. Maybe.

I remember that time in India, on dirt roads, with cars zigzagging between holes and obstacles. They were overtaking, in both directions, and swerved at the last moment. I saw a scooter ridden by eight people (mostly children and a newborn baby). I'm not kidding, I even have a photo. I admired endless colorful trucks, with many writings on them. And once I got back I then discovered that there is an interesting story behind this Indian peculiarity.

In Peru I went up, up, up, to meet the flight of the condors. I lacked the air, partly because of the elevation, partly because of the panorama. Alpacas were grazing peacefully and painted the mountain landscape with the colors of their flock.

I then crossed a part of Cambodia, from the capital to Siem Reap: overloaded vehicles, the road under renovation, faces of people looking at the buses of tourists like us passing by. We tourists in the act of studying them, sitting in front of modest homes, with a simple light bulb and a cable to illuminate them. Local people in the act of observing us, in our hurry to reach our destination.

I traveled also through southern Iceland by car, stopping from waterfall to waterfall, from wonder to wonder, passing through the Eldhraun lava field, while the shadow of our vehicle was projected onto its green. Was it following us or we chasing it?

And how can we forget that bus in Penang, Malaysia? Full of kids curious about us, a Westerner and an Asian, around the world. The same sincere curiosity of the children in Jordan: the very polite girls who came to ask us with extreme shyness "Hi, what's your name?" And, instead, the boys who came running and took a selfie with us in the photo. Someone even tried to ask us if we agreed, but mostly because, if posing, the photo would have come better.

And again, in a not too cold December, I go back with my mind to the journey from Krakow to Zakopane, where after a long time I find the snow lying on the ground waiting for me. On a perfectly sunny day. A white carpet to let dreams slip for a few hours.

And the blue of the Enoden line to Kamakura (I've written here about it), the train that winds through the city, with the Japanese shops that almost seem to enter in the window. And the ocher of Egypt, approaching Abu Simbel. Or that of Morocco, from Marrakech to the beginning of the real desert.

The road gave me all this. Very true. Yes, but how much time has it asked in return!

I cannot deny that in India I witnessed habits and simple coincidences that struck me. But it has almost always been a confirmation of the surprises of others. It's not like I didn't know that I would find cows on the street, it's not like I didn't know that I would often see a risky driving. I remember that I spent a long time looking for a good signal on my smartphone, maybe I've also missed out something. But there were too many kilometers of the same landscapes, hours and hours of travel.

The Mirador Cruz del Condor in Peru is in all respects a tourist spot. It is placed in the middle of the itineraries and would appear to be in the path, but it is actually a destination. And alpacas are not so impossible to be seen in that area of the world.

In Cambodia we had to pass on that dirt road, which forced us to go more slowly: this stimulated more musings, but there was nothing guaranteed. A surprise that happened on the road, as it could have happened in the city.

I passed on purpose through the Icelandic lava fields. They were carefully planned from home. We met the kids of the Penang bus at the main station of George Town: they were curious even before getting on the bus. Similarly, we didn't meet those in Jordan in the middle of the road, but during one of the many stages of the tourist tours, where even the local school groups were taken.

To find out that I would find snow and sun in Zakopane, I just had to look for a webcam on the internet. Japanese trains are fast, they are not just scenic. And finally, the approaching to the desert was terribly boring, because it looked like a desert itself. Just a little less soft and sandy.

Surprise, adventure: this is what we seek in our travels. The second does not apply to everyone, for example, I hate the unexpected. I can try as hard as I want, but I can't think of it as an opportunity. And today there are very few surprises. We have seen well-representative photos or read an accurate description of almost everything we observe. I've been stunned a few times, but it happened almost always at the destination, not along the way. Because what manages to exceed expectations today has become a destination, everything is known, everything has already been marked.

If I have to think of something unexpected, cute, even gentle to remember, this elephant comes to mind, it was walking peacefully along the road in Sri Lanka. Again, it is not impossible to see an elephant in Sri Lanka. It's rarer to see it walking on the street. But my memory is sweet within a context. If I think of this photo, in addition to the elephant, I remember that we were with the best driver I have ever had on a holiday (I've written about him here). He had noticed it from afar and pointed it out to us. And my wife was extremely quick to take this picture. What remains inside me is a context, not the road itself. The road was only the scenario in which this occurred.

Road trips, you said? But those without destination or those planned? No, because there is quite a difference, in my opinion. I had a few road trips. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by necessity. But I also took many planes or I traveled at night, sleeping. This is because, after all, more than the route it was the destination that interested me. How many hours I spent reading, using my smartphone, dedicating attention to something else... Obviously I wasn't driving. I don't mean that I don't like road trips, but only that the time spent is not always rewarded with wonderful memories.

There is also someone who wanders aimlessly or for the long term, in these cases the road is truly the stage on which existence takes place. It is a courageous choice, which intrigues me, but which only a few people really make, also because it involves a series of sacrifices. One of these people is currently (June 2020) stuck in Kenya (here the Nomadic Backpacker blog, external link).

I also envy all those who manage to get excited at the millionth tree equal to the hundreds of thousands of previous trees, just because maybe it has a slightly higher or a little more projecting branch comparing to the others. Here, I imagine you have understood how much I long for a ten-day safari. I would be wondering all the time: yes, but the lion? Yes, but the elephant? And if by chance I could see them all on the first day, I dare not think about how I would spend the next nine!

But there is more. Lately, I notice that people are increasingly trying to make metaphors about travel, to make it philosophy. The attempt is also appreciable and I respect it. But the result, I confess, has never convinced me that much. As long as we talk about travel in practice, nothing to object. Every individual has its own tastes and finds emotions the way he prefers.

But I smile when I repeatedly read sentences applying this concept to the path of life as well. This throws me back many (too many) years, when I was still in high school. In my class, there was one of those politically and culturally engaged boys. He was not handsome, but he had his charm. One day he came out with a sentence, which at that time seemed to be profound to everyone (maybe even to me): "I will be happy with the suffering I will feel, because it will be part of the life I want to have." He hadn't said exactly like this, but the meaning was more or less that. If I still remember it, somehow it must have struck me. But I'd like to meet him today and ask him if he still thinks the same way. I suspect he has forgotten the suffering he has longed for, I fear that this one has been replaced by his share of real suffering.

Likewise, it is difficult for me to accept that the route is more important than the destination itself. I understand the feeling of the one who, after so much effort, reaches the top of the mountain and looks down to the valley, satisfied with his undertaking. But how many times people ever get to the top? I admit that I haven't been able to climb many mountains. I congratulate those who often manage to do it.

I would like to be able to reach the top too and then rethink about the sweat, the doubts, the strength of mind shown to get there. It would be my first choice, without looking for any shortcuts. But rather than getting lost halfway, I'd rather be taken up by helicopter.

I don't know about you, I prefer the destination to the route, when they are mutually exclusive.

Ah, I will soon have a road trip: maybe it is a punishment for writing this article.