As cliché travel phrases go, the one about how the “journey is as important as the destination” is as overused as they come. And not just in the context of travel: A quick Google search reveals a whopping 30,400,000 results retrieved.
Of course, clichés usually become cliché for good reason. Indeed, there are fewer truths I’ve come to understood more fully during my world travels.
Rather than devote this entry to complaining about society’s reliance on trite expressions such as these, I thought it would be more appropriate to qualify this one using selected passages from my own proverbial journey. No matter where in the world I’ve left my footsteps, I’ve noticed a single common thread running beneath: Triumph is an inherent by-product of completing any trek.
On Remaining Present
Whenever I set off on a trip, I try not to think too much about the itinerary I’ve set for myself, but rather to trust that I planned something doable and enjoyable when I was in that phase of the journey. This is much less daunting a task than it might seem.
Indeed, although it’s difficult to stop your mind from racing as your plane speeds eastward over the Atlantic or westward over the Pacific, landing in an unfamiliar city or country immediately grounds you, literally as much as figuratively. Gone immediately are the lofty delusions and vague abstractions of which you dreamed before touching down.
Rather, more practical concerns take precedence. What’s the easiest way to get to my hostel? How long is it going to take? How much is it going to cost? Do I have the right currency? Where is the currency exchange booth? Do I even have cash? These were the kinds of questions that raced through my head upon touching down in Athens this past August — the prospects of f*cking my way through Israel, riding a camel at the Giza pyramids or going on a Sahara desert trek in Morocco couldn’t have been more distant.
Being present — in other words, being completely immersed in your new destination and keenly aware of what’s going on around you at all times — is as necessary for travelers as it is unavoidable. Although concerns of the clothing-food-shelter-water sort become less pressing the further into a trip you get, obtaining these necessities for life always requires more of a conscious effort away from home than it would in your hometown, forcing you to become an active participant in the present moment.
Staying Grounded — Literally
I travel overland for as much of every trip as I possibly can, even though doing so inevitably slows me down. There is naturally a pragmatic element of traveling like this — namely, it is generally much cheaper than taking flights, particularly in regions where internal flights are expensive.
More importantly than this, however, traveling overland forces you remain cognizant of the ground you cover. For example, taking a bus or train rather than a plane exposes you to landscapes and terrains you might not see if you stick mostly to cities. It also imbues your trip with a sense of continuity that’s often lost in the process of taking a flight somewhere. The insides of airplanes are nothing more than immigration holding areas, as far as I’m concerned, and often dilute or dissolve the insight you gain when you’re away from home for a long time.
Traveling exclusively via long-distance bus during my trip to South America this spring, for example, was an essential part of the experience of traveling there. I wouldn’t trade exploring La Paz’s “Witch’s Market,” biking through the Argentine wine country near Mendoza or drinking away half a dozen rowdy nights in São Paulo for anything.
Still, waking up on a bus that was literally hugging the sandy cliffs along the southern Peruvian coast, traversing the high Andes between Chile and Argentina and descending out of the jungle toward Rio de Janeiro provided essential context for the admittedly priceless adventures I was having in more familiar locales.
Comfort Zones and Getting Out of Them
For as long as I can remember, my strategy for getting through discomfort has been to simply ignore it. Whether it was turning away when the doctor shoved a needle into my arm or allowing myself to daydream as I stood behind at cash register at the Home Depot or any of my other crappy retail positions, getting the proverbial job done was always my only priority.
If you take only one piece of advice from reading this blog, make it this one: Travel is nothing if not an opportunity to embrace and grow from discomfort. I learned this firsthand when I traveled from Hanoi, Vietnam to Luang Prabang, Laos in August 2010 — the old-fashioned way.
After the first leg of the trek, which involved taking a relatively comfortable overnight train from Hanoi to the hill station of Sapa, my friends and I located the spot from which the local bus we’d be taking for the rest of the journey would depart. We didn’t stop for a second to consider the extent to which the terms “local” or “bus” might apply to our ride.
The grisly scene that unfolded a few minutes before the bus arrived should’ve been a sign. Just feet away, a man was severing the head off an adult dog with a butcher knife. We obviously weren’t in Kansas any longer, but the conditions inside a vehicle I would personally describe as more of a minivan made me wish I’d had ruby heels to click together three times.
Over the days that followed, my emotions ranged from terror (most of “roads” we traversed were mud paths than ran along the sides of cliffs sans guardrail) to boredom (many a time, blocked roads caused hours at a time of idling) to outright misery over the lack of air conditioning or even a light breeze to sweep the sweat from my brow.
Somewhere during the second day of the long journey, however, I began to see my circumstances as blessed and fortunate, rather than confining or tragic. Although I felt a bit dirty as I pissed just feet away from the local woman who’d been sitting behind me in the bus, I felt thankful that she was there to keep me company as our driver waited for a mudslide to be cleared so we could pass.
The Finish Line
If you read the introduction to this carefully, you probably noticed that I said the journey is as important as the destination — not more. Which gets me to my larger point: Completing a journey, no matter how quickly or fashionably you complete it, is one of life’s greatest triumphs.
To me, this is why travel provides such an emotional and spiritual high. As the hours, days, weeks and months pass, life is without fail a mix of joy and sadness, exhilaration and tedium and takes place somewhere between the paradise to which we believe we’re entitled and the hell we fear will be our final resting place.
Traveling reminds you that every circumstance and situation in life is passing, is transitive, is temporary. Visiting poorer countries in particular reminds you that success is as little a blessing as failure is a burden — every moment you’re still here is a gift, a chance to laugh or cry, a choice between dancing and standing still.
As crazy as it sounds, there does come a point in every trip when the idea of being “home” becomes novel, when somewhere deep inside you, the prospect of completing the trip seems like a positive one. The moment you step off the plane and back into your “real life,” however, you realize how off-base you were.
Rather, the end of each journey is synonymous with the beginning of the next one; the finish line for each race is nothing more than the starting point for the next. You are inherently victorious when you come to the end of a trip alive, well — and hopefully not broke. Pat yourself on the back! Revel in your achievement!
But rather than putting the trip behind you and rushing back into the life you lived before you left, use the emotional momentum of having achieved such as great thing to propel you through the crud and tedium in which you used to get stuck, to help you more quickly and easily see your next point of embarkation.
The fewer pit stops you take and the shorter you make them, the less you’ll want or need them — and the more you can enjoy the proverbial runner’s high that is living life, whether you jog or sprint along a familiar boulevard or a mysterious path in the woods.
About The Author
Robert Schrader is the author of 255 posts on Leave Your Daily Hell.
Robert founded Leave Your Daily Hell in 2010 so that other travelers would have an entertaining, reliable source of information, advice and inspiration at their fingertips. Robert has traveled to more than 36 countries since he got his first passport stamp in 2005. Want to travel more often? Subscribe to email updates today!
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