A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving. - Lao Tzu


I like to observe things. I noticed how much I can learn about myself and the world through my trips. And I honestly cannot imagine learning these valuable lessons by any other means. No book, no movie, no story can compare to the feelings you experience when you take the brave step of sailing away from the familiar shores into the welcoming (and sometimes less than welcoming) arms of the unknown experience.

 
One thing that particularly stuck  with me was the difference between a tourist and a traveler. Before I lay out my thoughts on the subject, I want to assure you that I don’t think that one is better than the other. We are all different and we all seek different things. What works for a tourist, may not work for a traveler and vice versa. That is also to say that I have not always been a traveler or a tourist. Actually, I’ve had experiences abroad where I was neither ( not my finest moments).
 
Typically, a tourist seeks to stick to schedule that was planned out for her by some traveling agency. A tourist usually visits the places that are recommended in some guidebook that they picked up just before leaving the country. She is likely to want to visit countries just so she can boast about the new number of stamps she’s gotten in her passport. To a tourist, traveling is more about the amount of new countries seen, rather than the time spent in them; it is about the destination and never the journey. 
 
The tourist would typically take pictures in front of all the famous places that have become overrated and long lost their initial appeal even to the local population. She, the tourist, would purposely seek out to dine at familiar fast food establishments and rarely would venture out to try the local cuisine. The tourist can’t stand the idea of going somewhere by herself and constantly seeks some form of companionship. She leaves the place with a great sense of accomplishment,  constantly looking forward to visiting new countries.

A traveler is an adventurer. He is fearless in front of unfamiliar experiences. He likes to explore, to guess, to imagine, to question what went on in a particular time and place. The traveler enjoys the ride, he lives every moment to the fullest, with a “pura vida” sort of attitude. He loves getting to new places, but he takes time to appreciate the journey of traveling, be it by foot, bus, train or a plane. A traveler constantly seeks to learn something about himself and about the world. He is open to the new ideas and concepts around him, which only add to his wisdom. 


The traveler takes the road less traveled; he purposefully avoids touristic places and instead  goes to places where the locals hang out. He wears a smile that is confident and exhumes enthusiasm and he never misses a chance to strike up a conversation with a stranger to get to know them and their culture better. For that reason, he rarely travels with friends. 

The traveler may have a camera to record some momentous experiences, but for the most part, he leaves it in his bag. He knows that seeing through the lense  is somewhat limiting, as he prefers to really immerse and dissolve in the moment, one which he will remember better without any help from a picture.

A traveler makes plans but he possess the ultimate skill of flexibility. He plans to arrive at a destination, but always accepts a change or a deviation from the initial path. He understands that flexibility is the most important quality to possess when traveling and conquering new places - it leaves the soul absolutely open to life and the lessons within it. 

You can choose to be a tourist or a traveler. That freedom is your glory.

 Dear Muse,

You are my natural disaster.

You are the rain that pours heavily. The rain that is so forceful it rips the leaves off the trees with its determination. This is how you rip my strength off; you leave me weak and trembling.

You are also the rain that barely touches my skin with its soft, warm, summery drops. The rain that is gentle and refreshing after a scorching hot Alabamian day.

You are the terremoto of my soul. When I first saw you, I felt like a something had shaken me up inside. It was as if the tectonic plates of my inner world collided, and the collision sent its effects throughout my entire body.

You are my tornado. You are the funnel that encircles my heart, lifts me up and leaves me uprooted. You turn everything upside down with just a smile.

You are the flood that comes and erodes the banks of a river. You are the current that fills my mind with ideas and drowns my head in impossible dreams.

You are the drought that leaves me thirsty and speechless.

You are my natural disaster.

It was one of those cold, late autumnal nights that announce the busy and self-absorbed people that summer is long gone. The leaves have only just begun to change color. Most were green, and that fact still bothered you. But sensing the cool air at your fingertips made you all the more awake at 4 in the A.M.

You let your arms sort of dangle from the window. Being so high up, you felt in control of the world. You could admire the natural beauty of the place far and wide, and you never ceased to thank life for such an opportunity. The chilly night stretched itself over the campus and all around the city. High up in the sky you could see the moon, and once again you felt just as lonely. You looked over at him, but he, being absorbed in thought, barely acknowledged your presence. In a way you were grateful for that chance, to be able to shoot furtive glances at his mysterious and silent persona.

Now and then you’d break the silence in hopes of striking some chord, but it was rather useless. He felt numb. And despite his physical alertness, though serene, his inner world was still asleep. And you felt daft because your words sounded silly and childish. You were not able to interest him in looking at you. You were not able to make him see your world.

The night, so black and eerie soon became enveloped in fog. You looked out into the distance, seeing the lamp post lights as sparkles from some other realm. It was a beautiful silence, and though you felt him so reserved and wrapped up in his own thoughts, you were glad you got to share this moment with him. You thought to yourself  “I could make this a movie scene; it is perfect!”, and you smiled, knowing deep within that at some point or another this would inspire you to create something.

Looking deeper and observing the fog as it covered the surrounding area, you felt part of a surreal occurrence. The ethereal feeling resulted from being so high above the ground. It was as if you were one on one with the clouds. And looking over the fog and the dimly lighted streets, you were in awe that such beautiful things happened while most of the population was asleep or too engaged to notice it. So you felt a sense of pride that you sacrificed the sleeping hours to witness the natural beauty of an autumnal, foggy night.

It no longer mattered who felt what. Or who did not feel what. All that mattered was that you were with him, just sharing a simple moment in life. A moment, which, perhaps he will pass by as a distant and insignificant memory, but one which you will treasure deeply, locked away in the depths of your heart.

You looked far out into the fog and you felt a resemblance with your current state of mind. He was as distant and evasive as the fog. But he was also as unremitting and ubiquitous as the fog. He seemed to be part of your thoughts continually for years on end. He became such a big part of you that you no longer resisted or fought it.

You smiled ---as your eyes scanned his solemn silhouette.

November, 2009

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