‘Travel, for me, is a little bit like being in love because suddenly, all your senses are at the setting marked ‘on.’ Suddenly, you’re alert to the secret patterns of the world.’ Pico Iyer
When people say we are lucky to travel so, a part of me agrees with them and the other part wants to simultaneously bop them over the head because travelling is not about having all the time or the money in the world. You work for it. Consider the reasoning that if you are passionate about something, you will do it. You shall have to plan and plot, yet spice it up with spontaneity to salvage the ennui of those carefully concocted designs (once in a while we book flights a night before travelling), be nifty savers (we eat out less on weekends and shop a little less so that we may slip the extra cash into the travel fund) and (start doing this Now) collect air miles – ’tis an art my lovely, so if you have not started hoarding miles like a sagacious old banker, buy points and build on them.
Now when I travel, I do it for the sake of ‘not being a frog in a well’. It is easy to slip into a corner of the world and not know anything about how the other part lives. I cannot bear the thought of such an existence because how can you not not want to know this wonderful world, the mind-boggling, gobsmacking mélange of cultures, foods and languages, the many people on this planet and their many quirks and beers?