47. Distant Shores
One of my favorite luxuries is to spend Sunday mornings reading the newspaper from front page through the throwaway store ads. I put aside the "fun" pages for last, saving the comics, book reviews, calendar, (which covers arts and entertainment), and travel sections to totally relish at my leisure. On occasion, this Sunday newspaper treat can carry over to Monday morning, which means the travel section will linger longest on my mind.
Traveling the globe has long been a personal passion, which began in 1974 with a six-week European honeymoon, afforded by saving up money during one year of marriage. We had Frommer’s book, "Europe on Five Dollars A Day," carried only two bags weighing fifteen pounds apiece, and the total freedom to follow any whim. The marriage didn’t endure, but certainly my love for travel has never waned. In fact, now that I think about it, that honeymoon should have been my first indication that the marriage was heading for nowhere.
In spite of having total freedom to travel without a scheduled itinerary, my husband still insisted on rising at the crack of dawn, hitting as many "tourist attractions" as possible each day, and in general, was making our trip feel more like an endurance test than a honeymoon. After a few weeks I began to rebel. It took me that long because I was still under the illusion that I was the proverbial blushing bride. Hah, that’s IF I ever was one. Needless to say, after six weeks of experiencing incompatible travel attitudes, the die was cast. We didn’t even sit next to one another on the thirteen-hour flight home.
Yoohoo... back to the present. Reading the travel section for this week, paying special attention to travel ads and reading a few "first hand" experience letters, I’m reminded of how many people seem to share the travel ethics of my ex-husband; i.e., cram in as much as possible to get one’s money’s worth, spend more time taking pictures than actually enjoying the sights, then return home exhausted rather than exhilarated.
I don’t know, is it me? Am I missing something? I’m not understanding how rushing about and cramming things in can possibly be enjoyable. It seems to me that there should be more of a return for one’s investment of time and money. What is the point of visiting the Louvre in Paris if one didn’t make the time to actually have a conversation with the Mona Lisa? How could any picture possibly capture the delicious aromas of Amsterdam pastries? Why wouldn’t one be automatically transported to a place of peace upon hearing the resonating calls to prayer in Cairo?
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