Destination: Uncategorized

Travel can make you a poet. Travel can be spiritual. You meet people on the road you’d never meet otherwise. Traveling rearranges your cultural furniture, challenging truths you assumed were self-evident and God-given. By traveling, you learn not only about the people and places you visit — you learn about yourself. (You come home pregnant with ideas that you know will piss a lot of people off. And you get a strange joy out of sharing them.)

But without capturing your thoughts on paper, the lessons of travel are like shooting stars you just missed…and butterflies you thought you saw. Collecting intimate details on the road and then distilling them into your journal sharpens your ability to observe and creates a souvenir you’ll always cherish.

Choose your travel journal carefully. I prefer a minimalist journal, light yet stiff enough to protect the pages and to give me something solid to write on (since I often write on the fly without a convenient table). I like invitingly empty pages — not pages decorated with extra literary frills and verbose doodads. It’s my journal, not someone else’s chance to decorate my observations with cute quotes, clever tips, and handy reminders. I use black ink or a mechanical pencil. Nothing should compete with the simple words. Avoid spiral notebooks — they fall apart quickly. A bound book will become a classic on your bookshelf. (BTW: We’ve designed the traveler’s journal of my dreams that will be available in a couple weeks on our website.)

The key to good journaling is being both observant and disciplined…to take the time to notice what you’re noticing and then to jot down your thoughts. I use a tiny pocket-sized notepad to capture the moment right there. Then, when I have time, I pull out my actual journal, sort through those notes, and organize them into something vivid and fun to read.

Thinking back, it seems I’ve always had a desire to capture my discoveries and eureka moments in a journal. On my first trip (as a 14-year-old), I collected and logged my experiences in a file of several hundred postcards, each numbered and packed with my notes.

Every trip I took inspired my passion for filling up an “empty book,” even back when I was simply a footloose, fancy-free vagabond with no intention of being a travel writer. The flight over came with a ritual personal inventory of where I was at psychologically as I began the trip, and the flight home came with a similar introspective wrap-up. And each night in between I wouldn’t drift off to sleep without collecting my day’s experiences, discoveries, and thoughts into that book. The book, which started empty, always came home full.

Hiking deep into a misty English moor as a teenage traveler, I wrote, “Long-haired goats and sheep seem to gnaw on grass in their sleep. We were lost in a world of green, wind, white rocks, and birds — birds singing, but not present. Then we found the stones. Standing in a circle they have waited for endless centuries — not moving — waiting for us to come. And in stillness, they entertained. After being alone with our private stone circle, Stonehenge — with its barbed wire, tour buses, and port-a-loos — won’t quite make it.” It was on the boat to France the next day that I worked on those rough notes, and realized that finding hidden bits of Europe and bringing them home through my writing was what I wanted to do for a living.

Now, three decades later, I still snare those happenings as they flit by, eager to see what I can build with all that fun raw material. On my last trip to Helsinki, I was so flustered by the language barrier in an extremely local sauna that I didn’t know how to get a dry towel. Sitting in the corner to air dry, I decided to pass the time observing and jotting down ideas for my journal:

“People look more timeless and ethnic when naked with hair wet and stringy. The entire steamy scene was three colors: gray concrete, dark wood, and ruddy flesh. Surrounded by naked locals (each with a tin bucket between his legs — to use to splash cool water on his face), there was absolutely no indication of what century I was in. But from the faces, it was perfectly clear: this was Finland.”

With those notes, I can revisit that sauna for the rest of my life. Enjoy the physical act of putting pen to paper, gathering new experiences, lessons, thoughts, and feelings while they are fresh and vibrant.

If your life is a canvas, travels bring new color. And journaling is like being a painter who stands back every once in a while to both understand and enjoy the art as it unfolds.

I dreamed that I was at a car show. There was an old Ford Maverick — a classic. But people were ignoring the Maverick. Instead, they were all gathered around a hot new car — it was black and sophisticated, with an exotic name and all the latest technology. The people trying to sell the old Maverick huddled. They gave it a paint job and hired a fresh young model to stand on a slowly revolving platform with an arrow pointing to the old Maverick. She didn’t know much about cars but suddenly that Maverick was getting lots of attention.

With our dollar down and thoughts of how jets contribute to global warming, I’ve been considering the value of travel. Is it worth it?

In our sunset years, having traveled makes the life we’ve lived more interesting to gnaw on. For our children, travel stokes their youthful passions and gives them reason to think big. And, in this election season, it’s agreed that our statesmen and women gain critical understanding through travel.

I believe living a life without stepping outside your corner of the world is a lost opportunity. I can’t remember meeting anyone who, after all the planning, expenses and challenges of turning their travel dreams into reality, didn’t value the experience and consider it time and money well spent.

My parents likely won’t be using their passports again — but their travel experience is part of their vocabulary. Right there with treasured old movie clips and that piece of classic sheet music that’s been on the piano for years is a sparkling chest of travel memories that can be dipped into at will…and is.

My dad still remembers marveling at how quickly Germans would say “You’re welcome” after someone said “Thank you.” We had a game where my dad would bounce on hotel beds with me playing “Danke-Bitte” — our invented game where he would say “Danke schön” and I would respond through my giggles as fast as possible with “Bitte schön!”

Our daughter is now immersed in a rich, quasi-travel experience: studying international affairs and journalism at Georgetown University, with classmates whose families make up the intelligentsia of countries from all over the world. I still remember our little made-up game called “What do they speak?” Passing hours on the trains and autoroutes of Europe, I’d say “What do they speak in Italy?” and our 4-year-old traveler would answer “Italian!”…”What do they speak in Ireland?” “Irelandish!”…”What do they speak in Norway?” “Norwegian!”…”What do they speak in Thailand?” “Thailandish!”

I’d love to hear how your parents — or you as parents — shared and inspired a curiousity for (rather than a fear of) our world.

I recently responded to some questions from a reporter. I thought you might find my answers interesting (and I have nothing else handy in my blog bucket).

How has your job changed the way you travel?

I do whatever is necessary at whatever cost to maximize the value of my time, like hiring taxis and local guides.

How much do you plan your trips in advance? (What do you leave to chance and what do you nail down beforehand?)

These days, because I’m committed to an intense research schedule, I book all my hotels in advance. Each day unfolds as I’m there. It’s really a fun challenge to envision each day’s work of a two-month trip, three months before departure, and lay out an itinerary where each overnight is right on.

What are some packing tips you’ve picked up?

Pack light.

What’s the one thing you won’t leave home without taking with you?

I’ll give you three: my laptop (with an extra battery), my iPod, and a little something to help me sleep.

What do you wear on the plane? Why? And what do you bring with you on the plane to make the ride bearable?

I wear a sweater and my noise reduction headphones. I’d rather fly coach with noise reduction headphones than business class without.

How do you deal with jet lag?

Leave home well-rested. For about the first three nights in Europe I use a quarter tab of Ambien when I wake too early to finish that night’s sleep.

What’s the first thing you do when you arrive at a destination to acclimatize yourself or get the bead on a place? How do you get your bearings?

I read my guidebook chapter about the place. (That also helps me sleep when struggling with jet lag.) I also like to simply get out and wander—slow, alone, head in the clouds—to just pick up the current flavor.

How do you find non-touristy spots?

I talk with locals about their favorites. The Moms and Pops who run the little B&Bs and guesthouses I recommend hear day in and day out what thrills and disappoints their guests. I vigorously pick their brains. But it’s important that I get beyond cronyism. People working for the tourist boards are worthless in this regard.

How do you approach local cuisine? Is it something you seek out (or find overrated?) How do you find good local restaurants? What are your thoughts on street food? What sorts of things do you look for to determine whether a street vendor is worth trying?

Places near markets, places with no English menus, and places with fast turnover are a good sign. Döner kebabs are my new fast, cheap, lunch option, washed down with a nice refreshing glass of ayran, a yogurt drink. But I want a kebab stand that does a brisk business. “Local cuisine” is often clichés that only tourists eat. Lately I’ve been careful to cut back here.

How much of your travel is on your own? What sorts of things have you learned to do when traveling solo? Do you have tips for other solo travelers? (Do you have tips relating to bars and restaurants in particular? Nightlife?)

Unless I’m filming or apprenticing a new researcher, I generally travel alone. I assume my readers are in bed by midnight. I use my evenings to check restaurants. I then eat a late dinner in my favorite restaurant find of the evening. Then I go home and input text into my laptop of what I learned that day. I can work 60 hard, long days in a row but only if I get 7 or 8 hours sleep a night.

How do you record and take notes on your trip while traveling? (Are there certain products you use? Do you schedule certain times of day that you take a moment to write observations down?)

I love my Moleskine notebooks. I feel like a human lint brush. I’m constantly collecting scraps of news, tips, and new ideas and then diligently working them into existing or new chapters as I input it all into my laptop.

How do you keep in touch with others while traveling? (products? times of day/ email? postcards?)

I deal with my email nearly every night—but only once a day. I haven’t sent a postcard for ages. I’ll never travel without the help of a mobile phone.

What sorts of tourist etiquette tips have you picked up along the course of your travels? Is there a way you’ve learned to approach locals that particularly effective? A type of attire? What would you absolutely avoid doing?

I don’t worry about what kind of flowers to bring or how to cross my legs. I am just genuinely respectful, curious, and positive with the people I encounter on the road. And I enjoy being received warmly. For people in the tourist industry in Europe, I just do my work with laser focus and if they appreciate that they work with me. If some big shot in the tourist board wants to have a long lunch with me, I tell him that I am committed only to my readers and I have one shot at updating the material in his city and I have no time for a social lunch. This just doesn’t make any sense to (and astounds) many of the bureaucrats I meet and deal with in Europe.

I was traveling through Europe during the Olympic Games and enjoyed watching events from overseas. Now home, I was watching the exciting closing ceremonies and thinking (as I did four years ago) how other countries might view the “medal count” differently.

All my life I’ve marveled at how great the American Olympic team did compared to the rest of the world. I imagine the spirits of most Americans, like me, soar to see us on top of the medal count. But then, one year, as I raved at how dominant our team was, my Dutch friend told me — not too gently — that Americans have a lot of medals…but, per capita, the Dutch have three times as many. While Americans are not inclined to view the tallies this way, before we gloat, consider this listing. Thanks to a nudge by my Dutch friend, I now do the arithmetic for the summer games to see things two ways—total medals (yea USA) and medals per capita (yea Bahamas). Check this out:

2008 Total Medal standings regardless of population:
Rank	Country	Total # of Medals
1	USA	110
2	China	100
3	Russia	72
4	Great Britain	47
5	Australia	46
6	Germany	41
7	France	40
8	Korea	31
9	Italy	28
10	Ukraine	27
11	Japan	25
12	Cuba	24
13	Belarus	19
14 (tie)	Canada	18
14 (tie)	Spain	18

 

2008 Total Medal standings per million population:
Rank	Country	Total Medals	Total medals/million
1	Bahamas	2	6.5433
2	Jamaica	11	3.9566
3	Iceland	1	3.3120
4	Slovenia	5	2.4885
5	Australia	46	2.2511
6	New Zealand	9	2.1867
7	Norway	10	2.1608
8	Cuba	24	2.1064
9	Armenia	6	2.0191
10	Belarus	19	1.9538
11	Trinidad/Tobago	2	1.8928
12	Estonia	2	1.5199
13	Bahrain	1	1.4113
14	Lithuania	5	1.3984
15	Mongolia	4	1.3551
22	The Netherlands	16	0.9656
37	Russia	72	0.5093
44	Austria	3	0.3659
45	United States	110	0.3653
46	Romania	8	0.3591
68	China	100	0.0757

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Congrats to the Bahamians—they won 6 medals per million people (18 times the USA rate). And to get things into a larger population pool (where a single superstar can’t mess up the standings), congrats to Australia, New Zealand, Norway, Cuba, and Armenia (each with a medal for every two million or so people…six times the USA production).

Among those nations, special honors to Cuba and Armenia (Where would it be if per capita income of these poor nations was a factor?) China? Great games (and I don’t care about the piddling gripes of media pre-disposed to find something wrong with the Beijing games)…but only 100 medals for over a billion people (and with the home court advantage). We Americans whooped you (with four times the per capita medals).

So America, wave the flag and be proud. We did great. On a per capita basis, our athletes cleaned the Chinese, nearly kept up with the Russians, and finished right between Austria and Romania.