Before I Start: My Own Questions of Travel

Should I give a grand introduction to this so-called “blog,” whose purpose and readership remains as yet undetermined? Well, okay, here goes! Perhaps this is more for myself to figure out what this oddly public journal will be: a record of my traipses around the southernmost bits of the Americas, a collection of rambling (and, most likely, moderately pretentious) life musings from a recently-minted post-college pipsqueak, a place to dump scenic photos, mere proof of my continued existence despite landing myself in what some might deem "the middle of nowhere"…

Who knows. But I do imagine tracing the trajectory of this experience which so many people assert will be “life-changing” and “something I’ll never regret.” I believe them—and feel incredibly lucky to have this opportunity thanks to the largess of Harvard and the generosity of the Tompkins. Yet part of me wants to dig a little deeper to figure out how "seeing the world" actually makes its mark, something more than a tan, trinkets, or grand tales to recount. I keep thinking about the closing lines of Elizabeth Bishop’s “Questions of Travel,” which I’ve read aloud during each of my recent sojourns to Hudson Bay with Wabun. The poem poses the questions:

"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one's room?


Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?"

So often, we imagine traveling as inherently valuable, even noble, without scrutinizing exactly what makes it so much better than staying at home. The bits of traveling I’ve gotten to do have exposed me to the distinct flavors of various places. At the same time, I’ve spent plenty of time over the last four years thinking about the importance of being connected to a place, which one cares for and feels rooted to, as the center of a responsible and rich life. And of course, any good environmentalist has to question the carbon footprint of travel. So I’ve had my moments of thinking: could I learn just as much about three big clumps of interest—myself, nature, and culture—while staying very close to home, visiting all the neighborhoods of NYC I’ve never set foot in and exploring the woods behind our house at Gipsy Trail? Moreover, are certain fabled places--and in my mind, Patagonia counts among them--better left as imagined landscapes?

On the whole, I’ve decided: off off and away. I'm guessing that year of travel will earn its keep in the cosmic balance of my life and future. Now the question is how to get the most from it. As I see it, and as things are evolving, this won’t mean seeing every continent, or moving every day, or exploring the hot spots of the globe. Instead, I hope to get to know the wonderful nooks of South America, for the most part in Chilean Patagonia, where I’ll be spending time, while continuing to think about what I’m seeing and the direction in which this sways me.

What a goal. At one point, I claimed I’d write a novel along these lines. Ha! This will have to do. Thanks for reading.