Travelling is an obsession for some people. It’s an addiction, a need to see what’s on the other side, be anywhere except home. I have that illness, I need the distraction. The more stamps on my passport, the more I want. I’m still a novice traveller, but I’ve already learnt a few things.
I learnt that people always behave the same, no matter where you are. I learnt that a common language is not essential for meaningful communication. I learnt that sunsets look just as beautiful no matter who you are. I learnt that souls recognise each other, that bravery is needed for the world to go round and that we are all thinking the same things.
Maybe I could have learnt the same things if I’d stayed at home, but seeing is believing, and you’ve never really travelled till you’re alone in a place you don’t speak the language. It’s the perfect escape, complete anonymity. It’s priceless and it’s fleeting, because very quickly people will get to know you and you loose your hard earned anonymity. Then the choices come back, more confusing and more overwhelming than ever before.
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