The Idea of Travel

I like the idea of travel. I actually love the idea of travel. Yet this last week in Costa Rica has forced me to ask if I actually like travel itself or just some pseudo-Platonic idea of travel. In reality travel is often uncomfortable.

Talk to anyone who travels regularly for business and you typically get a long list of travel woes (the pessimists) or a short list of strategies to minimize discomfort (the optimists). Those in this second category (the optimists) will suggest tips for packing light and tactics to help on long plane flights (neck pillows, how to score an exit row, an IPOD, or a stiff drink). They will advise on ways protect your passport and make sure your purse isn’t snatched. They will tell you of a great place to eat and whether you can safely drink the water in such-and-such a spot. These are the optimists. Everyone else simply shudders and gives you a look that clearly communicates something like: “I hope your will is up-to-date and your medical insurance pays for a medivac chopper in Ecuador.”

As an actual traveler, I find myself schizophrenic. I’m unbearably optimistic in the planning stage, and utterly certain the night before departure that I will die on this trip. On that last night I ponder at length the story of a rabbi who everyday would tearfully bid farewell to his children and wife before leaving for the kosher slaughter house. He did this each day because he was convinced that he would do something wrong during the day and God would strike him down.

I don’t like the rabbi’s the view of God, but I understand it because in large part it remains mine. My default view of God is one that easily accepts God as in possession of unlimited power… so far so good. Scripture supports a stunning affirmation of God as all powerful. Yet like the rabbi I tend to fear that God’s exercise of power will be capricious and potentially vindictive.

And for some reason travel stirs up my existential fears. Out of the routine of work and home I find myself even less certain of God’s goodness and care for me and others. I do forget my fear in moments of delight: as I taste new foods (fried plantains with black bean puree and guacamole), peek over the rim of a volcano (Irazu with its bubbling and florescent green sulfur water), or spend time with gracious and caring people (men like our Costa Rican bus driver Walter). Yet if I’m honest there is discomfort even on the most successful of trips.

I’d like that to make more attentive rather than fearful… more open rather than sour… and use those moments unease to remind me that life this side of eternity all is travel.