Category: Travel Philosophy

As a traveller, most of the instructions and advice I read on travel web sites bores me. People are always pointing you towards the typical tourist traps, instead of unveiling  new and undiscovered treasures which promise fun and rewarding experiences. I’m not the only one with this pet peeve. The character I want to introduce to you in the following lines not only goes by the name of Joël Henry, but goes the extra yard.

Joël Henry is not just any tourist. He is an experimental tourist. In the mid-90s, while dining with some friends, this journalist who writes for the Art channel decided to apply his love for games to his love for holidays. So it was that he founded The Laboratory for Experimental Toruism (www.latourex.org), an entelechy compiling travel ideas devoid of conventional touristic restrictions.

Among his proposals are such gems as getting to know cities by only visiting the last stop on a subway line, catching a train precisely at 12:12 and getting off at the twelfth stop or discovering by yourself and in-depth the K2 area of a city’s map. Whether you think his ideas are stupid or just plain zany, no doubt you’ll agree that chance and random selection often improve the quality of one’s travels. I confirmed this for myself during our ExperienceLess venture, months ago when we launched Trourist.

Going over the top for a moment … who would be willing to choose their next destination from a list of places where a crime took place a year ago? Pushing the envelope a bit further, would you prefer instead to set loose a cricket on a map for a minute or so and then embark on a trip following its aimless wanderings? Now it’s your turn: do you have any wild, out-there experimental tourism recommendations that you’d like to share with us?

I know for certain where you’ll be.
(And also where you won’t).
You won’t be where a murmur is missing,
or in the cold silence where melancholy fills
the lifeless streets found in every city,
Nor will you be where today is like tomorrow,
Nor where the ambience has the insipid air of a Monday morning,
Nor in a photograph where you look awkwardly out of place.
You will not be alone seated in a chair,
a bridge that links you to that other world
constructed by smiles and conversation,
Nor will you be locked inside the four walls of some room
Nor waiting on an endless line without not knowing why
Nor will you be oblivious to what is going on around you.
No, I don’t have to go looking for you.
I know where to find you.
You’ll be in the spotlight of a battle,
or anchoring aweigh at dawn,
dreaming with your eyes wide open,
feeding your most venturesome spirit,
and experimenting until surprises leave you breathless.
You’ll search for that something
which makes your voyage special.
Oh yes, my dearest TROURIST friend,
I know for certain where you’ll be.

If you’re travelling across the U.S., sooner or later, like it or not, you’re going to end up eating a burger or two. In some cases, it’ll be because nothing else on the menu catches your attention. Picture it: you’re on the road, hunger’s got the best of you and your choice of “eats” is a circular piece of meat on a bun or a couple of slices of pizza. Tough choice, especially if its the fifth day in a row you’re facing it. Sometimes, even when you do have alternatives, your travel mates — native or otherwise — will drive you to some joint that only offers the Terrible Two. Yeah, life can be like that.

Like they say: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, so the most sensible thing is to find an emporium which serves quality burgers. In a perfect world, this hamburger haven would be located in some quality brewery or someplace a tad more homey where you’d savor the taste of a juicy burger buried under a heaping pile of onions, layers of blue cheese and other culinary delights. Time for a reality check. In all likelihood, the place in question will be some fast-food chain, so why not know for sure which of these are the best.

A couple of years ago, I spent six months in California . Many of my university mates raved with absolute devotion about IN-N-OUT, a fast-food outlet where cheeseburgers, fries and shakes were the only fare. I got so sick of hearing about the friggin place that I finally went and, to my surprise, liked it, though I was left with a disturbing existential dilemma: Can one truly experience something genuinely life-enrichening at a fast-food chain? What’s your opinion? Do you know of eateries, fast-food franchise or otherwise, which could be considered an Experience?

Temperatures which plummeted to 40 below at night. Threatening avalanches capable of uprooting anything in its path. Hardly any food or water. The constant menace of death to family, friends and colleagues, all the while feeling powerless to do something on their behalf. And the cruelest cut of all, hearing over the radio that all rescue attempts from this frigid sentence had been abandoned. Death seemed a macabre certainty that would be delivered by the icy temperatures and shortage of food supplies.

This was the reality faced by a group of Uruguayan students at more than 4000 meteres during 72 days when their Chile-bound plane crashed into the Andes Mountains. For those of you familiar with the story, naturally I am speaking of “Alive”, the moving novel and equally moving feature film. It is one of those stories of superhuman sacrifice and courage that leave you spellbound. A story which I had the privilege of listening to directly from one of the survivors, Nando Parrando. Without a doubt, it is the lecture which has had the greatest impact on me not only because of the events therein but also due to its inspirational message.

Nando Parrado was, along with Roberto Canessa, a survivor of the plane crash, who following two months of being trapped in the Andes, decided to challenge the surrounding peaks in search of liberating themselves and their companions from this overwhelming tragedy. It was a challenging journey they decided to undertake only because they had no choice; the alternative was sure death. It was an odyssey that would require 12 arduous days of non-stop trekking through ice and snow, uphill over steep summits.

What most impressed be about the encounter with Nando Parrado was a photograph he showed us taken the first day he scaled the nearest summit. Picture it: two months of having barely eaten at all, your energy-meter is beyond empty and when you finally muster the courage to do the impossible, i.e. leave this ivory tundra, all that lies before you as far as the eye can see is an endless topographical map of snow-capped peaks with no signs of civilization in sight. A similar photo follows:

Total desolation, is it not? For sure, but life is about having courage and believing. A hero can be the person who remains standing or the person who falls, but never one who abandons the fight. That’s the moral of this tale. One which enabled Nando Parrado to escape from a situation much more complicated that any of us has ever known.

Because I wanna enjoy myself to the max.
Because I hate paying more for less.
Because I prefer to pass than settle for the mass and crass.
Because I choose to DO not just SEE.
Because I like having thought-provoking chats with locals.
Because I want to live unique and meorable experiences.

The half-dozen reasons cited above are what I usually tell people whenever they ask me why I’m not a tourist nor care to be. No doubt, I could come up with many more. Recently, an eclectic group of friends and Erasmus students destined in San Sebastian got together. Drinking one beer and another, we posed the question: Why aren’t you a tourist?

Following is a short video with some of their replies:

There are tons of reasons for not wanting to be a tourist, what’s yours?

“Havana is like a beautiful woman when she gets out of bed”. That’s how a veteran cabbie described his beloved city, as he steered his Soviet-engine, American-manufactured ’53 Cadillac up and down the Malecon. We approach the legendary “Hotel Nacional“, and without lifting a foot from the accelerator, turn into “La Rampa” (“The Ramp”) and zig-zag onto Calle 21. We’ve reached the house where I’ll be staying during the next four days. It’s a nice feeling to arrive in an unknown city and be able to call it home. “This is much more real”, I think to myself.

Upstairs Carolina and Lenin (yeah, that’s his real name) welcome me. They live together with their son at Casa Sandelis. They lead me to my room. I step out on the balcony and am struck by the Nacional’s proximity. I can see the interior of some of its rooms. “You’ll find less luxury but more love here”, says Carolina from the door, with a smile that inspires confidence.

The trip here has been a long one and I need to eat something. I walk a hundred meters to an inviting restaurant called La Roca. “A minute steak with Creole rice.” A laid-back waitress jots down my order.

Energy restored, I hit Old Havana. I get lost among its streets and am delightfully surprised when I come upon La Plaza de Armas and its second-hand (or third-hand, who knows?) book market. I rummage for a few minutes through diverse biographies of Che Guevara. “This is a first printing, and they’re now in their 30th, my friend, take it”. I choose a book of verses by Jose Martí instead.

I pass by La Bodeguita del Medio but tourist camera flashes shoo me away. After crossing the cathedral’s square, I arrive at Café O’Reilly. A band composed of four mulattoes is singing “Chan-Chan”  in front of a dozen appreciative onlookers: several British, a Spanish couple and a group of young Cubans enjoying, as they down mojitos,  rather lively conversation. I park my bottom at an outdoor cafe and watch Old Havana transform at twilight.

I approach the group of youths and inquire where I can go tonight. A girl immediately pipes up: “Go to La Casa de la Musica. It’s the best place to dance salsa.” Another group member suggests checking out Miramar “to dance more reggaeton”. I confess that I’m a bit knackered, so they end up sending me to jazz joints in El Vedado.

I’m not really sure whether they play the sax better at La Zorra y El Cuervo or if Cuba’s best sax players are to be found in either of these clubs, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? All I know is that between note and note, I’ve just put an end to any given day in Havana.

In April 1992, a young man from a wealthy East Coast family hitch-hiked his way to Alaska and penetrated the forests north of Mount Mckinley. Four months later, a group of elk hunters found his body in a decomposed state, the result of an apparent intoxication.

The youth’s name was Chris McCandless and his “adventure” had begun in the summer of 1990. Upon graduation from Atlanta’s Emory University, McCandless simply disappeared. He legally changed his name, donated the 24,000 dollars he had in his checking account to a humanitarian organization, abandoned his belongings and burnt whatever cash he was carrying in his pockets. His distrust of all those things that could be readily had was absolute. McCandless proceeded to reinvent his life and wandered across North America in search of new and meaningful experiences. His family knew nothing of his whereabouts until the remains of his body were found in Alaska.

McCandless’s story is not exempt of controversy. While many idolized him for his intrepid idealism whose sole objective seemed to be an exploration of his soul, others accused him of being an egotistical maniac who not only ruined his own life but that of those dearest to him. I do not dare to lean one way or the other, but I do believe that human beings have always possessed McCandless’s nomadic spirit. Settling down and setting up roots in a city is something that we’ve only been doing for a relatively short time if we consider the history of humanity as a whole. McCandless was merely emulating our forefathers.

If you want to read more about Chris McCandless, I suggest you pick up a copy of “Into the Wild”, an easy-to-read, highly entertaining book that invites reflection.

All of us who love travelling have at one time or another flirted with the notion of abandoning the hum-drum of our daily routines and embarking on that one voyage each of us safeguards within and considers “the perfect trip”. Even so, very few of us have taken a definitive step in that direction. Today, we’d like to share with you Iosu’s experience. Our hero is a twenty-nine-year-old adventurer who elected to leave his beloved Madrid behind in a north-to-south quest of the American continent. Ten months after setting off and just back from Ushuaya, Iosu reveals how he prepared for his perfect trip.

Q. Iosu, for those of us who’ve daily followed your blog, there hasn’t been a single day that we haven’t felt some kind of healthy envy. We imagine, however, that it was no picnic undertaking this enterprise.

A. Well, implementing a decision of this kind was a real headache. I had to sidestep fears, both internal and external; work endless hours to save up the money, and take a detour from everyday constructs which meant skirting whatever it is that our society calls “normal” — such as buying a house, having a mortgage, a car, starting a family… I decided to listen to the pulse of my heartbeat and assume whatever risks presented themselves. Would everything be the same when I got back from my trip? Would I return home or find somewhere else to set up camp? I was overwhelmed with queries and underwhelmed with answers.

Q. When you set out, did you have a clear notion of where you were headed or has improvisation been your second mate and made your destination decisions for you?

A. I began with the premise of crossing the continent from north to south, going against the usual migratory byways via the pan-American route from Prudhoe Bay (Alaska) to Bahía Lapataia (Argentina). Nowadays, it is a system of inter-connected roads that stretches over 30,000 kilometers, joining the whole continent from one end to the other. Ultimately, thanks to improvisation, I covered 45,000 kilometers of roads, from gravel to asphalted surfaces, aboard every kind of acquatic-terrestrial transport imaginable: busses, trains, bicycles, motorcycles, automobiles, canoes, boats, caravans, you name it. Planes were only permitted for crossing the Atlantic Ocean from Madrid to Alaska and, later, returning from Buenos Aires back to Spain.

Q. Usually, the main motivation for a trip of this kind is more about meeting people than seeing a lot of places. Am I right?

A. Absolutely. It’s all about the human landscape rather than tourist attractions. It centers on dialoguing with others, instead of being tourist-obsessed with accumulating snapshots. Observation takes primacy over furtive glances.

Q. What did you leave behind in Spain when you did this?

A. My job as a journalist. A girlfriend whom I loved, family and friends … To some, my idea sounded like the brainchild of a madman rather than something premeditated.

Now that Iosu’s back, he offers us evidence that there was not an inkling of madness to his decision. He’s made a documentary called “The seam of the Americas”. A trailer follows.

Thanks to a post I read a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been checking up on what diverse travellers consider genuine and real. Conclusion: there are as many definitions as there are travellers around the world.

There are those who measure authencity by the manner in which they travel and others who do so counting the number of countries they’ve visited. For some, backpàcking is the only way to go, sleeping in hostels and eating local cuisine being part of the package. Still others like Helen Todd consider that keeping it real is all about attitude.

“For me, the difference between a traveler and the tourist is the mindset. I consider myself a traveler but when I go to Miami in a couple of weeks, I will definitely be a tourist, with little care beyond my tan and what book to bring“. Written by Helen Todd at her blog.

Yet there are some who find this debate pointless. Dan from Voyagner, for example, believes that the most important thing is not to go after real as if it were the Holy Grail, but to just do whatever pleases you and forget about attaching any labels to the question.

“The problem is we all have a different ideas about what makes a good traveler but sometimes it’s like comparing chalk and cheese. I’m not trying to be diplomatic, if you want to see the world not just for it’s sights, you have to be involved in what you find around you, otherwise what is the point? Who cares if you eat at Mc Donald’s, the question is are you really getting what you want out of your travels?”. Written by Dan at his blog.

At trourist, as you know, we have our own idea of what real travelling means. We feel real is living those kinds of moments in those kinds of places which make local folk happy.

What are your thoughts on the subject? What do you think real travelling is all about?

Photo by Daniel Bachhuber

Hostels are an excellent refuge for those of travelling on the down-low: cheap prices and lots of mates from many different countries and cultures. On the other hand … if you’re looking to take things to the limit with a fortuitous liason that resulted from a high-octane mix of beer and tequila, you just might find it’s not so easy to do, especially when six to ten unknown bedfellows are snoring in your midst. Let’s take things a little further… perhaps the problem is not doing it but DOING IT. I think you get my drift.

A while back I read an inspired article in Brave New Traveler which compiled a series of tips for calming those burning sexual embers in a hostal setting for star-gazing lovers and ravenous couples alike. As an alternative to an intimate and comfy crib, the writer suggested DOING IT in the broom closet, the closet, the loo or on the roof. Quite frankly, any of the above will do when you’re gripped with the itch and you don’t mind scraping your knees, elbows or other vital parts in a ketchup-stained area or industrial detergent-filled storage room.

Naturally, everything is much easier when you’re on the road. Even if you have a fellow companion shadowing you, you can can always appeal to his sense of solidarity and ask them to beat it. It’s also true that if hotels are your thing, your chances of hitting the mark drop exponentially. Ah, the dilemma of having the itch, but not a place to scratch.

*Just in case any of you who’ve been following us were wondering: No, we didn’t decide to do our ExperienceLess journey in a motorhome for this purpose.

Photo by: mr • p