Traveling is subjective. There is no “one size fits all” method to it. Some prefer a planned approach, the one that likes to have all eventualities accounted for; have all bases covered, right from the moment they leave the confines of their homes until the moment they step back in. They know precisely who would pick them up from where and how long they would spend traveling and how long they would spend star-gazing (if at all). They have it planned in such a way that they get the most out of what they spend. The maximizing of returns. They make it a point to click loads of pictures, to tell the world where they have been to. They do that so that they can take part of the place with them when they leave…… The Tourist
Some, on the other hand, have a nonchalant approach to travelling. They care not where they head, nor do they worry where their next meal would come from. They know it would happen, and they also know what happens is what was always meant to happen. They don’t pick a destination; they pick a direction – explore, breath in the air, soak in the emotion, sync up with the frequencies of the people. They do not have a fixed number of places they want to visit on a trip. All they care is about emoting with a place. Such people leave a part of them behind in every little street they visit. This breed of people may have visited just two towns over a period of several weeks; come across as laughing stock for the afore-mentioned group of individuals for “wasting” their money and time. But they care not, for they know, they have not only brought back pictures, but they also have with them the lives and stories of many who live in those places. They aren’t visitors or tourists; they are the Travellers.
I belong to neither group; and yet am a bit of both. Best of both worlds? I would doubt that!!! I don’t want to be a tourist, just run around with a camera, checking places off my list, and come back with gazillion pictures but without a memory of where each picture was shot, and what I felt when I did click them! I am not a complete traveller either, for I am not yet refined to that level, taking all the surprises in my stride. Sometimes, the best of both worlds maybe just an illusion.
The pictures put up post a trip, and travelogues written, mostly talk about the glorifying part of the trip. Very few speak of the fears, the anxieties and the panic attacks. The seasoned travellers probably don’t know what I am talking about. But me being the novice that I am, I have always felt a wave of panic every time I went on a trip alone, be it closer home, in Kerala, or with a drastic culture difference in Guwahati or a slightly messed up schedule, thanks to a hartal, when in Chandigarh.
With a tourist, there is always a clear idea of what the trip has to be like, with a probably plan A and even a plan B, just in case. All that has to be done, is to confirm the arrangements, and one is good to go, get picked up at the designated place, and the trip takes care of itself. A true holiday, taken care of, no stress of uncertainties. A perfect way to unwind from the rigors of daily life, and take a break.
A traveller, on the other hand has no time to think of all these trivial things. The only time he/she has is to live the moment to the fullest. No thought given to the mode of transport, be it a bus or a bullock cart, for the only purpose either serve is to get him/her from point A to point B. it doesn’t matter where they stay, so long as there is a roof above the head, and if not, there is a tent handy anyway! To them, travelling is not a break from life, this IS a way of life.
When you fall in the middle, you neither plan your trip, not are you prepared for the uncertainties. There, the moment and the emotions are decided by which hemisphere of your brain takes over at that instant! The moment the logical side takes over, the panic attack is sure to follow. But when the dreamer is on the ascent, that is when the journey starts, a rickety old bus seems better than a plush car, the strong odour of a drum load of diesel is bearable, the mud and grime on the favourite pair of denims become a souvenir. But no one knows how long it would be before this one takes control.
With me, it has always been a roller-coaster, decent planning while the logical side is on, just drool over the pictures of the places and not think about the practicalities when the dreamer is back on… it goes on until the moment of departure. Once the journey has begun, it is the logical side all the way, gradually peaking up, from wondering how the trip would be when the train/bus/flight has started/taken off to what the **** am I doing right now at the moment when I had reached the destination – err, the last point where my ticket would take me. This is the last point of my transit : the start of my trip; apparently there is a difference.
The fear of the unknown gradually creeps up from the moment I reach the end of the particular ride, till the time I actually start my trip, which might be right away, or a few hours away. The fear has been compounded by various factors like, a noisy Kannur station on an early monsoon morning without an idea of where to stay, or by being greeted by a dark and desolate taxi parking at 5pm in Guwahati, with an unplanned stay-over at Chandigarh, thanks to a hartal on the planned route, from just anxiety to paranoia, with my logical brain working out the worst possibilities, especially with the background information that the return trip is 10 days later. The one thought that hits me like a freight train (sorry about the cliché), was it a mistake to have made this trip… I have to be here 10 more days!!!!
There is no specific timeline on how long this lasts, or how to make this go. A walk on a wet road, in a mild drizzle had such a soothing effect on the nerves in Kannur. A good night’s sleep and a visit to a temple helped clear thoughts in Guwahati and a constant company of a friend over phone kept me distracted in Chandigarh while I bade my time till the next morning hoping that the strike/hartal would be called off, and the buses would resume their journey to Himachal Pradesh.
The best part, the feeling vanishes as quietly as it had crept in, unseen and unheard. There the dreamer takes over, and the simplest of things become all the more beautiful. From the reflection of the sun over the rippling waters of a lake, to the waves lashing at the rocky beach 10’ below where you stand, with a light house standing guard at a distance; or the sight of a Tamil Nadu registered truck in a remote village on the Himalayas, loading apples, the most mundane of things seem all the more beautiful. The people, seem friendlier, a back breaking bus ride seems interesting with all the people and the riot of colours around.
The high one gets while letting the dreamer take an upper hand is scintillating. But, it is only because of the not-so-romantic jump the logical brain gives at the start.
This post was originally published on thetransientsoul