Prologue:
I had intended to write this post a long time ago. I was delayed by two issues. One is that, for a few days, I only had internet access on my phone, and I was not composing this on my phone. The other is that I found inspiration for this post surprisingly hard to come by. I knew the idea I wanted to convey, which was to share my interest and love for travel and visiting cultures other than mine. Other than the previous sentence, I had (and really still have) no idea how to accomplish said goal. Fortunately, I found something else I didn't want to do even more, and so, in an attempt to procrastinate from something else, I am forced to attack this task, inspiration or no.
Re-Introduction:
At the end of my last post I was in the middle of trying to explain to my Russian friends, who don't understand why, since I am an American and can live in America, I would want to be here in Russia. They kind of think I am stupid or crazy or something for doing so. While I can not entirely rule out the possibility of crazy, I decided to try to address the issue. I immediately realized that this was a topic all it's own and decided to do so in a post of it's own. So I cut myself off and wrote that I would cover that in the next post (this one). After I stated that intention, I received the following message from someone reading:
So I have a question from my Russian friends and my American ones about why I would choose, voluntarily, to live in an environment that is assumed to be more difficult than my home environment. It seems that from either point of view, it is much nicer to be in America. I am not going to explore that particular point much. From any of a whole host of objective and semi-objective criteria it is much nicer to be in America, and particularly California, and particularly the San Francisco Bay Area.
You Won't Find The Answer Here:
Traveling requires one to suffer through a whole host of discomforts. Depending on your particular biases some can be worse than others: Food is often different and unpredictable (unless you want to eat american fast food). Language barriers can be intimidating at best and make some things difficult or impossible. Cultural differences can lead to all sorts of problems. I'm sure there are a thousand others that do not immediately spring to my mind.
And yet, in various forms, I have been traveling abroad whenever possible since 1994. I have experienced the discomforts, disliked them and still come back for more. If you've managed to read this far (or perhaps you just woke up later and, in a particularly inspired bout of self loathing, decided to finish what you started) you realize that all I have done do far was re-state the topic and add some details. I have not, in any way, explained my reasons. Yeah, I noticed that, too.
I am afraid that the answer is that I don't really know why I get fulfillment out of this any more than someone who likes gardening can explain why they derive fulfillment from digging in dirt. I know that I like to explore. I know that I get bored easily and so I like to experience new things. I know that I am always hoping for a better beach. All of these are contributing factors in my desire to travel and experience different cultures. However, I am playing with the idea that there is another deeper reason. I am not even claiming that it is definitely true, yet, but let's see what happens as I type it out, shall we?
I think I am very, very interested in people (that is not to say that I always like people. Very often, I don't). I notice that I write or say that I am interested in other cultures a great deal - as opposed to, say, ancient architecture. When I go to see, for example, the pyramids at Giza, I am almost more interested in the people and the society that built them, than I am in the actual pyramids themselves. When I go to a new place, I always want to try to live as much like a local as is practical. To experience life as they experience it. When I go see thousand year old castles I try to imagine what it was like to try to eat and sleep and bathe and everything else about daily life in this castle on the top of a mountain with out the benefit of modern conveniences.
Yesterday, I was walking out of the metro along with the usual crowd of people rushing off to wherever it is they were in a hurry to get to, and I had a vision of all the other people in all the other metro/subway systems around the world and how they were (or would be whenever the appropriate rush hour occurred in their time zone) rushing around. And then all the people using cars, buses, trolleys, trains, boats, bicycles, horses, donkeys, feet, hands and knees or whatever else was afforded to them to just try to make it through life. I thought about how hard it was to hold in your mind all these people, living on the same planet, but also living in their own small world.
I write as if this were profound or something, but I want you to know that I am fully aware that it is not profound at all. It is simply the reality of the world we live in. I mean if you live in Manhattan, you can not possibly be aware of how the lives of other people who live in a different part of Manhattan are, let alone the lives of people in the other boroughs, let alone the lives of people in other countries. Especially countries with very different cultural or technological backgrounds than yours. You just don't have the time or the memory capacity to know everything, and if you did, it probably wouldn't help your life that much.
In spite of the reality of the previous paragraph, I seem to desire to know something about everywhere. While it is such an impossibility, it is not even worth discussing, I seem to be quite happy to go out trying. Maybe it's like someone who loves music trying to learn all the forms, all the instruments and all the songs that exist or have ever existed. No chance, but an enjoyable pursuit.
I also like the little personal interactions. Last night, I had to take the bus home from the city to the little place I am staying in the country. It was one of those travel stories. I knew the bus number to take and where I was going, in theory, but I was going alone, in the dark, and i don't speak the language. So of course, the first thing I see as I exit the metro at the bus station was the bus I need trundling on it's merry way ... without me. No problem, they are supposed to come every 30 minutes or so. A little more than an hour and half later another one finally showed up and I piled in with everyone else and settled down to read knowing it was over an hours ride. I thought I would be ok, because I have been here many times and I was sure I would recognize landmarks. Well I am sure I would have ... in the daytime. At night, every snow covered, tree lined country road looks the same. And the window was frosted up and there weren't really lights, anyway. Uh oh. Finally, as the number of passengers thinned out and much time had passed, I realized I was going to have to brave the dreaded "communicate with the distracted driver who isn't really sympathetic to the fact that I don't speak Russian" gauntlet but getting lost would be particularly cataclysmic for me (even ignoring the fact that we just far enough out in the wilderness that I had been advised to watch out for wolves at night). Gathering my immense Russian vocabulary of about 150 russian words, I asked the passenger next to me if he knew where Анташи (Antashee) was. He did. He tried to tell me.
"я не панимаю (I don't understand)," I kept saying. Finally he told the driver and the navigator to tell me when we were at Анташи. He told me they would tell me (I understood this, although I only understood a few words) and then he got off the bus shortly after. Sure enough, a while later, the bus stopped and the passenger now next to me, who had moved forward, used all his english (3 words) and told me that we were at Анташи. Now actually, I stay a little ways past Анташи, so I told them "a little past" and so they started driving again. And then I saw a car turn where I wanted to stop so I told them,
"I saw car. left. there." They drove to the spot.
"Here?" they asked.
"Here," I said. And I got out of the bus and a minutes walk later, I was home.
I love little stories about how nice a random group of strangers can be. I love to experience it. Is that a reason to brave russian winter, russian bureaucracy, russian food, russian vodka and who knows what else to spend 6 months teaching english here? (shrug)
The Answer. If You Can Call It That:
Why Do I do this kind of thing? Why do I like it? ... I just do.
Epilogue:
Not satisfied? I don't blame you. Send specific questions. I'll try to answer them. Unless i don't want to :)
I had intended to write this post a long time ago. I was delayed by two issues. One is that, for a few days, I only had internet access on my phone, and I was not composing this on my phone. The other is that I found inspiration for this post surprisingly hard to come by. I knew the idea I wanted to convey, which was to share my interest and love for travel and visiting cultures other than mine. Other than the previous sentence, I had (and really still have) no idea how to accomplish said goal. Fortunately, I found something else I didn't want to do even more, and so, in an attempt to procrastinate from something else, I am forced to attack this task, inspiration or no.
Re-Introduction:
At the end of my last post I was in the middle of trying to explain to my Russian friends, who don't understand why, since I am an American and can live in America, I would want to be here in Russia. They kind of think I am stupid or crazy or something for doing so. While I can not entirely rule out the possibility of crazy, I decided to try to address the issue. I immediately realized that this was a topic all it's own and decided to do so in a post of it's own. So I cut myself off and wrote that I would cover that in the next post (this one). After I stated that intention, I received the following message from someone reading:
First, the intent of the message issue. I am assuming that the word "you" is missing from after the word "tell". As it currently reads, my correspondant is not sure how much they are interested or not in what I have to say. If this is the case, some of my point disappears, so I am going with my guessed meaning which is that they are really interested in my view because it is one they do not share.I can't tell how much I am looking forward to hearing why you are there and not here! What you describe is certainly not my worst nightmare, but definitely qualifies as a bad dream. But that's just me.
So I have a question from my Russian friends and my American ones about why I would choose, voluntarily, to live in an environment that is assumed to be more difficult than my home environment. It seems that from either point of view, it is much nicer to be in America. I am not going to explore that particular point much. From any of a whole host of objective and semi-objective criteria it is much nicer to be in America, and particularly California, and particularly the San Francisco Bay Area.
You Won't Find The Answer Here:
Traveling requires one to suffer through a whole host of discomforts. Depending on your particular biases some can be worse than others: Food is often different and unpredictable (unless you want to eat american fast food). Language barriers can be intimidating at best and make some things difficult or impossible. Cultural differences can lead to all sorts of problems. I'm sure there are a thousand others that do not immediately spring to my mind.
And yet, in various forms, I have been traveling abroad whenever possible since 1994. I have experienced the discomforts, disliked them and still come back for more. If you've managed to read this far (or perhaps you just woke up later and, in a particularly inspired bout of self loathing, decided to finish what you started) you realize that all I have done do far was re-state the topic and add some details. I have not, in any way, explained my reasons. Yeah, I noticed that, too.
I am afraid that the answer is that I don't really know why I get fulfillment out of this any more than someone who likes gardening can explain why they derive fulfillment from digging in dirt. I know that I like to explore. I know that I get bored easily and so I like to experience new things. I know that I am always hoping for a better beach. All of these are contributing factors in my desire to travel and experience different cultures. However, I am playing with the idea that there is another deeper reason. I am not even claiming that it is definitely true, yet, but let's see what happens as I type it out, shall we?
I think I am very, very interested in people (that is not to say that I always like people. Very often, I don't). I notice that I write or say that I am interested in other cultures a great deal - as opposed to, say, ancient architecture. When I go to see, for example, the pyramids at Giza, I am almost more interested in the people and the society that built them, than I am in the actual pyramids themselves. When I go to a new place, I always want to try to live as much like a local as is practical. To experience life as they experience it. When I go see thousand year old castles I try to imagine what it was like to try to eat and sleep and bathe and everything else about daily life in this castle on the top of a mountain with out the benefit of modern conveniences.
Yesterday, I was walking out of the metro along with the usual crowd of people rushing off to wherever it is they were in a hurry to get to, and I had a vision of all the other people in all the other metro/subway systems around the world and how they were (or would be whenever the appropriate rush hour occurred in their time zone) rushing around. And then all the people using cars, buses, trolleys, trains, boats, bicycles, horses, donkeys, feet, hands and knees or whatever else was afforded to them to just try to make it through life. I thought about how hard it was to hold in your mind all these people, living on the same planet, but also living in their own small world.
I write as if this were profound or something, but I want you to know that I am fully aware that it is not profound at all. It is simply the reality of the world we live in. I mean if you live in Manhattan, you can not possibly be aware of how the lives of other people who live in a different part of Manhattan are, let alone the lives of people in the other boroughs, let alone the lives of people in other countries. Especially countries with very different cultural or technological backgrounds than yours. You just don't have the time or the memory capacity to know everything, and if you did, it probably wouldn't help your life that much.
In spite of the reality of the previous paragraph, I seem to desire to know something about everywhere. While it is such an impossibility, it is not even worth discussing, I seem to be quite happy to go out trying. Maybe it's like someone who loves music trying to learn all the forms, all the instruments and all the songs that exist or have ever existed. No chance, but an enjoyable pursuit.
I also like the little personal interactions. Last night, I had to take the bus home from the city to the little place I am staying in the country. It was one of those travel stories. I knew the bus number to take and where I was going, in theory, but I was going alone, in the dark, and i don't speak the language. So of course, the first thing I see as I exit the metro at the bus station was the bus I need trundling on it's merry way ... without me. No problem, they are supposed to come every 30 minutes or so. A little more than an hour and half later another one finally showed up and I piled in with everyone else and settled down to read knowing it was over an hours ride. I thought I would be ok, because I have been here many times and I was sure I would recognize landmarks. Well I am sure I would have ... in the daytime. At night, every snow covered, tree lined country road looks the same. And the window was frosted up and there weren't really lights, anyway. Uh oh. Finally, as the number of passengers thinned out and much time had passed, I realized I was going to have to brave the dreaded "communicate with the distracted driver who isn't really sympathetic to the fact that I don't speak Russian" gauntlet but getting lost would be particularly cataclysmic for me (even ignoring the fact that we just far enough out in the wilderness that I had been advised to watch out for wolves at night). Gathering my immense Russian vocabulary of about 150 russian words, I asked the passenger next to me if he knew where Анташи (Antashee) was. He did. He tried to tell me.
"я не панимаю (I don't understand)," I kept saying. Finally he told the driver and the navigator to tell me when we were at Анташи. He told me they would tell me (I understood this, although I only understood a few words) and then he got off the bus shortly after. Sure enough, a while later, the bus stopped and the passenger now next to me, who had moved forward, used all his english (3 words) and told me that we were at Анташи. Now actually, I stay a little ways past Анташи, so I told them "a little past" and so they started driving again. And then I saw a car turn where I wanted to stop so I told them,
"I saw car. left. there." They drove to the spot.
"Here?" they asked.
"Here," I said. And I got out of the bus and a minutes walk later, I was home.
I love little stories about how nice a random group of strangers can be. I love to experience it. Is that a reason to brave russian winter, russian bureaucracy, russian food, russian vodka and who knows what else to spend 6 months teaching english here? (shrug)
The Answer. If You Can Call It That:
Why Do I do this kind of thing? Why do I like it? ... I just do.
Epilogue:
Not satisfied? I don't blame you. Send specific questions. I'll try to answer them. Unless i don't want to :)
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