If
there’s one group of people I don’t meet on the road, it’s Americans.
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| South African-turned-Aussie. |
Here’s
the list since I jumped the pond:
A
bevy of Brazilian college students
who took me into their home, cooked for me, made my birthday something special
after knowing me less than two days.
One
South African-turned-Australian conducting
our Great Ocean Road tour.
Four English boys
I shared a hostel room with.
A
German-turned-Irish girl working in
said hostel for her keep.
Two Scottish Gals, a German boy, a
Swiss girl, and Chinese girl road-tripping.
A
Dutch policewoman taking the night
bus to Melbourne from Canberra, backpacking for her holiday.
A
Korean girl backpacking to Apollo
Bay.
Australian-Asian woman
traveling to Hong Kong to visit her sister who watched the tennis with me at
the airport.
Four Canadian girls
who were mortally offended when I asked if they were Americans.
A
German girl on working holiday here
in Warkworth, just north of Auckland.
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| Spend the night for $10! |
Why
are Canadians appalled to be mistaken for their southern counterpart? Why are
folks from every other continent besides
ours, getting out and about? Why are their young people so much better traveled
than ours? They have courage that Americans don’t have, practical knowledge and
practiced wisdom honed by months of uncertainty and flexibility on the road.
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| Spend time in parks. Places that aren't America have amazing park life. For instance this one, Federation Square, where hundreds of people camped out for hours to watch Federer and Murray slug it out. |
They
travel alone; they travel as couples; they travel in groups. They study abroad;
they hitch-hike, they do a working holiday[1].
They live between cultures, learning quickly to accept others’ oddities and the
ambiguities of this and that (see what I did there?). They’re young, they’re
brave, and they’re open with themselves and with others.
Where
are we, America? Holed up in our
lovely little U.S. of A. I admit—it’s a great place. I love it; it’s comfortable.
I know well that comforting familiarity should never be undervalued, but is it worth the price we pay for
becoming, somewhat arrogantly if unintentionally, isolationist?
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| Time to grow |
I
don’t mean to deify travelers. To some extent, you’re quite right, you who
think we’re wasting time, avoiding careers, slumming it. One of the English
boys I met—he was only eighteen—vows that he will always hate work. The
German-turned-Irish girl had worked a number of dead-end jobs before her
current one and didn’t have much motivation to go anywhere from there. Yes, some
people are wandering—but they are very honestly doing so, while many people who
wander (Americans, I’m looking at you) keep it buried in dead habits and empty
goals.
As
Bonheoffer wrote and as a friend of mine reminded me of recently, we ought to “Bravely
take hold of the real, no dallying now with what might be. Not in the flight of
ideas, but only in action is freedom. Make up your mind and come out into the
tempest of living.”
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| Yay dumb pictures! I'm still not sure what is inevitable in this picture, but I hope it's not talking about ageing or grey beards but more about the inevitability of me one day picking Brad Pitt's nose. If wishes were fishes, amiright? |
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| Brighton Beach! |
P.S.
I fudged a little. I’ve also met two American girls—one of whom lives in Oz
married to an Aussie and the other who works at a coffee stand in Auckland, NZ.
But the point still stands—an overwhelming number of Americans utterly fail to
travel with no strings attached.
Your blog has officially become my very favorite one out there. :) I'm glad for inspiring people like you.
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