My first Christmas away. Homesick?

I remember being homesick for my cat Cleo when I was about 10 years old.

After high school myself and 3 close friends toured Europe in an orange VW van. That still ranks as my best trip. Age 18 — a most excellent age for travel / discovery. I identified with characters in Michener’sThe Drifters.

Towards the end of our Grand Tour we resolved each to go do our own thing. I was quickly devastated. It seemed so pointless to travel and not have anyone close to share those experiences. I still feel that way at times.

I’m almost never homesick. But I often wish you were here.

These e-mail missives help me a lot. At least I can share an inkling.

For the holidays I thought I might tell you about some of my travel companions, about the kind of people I meet on the road.

I’ve evolved to the point of preferring to travel solo. This is not unusual. The majority of backpackers travel alone or as a couple. It is rare to find groups of 3 or more who can travel together for long.

Many ask, Don’t you get lonely?

Not lonely, as I am rarely alone. It is actually a treat when I get a day completely to myself.

Best I think is to travel solo but to rendezvous with friends en route. (When are you coming to meet me?)

Vikram Seth said that travelers who wander months require an attitude of mind capable of contentment with the present. Perhaps that’s true. But (as you know) budget travel is much easier than most imagine it to be. Almost anyone can handle it.

Of all the cultures I’ve observed, the main one is, of course, the backpacker culture. I’ve traveled with hundreds of different people from all over the world and met many thousands. There are a few I’ve really admired.

I also tend to gravitate towards expats living in these countries as they often know how things work behind the scenes. Always an eye-opener.

Where backpackers gather the talk is of cheap hostels, good restaurants, and places not to be missed. They always have some sort of warning for you. They always speak of the highlight of their trip.

They don’t have much in common — except a claim not to have children back home. There are a few people traveling with their kids, but the consensus is that the low-end travel circuit is not the place for children. Actually the kids thrive, but the parents are wracked with fears about what might go wrong.

The biggest surprise to new backpackers is whom I’ve dubbed the Israeli Army. In countries like India they are the most numerous nationality. Many Israelis travel after their mandatory 3 year military service in such numbers that I often wonder if there is anyone left in Israel.

I trekked with Alon from Tel Aviv who explained that the Army breaks into two main camps — the party types who go directly to Asia, and the nature loverswho head first for South America.

Israelis are notorious for being loud, aggressive, and cheap. Dozens of times I’ve seen some poor shopkeep hounded until he sells an item below cost. Israelis buy 7-day trekking permits for the 21-day Annapurna Circuit Trek and later claim they didn’t realize it would take that long. Networking, they know the cost of items all over the world. (Whenever I want to know the rock bottom price, the cheapest hotel, or the best value restaurant, I ask an Israeli.)

On the other hand, Israelis are often the most adventurous, informative, and fascinating backpacking companions — especially the ones travelling solo who despair of their terrible reputation. The men are world-wise, politically savvy cynics. The Israeli born women are often tough-sexy. Trained killers!

The other big surprise is the scarcity of Americans. It is rare to come across a Yank outside big name tourist destinations. I smiled when I heard of a Trek in Colombia which allowed every nationality EXCEPT Americans. (They make too good kidnap victims.)

I did find a lot of Americans in China. I always introduced them to locals as close friends of Bill Clinton. No one is as easy to embarrass as an American.

Many live up to the stereotype; loud, over-enthusiastic, Amerocentric. Those open-eyed enough to realize how the rest of the world sees them can be very good company. I enjoyed traveling with Julie from Wyoming. She was the first other person who, unprompted, said that she quite liked the Han Chinese people, that she didn’t blame them for the misdeeds of their government and hoped they wouldn’t blame her for the crimes of the USA.

Twice I met up with Dave, a Jesus Christ look-alike from New Jersey. A chronic traveller, his girlfriend had taken off somewhere without him, prefering to go solo. (They had reunited by the second time I bumped into him.)

I’ve travelled with some marvellous, respectful Japanese backpackers. Impressive in that people from that culture have so much difficulty getting intobackpacking and even more difficulty learning English, the lingua franca of travel. The Japanese are the rubes, constantly being taken advantage of, constantly getting ripped-off.

Hiro, who brilliantly hired a taxi to Tibet, disagreed with my assessment. While he felt that it used to be true that most Japanese didn’t know what they were doing, that now they are quite informed, that more women are travelling than men, and that I should understand that many of the Japanese have disgraced their families and forsaken careers to go on the road.

I was somewhat chastened by his rebuttal. And yet over and over again, hundreds of times, I’ve seen Japanese backpackers who look the part — dyed long hair, custom-torn jeans — but afraid to leave their guesthouse. For days.

A high percentage of backpackers are smokers. Bored smokers, I often think. Killing the plentiful down time with cheap smokes. A high percentage of slackpackers don’t get much done in a day. Most guilty of this are those on a strict, low budget.

No doubt the average age of backpackers is increasing. But age is rarely a consideration in travel companions. Destination, language, and budget all factor much higher.

I met a tough German woman, 55, who had been away from home cycling for over 4 years. She was bitter in having been turned back half way into Tibet. She planned to try again on a different highway.

There are more professional couples. I met a chain-smoking Swiss couple who were travelling on-line. Their journal was emailed via a palm-top computer. Photos were mailed home, scanned, and inserted.

Julio from Spain travels one year of every five. Next time he promised to bring his girlfriend who stayed home to run his small business. They will remember him in the tiny Tibetan village of Longmusi — he gave a Salsa dance tape to the disco there.

I always enjoy the company of the educated, understated Brits. I traveled off-and-on with Jess, an exception to the rule, perhaps the most intelligent, opinionated person I ever met. Brilliant and an original thinker, but somehow blinded, I thought, by a failed Catholic upbringing, a rage at the ruling aristocratic Protestant elite. (Is Canada the most classless place on Earth? I don’t give a damn how rich or connected you are.)

In some leap in understanding Jess venerates the poor and Godless. As an example he explained that the only intelligent folk he can find in San Francisco, where he now lives, are the illegal Hispanic (presumably lapsed Catholic) restaurant workers. Jess debunked the Tibetan monasteries we were visiting. I tried to point out the societal benefits of tradition, even religious tradition but he was unequivocal. I pictured him as the kind of dogmatist who thrived during the Cultural Revolution in China, burning the olds and establishing a new order based only on science and reason.

Jess despises the rich and powerful. Mockingly he reminded me that, It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

The French, the French, are a curious race — but they always have style. Fashionable dress is de rigeur even in the most remote jungle or mountain top. The women are often chic and beautiful. I’ll always remember one unsettling dorm night when a gorgeous French girl burst in late, drunk, tore off most of her clothes and lolled topless. She was en route to visit her brother who was attempting to be the first person to rollerblade around the world.

I spent some time with Sebastien, an Italian Buddhist who lived several years at the Labrang monastery, now the largest in the world. He had once done the prostration meditation, facing inwards, around the 3.5 km kora. That was 4 days, 10 hours per day. The best aspect he said was the camaraderie with the other pilgrims — that and the tremendous ab. workout.

Over the years he had grown disillusioned with the Tibetans, however. Buddhism is rapidly becoming a business and a career, not a calling. There is a story of a Kathmandu businessman who could not find anyone to buy his used Mercedes — until a Tibetan Rimpoche arrived and paid cash.

High lamas are often wealthy and can even marry.

I’ve met far more Canadians on this trip than ever before. I travelled with Jenny, a pretty Chinese Canadian who had just graduated from Princeton with a degree in Black American Literature. (Toni Morrison is at Princeton.) Jenny is polite, self-deprecating & considerate — just like most Canadians. All over the world we enjoy a terrific, sometimes undeserved reputation. Even self-righteous critics of the Great White North like myself get all patriotic abroad. At first I thought that Jenny didn’t carry a flag. Then I detected 3 very subtle Maple Leafs dyed into the fabric of her pack.

The closest friend I’ve met on this trip is Damian from Switzerland, a gregarious, outdoors enthusiast. We did 2 big treks in Tibet. Someone trying to describe the two of us said that it looked like Steven Spielberg was having breakfast with Keifer Sutherland.

I’ll keep in touch with Damian. But I’ve learned the hard way that it is impossible to stay in contact with past travelling companions. I often give out my own email, but I rarely promise to write.

what do they think of us?

I have a ticket home booked for May ’99 … but I think that is probably too soon to return. I hope to extend the trip as long as health, enthusiasm, and cash hold out.

Thinking of you.

Happy holidays! Wish you were here.

PS

I’m next gone to Bodhgaya, India where I hope to see the Dalai Lama.