I heard an old Arab saying on the radio the other day which said that the soul travels only at the speed of a camel. It started me thinking about the experience of travelling for a living.
I've been lucky enough to travel a lot, but I'm an amateur compared to some. Ibn Battuta travelled over 75,000 miles in the mid 14th century, seeing Africa, India, the Middle and Far East, China, the Mediterranean, having vivid adventures in each place. He finally returned home to Tangier after 28 years of travel, all presumably at the speed of a camel or slower, and documented his adventures. It is a great read.
The idea of always moving onward, staying in each new location only as long as is safe or desirable is very seductive. We all know that travel is no escape from your problems – they either sit on your shoulder becoming heavier as the journey goes on, or fester dangerously back at home waiting for your return. But to give over your life totally to travel and, at Ibn's time particularly, to the utterly unknown is an incredible and seductive idea.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with travel. I NEVER want to leave home before a trip but always enjoy the experience when it's happening. Sometimes I am even reluctant to come home because the truth is that whilst you are away you lead a different life - you become in part a different person. That can be difficult to leave. It can be even more difficult to recognise your old self returning as you walk up the path to home. It takes a couple of days for your 'normal' life to feel like a welcome and comfy pair of familiar slippers.
I can understand the Arab saying. When you first arrive somewhere new it is exciting, interesting, sometimes disappointing, always a challenge. But it is a slightly hollow experience until you have adjusted to the different pace, stopped seeing the people as foreigners with confusing ways and recognised your common humanity, found your shops and routine, – until your soul has caught up with you.
I feel that my soul has caught up with me finally in Prague. It didn't make it this far when I was here last year! Don't get me wrong, I am LONGING to go home to York, but I feel relaxed here finally. I'm even finding myself naturally picking up a few odd words of Czech to add to my fluent 'Good morning. I'd like a coffee please.'
Why does that only ever seem to happen towards the end of a trip? Did Ibn Battuta and other great explorers manage to speed up this process and so enjoy the destination more? The saying would suggest not.
A very big part of me wastes far too much time dreaming of the day when we can stay at home, devote ourselves to a garden, chickens, cat and dog, and be totally fulfilled by that. The truth is though that at the moment I am still seduced by the never-ending onward road ahead and, even though much of my job frustrates me severely, travel is the one great perk.
Ibn stopped travelling at 51 and lived another 23 years in Tangier. Maybe I've got a few more years of travel ahead of me......but the whispering cluck of chickens is getting ever louder in my ear!
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