In which means do you want to travel? I am fun of reading about travel destination and I am inspired of what Dervla Murphy said.
First, buy your pack animal
In this age of mobile
phones, cybercafes and satellite links, it's harder than ever to truly
escape ... but not impossible. Dervla Murphy, who has ventured to the
ends of the earth with only the most basic provisions, explains how
Don't fence me in ... true escapist
travel, such as through Peru, should be slow. Photograph: Kazuyoshi
Nomachi/Corbis
The individual traveller's "age of adventure" has long since
been ended by "S&T" (science and technology: an abbreviation that
dates me). Now our planet's few remaining undeveloped expanses are
accessible only to well-funded expeditions protected by mobile phones
and helicopters - enterprises unattractive to the temperamental
descendents of Mungo Park, Mary Kingsley et al. Happily, it's still
possible for such individuals to embark on solo journeys through
little-known regions where they can imagine how real explorers used to
feel.
Reviewers tend to describe my most exhilarating journeys as
"adventures", though to me they are a form of escapism - a concept
unfairly tainted with negative connotations. If journeys are designed as
alternatives to one's everyday routine, why shouldn't they be escapist?
Why not move in time as well as space, and live for a few weeks or
months at the slow pace enjoyed by our ancestors? In recent decades
everything has become quicker and easier: transport, communications,
heating, cooking, cleaning, dressing, shopping, entertaining. "S&T"
have reduced physical effort to the minimum - but are we genetically
equipped to cope with our effortless new world? The stats show
increasing numbers of us developing ulcers, having nervous breakdowns,
eating too much or too little, taking to drink and/or drugs, retreating
from our own reality in plastic surgery clinics. It's surely time to
promote the therapeutic value of slow travel.
Still going strong ... Dervla Murphy
There is, of course, a certain irony here: technology has rendered
the traditional simple journey somewhat artificial. Previously, those
who roamed far and wide had to be isolated for long periods; now
isolation is a deliberately chosen luxury. Had I died of a burst
appendix in the Hindu Kush or the Simiens or the Andes, it would have
been my own fault (no two-way radio) rather than a sad misfortune.
Therefore, in one sense, escapist travelling has become a game - but
only in one sense. The actual journey is for real: whatever happens, you
can't chicken out. You're alone where you've chosen to be, and must
take the consequences. (I prefer to forget that nowadays one is never
quite alone. With all those satellites, the solitary traveller may be
observed picking her nose in the middle of the Great Karoo.)
To
facilitate escapism, I offer the following tips ...
1.
Choose your country, use guidebooks to identify the areas most
frequented by foreigners - and then go in the opposite direction.
This
advice reeks of political incorrectness; it's "snobbish" to draw a
clear distinction between travellers and tourists. Yet it's also
realistic. The escapist traveller needs space, solitude, silence.
Tragically, during my lifetime, roads have drastically depleted that
natural habitat. Adverts for phoney "adventure tours" make me grind my
few remaining teeth. For example, "England to Kenya by truck! Overland
adventure! See five countries in six weeks!" Who in their right mind
wants to see five countries in six weeks? How not to escape . . . I
always try to get off the beaten track. One favourite place where I did
so was a trek from Asmara to Addis Ababa. Things are different now, but
most people I encountered then had never seen a white person before.
Even on more recent trips in Russia and Romania - where I took fairly obvious
routes that certainly weren't unchartered land - I always stayed away
from the tourist trails.
2. Mug up on history.
To
travel in ignorance of a region's history leaves you unable to
understand the "why" of anything or anyone. For instance, Castro's Cuba (the subject of my latest book) must
baffle visitors uninformed about the 500-year lead-up to Fidel's
revolution. But heavy sociological or political research is unnecessary -
although if you happen to fancy that sort of thing it will add an extra
dimension to your journey. Otherwise, enough of current politics will
be revealed as you go along, and in those happy lands where domestic
politics don't matter to the locals you can forget about them.
Learn
as much as possible about religious and social taboos, and then
scrupulously respect them. Where gifts of money are inappropriate, find
out what substitutes to carry. In Muslim countries, such as Afghanistan,
a code of conduct towards travellers prevents acceptance of money from
guests, so I often buy gifts for the children from the local bazaars.
3.
Travel alone, or with just one prepubescent child.
In
some countries even two adults may be perceived as providing mutual
support, making acceptability by the locals less spontaneous and
complete. Au contraire, a child's presence emphasises your trust in the
community's goodwill. And because children pay little attention to
racial or cultural differences, junior companions rapidly demolish
barriers of shyness or apprehension often raised when foreigners
unexpectedly approach a remote village. I found this to be the case in
all my travels with my young daughter, especially when we travelled
through Kodagu in southern India.
4. Don't overplan.
At
sunrise it's not necessary - nor even desirable - to know where you are
going to be at sunset. In sparsely inhabited areas carry a lightweight
tent and sleeping bag. Elsewhere, rely on fate to provide shelter:
dependence on those met en route greatly enhances escapism, and
villagers are unfailingly hospitable to those who trust them. I have
been welcomed into villagers' homes everywhere I've cycled or walked,
and was always grateful for what was typically a space on the floor.
"Trust" is a key word for relaxed travelling among people whose
different way of life may demand adaptability but should prompt no
unease or suspicion.
5. Be self-propelling: walk or cycle.
Dervla's trusty steed
For long treks, far from roads and towns, buy a pack animal to carry
food, camping gear, kerosene for your stove if firewood is scarce - and
of course your child, should he or she be too small to walk all day.
When
organising such a trek, allow for spending a week or 10 days at your
starting point, enquiring about the best source of pack animals. Take
care to find a reliable advisor as well as a horse trader - preferably
someone unconnected to the trader. In Ethiopia, in 1966, I was lucky enough to
be advised by Princess Aida, granddaughter of the then-emperor, Haile
Selassie, and half a dozen mules were paraded around the courtyard of a
royal palace for my inspection. A decade or so later, in Baltistan, I
bought a retired polo pony to carry Rachel, my six-year-old daughter,
and our camping gear and supplies, including two sacks of flour because
in mid-winter in the Karakorum, the villagers have no spare food. In Peru, as a nine-year-old, Rachel rode a mule
named Juana for the first 600 miles from Cajamarca, but a fodder
shortage necessitated her walking the remaining 900 miles to Cuzco: poor
Juana had become so debilitated that she could carry only our gear.
It's
important to travel light. At least 75% of the equipment sold nowadays
in camping shops - travel clotheslines, rolled-up camping mats,
lightweight hairdryers - is superfluous. My primary basics, although it
depends on the journey, are a lightweight tent, a sleeping bag suitable
for the country's temperature, and a stove.
6. If assisted
by a pack animal, take detailed local advice about the terrain ahead.
And
remember, campsites suitable for you may be disaster areas for a hungry
horse or mule. Then you must press on, often to a site hardly fit for
humans, but providing adequate grazing. We can do the mind-over-matter
bit, while resolving never again to let supplies run so low, but an
equine helper doesn't have that sort of mind. If there's no fodder at
6.30pm, the mule cannot have consoling thoughts about stuffing it in at
6.30pm the next day. And there is nothing more guilt-provoking than
seeing a pack animal who has worked hard for you all day denied
sustenance.
7. Cyberspace intercourse vitiates genuine
escapism.
Abandon your mobile phone, laptop, i-Pod and
all such links to family, friends and work colleagues. Concentrate on
where you are, deriving your entertainment from immediate stimuli, the
tangible world around you. Increasingly, in hostels and guesthouses, one
sees "independent" travellers eagerly settling down in front of
computers instead of conversing with fellow travellers. They seem only
partially "abroad", unable to cut their links with home. Evidently the
nanny state - and the concomitant trend among parents to over-protect
offspring - has alarmingly diminished the younger generation's
self-reliance. And who is to blame for this entrapment in cyberspace?
Who but the fussy folk back at base, awaiting the daily (even twice
daily) email of reassurance.
8. Don't be inhibited by the
language barrier.
Although it thwarts exchanges of
ideas, it's unimportant on a practical level. I've wandered around four
continents using only English and a few courtesy phrases of Tibetan,
Amharic, Quechua, Albanian or whatever. Our basic needs - sleeping,
eating, drinking - can always be indicated by signs or globally
understood noises.
Even on the emotional level, the language
barrier is quite porous. People's features - particularly their eyes -
are wonderfully eloquent. In our everyday lives, the extent to which we
wordlessly communicate is taken for granted. In "far-flungery", where
nobody within 100 miles speaks a word of any European language, one
fully appreciates the range of moods and subtle feelings that may be
conveyed visually rather than aurally.
9. Be cautious -
cautious as distinct from timid.
The assumption that only
brave or reckless people undertake solo journeys off the beaten track
is without foundation. In fact, escapists are ultra cautious: that's one
of their hallmarks, and an essential component of their survival
mechanisms. Before departure, they suss out likely dangers and either
change their route - should these seem excessive - or prepare to deal
with any reasonable hazards.
Granted, there's a temperamental
issue here: is a bottle half-empty or half-full? Why should your bones
break abroad rather than at home? Optimists don't believe in disasters
until they happen and therefore are not fearful - which is the opposite
of being brave.
10. Invest in the best-available maps.
And
whatever you do, don't forget your compass.
by Dervla Murphy
The Guardian,
Saturday 3 January 2009
Thanks Ms.Murphy :)
