Since I work in travel, I write about travel and organize travel, travel a whole heck of a lot myself and hang out with a lot of travelers a whole lot of the time, the subject is always close to my mind.

My mind winds around and around and usually ends up at “What’s the point?”

In a book essentially about travelers, the writer Salman Rushdie writes about the wise, enchanting main muse:

“She wasn’t interested in the foreign travellers, though she knew they fascinated the emperor. They came in search of… what, exactly? Nothing of use.

If they had possessed any wisdom, the inutility of their journeying would have been obvious to them. Travel was pointless.

It removed you from the place in which you had a meaning, and to which you gave meaning in return by dedicating your life to it, and it spirited you away into fairylands where you were, and looked, frankly absurd.”

And then I’m home.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 17th, 2010 at 4:16 pm and is filed under A life of adventure. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.