Are You a Traveler?

How far from home do you have to be to consider yourself traveling?

I’ve been home for three weeks. And when I say home I mean no air travel. My work calendar is relatively clear, I have a trip to Los Angeles and some Sacramento work coming up. But no trips that include big miles. So I’ve been looking at my leisure time and thinking of things I’d like to do that would be included in the “travel” category.

In the last two years I’ve worked or vacationed in England, Corfu and Paxos Greece, Mexico City, New York City, Beijing, Shanghai, Taiwan, Penang, Hong Kong, the East and West sides of Baja, Vancouver B.C., Portland, Minneapolis, and Los Angeles. Now, staring at my calendar all I can think of is Reno.

I consider myself a Traveler, and it’s a little embarrassing to confess that out of all the places I’ve been and all the places I could go, Reno Nevada has made the list. It’s a little out of character for me to choose such a place and the question is: Is a funky town just a three-hour road trip away traveling? And, if Reno is traveling, does a weekend in Lakeport count? And, if Lakeport counts as a trip, how about a fifteen minute drive up the freeway to Healdsburg? A trip to the grocery store? A walk around the block? So, how far from home do you have to be to consider yourself traveling?

Let’s look at this simple answer to this simple question:

Question: “What are your hobbies?”
Answer: “Well, I like gardening and cooking and I really love travel.”

When I hear this answer, and it’s a common one, I am clear on gardening; it’s when you put your hands in some dirt and try to grow stuff. I’m clear on the cooking thing: it’s when you chop stuff and mix it together and either put some sort of sauce on it or put in on a source of heat for a specific length of time. For many, it’s a pleasurable pastime. But, travel? That’s a loaded response.

For some, travel means throwing on a rucksack and heading off into the unknown with the hope of becoming brothers with a Sherpa or discovering some new species. “Dude, you haven’t lived until you’ve danced with a shaman at twelve-thousand feet. It’s like…it’s like you become one of them man.”

For others it includes packing a different outfit for each day, complete with a matching hand bag and mesh sarong that was carefully considered and purchased at Overstock.com. Poolside that person or persons, might request a dinner reservation near the table where the Captain eats with the hope of getting a photo with him on “formal night.”

Still, for some travel means a one-dollar taco at mile marker forty-nine in Southern Baja.. “It’s right there in front of the big cactus. Get the pork. My friend turned me onto it and now, nothing else tastes like a taco.”

But for me it means going anywhere I’m not. And, I’m not in Reno. Not right now anyway. From where I live, Reno is an easy four-hour drive. And, that feels like travel to me. But it still doesn’t answer my question. Just because it feels like travel, doesn’t mean it is travel. How about this as a gauge? If it shows up on Travelocity as a destination, it counts. Not. There’s no way I could book a shaman dance ritual at twelve-thousand feet using my American Express. Not on Travelocity. I don’t think they have a deal to sell un-booked huts at base camp two. Not yet anyway.

I know. What if we made a specific distance from your home? How about one hundred fifty miles? That’s far enough to make it hard to go and come back without staying the night somewhere. But that won't work either, because I take day trips to Los Angeles from the Bay Area all the time. I know several people who physically commute distances farther than that. So maybe travel isn’t distance specific. Distances are arbitrary. What’s far to one person, is next door to another. China feels closer every time I go. At first it felt a million miles away, now it feels an appropriate eight thousand seven hundred something. To my Mom, Guerneville to Sacramento is a reason to pack carefully.

Okay. We could go differentiation. The more different the place is the more “travel” valid it becomes. But, that’s flawed too because one, it’s relative and subjective, and two the chances of my feeling totally at home in a foreign place is pretty high. People go on vacation all the time and decide that that’s where they belong. It doesn’t feel exotic or different. It feels right. Sometimes more right than their native zip code.

So, I’m back to travel is anywhere I’m not. And if that’s true that means that Reno counts. Why Reno? Because it piques my interest. My image of it is that it’s crass, cheap entertainment for people who probably shouldn’t be spending their money in casinos. It’s bad architecture and hot weather. It’s a wanna-be Vegas and it’s a little sleazy. People pee in the hotel pools and wait for night to fall so they can do something seedy that involves cash, cowboy boots and plastic seat covers. But, people are moving there in droves.

I want to see if my assumptions are accurate or are they just some accumulation of images from bad movies and gambling billboards on the I80. I’m curious and curiosity doesn’t kill the cat, it causes travel. And when you’re curious you go and find out for yourself what something is like. You open your eyes and see it for the first time. You invest in being impressed or at least of getting an impression. And that is what I think travel really is. It’s an attitude not a destination. So when I hear people say “I really love to travel” I think it really means “I’m a curious person.”

And I’m curious about Reno. So, it’s made it onto my travel destination list and the only way it will come off is if it gets checked off. It may not be noble, or earthy, or first class or eco-aware. I don’t have to cash-in points and I’m not part of the Silverado Player’s Club. I don’t have to make reservations months in advance or save up for years. I don’t need a GPS, or frameless backpack to survive there, or a Sherpa to find my way. I can go without an inflatable travel pillow and I can’t find a Lonely Planet guide on it. But, it’s somewhere I’m not, and I’m curious enough to go there. It counts. It’s not far but it’s travel. And no mile marker, travel guide or Web-log can tell me otherwise. If your record distance is only a tank of gas away from your garage, where they all speak your language and you recognize everything on the menu, consider yourself a traveler. It’s how you see things, not the destination that makes you a true traveler. Welcome to the club.