I’ll never forget the wisdom my Dad imparted upon me as I left for Spain on my first international adventure without my parents. “Son, I swear that if you ever impregnate a girl and don’t marry her, I’ll murder you with my bare hands.” Oh wait…that was the summer before 5th grade. The Pre-Spain wisdom was, “Be a traveler, not a tourist.” I think I’ve done alright with the second piece of advice, and I don’t think this blog is any place to discuss the first because my Mom might read it. Kidding Mom.
The day I stepped off that 747 in Madrid in 1999, Dad’s advice echoing in my adolescent ears, was the day that I discovered a love that has driven and shaped my life in ways that I never could have imagined.
What determines the difference between travelers and tourists? Truthfully, probably fanny packs. Beyond fanny packs however, lies a possibly-more-meaningful answer from a Jewish librarian.
The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes “sight-seeing.”
Two things inspired this blog, my love of traveling, and my love for talking about myself. I hope that somewhere amidst these partially-constructed sentences and dangling participles you might see a picture or read a story that encourages you to get out and have your own adventure, push beyond mere sight-seeing and discover that part of yourself that you never knew existed.
See you out there,