One of the luxuries of this millennium is the ability to travel to virtually any part of the world. As we baby boomers enter into our mid and later years, many of us are able to explore areas of the world that earlier we only dreamed of seeing. I have just been to my tenth country on this year long sabbatical and all along the way I have been blessed with incredible experiences and awesome sights. I sipped red wine in the south of France, hiked from one village to another in Italy’s Cinque Terre, stood in the Pantheon in Athens, Greece, marveled at the Blue Mosque in Turkey, circumambulated the Bodhnath Stupa in Nepal, got harassed in Bangladesh (okay, not so great), walked the beaches of Goa, India, zip lined in Costa Rica, trekked the ancient Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in Peru and searched for geckos with my grandson Owen in St. Lucia. Not too bad for nine months.
But there are issues that arise from traveling the world, concerns that are increasingly beginning to nag at me. The first one that comes to mind is the mountain of plastic bottles used by tourists. Keeping oneself hydrated is absolutely essential but potable water is not always available. A wise traveler will beware of drinking any tap water in any form, including ice cubes, unless they have a steady supply of cipro on hand. So the plastic bottles pile up. In Peru, my traveling partner Helen and I bought one bottle after another, in spite of the fact that we had water purification drops. We chose to put our trust in bottled water rather than our own treatment plan. On our hike to Machu Picchu, we were able to refill our bottles at each camp with boiled water, but that was only for four days. In St. Lucia, the heat drove my family and me to buy copious amounts to quench our thirst. We consciously put the plastic bottles aside, having been told that the island recycles. But later I watched in dismay as the manager of the villa threw them in with the regular garbage. I even attempted to boil water but the saucepan was only big enough to boil two eggs, let alone water for five people. In almost every country that I traveled lately, empty plastic bottles littered the side of the road, were thrown in ditches or lay scattered in waterways. Most surprising for this was Costa Rica, renowned for being an ecological island and St. Lucia, renowned for its natural beauty. It makes me feel very sad.
Then there is the other garbage. On our hike on the Inca trail, my trekking team all made a concerted effort to carry out every scrap of garbage that we generated. With the help of our porters, of course. But occasionally along the historic path we came across wrappers and bottles, discarded by others trekkers. Although not nearly as bad as photos that I have seen of base camp of Mount Everest, the trend was the same. The only saving grace is that according to our trekking guide, the Inca trail is cleaned every night as a concerted effort to preserve it. In Saint Lucia I often wondered where all the garbage goes generated by wealthy tourists. It is an island after all.
Another travel challenge is our carbon footprint. I’ve lost track of the number of flights that I have taken, it must be well over twenty in the last few months. Ask me how sick of airports I am. It worries me but I must confess that I am not quite sure what to do about my carbon footprint, given that I am a voracious traveler who needs her fix at least once a year if not more. Perhaps I will look into buying back my carbon footprint but worry that it is just another feel-good gimmick. Also, trekking ancient paths and climbing stone steps as old as Methuselah is enchanting but also worrisome as more and more areas of historic sites are being cordoned off, worn down from the footsteps of thousands upon thousands of tourists. I want my grandson’s children to be able to marvel at the imaginations of the ancients.
Finally, an issue that has been plaguing me for some time now is photographing the locals. I am as interested in people as I am in buildings, if not more. The life stories that old wizened faces have to offer beckon my camera. I try very consciously to be respectful of their privacy but it is not always easy. Some countries are more difficult than others. The Buddhist monks in their maroon robes in Nepal and the Sadus in India were very enticing but difficult to capture without offending. In Peru, the barrel-shaped women with bowler hats and very colourful dresses knew their uniqueness and always stretched out a hand for some coin in return for a snap. Some even went out of their way to dress in the traditional way, a child strapped to their back, another one in tow, complete with a llama or two. I never hesitated to give to them as I admire anyone who tries to do some sort of work rather than beg. One of the most fascinating photo-ops was on Lake Titicaca, Peru where just a handful of people live on floating reed islands, in reed houses with reed boats for transportation. The remote island of Taquille on the same lake was also fascinating, where men traditionally knit and women weave. Everywhere on the island, young and old men walked in clusters, a pair of knitting needles flying in their hands, a colourful ball of wool in their pocket. I tried my best to shoot only from a distance and never felt more like a tourist.
To all these issues, I have no answers. To not travel would be unthinkable for me. Travel gets the horizon off my nose. It makes me realize that the world is vast, that we are nothing but tiny ants on this earth. It helps bring perspective to our lives when we see the suffering of human beings in less fortunate countries. Travel allows us to enrich our lives but we must always remain mindful to enrich and not destroy the lives of those who grant us a vision into their world.
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