the footloose vagabond

We do we travel? Some travel as an antidote to the predictability of daily life. Some travel to relax; others, to enrich themselves. And there are those who travel if only for the mystique of adventure, or even to augment one’s travel cred. I travel to keep moving. I relax by not relaxing. The worst holiday I can think of is one that involves prolonged lolling on a beach or resort. I do a great disservice to all the picture-perfect beaches of the world by tossing them off my list wholesale. They are pleasant enough for one day. After that, the swaying palms lose their appeal and I am restless again.

Do not get me started on cruise ships or — my personal nightmare destination — Las Vegas. Cruise ships, those self-contained seafaring cities, are ideal for the tourist afraid to leave their comfort zone. Within the floating behemoths they will find the familiar: from casinos to beauty salons and spas, cabarets and discos, rock climbing gyms and saltwater pools. Add to that round-the-clock buffets and nonstop bingeing. The only bit of excitement would be an unexpected, ship-wide bout of norovirus.

My holiday is one of “footloose vagabondage,” as author and mountaineer David Roberts wrote in his book of essays Moments of Doubt. Mine is a journey of getting lost in strange places, of not knowing the language enough to have meaningful conversation, but just enough to ask for a beer or a toilet and share a laugh at my expense. The rest I leave to luck and adaptability and the kindness of strangers. There is no other way to go.

Houseboats on the Dong Ba canal, Hué, Vietnam