When I say I want to travel, I don’t mean I want to stay at resorts and go on tours with pre-programmed tour guides or buy key chains from souvenir shops.
I don’t want to be a tourist. When I say I want to travel I mean I want to explore another country and be part of it. I want to touch a country’s soul and be a better person for it.
I want to discover the streets of Macau – the ones away from the big casinos where real life happens. I want to walk on beaches in Oman with a camel looking over my shoulder, then climb down to the Bimmah sinkhole for a swim. I’ll celebrate the arrival of the season’s newborn animals with Mongolian nomads, and feel free amongst the dunes at Moltsog Els.
I’ll browse the bookstores of England; not the new ones but the old musty ones that remind me of the odour of my grandmother’s basement. I want to hike the rugged edges of the Himalayas again and perhaps give Nepal another chance. What is it like to ride with the gaucho’s in Argentina or the Uruguayan Pampas? Maybe both. I want to know.