Virgina Postrel has a post about travel today, a subject which has been on my mind of late. Virginia is commenting on an article by a jaded reporter in The Guardian about travel having lost its allure in era when you can toodle over to Bruges from London for a quick over night.
I don’t think I’m anywhere near as jaded at The Guardian writer–hard to do that–but I have to admit travel has lost a tad of its glamor for me. And for most of my life travel was my drug of choice. I was always running off somewhere, having journeyed as far as Siberia and Manchuria. Now I’m not so quick to go, although work has taken me back and forth between the two US coasts with some frequency. Part of this, of course, is the general unpleasantness of airports. But there’s more. Europe, where I once spent so much time, seems hostile territory to me. I don’t want to spend my time explaining to Euros that I think US foreign policy is not quite as crazy as they do. Like most people, I don’t particularly enjoy being regarded as a villain – or as being allied with one. Back in the Vietnam era it was more fun. We were all brothers in protest.
Going to Asia is easier and it is no accident we chose Japan for vacation a year and a half ago. I’d go back in a heartbeat. Okay, two heartbeats. I’d want to make sure I got a prescription for Ambien. My other travel negative is the most important of all – jetlag.
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