Addicted to Travel

By Kevin Frazier

Travel is the most potent amphetamine in the world.

Stepping out into the unknown makes me feel like an amalgamation of Indiana Jones and James Bond, with a dash of Ernest Hemingway. Whether I'm gorging on haggis in the Scottish highlands or swaying to the rhythm of a sauntering camel in the Egyptian desert, every fiber of my being screams that this is what I was born to do.

For example, I delight in my ability to pack light and blend in. My backpack is small enough to carry-on, and my attire is simple and practical, born of REI functionality and military drabness. Before embarking, I study my destination, memorize simple phrases of local dialects, and ensure I have at least a vague understanding of local currency.

I feel quite accomplished with my adventures in the countries and cultures I've lived in and trekked through; the snippets of language learned and retained, the peculiar foods sampled, and relationships forged along the way. With a chest swelling sense of pride, I often fancy myself a well-seasoned globetrotter.

And just as soon as I do, something happens that makes me realize I'm a rank amateur. I love this feeling, too.

This occurred most recently on an Air France flight from Paris to Cairo. I was buckled in, ready for takeoff, and basking in the comforting warmth of foreignness when onto the plane strode three surfer girls. Their slender bodies and bleached blond hair alone were enough to grab my attention, but they had an aura around them, that "thing" that makes a person sit up and take notice, not unlike being in the presence of a charismatic statesman whose magnetism attracts all the energy in the room.

In the midst of vacationers and business travelers, here were three girls who were in essence, battle-scarred dogs of war, albeit very pretty ones. They were hauling surfboards all over the world, following wind and waves, motivated by a focused desire. Compared to them, I was a pretender.

As I watched them I kept thinking to myself, "Man, they are deep in it! Now that's hardcore!" Such epiphanies as this are liberating and quite frankly, very humbling. I realized the sum total of destinations I was able to tick off on my worldly "to do" list was rather small. Unexplored locations from ancient ruins to tribal villages were beckoning. Dear travel gods, I was motivated to go!

Just as inspiration struck me, I realized that over the years I had come up with some impressively lame excuses for not traveling more often. Instead of complaining about lack of funds, I should have been working two additional jobs and only shopping at the 99¢ store. Instead of postponing a trip because it interfered with work, I should have walked out of the job and onto the next plane to anywhere.

We all probably have romantic notions of standing amongst the ruins of Machu Picchu and suddenly discovering the meaning of the universe. But in the real world, the most powerful revelations are often gained in the most unexpected places. A brief glimpse of three aquatic goddesses offered me the insight that my nomadic existence was not nearly as hardcore as I thought it had been...it's high time I packed up my rucksack and headed back out.

About this Traveler

Kevin is a student at the University of California, Los Angeles, and has traveled to Canada, England, Scotland, France (and Monaco), Spain, Italy (and the Vatican City), Switzerland, Germany, the Czech Republic, and Egypt. His most memorable moment "is a close tie between the story presented here and breaking my foot at the beginning of a two and a half week trip to Egypt. My ultimate backpacking trip would be about three months spent in Southeast Asia, starting in Vietnam and making my way through Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand. At least, that is my most recent inspiration."