Wandering: the draw of the journey

I bought a machete after church today. Machetes usually come at a pretty decent price down here. I was thankful that the lady in the hardware booth wrapped it newspaper because I had not my backpack and thought that brandishing a large blade in the public eye might be a little much, even for México. (Unlike in the movies there are not daily shootouts and face-painted rebels lurking in the alleys in their dusty Toyotas)

I bought a machete after church today because I decided that it might come in handy in the bush. You see, little over a week ago I was talking with the barista at my favorite café in the city, my friend Arturo. A thoughtful (full of thought), serious fellow living at constant ease with the world and his espresso machine, he has quickly become one of my favorite Mexicans. He was telling me about the coffee at Paraíso (the café)—the “Mezcla de la Casa” is from the jungles of Oaxaca, Veracruz, and Chiapas (all states in México). He said that one place he really wanted to visit was the low jungle of southern Oaxaca where the coffee is grown. This sparked my interest immediately as I was reminded of my taste of jungle adventure in Chiapas. Two other reliable sources, Hannah and Rachel, seemed to enjoy their time in Oaxaca as well and advised me to visit. For me, these three recommendations spelled a getaway plan.

After the school faculty told me about the attendance policy at Tec (2 weeks of class can be missed per semester) I immediately decided that my absences would serve me best if used in bulk. Likewise, after Arturo told me about Oaxaca I immediately decided that an adventure there would probably be worth said bulk absence usage. This week I’ve been preparing things, making sure that I’m ready for a solo trip. Among many other things, I felt that it would be a tragedy to lose my trusty and gigantic backpack so I’ve been adding cargo capacity to my rucksack, sewing and strapping things onto it with reckless abandon, an endeavor that has set my roommate to calling me MacGyver/Martha Stewart. Not such a bad combination.

As I look forward to knocking around Oaxaca for 12 days or so (also D.F. for Independence Day) I can’t help but think of all the Mexican soil I have yet to get to know. At least 14 cities made my “must see” list and I sat for a time trying to figure out if I could smash them all into this short semester. This peculiar feeling I had, and have always had, about travel got me thinking. What is it about travel that is so appealing? I always say that I like it because it’s a sort exercise for your whole person: mind, body, heart, even soul at times. But is that a sufficient explanation or it is just words?

Most people that run in my circles put world travelers on a pedestal. There’s a certain social value attached to travel. It’s like a recreational drug that is totally integrated into the culture .Everybody does a little bit of it, most of them enjoy it, people are jealous of other people who have achieved greater “highs” off it. The nomad is the object of infinite awe and envy. Why is this? What is it about the journey that transfixes us so? Could it be that in the journey we come closer to our true status as wayfarers in this old world? I mean come on, what better place for a wanderer than on the road?

I like the road. I like its novelty. I like its unpredictability. I think that in a way it’s quite beautiful to have so many unknowns. We spend a painful amount of our time at home making sure that we lead predictable, controllable lives, making sure that the future is a guaranteed success, bright and sunny, just what we want. By Jove we need a break from all that pressure, huh? Yes, perhaps it’s the road that puts us right where we ought to be. Searching for beauty in between meals, keeping our eyes wide open and our mouths closed, realizing that, just like the sunrise through the hostel window, our safety, our life, and our salvation…all the things we value most are out of our hands. What freedom!

And the best part is that so often the wanderer has the clarity to see the shadows of those strong capable hands keeping him afloat. Things happen on the road to bring the hands to light…things that at home are easily mistaken for good planning or hard work. And I believe that this is one of travel’s magnetic lures for me; it is the chance to act out physically what I will be acting out all my life spiritually—a chance to sojourn in a land that is not my home and be the object of the care and affection of a father back home, ever drawing the rambler to himself. And that is beautiful to me…

…so I bought a machete.