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The Weekend Expedition

"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page." — Saint Augustine
"One must travel to learn." — Mark Twain
"To travel is to live." — Hans Christian Andersen

Travel quotes are beautiful. They make me want to quit my job, buy a backpack, and disappear into the mountains with nothing but a notebook and an unreasonable amount of optimism. Then I remember I have bills.

I also admire the people who wrote these famous travel quotes. They all lived before commercial airlines, budget airlines, baggage fees, airport security, visa applications, and the invention of the middle seat. Back then, travel was a genuine adventure. You packed your belongings, mounted a horse, boarded a ship, or simply started walking. If you returned, you wrote a book. If you didn't, someone else wrote your biography.

There was no climate guilt attached to every journey. Nobody calculated the carbon footprint of a camel. There were no traffic jams stretching for five kilometres because someone stopped to photograph a waterfall. Nobody interrupted a sunset to say, "Wait, let me take a photo." They must have enjoyed the real nature. They must have felt the real sun, rain, food and culture. Most importantly, they were not influencers. They were storytellers. They filled journals, wrote letters, and exaggerated their adventures over dinner. If there were vlogs back then, they would have monetised the views. 

Today, we mostly upload fifteen nearly identical photos with captions like "Lost in paradise", despite being only twenty metres away from the hotel buffet. These days everyone wants to be a traveller. We dream of standing on a white-sand beach, or on top of a mountain, staring thoughtfully into the distance as if we have finally understood the meaning of life. In reality, someone is standing just outside the frame holding the phone and shouting, "No, turn slightly left and smile, chin up."

My own travel ambitions are heroic in theory and remarkably local in practice. I also want to be a traveller, not a tourist. I also want that photograph. I also want to post that inspirational caption, "discover yourself" or "finding inner peace". Sadly, I have bills to pay, I have kids, and they don't have holidays. I have fish to be fed in my aquarium. Most importantly, I have excuses. Oh! I remember another important requirement: I don't have social media accounts. Never mind, I won't be able to post on social media, but I want to 'travel'. 

I derive a solution. I do not need to compare the air ticket prices, no visa hassle and no airport security check. Instead of flying to Iceland or hiking in Patagonia, I sneak away to the hills surrounding Kathmandu whenever I can. Technically, it may not qualify as "travel" according to Instagram standards. Because it is within the city and I return home before dinner.

This weekend, my son and I drove once again to Kalupandey Park. Yes, 'again'. I have now visited often enough that I suspect the trees recognise me. It is a (very) short drive from my home. It has one of the most scenic view of the valley and the Himalayas. 

It was raining. As we drove up, a part of Kathmandu had disappeared behind thick clouds. The famous panoramic view had taken the half day off. Fortunately, the drive uphill was smooth, peaceful, and wonderfully empty. Thanks to the rain, the bike riders did not dare to drench in the rain. We were smart to have a meal at home before driving up, so we did not have to get out of the car. 

The best part wasn't the destination anyway, nor the weather. It was the conversation. Teenagers are fascinating creatures. At home, conversation with a teenage son is an exercise in archaeology. You dig patiently through layers of silence hoping to uncover a complete sentence.

"How was school?"

"Fine."

"What did you learn?"

"Stuff."

"Anything interesting?"

"No."

The entire exchange can be completed in the blink of an eye. Put the same teenager in a moving car and something extraordinary happens. Perhaps it is because of nature or the 'travel'. Perhaps the rhythm of the road loosens thoughts that remain firmly locked at home. Whatever the reason, the words begin arriving.

We talked about history, books, politics, artificial intelligence, university, careers, and the strange world he will inherit. One question led to another. Sometimes I answered. Quite often, he corrected me with information he had found somewhere online, which is becoming an increasingly common feature of fatherhood.

The fog outside became almost irrelevant. We hardly cared about the view. It was all hidden. By the time we drove home, I realised that perhaps travel is so much misunderstood by all modern social media creatures. Let me take the opportunity to be an influencer and explain it. 

"Maybe the purpose isn't to travel farther. Maybe it is simply to leave enough of ordinary life behind that conversations have space to breathe. If that requires crossing continents, wonderful. If it only requires driving forty-five minutes to a hill where the view has completely disappeared into clouds, that seems a remarkably good bargain." 

Besides, the fog gives me an excellent excuse to visit Kalupandey Park again. At this rate, the trees and I will soon be on first-name terms.

PS: I take the privilege to post a picture (not mine) with a travel quote. ("Travel Far Enough to meet yourself!" "It was only 11.7 kms. 🤣")





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