Reflection: an act of thought that revisits an object to examine it.
The object here is travel (or tourist movement, it doesn’t really matter) and the desire to examine it from the particular angle of the verb that drives it came from reading a sentence by Xrctn in the introduction to his travel journal about Turkmenistan.
Part of that strange category of travelers who like ticking boxes...
Ticking
I have no idea how strange that is—I actually get the impression it might be pretty common when I see the diverse mix of trips some people here take. But maybe it’s a different approach that drives these compulsive travelers.
Still, it wouldn’t even occur to me. What does it add?
Connecting
Or chaining, assembling, linking.
These are my verbs.
If I can’t do it—either because finances are tight (I live in one of Europe’s pigsties—a PIIGS country, where the virtuous northern barbarians sent the G&S troika to "nurse us back to health" through austerity, making it all the more pleasant to spend every summer among civilized folks on the terrace of my little white house in Kalymnos overlooking the Aegean), or because I’ve chosen a tricky, unstable direction (Lebanon had to be canceled in summer 2006, Syria too, and Iran right now)—I don’t really feel like traveling. I might just tag along to be nice, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.
If I think about the need behind my verbs—this continuous, meticulous, patient way of traveling—it’s about stripping away sudden, artificial exoticism, weaving small, successive changes, and feeling the presence of the knots too. About understanding, integrating something a little different from the image on a screen.
And you? What’s your guiding verb?
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
Last summer, I meandered between Milan and Bordeaux. I was traveling with Italian friends, and I couldn’t imagine making them drive 1,000 kilometers on the highway—so we took an exit at Tarare and picked it back up just before Tulle. They *loved* the Auvergne. Their perfect getaway. [;)]
Anywhere else is good enough, really. Works every time?
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
This seems pretty common as a motivator... Just do a search with "travel escape" to see how many travel agencies and magazines have names or titles that play on the theme (with "voyage cochage," you picture meat sacks, and "voyage jonction" takes you to a confluence near Chamonix...). Using the same combo ("voyage s'évader"), I landed on Psychologie.com, which sketches out a quick rundown of possible motivations. Translated into verbs, that gives us—besides escaping—cultivating yourself, trying new things, and sharing (these seem to be the results of a test, if I understood correctly).
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
Hi Catherine,
If the verb that guided us for so long was "to venture" and "to explore," now and today, it’s "to savor," "to soak in," and "to linger." At home and elsewhere.
Savor the moment, soak in the atmosphere, linger, wander—nothing thrilling, I’ll admit, but so peaceful.
If the verb that once guided us was to venture and to explore, now and today, it’s to savor, to soak in, and to linger. At home and elsewhere.
Savor the moment, soak in the atmosphere, linger, wander—nothing thrilling, it’s true, but so peaceful.
I remember that story of thousands of kilometers on a motorcycle.
To leave, and to leave only at random, knowing nothing, maybe not even imagining anything, choosing—or not—day by day. Is *that* adventure?
Soaking in an atmosphere like a dry Neapolitan rum baba absorbing sweet rum...
Wandering, staying, returning, absorbing the tiniest details.
Am I getting closer to the idea?
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
I see three verbs... And I’m not quite sure what order to put them in to find the essential one. So I’ll try this: discovery distracts, and distraction rests.
Okay, I’m overthinking it...
Cat
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
These aren’t verbs, so I’m probably off-topic, but for me, number one is freedom (because I make sure I have almost no obligations when I travel, and it’s the only time that’s possible), and number two is a change of scenery. I find it a real shame, but the only way I get "stars in my eyes" is by visiting other planets than my own. 😄
Le monde est comme un miroir, si tu lui souris, il te sourit aussi!
If I can split hairs and then tie them back together to weave—or rather, embroider—a suzani with 10, 20, or 100 hands, titled "travels," I’m not exactly skilled at "drawing someone out."
I don’t know how to interpret this laconic tone around a somewhat marginal verb.
Fair enough! I’ll leave "savoring" hanging, a few threads laid over a framework of movements. Maybe you or someone else will come here to sketch out a pattern.
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
This is just a little casual chat, no big deal—off-topic is totally welcome (we’re not in a photo contest ).
Plus, we can often turn nouns into verbs. To free oneself (which I see as pretty close to Attila’s "escaping"), to free oneself *for*, ultimately, to marvel (that’s what sparkles are all about, right?).
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
It’s spring, the *primus tempus* of the Romans, which the Greeks call *anoiksi*—the opening, what returns, almost the same.
Amorgos.
The Aegean, splendid, sparkles. Puffs of pollen sometimes blur it. The stone is warm.
Astypalea on the horizon?
Uncertainty of what exists.
Still, to blind and to open one’s eyes.
(It’s been a long time since Greece was about traveling—if it ever was. Just being, that’s all.)
In "contemplate," I hear temple. Thus, sacred.
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
You’re not exactly bending over backwards here.
Isn’t *être*, kind of like Dolma’s *vivre*, the ultimate all-purpose verb? Why would it have a meaning specifically tied to travel?
I’m right here, lead on the couch, and I’m not traveling in the slightest.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
I smiled when I saw "wander" appear. Movement. We’ve been a sedentary species for such a short time that the urge to move, to travel, to roam might very well remain a strong impulse.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
Enjoying being a stranger.
Magris wrote some beautiful lines about that. If I find them (easy) and have the time (hard) to copy them out, I’ll post them.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
It’s not that I’m not making an effort—it’s just how it is.
Beyond even living, which has a slightly psychologizing vibe, I have an ontological kind of travel, me, ma’am [:)].
Of course you travel, even from your couch; your youth is a journey, your education a journey, every new batch in September another journey, and Uzbek entertainment just one more trip, nothing else.
“To split” or “to learn”?
The first one amuses me because I now rarely speak French, which has almost completely wiped out my slang. It’s probably a cousin of escaping and freeing yourself.
Catherine, who still has her nose in her suitcase before lifting it toward the Uzbek mosques, madrasas, and other buildings.
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
Back from an absolutely thrilling trip that took her from the office to the butcher’s, via the gym, Odissette Joycine realizes that you take "travel" in its broadest sense (a human life is a journey, every day), whereas she limited herself to its common meaning: the physical movement from one place to another, something out-of-the-ordinary.
If you want, but that’s not really my point here.
And I don’t know why you display that slight disdain for "living." The kid from the Forez mountains who meticulously sorted everything that came her way into three categories (living, formerly living/dead, never alive) wasn’t into psychology at all.
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
No, touch is missing. But I don’t have wandering hands... [:P]
However, it would be interesting to generalize the rare museum experiences that allow the visually impaired to touch sculpted works, or even to appropriate paintings through braille.
The order was interesting [:P]
No, it was out of order.
The president would be: contemplate, not just seeing in passing, but looking and even taking the time to contemplate: a landscape, a painting, children playing ball in a square. Despite the etymology, this has nothing to do with a sacred act—perhaps a spiritual one.
The vice-president: listen instead of just hearing. We too often forget to listen in our societies.
Next come:
Inhale. For me, this verb isn’t just about smell—you can also inhale an atmosphere, a vibe. Sit on a bench and wander while soaking in the local life.
Taste. A trip isn’t complete without flavors... if there are any.
The country where I was able to fully awaken my senses is perhaps this one.
Unfortunately, it’s become unvisitable. You know something about that. But maybe I’m hitting a sore spot. Sorry! [:)]
but my verb "that presides" is the first one mentioned: "deviser" (I’ve read, reread, and consulted *The Description of the World* again and again—it remains a delight for me! And I keep learning every day about what Travel to the Land of Wonders truly is! ;)
To converse with the world, locked away in a Genoese prison...
Catherine
By this, and this only, we have existed. Which is not to be found in our obituaries. (T.S. Eliot)
