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What is the purpose of travel?  Specifically, why should I journey beyond the borders of my native country?  I have asked myself those questions numerous times since I left the U.S.  Different people favor different styles of travel, and each has its own costs and benefits.  Regardless of your travel preference, whether you like extravagant four star hotels and exclusive package tours, or tiny local guest houses and spontaneous exploration, I think that a unifying desire of all travelers is to experience something extraordinary and new.  New environments, new cultures, new faces, and new perspectives are just a few of the things that entice prospective vacationers and seasoned travel-veterans alike.  But there is a deeper reason to travel than simply novel scenery or bewildering cultural oddities.  I think part of that deeper reason is vulnerability. To be vulnerable is to be open, unguarded, and sensitive.  The word vulnerable often carries with it a connotation of physical weakness, but the vulnerability that I refer to is not physical.  Instead, I am alluding to a state of mental flexibility.  A supple mind is relaxed and responsive, unmolested by the anxiety-producing intrusions which plague us all, to some degree, in modern society. It is easy to focus on the menacing aspects of new cultures and environments from the comfortable perspective of my living room sofa in Wisconsin.  By nature, media images tend to accentuate the fantastic, exceptional, and dangerous components of novelty, because these things immediately capture our attention.  Media images are often our most substantial and influential sources of information, and the predominately threatening contexts through which these images are portrayed tends to encourage a defensive position.  When I’m threatened I naturally tighten up and become resistive, both physically and mentally.  This mental stiffness not only creates stress, but also thwarts effective reception of information.  A vulnerable mind finds that new things are generally enlightening, rather than threatening.  An alarming newspaper article about violence in the Ivory Coast of Africa may prompt me to access more information about the cultural ideologies involved and the sociopolitical climate that has led to the violence.  A defensive reaction to the article would be to add the Ivory Coast to a list of places to avoid, whereas an open-minded response would be to pursue a deeper understanding of the situation.  While we may not always have the time to use this open-minded approach, there’s an excellent way to cultivate it instantaneously; first hand experience.  I’m certainly not advocating a trip to a warring region of the world in the name of improving vulnerability.  I also recognize that if there isn’t enough time in someone’s busy schedule for a little internet research, then it isn’t likely that there is time for a flight to another country.  But everyone gets vacation time (I hope), and a single trip into a new cultural setting can go a long way in creating an open-mindedness that can be applied to everyday life.

A crumbling fortress near the Romanian town of Rupea.

A Romanian Serendipity.  My mother calls an outstanding coincidence a “goucher”.  Some may call a particularly timely instance of good fortune, serendipitous.  Whatever you may call these strokes of good luck, they happen to us all.  In my experience, the more risks you take and the more open-minded you are to diversity and change, the more likely you are to witness and be aware of “gouchers” when they happen; and I think they happen a lot.  The strange and unpredictable coincidence that I describe in this story is not only a serendipitous “goucher”, but also a testament to the possibilities that arise when you remove yourself from the safety of familiarity; the benefits of vulnerability. 

My great friend, Zach, and I backpacked through Europe from June 13 – September 6, 2002.  We covered continental Europe quite extensively during those three months, including (in order of experience): England, France, Italy, Netherlands, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Germany, Switzerland, and Spain.  Having never ventured beyond the borders of North America in my life, this trip was a large, unguarded step into the unknown.  In fact, the explosion of panic-inducing information that has pervaded U.S. media since September 11, caused me to harbor serious doubts about the safety of travelling.  My timidity quickly faded though.  This was an opportunity for me to personally experience the variety of cultures and wealth of history and tradition that I had previously only read about, or seen on TV.  I was determined to make this possibility a reality, and so I began to steer my focus towards the goal of world travel; to actively pursue and take advantage of every travel-related coincidence that I could.
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A shot of Budapest at night.

Zach and I had been thinking seriously of traveling through Europe for nearly two years, before we stepped onto the plane this June.  We each graduated in May, 2001, from different Universities within the state of Wisconsin, and reunited to work for the summer at a small restaurant called the “Park Café”, located on the eastern border of Glacier National Park, Montana.  When we weren’t busy exploring rocky summits, we were asking our co-workers about their travel experiences, slowly building confidence and gathering information for the journey ahead.  Next, we moved back to River Falls, Wisconsin, our hometown.  We spent six months working, saving money, and opening every possible door that might lead to a crucial bit of insight or useful connection overseas.  Our flight from domestic familiarity was going to catapult us into strange new territory; all the more reason to be prepared. Our preparation paid off, too.  We met three groups of friends overseas, stayed with an incredibly accommodating family in Germany, and hooked up with my parents in Prague.  Research and planning before departure gave us a reasonable knowledge base, from which we could draw confidence about the general direction of our trip through Europe.  This confidence allowed us to adopt a flexible itinerary, so that we could remain receptive to favorable cues and friendly suggestions along the way. One suggestion that we received came from a dread-locked, Swedish youth that we met in Budapest, named Christian.  Christian and I bonded over a long conversation about quality music at a funky Frank Zappa bar in Buda.  That bond was strengthened on a claustrophobia-stimulating caving tour on the other side of the Danube, in Pest.  Christian was on his way north from Romania, and recommended that I visit Brasov.  I’m a bit of a Dracula buff, and the thought of exploring the wild Carpathian Mountains of Romania had crossed my mind more than once.  Brasov sounded like a fine place from which to begin exploration of Romania.  With little hesitation, Zach and I packed up our meager equipment, bid Christian a bon voyage, and continued our trip into the unfamiliar.  In late July, we departed from Budapest for Brasov, Romania, on a hot and painfully slow-moving train.  The Romanian landscape was dominated by agriculture and rolling green hills.  The pastoral setting was interrupted occasionally by tiny run-down villages, in which there was more visible garbage than there were people.  We shuffled off the train in a sleep deprived, zombie-like state – which was somewhat fitting, considering Brasov is located in Southern Transylvania; Dracula’s legendary feeding grounds.  As my foot touched the platform, I was swept away in a verbal tornado, whirling from the lips of a short and sturdy Romanian woman, named Maria.  Maria and her husband, Greg, worked the platform with impressive efficiency.  They circled the incoming trains like hawks: scanning the new arrivals with keen eyes and practiced precision, recognizing the subtle and ostentatious tourists alike for the potential prey (or business) that they were.  Greg’s rugged appearance and prodigious ebony mustache practically frightened people into accepting his assistance.  Yet his warm glance offset his intimidating profile, and his soft-spoken recommendation to go to his wife suggested to me that he had long ago accepted the futility of resisting hurricane Maria.

“I’m the REAL Maria”, she exclaimed as she pointed to a photograph of herself printed in a Lonely Planet Guide. 

While Maria proudly listed the many reasons why we should book accommodations through her, she managed to assist a trio of Indonesian travelers, corral a young Scottish gal into the seat next to us, and do about six other things at the same time.  All this activity only increased my sleepiness.

By the time my brain had adjusted to consciousness, I found myself with Zach and the 18 year-old Scottish gal, Joanne, unpacking our belongings in a small, ceramic trinket filled room that reminded my of a grandmother’s bedroom.  In fact, Maria had taken us to the apartment of a 65 year-old man, named Gee Gee.  Gee Gee perpetually wore sweat pants tucked into his mismatched socks, and showed no hesitation in flashing his six-toothed grin. He also had an idiosyncratic habit of rearranging our belongings when we were gone, for no apparent reason other than possibly to satisfy a sort of Feng Shui compulsion.  Gee Gee’s grandfatherly Romanian charm came unglued though, when Zach attempted to use his phone for a toll-free call to the U.S.  Fortunately, Maria was there, and like a welcome rain on a hot summer day she cooled the raging Gee Gee. 

The coincidence of this particular story is that Joanne had been to River Falls (the town Zach and I grew up in) for two weeks, on a student exchange program when she was in 7th grade.  The “goucher” is that she stayed with the Brady family, whose eldest daughter is one of my sister’s best friends.  Not only had Joanne met my sister and many of her friends, but her family, and many of her friend’s families, had hosted students and parents from River Falls in Scotland as well. 

Our spontaneous decision to head to Brasov, sparked by the suggestion of a randomly encountered kindred spirit in Budapest, had inexplicably brought us into an eerily comfortable situation.  Our open-mindedness to Christian’s suggestion and vulnerability to Maria’s assistance allowed this “goucher” to develop.  Zach and I ended up spending four days with Joanne, touring Romania.  The three of us got along wonderfully.  We visited Bran Castle (falsely advertised as “Dracula’s Castle”), Sighisoara (genuine birthplace of Vlad Tepes-“Dracula”), and wandered the charming cobblestone streets of Brasov together.

Joanne was an ideal travel companion, with a sharp wit, a hair-trigger smile, and easy-going attitude.  I still keep in contact with her via email.  She began college in Leeds this September.  Our conversations about homey River Falls, and the socio-political situations in Great Britain and the U.S. were unrestrained and natural, despite our completely novel environment.

If the Joanne coincidence, or “goucher”, could make sparsely populated and poverty-stricken Romania feel like home to me, what was to stop me from accessing that same feeling anywhere in the world?  Undoubtedly, our common life experiences made it easier for us to connect quickly and with minimal discretion, but I don’t think that such a serendipitous encounter is necessary to precipitate a convergence of people and open sharing of philosophies.  In fact, my travels through Europe this summer, and current adventures in Asia, have made it abundantly clear to me that people everywhere are much more similar than they are different.  I think that it is possible to find a seed of familiarity, or comfort in even the most novel environments.  There is a substantial quality of continuity about life. 

On a broad scale, the similarities in molecular composition and physiological mechanics, among all living organisms on earth are unequivocal.  Further evidence of inter-species uniformity continues to be revealed with incredible consistency, and at an astonishing rate.  For instance, some DNA sequences are so highly conserved that they appear in identical forms in both humans and bacteria.
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On the molecular level, humans are virtually identical.  Over 99% of human DNA is homologous between any two given individuals.  That is to say, if I were to compare my genetic makeup to a motorcycle-taxi driver from Thailand, it would be greater than 99% the same.  In fact on average, genetic composition varies more within ethnic groups than it does between them.  The fact that all groups of people have basically the same genetic potentials has lead to the idea of cultural relativism.  Cultural relativism emphasizes that each culture has its own integrity and is therefore worthy of respect.  Cultural diversity is a source of human resourcefulness and creativity, just like biological diversity provides the raw genetic material for adaptation and survival.  On a very practical level, biological diversity plays an important medical role as a fountain of potential cures to present and future physical ailments.  Similarly, cultural diversity provides a generous and largely unshared supply of treatments for mental, physical and social problems.  Each culture’s method of dealing with common human conditions is effective in its own way, and so is important to understand and communicate.  Few countries contain just one ethnic group or a single cultural identity.  Instead, cultural boundaries continually change and can be found on many levels, from regional to national.  This cultural evolution is something that everyone contributes to and participates in.  A seemingly innocuous meeting between two people from different cultural backgrounds can create a substantial shift in their individual cultural stereotypes.  These people may share their experiences with friends and family, and eventually the summation of many such meetings will have an impact on the new, broad cultural stereotypes that are formed.  For better or for worse, these stereotypes play a key role in determination of how groups of people interact, and interaction is essential to survival.  We live together in a primarily self-contained ecosystem (earth) where symbiotic relationships (beneficial for both participating parties) are the dominant form of interaction between organisms.  There are more digestion aiding bacteria living in the average human intestine than there are people on the planet.  Likewise, there are energy transforming organelles in most cells of all animals, called mitochondria that are absolutely essential to the life of the organism.  Mitochondria have their own DNA, and in humans they are passed asexually through the maternal lineage.  The cell provides a cozy and nutrient-rich environment while the mitochondria provide the type of energy that the cell can use.  This mutually beneficial relationship is crucial to all animal life on the planet. Not only do we rely on other species to perform essential life-sustaining processes, but we depend on other humans as well.  This intra-species cooperation is as basic as a newborn baby’s need for parental care, and the irreplaceable emotional benefits provided by the newborn to the parents.  Step outside the family sphere, and it is apparent that even as adults we depend on one another more and more for nearly all of the necessities of life.  How many people could successfully grow their own food, if the need arose?  How difficult would it be to obtain drinkable water without treatment plants?  Of course, farmers and treatment plant employees get paid for their efforts, and thus this system is a symbiotic one.

Mitochondria, the power behind all travel.

An equally reasonable comparison could be made between the earth and a complex organism whose adaptability hinges on the diversity and efficiency of its components.  Regardless of the organizational perspective that is adopted, it is apparent that an intricate system of interdependence exists.  We count on fellow humans as well as fellow organisms for survival. 

A key aspect to any symbiotic relationship is vulnerability.  If a cell’s membrane were impermeable, rather than semi-permeable, the cell would survive only as long as its internal energy reserves provided.  Likewise, neighboring cells would be deprived of the favorable materials normally secreted by the invulnerable cell.  The unavoidable need for physical openness can be carried over to the human-human level as well, but it is mental vulnerability and compassion that allows symbiotic relationships between societies and cultures to be effective.
Peaceful relationships between groups of people require an understanding of differences.  In order for these relationships to be mutually beneficial, there must also be recognition of similarities.  Discovery of these similarities in mind-set is, for me, one of the most rewarding aspects of travel.  It is a truly joyful occasion when I can sit down with somebody who lives on the other side of the planet, and discover that we really have a lot in common.  At the same time, I find that comprehending cultural variations can be challenging.  Although demanding, I think it is a healthy process that stimulates the destruction of intercultural communication barriers; therefore, allowing the vast wisdom of our ancestors to flow freely between us.  My experiences away from home have strengthened my convictions to continue pushing the boundaries of familiarity, to experience a diversity of cultures fist hand, and to remain open to the many possibilities, perspectives, and coincidences that exist in the world. 

I encourage everyone to step away from the hectic and well known.  My travels have helped me to recognize the familiar aspects of new things and identify some of the fundamental similarities inherent in life.  Equally enlightening is the ability to step outside the daily grind for a moment and identify the unique aspects of the familiar.  These two concepts are really two sides of the same coin, one that can provide an infinite wealth of happiness to the holder.  Even though I have a long way to go to find it, I think travelling has opened my eyes to the existence of that coin.

Travelling beyond the borders of your native country is an excellent way to experience new things, increase sensitivity, and recognize the coincidences that go unnoticed on a daily basis.  First hand experience of new cultures can broaden perspective and cultivate increased compassion for humanity, because ultimately we’re all much more similar and interdependent than most people realize.  By cultivating a supple and vulnerable mind-set we can reduce the occurrence of the stresses associated with unnecessary defensive positions.  We can take a more active role in the breaking and reforming of cultural stereotypes that heavily influence present and future human interrelations on the planet.  We can be more receptive to fortunate opportunities when they arise.  And finally, we can use the perspectives and vulnerability of travel to enhance our everyday lives.  So why not make a habit of taking a light-hearted step into the unknown?
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Lucas Moyer-Horner grew up in Wisconsin, and graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with a degree in genetics and conservation biology. If you wish to contact Lucas write:  LRMHORNER@hotmail.com

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