Especially people I don't know well, as conversations are often a veritable minefield of random comments, revelations and over-shares. But the other day, I was so stumped by one person's question that I screwed my whole face up and even (apparently) flared my nostrils.
"So, why do you like travelling so much?"
Are you serious?
Well actually, they were. And not only them, but the group of my colleagues who stopped their own conversation and waited for my answer.
Worried I'd sound like an ambitionless, non-commital 20-something, I eventually sprouted something about enrichment from other cultures and, to my relief, the conversation went back to whether Hey Hey it's Saturday should return to prime time. But as I stood there with the remnants of that stupid look on my face, I did wonder how, in seven years of racking up frequent flyer miles I'd never asked myself the same question.
Firstly, I love that virgin taxi ride from the airport into a new city. Face pressed up against the glass, or weather permitting, head hanging out the window like an over-excited doberman, taking in as many sights and sounds as you can. Sometimes, a language barrier means you are free to enjoy this journey in relative silence. Other times you are unexpectedly engaged, like this morning when I met a budding Cambodian international law activist, who had me sitting bolt upright and trying to keep up with the conversation. Kimlorn convinced me that he would one day influence the winds of political change in his mother country, as I sat furiously scribbling his insights onto the back of my immigration card.
I figured anyone who can speak with such convication at 7am deserved my attention. Not to mention the fact that his observerations of Cambodian policitans had me clutching my sides. "Politicians are not screwed, but have the ability to make everyone else really screwed".
But I digress...
So you arrive at your hotel/hostel/campsite/shanty and check-in, trialling your local language skills and enjoying the novelties of your hotel room (generally in Asia this means getting a rude shock from the bidet toilet). And then it's time to venture out.
There is nothing cooler than walking out onto the street and having absolutely no idea where you are, where you are going and what might happen. Sights, sounds and smells that may be familiar to you take on a new shape and meaning. Traffic, currency, cuisine and conversations on the street which you might not understand, still tell you a story about the people of this city.
I have often thought that some countries could be best described as a colour. Spain for example would be red. A rich, deep, blood red - the colour of passion and warmth. London's fast moving sidewalks and forward fashion would be a steely, metallic grey. The buzzing Big Apple anything neon, and you could hardly suggest that the colour embodied by the Emerald Isle was anything other than green.
Either way, your day is full of possibilities and new learnings. And interesting people! That is definitely one thing I've learned over the years. Don't assume that people are always just trying to sell you something or spin you a line. Lots of amazing characters not only have colourful stories to tell, but will go above and beyond any resaonable call of duty to make your day better... That's a pretty special gift from a stranger, so I always try to keep an open mind.
And despite the fact that the gross commercialisation in some places can leave you feeling slightly voyeuristic, there are still plenty of 'tourist traps' that are worth scratching the surface of. Ok, so I may not personally understand why a dozen people are queing up by the stage right now to snap the cheesy beach band and token grass-skirt girls, but it's all subjective. The experience of travelling is such a personal thing.
I may not be able to full translate how freeing it felt on a sunset game drive in the Serengeti, or how overwhelming it was to round the final turn on the Inca trial after four days of hiking, to see Macchu Pichu unfold before me. But they are impressions which are burned onto my memory forever.
And truthfully, I look forward to the day I make my own home and fill it with thins from all the journeys I've taken, because home is always where my heart will be. Which is why that stupid Qantas song always pulls at the strings each time you hear it. It's a home truth... as well as a very clever piece of marketing.
But in the meantime - thankfully - there are still plenty of pages in my passport.
