Thoughts on Travel

People often ask which country I like best, do I prefer India over France, Ireland over Switzerland, Indonesia over Thailand. My answer: I have no favorite place; I try to enjoy wherever I am; each place is special in its own way, and so unique it can't be compared.

Having said that, I was struck by the eerie silence on Santa Monica Boulevard this afternoon during my first West Hollywood jaunt since returning home; the only noise was the hum of tires rolling swiftly over concrete. I couldn't help thinking about my last walk along the sea in Goa, barefoot on the sand, the waves rolling in, the breeze cooling my skin. Or my daily walks in Provence, in the lush green countryside, the dirt path through the fields, around the vineyards, beside the woods. Or the crowded streets in Indian cities where the air is dense and every vehicle is honking its horn full blast.

My last days in Goa brought a few surprises: Mrs. Bindha actually asked me to pay for the terrible bleach job that made my hair fall out, a Kashmiri shop-keeper followed me into the sea and, while I swam, tried to convince me to visit his shop, a priest from a Catholic mission in Goa asked me if I could introduce him to Bill Gates, and the Swedish sea captain got sick to his stomach so there was no farewell kiss.

I learned some hard lessons on this journey; foremost, about the importance of comfort on my travels: it seems the older I get the more important hotels become. A hotel is a home and can make one's journey a pleasure or a misery. That lesson came home in Delhi and Rajasthan where I thought I'd paid for up-scale hotels, but thanks to a shrewd travel agent, I stayed in a few nasty holes-in-the-wall. I would have been much happier in luxury hotels but my budget didn't allow for real luxury which has become prohibitively expensive in India.

My trip home was unbearably long, nearly 40 hours, but during the 12 hour stopover in Bombay I checked my luggage and hopped over to the Leela, a five-star hotel near the airport (20 rupee rickshaw drive), where I used the luxurious ladies room, drank tea from a bone china cup, and wandered around the shops in the marble arcade, with fountains and crystal chandeliers. I bought a fabulous Fendi bag (perfect copy) and a buttery soft, olive green leather jacket. This made up for some of the discomfort I would endure over the next 24 hours.

On the final leg of my journey, wretched and exhausted, I kept wondering how the travel part could be made easier, wished I could simply beam myself up and away to wherever I wanted to go, or fly first class, or take a slow boat. The food in coach on Air France is delicious―I'll give them that―but the seats are small and cramped, and it's crowded.

Waiting on long, endless lines at airports is dehumanizing. When I was pulled off the boarding line for an additional security check in Paris I asked the officer, who was carefully examining every item in my carry-on, if I really looked dangerous. "No," he said, "it's random." This is such an unnecessary hassle and a waste of everyone's time.

And while I'm kvetching, let me also express my hatred for luggage, a necessary evil and daunting burden for the solo traveler. Everything would have been much easier had I not been carrying 30 kilos around with me. Ideally, all I need is my toothbrush and a credit card with lots of money to buy whatever else I need along the way.

First-class air fare, five-star hotels… I can't afford the comfort I desire when I travel. But I will never learn this lesson because if given the choice of traveling on a budget or staying home I will always choose to travel. Can't help it; adventure is in my blood.

Listening to myself complain about problems in paradise, I realize that's what real travel is all about. I'm not a tourist I'm a traveler; my fabulous adventures and the wonderful people I meet make it all worth while―and I'm grateful for the opportunity.

After four extraordinary months in France and India West Hollywood is looking pretty good to me; I've turned up the thermostat in my comfortable, spacious apartment, thrown a thick feather duvet on my lovely clean bed, unpacked my soft winter woolies, and settled in for the season. It's good to be home.