On the road. I first jutted my thumb in the
air to catch a ride soon after my 18th birthday. A rusty Buick
pulled over. The driver was missing three front teeth, and the
backseat was filled with what I imagine were all his belongings. I
got in and kept my backpack on my lap. After a couple of miles, the
driver leered in my direction and said he intended to rob me. I
couldn't believe my first-ever hitchhiking experience was going so
poorly. I always knew that traveling was in my cells. … During that
first ride, I managed to get the driver talking. Soon he was
laughing as I made fun of the local sheriff. When he dropped me
off, still chuckling, he thanked me. This helped boost my travel
confidence. Over the next three years, I hitchhiked 24,500 miles,
crisscrossing
North America. These travels as a "Roads Scholar"
culminated with a trip overseas, where I spent time in Buddhist
monasteries in
Japan and in
Korea. My travels didn't end there. I
became a dancer and a teacher of contact improvisation. Soon,
invitations from abroad began to arrive. Thirty years later, having
traveled by plane, train, boat, and foot, I've planted my feet in
81 cities in 22 countries on five continents. … I often wonder how
else but by being on the road can one have these experiences? Where
else does one encounter the tea master revealing the three legends
of the origin of oolong (dark dragon) tea and the correct way to
slurp the tea to get the full flavor? How but by traveling could
one experience the tango at a
milonga at
two a.m. in Buenos Aires? … Or see three men and a dog playing
soccer in Vienna? (And the dog was good - he could kick and use his
head to roll the ball to keep it to himself.) - Martin
Keogh, North Easton, Massachusetts
At the San Diego International Airport, there's
this escalator. It's really a pretty ordinary escalator. It
dumps thousands of people from the gate area into the luggage claim
and transportation center every day. I'm certain there's one like
it in almost every other airport, but this one, oh, it's special.
Why? Occasionally, my wife will brave traffic and bring my two
young children to the airport to pick me up. It's no secret that
there is no truer joy then being welcomed home by loved ones. But,
really, sometimes the anticipation of the reunion is just as
exciting. The kids stake out a place near the bottom of the
escalator, so it's really easy to spot them from the top. I scan
the crowd for their faces, find them, and step onto my personal
portal. If this escalator weren't there, I'd probably just run and
hug … and be happy. But this escalator, well, it keeps you from
running, and its leisurely pace allows me to slowly anticipate the
hugs and kisses from my loved ones. It's 30 seconds of seeing my
children be happy … just because they know I'm coming home.