I am writing here because “Phoenix’s European Adventure” has left me nonplussed, and it is not the first time.
Phoenix seems to be incapable of truly experiencing his travels, or, at the very least, conveying this to readers of the Collegian. It is exciting to know we have a columnist corresponding from London, but the excitement stops here.
Travel is not simply a pristine view of Edinburgh; travel is not lamentations over a lost picture of Stonehenge, and travel is not the rambling thoughts of a writer, pieced together during the Philharmonic.
Travel is messy; it’s scary; it’s exciting. Travel makes you laugh out loud; travel makes you cry; travel pushes you to the edge of who you used to be.
When first arriving in a new place, you may find the culture there charming. If you stay long enough, it may begin to wear on your nerves. And if you stay a little longer, that culture will seep into yours, and you will begin to love it as your own.
Travel creeps into your soul and changes you — bits and pieces at a time. No one comes home the same way they left and some never quite come home at all.
Travel is about a passion for life, sought out through the experiences we find in other countries, other people and far outside our comfort zones. Travel is about taking everything we think we know and throwing it out the window, to leave room in our minds for those experiences and memories, which make life interesting.