The Art of Travel summary

Charles Baudelaire, the nineteenth-century French poet, greatly admired large ships. He found it fantastic and delightful that such a bulky craft could breeze, with swiftness and efficiency, from one continent to another.

The frigates and steamships of centuries past may be impressive enough, but modern means of transportation are even more mind-boggling.

Once, the author went to Amsterdam. Though not exactly a far-flung travel destination, the city was, for the author, undeniably foreign. He found himself delighting in seemingly mundane things, such as the signs at the airport. The Dutch language’s double vowels and the unfamiliar fonts provided confirmation of an exciting fact: the author was in a strange land – a place that, to him, was exotic.

The urge to discover unfamiliar cultures has long lured travelers abroad. And one of the promises held out by these cultures – namely, an escape from the familiar drudgery of the day-to-day – inheres in the umbrella term exoticism.

Once, while visiting Madrid, the author was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of lassitude. He took to his bed, where he would have remained had the hotel’s cleaning lady not repeatedly interrupted his sleep. In the end, he decided that he might as well go look at the city.

The aimless fatigue that drove the author to seek refuge in his bed is a rather common symptom of travel; however, it’s also a rather new one.

William Wordsworth, the British Romantic poet, was a vehement critic of city life. The pollution, the traffic, the unsightly buildings – these things, he believed, could have nothing but a detrimental effect on one’s inner well-being.  

Many would agree with Wordsworth today. So it’s no surprise that people often choose to vacation in the natural world, where they can heal and relax.

Gorgeous natural landscapes often appear to have been constructed by some great and incomprehensible force, so it’s perhaps unsurprising that the natural world often inspires deep spiritual feelings.  

The author certainly felt inklings of a divine presence while traveling in Egypt and exploring the mountains of southern Sinai. The deep canyons and valleys and the towering granite mountains, all more than 400 million years old, were undeniably awe-inspiring.

If Vincent van Gogh had never picked up a paintbrush and palette and committed to canvas scenes from Provence, France, the author probably wouldn’t have ever traveled there.

Many people have had similar experiences – only longing to see Spain after watching the films of Pedro Almodóvar or only developing an enthusiasm for highway overpasses after looking at the photography of Andreas Gursky.

Have you ever observed the habits of tourists? They tend to spend little time actually looking at historic monuments or breathtaking landscapes; rather, with a camera or phone, they snap a few photos and move abruptly on to the next mandatory sight.

But, if one doesn’t take the time to truly observe things, what is the point of travel?