in Herodotus's footsteps

Many thousands of years ago, at the dawn of mankind, a man traveled to the far corners of his world, talking to people and writing down what he heard. He spoke with paupers and kings, with priestesses and butchers, with generals and prisoners of war, taking note of their tales in a book he would call, simply, the Histories. We know not exactly why he did these things, but Herodotus, by leaving his comfortable and familiar surroundings and striking off for places spoken of only of myth, began a tradition that continues to this day. Sometimes, we travel for leisure; other times, we travel in hopes of experiencing things new and exciting; and, often, we travel in order to enrich our own lives and the lives of others. Regardless, however, of why we travel, the fact remains that we seem to enjoy traveling, and that, when we do it, we do it with hearts filled with radiant and bursting joy.

Whether it is by foot, sail, or swiftly-speeding airship, humans are always on the move. It matters little if the journey is for work or play – every time we strike off for points distant and unknown, we walk in the footsteps of Herodotus, the vagabond's spiritual father (and the modern travel-writer's humble, knowing patron). Often, our experiences abroad – the ride on that ramshackle ferry in muggy Thailand, the taxi driver in wintry Basel who returned our lost wallet, the week-long search for fine rooibos in sunny South African – enrich our lives with memory-glimpses of color, sound, and smells that have the power to transport us body and mind back in time to these, our private, special moments.

The world is a vastly shrinking place, no more full yet no less exciting than during the time of old man Herodotus, he who wandered so famously. So strike out, dear friend, on a journey of your own, and remember to keep track of your experiences, because maybe, just maybe, somebody will want to read them some day.

mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥