But why though?

My daughter Karina and I visited Spain in February of 2023. It was my third trip to Spain and her first. I'm not sorry we went, but that trip left me with lingering questions about the value and meaning of travel.

Because I thought Karina would absolutely love Moorish and Mudejar architecture, and she isn't particularly interest in eating, drinking or just hanging out, I planned the trip to focus on the big sites--The Alhambra, the Real Alcazar, the Giralda, the Mezquita. That isn't usually how I approach a trip. We do often see UNESCO World Heritage sites or iconic locations, but it's not our goal.

Our visit to the Alhambra was in the middle of our week-long trip. Everything about it was just as visually stunning as I had expected, but the overall experience was depressing, and I wondered if really wanted to travel so much. Looking back at my pictures, it doesn't seem particularly crowded, but my feeling that day was that I was just moving along with a crowd of visitors, waiting my turn to take a pretty picture from the exact same angle thousands of others would capture that day.

I tried to pay attention to details, to slow down, to just be there, but I just kept thinking, "Why am I here? It looks like the pictures." It turned out I didn't want to be there at all. I kept thinking that if this was all I did when I traveled, I would never take a long flight again. We finished our tour and headed back to our appropriately atmospheric hotel in the Albaicín area and a mediocre meal in a nearby Middle Eastern restaurant.

We visited several of the gift shops in the Alhambra complex and my souvenir is an edition of Washington Irving's Tales of the Alhambra printed in Granada. I still haven't finished it, but when I compare his visit to the mysterious, partly-decayed palace and fortress with what I experienced, it's hard to believe it's the same place.

That day was the nadir of the trip, but the questions have stuck with me as I spend more of my time traveling and reflecting on traveling. Why do this?

We travel to see places other people work to make beautiful; to experience cultures full of meaning and depth for the people who live there--who continue the traditions and develop the arts and styles of this other place. Our travel can support all of that with our spending, so that's a good thing. But what about us? Does travel enrich our souls or just distract us from the state our souls are in?

Part of what made me unhappy that day stems from the sin of pride.  It's so easy to judge other tourists. Part of me believes that I travel because I am uniquely curious, interesting and sophisticated. When I am confronted with thousands of other regular people visiting the same exact places I am visiting, taking the same exact pictures, it threatens that part of my self image--maybe I'm just another tourist too.  

Of course I am just another tourist. And another part of what was bothering me that day is more serious. Can travel become just another form of entertainment? If it's just meant to distract me from the realities of life and death, then it's an incredibly wasteful way to spend my time.

But it's not just a distraction for me. Looking over other recent trips, I'm sure there is more. Travel strengthens my connections to creation and to humanity when I take the time to engage with nature and with other people.

Visiting the crowded places can feel isolating because everyone has somewhat withdrawn into themselves or their group. We are trying to have our own special experience which will seem so much less exotic and interesting if I talk with the people from Ohio behind me in line. I think the Alhambra felt particularly bad because it is supposed to be mysterious and brooding. We are all trying to have Irving's experience (even if we don't know it).

So I have three good memories from that day and all are evidence of the importance of connections. First, Karina and I got mixed up in a Chinese tour group and we couldn't get out for a while. We shared a laugh with the women around us as they watched us try to pass the people in front us politely and continually failing to do so. This episode lasted maybe 5 minutes, but all four of us wordlessly enjoyed the absurdity of the situation.

I saw a Muslim family taking pictures of their children beside some of the Arabic inscriptions in the Nasrid Palaces, and I was struck by the parallels between them visiting Spain and me visiting Turkey. I wondered if their feelings were like mine were in the Hagia Sophia, or peering into the abandoned Greek church in Derinkuyu.

And finally, I saw a squirrel in the Generalife gardens which may not sound interesting, but you don't see squirrels in Spain like you do here. It was a different species than we have here in Atlanta, so watching it was a fun way to feel at home and abroad at the same time.

Where does all this lead me? To a belief that travel for the sake of collecting landmarks is not for me. I would rather stay home. But travel is what I love and I am still trying to understand why.