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Before now, I'd never taken it upon myself to review a travel book. And I'd hardly consider myself an expert on the genre. Yet I'd wager that few books in the field manage to approach their subject from such an intriguing vantage point as does Judith Fein in her Life is a Trip: The Transformative Magic of Travel (Spirituality and Health Books, 2010). It's a fresh perspective on travel that, by turns, is psychological, anthropological, philosophical, and spiritual.
In her unusually humorous and entertaining, yet surprisingly reflective and even profound book, Fein succeeds in combining, or integrating, these curiously complementary outlooks. Taking us to the most exotic, mysterious places (from Mog Mog, Micronesia, to Antigua, Guatemala), the author breathes so much life into the unfamiliar people and places she visits that we may well end up feeling that we've visited them ourselves. By zeroing in on just the right detail, the right individual, the right setting, she finds a way (almost literally) to take us with her--allowing us to accompany her to the deepest depths of what she's examining. Her suggestive, translucent prose enables us to feel not simply that, vicariously, we're "inhabiting" this or that locale but that we're "imbibing" its very essence.
In short, Fein is much more than a veteran travel journalist, whose work has appeared in over ninety publications and who is currently travel editor for Spirituality & Health and blogger for "The Huffington Post." And she's more than a seasoned writer who, by proxy, has taken many thousands of readers on exciting trips all over the world. She's also a cultural anthropologist--with the notable qualification that, unlike those more academically minded social scientists, she makes absolutely no effort to maintain a "scholarly distance" from her subjects. On the contrary, she hastens to personally connect to each of them (and their life-teaching story); to participate in their celebrations and ceremonies; and (always seeking to discover some fundamental truth that she can adapt for her own "life lessons") to become--if only briefly--one of them. If readers find themselves becoming increasingly absorbed in her adventures (and misadventures), it's precisely because of her uncanny ability to animate all that she describes . . . as the dedicated participant/observer she is.
Sure, like any good travel journalist Fein vivifies for her readers the lands and cultures she reports on--their remarkable and often alluring sights, sounds, and smells. In fact, she exhibits uncommon skill in appealing to our senses as she contrives to infuse the most vibrant life into whatever she experiences. But, as a perpetual seeker--passionately searching for those things in life that give it meaning and value--she routinely looks beyond appearances and façades to locate her subjects' inmost reality.
It's the heart and soul of person or place that (as curious and inquisitive as she is enthusiastic) she's so committed to explore. And in her pursuits she can be utterly dauntless. For truth's sake, she's typically quite ready to undergo all sorts of inconveniences, hazards, and hardships--narrating her quasi-reckless acceptance of risk with a kind of self-mockery that is itself endearing . . . as though it's all in a day's work. But actually her work is her play. For immersing herself in foreign cultures regularly allows her to get into "flow": an optimal state of consciousness where space and time dissolve and she's happily/mindfully engrossed in native rituals and relationships that imbue her life with a kind of transpersonal significance.
As serious and scrupulous as Fein can be about shedding light on the deeper meaning of her various trips--since, as my title indicates, she travels (at least in part) to gain worldly wisdom--she nonetheless writes in a style that is conversational, candid, and touchingly self-disclosing. Her basic vulnerability--which she freely admits--is at times concealed by her ironic wit. And while her voice, her style, can border on the breezy, this only serves to make her writing that much more accessible--at the same time that it's laced with existential ponderings that provoke us (or should provoke us) to re-examine our own unquestioned assumptions about our positions and priorities. So, if we're willing to, by reflectively "joining" the author in her travels we can learn much about ourselves--and a life well-lived.
Everything I've said up to this point, I'm quite aware, must cry out for examples. So let me provide one.
Fein's short (115-page) but enormously satisfying book consists of 14 concise chapters (or vignettes), each of which regularly segues from the comic or quasi-comic to the increasingly serious--occasionally, even somber. One striking instance of this is her moving chapter, "Searching for Forgiveness in Vietnam."
It begins:
"If your body likes being worked on, it will love being in Vietnam. And my recommendation is to go to places the locals frequent. You can get a face massage in a beauty shop; it lasts ninety minutes, costs less than a ticket to the movies, and involves an upper body massage, more washings and rinsings than you can shake a comb at, and near the end, they shave your face with a straight-edge razor. It doesn't matter if you are male, female, or have facial hair. It's something you can talk about at cocktail parties for the rest of your life.
"A whole body massage may entail soaking in red herbal liquid in a wooden tub, and since you are forewarned, you won't think you are bleeding to death. Afterwards, the masseur or masseuse will find and knead body parts you didn't even know you had. When was the last time you had your ear lobes or nostrils massaged?"
From this lighthearted, entertaining opening, Fein recounts her rage at the Vietnam war that compelled her to live as an ex-patriot (in Europe and Africa) for almost a decade. In her own words, she left her country " . . . because I was so angry and disturbed about the loss of young American lives and the millions of Vietnamese we had killed and maimed with our arsenals of weapons, defoliants, deceits, and disinformation" (the author, by the way, loves alliteration).
Haunted by the war ever since, two years ago Fein felt an irresistible urge to travel to Vietnam to find out what had transpired after that--to her--shameful time in our history (not, of course, that there haven't been additional post-Vietnam conflicts that we might well shake our heads at). By finding a guide who had himself been a Viet Cong guerrilla fighter during the war, the author is able to meet ex-soldiers, Communist Party members, children, and elders. Her constant, overriding question to them?--"Are you angry about the war?" . . . For certainly she hadn't ever been able to fully let it go.
From talking to as many people as possible--and all over Vietnam--what Fein learns is the wisdom of not harboring resentments, or ruminating over past injustices. Over and over, her interviewees tell her that although they will never forget the war, they choose not to think about it but rather to focus on the future. More than this, she learns that the Vietnamese actually welcome Americans. And she is in awe when told: "We have met with American soldiers who came back here. They arrived full of guilt and some went to apologize in villages where they had killed people. We embraced them and we even cried together. / Some of us still have bad memories and sometimes nightmares, but we don't suffer as much as the American G.I.s."
Not one to place much value on emotionally distancing herself from others, Fein tears up at this spiritually generous admission, bemoaning all the tragedies created by this terribly futile combat: all the PTSD, destroyed lives and relationships; the many thousands of veterans living homeless in America; the terribly high number of suicides, and--as Fein sums it up--the "open wound on our national conscience." And yet the author marvels at how the Vietnamese now welcome Americans, French, Japanese (all formerly their enemies), and "look to the West for inspiration." Then Fein, never forgetting her self-appointed "mission" as our travel guide, comments that "Vietnam is high on the tourist radar because it is safe, beautiful, varied, modern, tribal, and exotic"--going on to describe all the enjoyable things you can do in present-day Hanoi, Halong Bay, Da Nang, or Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon).
In her regret-laden visit to Vietnam, the final lesson for Fein--and maybe for ourselves as well--is that the key to resolving anger and indignation is to find creative ways of transforming it into compassion and forgiveness.
And is this not the wisdom of the ages? Mastering life by learning how to move beyond a perception of self as powerless victim through contriving (by any means feasible) to put our misfortunes behind us. And choosing to do what it takes to thrive--regardless of the indignities, insults, and injustices to which, gratuitously, we may have been subject.
Clearly, what Fein's various sojourns make possible is a re-assessment of what's really important in life. Searching for the truth and meaning embedded in the celebrations, ceremonies, customs and conventions of other cultures [yes, I admit it: I love alliteration, too], she mines, or excavates, each of her experiences for whatever value she can unearth--doing everything possible to bring these concealed treasures to the surface for us.
So what can we learn from exploring alternate ways of being in the world? Repeatedly, Fein discovers--a great deal. Atypical of travel journalists, she's just as concerned with assisting readers in thinking about the life-lessons that seem naturally to emerge from each of her travels as she is in simply sharing these experiences with them. Put somewhat differently, the many vignettes in her book are as much about soul-searching as they are about sight-seeing. It's not what the outer, but what the inner, eye can fathom from appearances that so captivates her . . . and what--finally--she has to offer her readers.
And she doesn't so much travel to remote, exotic places as she does into them, getting as deep inside each culture as the locals will allow. Through her extraordinary ability to win the trust of virtually everyone she meets, she's routinely made privy to whatever core insights or wisdom their "foreign" vantage points might afford her. And personally, I believe she's so successful at getting people to open up to her because--however unconsciously--she can't help but betray a certain vulnerability. Doubtless, standing (as she shares with us at one point) only five feet tall is no small part of this.
From Fein's fourteen stories, I could provide numerous illustrations of what I'm describing here. But so as not to egregiously extend the length of this post, I'll limit myself to only one additional example: the author's visit to a Mexican prison. And I'm selecting this particular story because, as a psychologist, I found it especially compelling.
Chetumal (in the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico) is where, as Fein humorously puts it, she "went to prison"--able to gain entrance because she happens to collect prison art. To quote her:
"I have never really been interested in the mainstream. Actually, most people are fascinated by the mainstream, so the mainstream doesn't need my interest. What makes my ticker beat faster is discovering voices, people, places, realities that are not generally known. And serious offenders fall into that category. . . ."
Fein then talks about how the general populace believes it's only right that criminals convicted of violent crimes be punished harshly--though in the real world the result of such retribution has frequently been shown to achieve not much more than teaching prisoners how to become better criminals once they're discharged.
The author's compassionate view toward convicts--which to me is both wise and spiritual--is eloquently stated:
"Behind every criminal face is a human who once was a bouncing baby, gurgling with glee [well, maybe not always], and aching to be loved. Then, something happened. Each story is different, provocative, sad, and disturbing. Needs were denied or not met, the environment was violent or cruel or indifferent, and feelings with no healthy outlets were expressed in unspeakable acts. . . .
"Beneath the machismo, the drugs, the gangs, there are human beings who . . . are often still capable of love, passion, pain, remorse, and creative output. In the detention facility I met frightening thugs who wrote tender, sensitive poems and created imaginative, highly expressive art.
" . . . What interests me is getting a glimpse into a criminal's heart and finding a place, however tiny, where there is authentic feeling and sensitivity. To my mind, this is where hope for healing, rehabilitation, and redemption lie."
Fein describes how her conversations with the Mexican prison director enabled her not just to learn about all the rules the inmates must follow, but also about how the facility is designed to rehabilitate them--mostly through treating them as fellow humans capable of redemption. No question but that the buildings on the grounds are old and run down. But the prisoners nonetheless appear far more content than those in most U.S. prisons. There's an arts and crafts shop where those incarcerated can sell their work to visitors; art workshops and classes where they can learn foreign languages, as well as information technology; a well-stocked library; a massage room; garden areas for meditation; and so on. Moreover, "for one dollar, inmates [can] spend a night with a spouse or partner in an on-site love motel." Such conjugal visits, the prison director informs her, serve to "prevent violence by releasing pent-up sexual tension."
Fein is particularly impressed by how the director helps the prisoners (who generally have never experienced being treated with kindness and consideration) "to maintain dignity and self-respect by living in a community setting." Again, in her words, "they were invited to be the best they could be--a radical shift from their previous lives. They were not coddled. They were exposed to communal values and norms and encouraged to develop the positive sides of their personalities."
Although the story Fein tells here differs considerably from her others, all her "tales" engender some sort of moral (which is why--curiously--they bear some comparison to fables). In this vignette, the moral would seem to be that even in a backwards, so-called "third-world" country, there are places of enlightenment from which we have much to learn. Treating inmates humanely--encouraging them to develop their intelligence, skills, and artistic creativity in a communal environment, so they may put these assets to productive (and pro-social) use once they're released--is an excellent way to address some of the ageless problems of societal violence, as well as recidivism.
An optimist at heart, Fein searches for facts that might help verify her belief in the moral rehabilitation of those who have gone astray. Understanding how the prisoners' early abusive environment sowed the seeds for later criminal behavior, she vividly illustrates how a counter-environment--one that actually endeavors to nurture prisoners in a way that was their original birthright--can begin to heal old wounds and correct the wrongs done to them [for which, I might add, they later retaliated]. This, ideally, is what any "correctional facility" should be doing: creating an environment that can foster the change and growth which--potentially, at least--can re-program incarcerated individuals to act in ways that better serve themselves, and others.
Time after time in this compact book Fein discloses what matters most in life--and just how to get there from here. The many (typically off-the-beaten-track) literal "there's" in her wanderlust-laden work (which I have room only to list) include--besides Vietnam and Chetumal, Mexico--the Gros Morne National Park area of Newfoundland; both Lake Atitlán and San Antonio de Aguas Calientes, in Guatemala; Mog Mog in Micronesia; the town of Safed, and the West Bank on Har Gerizim, in Israel; Juventino Rosas in Central Mexico; Istanbul, Turkey; two unusually ambitious (or idealistic) "pilgrimages"--one from Germany to Italy to some place never clearly defined in New Zealand (this one you simply have to read!), and the other from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port in southern France to the Cathedal of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain; Grand-Pré, Nova Scotia; and, finally, Kearny Mesa in San Diego, California (to attend a really strange, but beguiling, Hmong New Year's celebration).
In the end, however, the author's route, or destination, isn't really to any specific place on the map, but rather to one that exists somewhere in our consciousness. As the author assimilates each one of her experiences--circling around it as though she's some sort of mythic, meaning-making hawk--we ourselves are made privy to what trips (not so much to other countries but to other cultures) can yield. Namely, insights about who, as a species, we are; and what we can be. How we can re-evaluate what we'd assumed was best or right for us by pondering on what other cultures, each in their own way, have learned about living more satisfyingly--more harmoniously.
Because of Fein's predilection to live mindfully--in the moment "taking in" all that she's so willing to expose herself to--we're able to reconsider some of our possibly self-defeating assumptions about life and think about what our preoccupation with the past, or concerns about the future, may be blinding us from recognizing--and enjoying--in the present. In her desire (or even "lust") to live richly and fully--to wrestle as much meaning from life as it will "surrender" to her--Fein shows us how to open our own eyes and perceive things in ways that may have escaped our notice earlier . After all, we can hardly appreciate what might be till we clearly see what is.
Ultimately, engaging and interacting with the locals wherever she goes, Fein is much more than a tourist. And by now it should be evident that her work is nothing like a how- to guide on exploring distant lands. Nor, for that matter, is it about "intersecting" with a culture or civilization. On the contrary, it's about getting inside every place she travels to, and shining the brightest possible light on what it might have to tell us about ourselves.
In a recent interview the author explains: "This isn't a career [for me]. It's a passion. I write because I have to write. The world doesn't make sense to me until I write. That's how I figure things out. And I HAVE to travel. . . . Life is zipping by. I do what seems necessary [to] feed my soul."
And in the process of her travels--and her passionately and persuasively encapsulating them to better grasp their essence--Fein can be seen as traveling for us. As she voyages all over the world--for delight, diversion, perspective, knowledge and understanding--she aspires, however indirectly, to guide us on our spiritual path, too. So while her writing may, indeed, be "necessary" for her, the wisdom she's able to gain through traveling is ultimately her gift to us . . . and our very souls.
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