by
Steve Giordano
We are beswarmed with the annual Winnebago migration. Pods of the lumbering RVs, with
baby RVs-in-tow, maneuver indelicately up and down the I-5 corridor in search of greener
pastures. Some of the younger ones, with less experienced directional instincts, fall away
from the group. They can be seen cowering in city cul-de-sacs and hiding behind big
shopping center buildings, awaiting the kindness of strangers to point their way back to
the stream.
Migrations are actually a noble human tradition that dates back untold thousands of years.
Travel over the old familiar routes over a year's time fulfilled a human yearning for
oneness with the natural universe.
Hunters and gatherers followed the herds and plants north and south, and east and west.
Some followed huge annual circles, like today's nomads in North Africa and the Middle East
who herd their flocks over ground that wouldn't even begin to support a herd year-round.
Himalayan Sherpas are also compulsive travelers. Their every track and trail is marked
with cairns and prayer flags, to remind them that man's real home is the road, not a
house. For them, life itself is a journey to be walked on foot. The road is the Way.
In other nomad cultures, like the Quashgais in Iran or the Masai in Kenya, the definition
of human being is "he who goes on migrations." Everyone else must therefore be
less than human.
Nomads see stay-n'starve farmers and sedentary city-dwellers as lesser beings, as indeed
nomads are viewed by everyone else. But nomads think boundaries are insane, that their
migration circles are an inherited right no matter what farm-based lines have been drawn
to separate countries from each other.
The urge to move is genetically implanted in our legs, or at least the part of our brain
that makes our legs go. Our long-striding walk is an adaptation for covering distances
over open savannahs. Walking freed our hands for more complex tasks, which caused our
brains to enlarge to handle those new complexities.
We're so smart that we've created new Ways. There's the Way of living in a house, the Way
of going to work, the Way of shopping, the Way of watching TV. Lots of new Ways.
But we still get the itch to move. Our genes haven't forgotten that we were born to
wander. We may travel on wheels, or in the air, or over the water, but however we do it,
we have to move.
The act of taking a journey helps our sense of physical and mental well being. Most of us
feel good when we're on our way somewhere else. By contrast, Bruce Chatwin, who studied
humans in motion, said, "The monotony of prolonged settlement or regular work weaves
patterns in the brain that engender fatigue and a sense of personal inadequacy."'
For most of us, our itchy feet only get scratched by the traditional annual vacation of
two or three weeks. At least that used to be the case.
Vacations trends in the U.S. have evolved dramatically in recent years. The two-week
family trip, whether it was camping, going to Disneyland or a beach resort, is giving way
to a series of long weekends closer to home. A lot of travel books specialize in weekend
getaways.
For many, even a long weekend is too much. Travel marketers say the short weekend getaway,
two nights maximum, has become popular in recent years. But even those weekends are too
much time away for some people. They just can't find the time to get out of town.
How can we possibly feel we've gotten away if we don't leave town? What could possibly
refresh us? The trend studiers say dinner out is the big off-time event for people too
busy to hit the road.
But a meal out is a poor token when our brains are hard-wired for motion. Some scientists
even think that the mere sight of a vast horizon tranquilizes us, providing a sense of
healthy connection with something bigger than our immediate concerns and surroundings.
People go to the beach for good reasons. The sound of waves and the aroma of the beach are
soothing. Traveler magazine calls it a natural lullaby. Like the horizon, it will always
be there, and there is a good measure of reassurance in that.
A neurologist/psychiatrist who does beach-smell studies says that the beach scent of sand,
sun and surf is a natural sedative to many people. By studying brain waves and scents, he
observed responses similar to deep repose and sleep when his subjects were exposed to
beach smells.
There are even benefits to a hotel room. Hoteliers say that behind the closed door of a
hotel room, people become who they really are, without inhibition. Any trip, or migration,
can have the same effect. You're more apt to tell a stranger your life story than you are
to anyone in your home town.
So maybe those Winnebagos are on to something. Where could they be headed?
Send Steve an email with any comments that you might have.
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