This Book Is About Travel

by Andrew Hyde

  I always start by reading my favorite resources, including Indagare.com. Indagare was started by Melissa Biggs Bradley, who was travel editor at Town & Country for a decade, and one of my travel inspirations. Indagare has incredible content that you pay for, but it’s worth the cost. I also have years and years of magazine clippings filed away by country that I will sort through. Sometimes, when I’ve been on the road so much and don’t have much time at home, I just hop on the plane and learn as I go.

  As for costs, I figure usually $250-$300 a night for a large city hotel (often a tiny room in one of the better hotels), or about $150-$200 a night elsewhere. Obviously you can do better than this (or worse!) but that’s what I personally estimate. For food, depends on if I have access to a kitchen, but I’d say around $80-$100 a day for food which is nice restaurants. And another $50 for museums, experiences, etc. It all averages out.

  I have to say I always crave peanut butter & jelly close to the end of a trip, and often will find a Whole Foods or natural market (like The Natural Kitchen in London) and pick up a salad to go to save money and eat what I’m really needing.

  Why do you love hotels so much?

  I love everything about a great hotel — how you can disappear as much as you want or become a part of the story. You can become someone else, anyone else, simply by checking in for one night. If you want to feel like royalty, you can stay in the same hotel that Kate Middleton stayed in the night before she married Prince William (The Goring in London). If you want to channel Julia Child, you can still check into Hotel Pont Royal in Paris, where she and Paul Child stayed. In New York, there are so many different hotel experiences to be had, from the amazing downtown vibe at the Crosby Street Hotel or the SoHo Grand to the chic sophistication of The Carlyle or The Mark on the Upper East Side. The hotel is so much a part of the experience of travel and it doesn’t have to be super luxurious.

  One of my favorite hotel experiences ever was for less than $50 a night at the Petra House B&B in Galway. I didn’t want to leave the owner, Frank, and his home-cooked breakfasts and comforting Irish accent. Recently, I stayed at the Star Castle on the Isles of Scilly off the coast of Cornwall in England and it was pure magic, with an owner that you can’t dream up, Robert Francis. You can stay there for incredible value, especially in the shoulder seasons before the crowds come. Of course, there are hotels like The Savoy in London or the Four Seasons in Maui that are pure fabulousness from arrival to departure and you pay for it. I remember paying $500 a night for a room at The Sagamore on Lake George and not caring one bit, even though I probably shouldn’t have spent that money. It was such an incredible experience that it didn’t matter. I’m looking for hotels where it’s magical — and now I’ve stayed in hundreds of them, and I can almost immediately tell which ones have that magic, or sense that you’re being transported.

  I also don’t want to travel anymore if it’s not better than my home. This just means that I love my dog, my boyfriend, my bed, my kitchen, my neighborhood. The trip and hotel has to be worth giving up time at home and in New York. Often times they are, but sometimes not.

  I describe travel as deeply personal, what are your personal reasons to travel?

  The more I see, the less I know, and that’s why I travel. I try to educate myself with books, newspapers, magazines, and documentaries but they pale in comparison to seeing it. When I was in Jordan, it was so much easier to understand the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and both sides. When I was in Moscow, I actually cared about who Lenin was and what people think about Putin today.

  While in China, I felt a crucial need to learn about the dynasties, and Mao Zedong and why his rule over the country was relevant to what is happening today. In India, I wanted to know everything about British colonial rule, and the relationship between Pakistan and India.

  Why? Because I was close to it and it mattered.

  I know it’s costly but there are ways to travel in an economical way where you reap every benefit of travel. And you can still go to that fancy hotel for dinner or afternoon tea and dip into that experience as well.

  If you were to travel for just the culinary experience, where would you go?

  When I travel, I miss New York for the food, so I think New York has the best culinary experiences. Leaving the city, I think always Paris, San Sebastian in Spain, and Shanghai or Tokyo for incredible service and innovative cuisine. And absolutely New Orleans — I was so surprised on my first visit how much I loved New Orleans and feel like I could go back all the time simply for the restaurants.

  If I were to gift you a trip to three places anywhere in the world, where would it be and how long would you want to stay?

  I would pick three places I’ve never been:

  1. A combination of South Africa and Mozambique — I have heard such incredible things about Mozambique, its beaches and history and can’t wait to explore one day. I’d take a week in Mozambique and 10 days in South Africa to hit the cities, the wine region and at least one safari camp.

  2. Chile — I am dying to go to the huge metropolis of Santiago, to the Atacama Desert, and to the southern tip, Patagonia and explore.

  3. Mustique or St. Barts — I haven’t spent a lot of time in the Caribbean and want to start with these two iconic islands.

  How important is it to you to have travel as part of your life?

  It’s so important that even when I feel burned out, or need to take a break, or sick from being on the road so much, that I STILL can’t wait to get on a plane again and explore. I can’t wait to take my future kids with me on the road. It feeds me like New York feeds me — I need both in my life.

  What types of technology do you use on the road? Any tips?

  iPad, iPhone, iPod, MacBook Air. I’m not as tech-savvy as I wish I was, but Twitter has changed my career, my friendships and the way I relate to people, so I am always on there reading and connecting. I also love using Path for my closer friends.

  How important is sharing your travel experience with the world? How do you do it?

  I’ve had the great fortune to travel and just hope I can bring it home in a way that makes people want to do it themselves and not hate me for doing it. I’ve been in the position where I was so desperate to travel and didn’t know how, and just was so jealous of everyone that I perceived as traveling freely and doing what they want. In reality, it took hard work and channeling that energy into making it happen for myself. I try to write almost daily on my personal blog and share through my other online outlets, like Forbes and National Geographic.

  What advice would you give those looking to travel?

  I would first think about if you want it as a career or just to incorporate it into your life. I spent some time as a guide in Europe which was exhausting work, but ended up giving me some of the great content and connections that I use today. Spend money on experiences — I have spent so much more money traveling than on buying clothes or shoes. Take a weekend away and go explore a city in the U.S. like New Orleans

  Chapter 17

  MUSEUM AS SPORT

  To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.

  —Freya Stark

  People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.

  —Dagobert D. Runes

  TAIPEI, TAIWAN

  Museums. Every country has them. Although every one is different, together they are part of the basic tourist architectures that all travelers encounter in one way or another. Some travelers love museums, and go to as many as possible as a way of learning about the place they are in. Others seem to circumvent them like the plague. And perhaps for good reason. Museums can be kind of like a marathon in and of themselves. Regardless of all of that, sometimes it’s the people inside, the culture of the space itself, that tells you about a place. I just planted myself in National Palace Museum in Taipei, Taiwan for the day. By planted, I suppose I mean experienced. And by experienced, I really mean tha
t I just got shoved around in the slowest, most polite mosh pit in the world.

  Taiwanese museum culture features a rather odd mix of elements: it encourages curiosity by rewarding achievements through proactive actions, all of which is accomplished through a superb expression of Canadian-like politeness. Here you are hard pressed to find a passive or causal bystander to learning because this is the kind of place that really demands active engagement. Not only does everyone appear specifically dressed for the occasion, but whole hoards of people rush about from one plaque to the next — eagerly, fervently, reading each and every word that describes the country’s rich history. It’s a pretty strange sight to behold. If learning were a contact sport motored by passive aggressiveness, I am pretty sure this museum would be host to the finals.

  Just to paint an image: think of giant flocks of suits flying through the museum coming within inches of other flocks of suits without so much as a mere glance of acknowledgement that there are, in fact, other tours (species?) inhabiting the very same skies. It’s kind of a miracle. Somehow, hundreds of people all manage to keep equidistant spacing as they climb stairs, enter galleries, and break for homemade lunches — all done with sparrow-like grace.

  I was, on average, about 14 inches taller than anyone in the museum. A lanky stork in the land of swallows. I spent the afternoon going to exhibits completely amazed at just how crowded and enthusiastic every space seemed to be. The movie about preserving the paper in historic books received countless audible and authentic gasps of appreciation. The Palace Concert painting was met with genuine oohs and ahhs while the exhibit on bronzes incited enthusiastic nods of agreement, approval and cultural pride. I have never, ever experienced such a buzz around a museum, and I found it bizarrely fun. I flashed back to memories of a similar museum I visited in Colombia, which had been all but empty save for a few laggard tourists looking for something to do on a rainy day.

  This was definitely a different vibe. The longer I stayed and observed, the more I realized that though they had equidistant spacing down pat, that didn’t mean that there weren’t other kinds of interactions lurking beneath the surface. At times, it was wordlessly tense as the side stares from various mothers and fathers, sizing up their child’s competition, shot out amongst the crowds. To me, it appeared as if their child had to learn about this for no reason other than the game of a comparative achievement-based skill: parenting. So while on the one hand the walls of the museum echoed with energy, enthusiasm and visible pride for National Heritage, on the other hand there seemed to be simultaneous currents of pressure, competition, jealousy and fear. “Joy of learning!” and, “you better learn the most, the fastest, the best, or else!” Mixed signals, to say the least.

  These conflicting flows of energy all set up for a showdown, which, incidentally, didn’t happen in the Oversized Hanging Scrolls and Handscrolls room, but in the Decretive Cuts of Jade room. “Over 400 Jadeware Cuts to Learn About 8000 Years of History” it promised. It was the perfect setup — tiny cuts of jade on pedestals inside glass boxes with external magnifying glasses set up so you can see just how amazing the craftsmanship is. This created a single, three inch surface area where a squinted eye would need to be in order to enjoy the jade.

  Lines went 40 people deep to get their chance at the magnifying glass. This would be pretty straight forward in most of the museums I have visited — simply wait your turn in line and see the beautiful object. Not so, here. I witnessed a skilled marksman of line-cutters wander into the room and happen to see the magnifying glass just as someone was leaving. He waltzed up to the exhibit with an air of “ooh, what a surprise! Might as well take a look!” Never mind that he had to literally shove the next in line clear out of his way in order to take his awe-struck and reverent gander.

  Shoving matches between patrons appeared to be more common than people actually looking at the jade. This was, well… fascinating. Completely riveting, really. Appreciation as sport. In all this hustle and bustle (competition!) over the jade another story played out, and that story was me. I was there alone watching the people as much as I was appreciating the artifacts. When I showed too much interest in two Taiwanese grandparents shoving each other to the point of bruises (for instance), I received a check stare from both of them, then a smile, then an invitation to see just what is so amazing that they are fighting for. “No, you must see this, it is really amazing!” And so I, with the entire line seemingly encouraging me (or wanting to hit me), took a glance at the jade and noted my respect for the craftsmanship within the ounce of silence that existed before the next fight came to animate the space. I actually managed to marvel at the jade more than once following this procedure. Forget sports. Taiwan has museums and they are amazing.

  LONDON HEATHROW AIRPORT

  A plane to a train, to a bus, to an airport, lands me in a new country with a different culture, currency, spices, sounds and smells. It is hard to describe the feeling of the moment you realize extreme tiredness while traveling. Maybe it’s more that it isn’t really hard to describe, it’s just hard to muster up the energy to care.

  I’m sitting at LHR (London Heathrow Airport), which actually happens to be famous for being “slightly less stressful than being robbed at gunpoint.” Wonderful. LHR gets this reputation partly due to the fact that all gates aren’t announced until approximately 45 minutes before take off, which is fine. But LHR is huge! With some gates well over 20 minutes away and only reachable through a maze of different transits. Having made it through the usual “gunpoint” adrenaline rush and found my gate, I sit and wait. I exhale. You know, the deep kind of exhale — the kind where you can feel toxins leaving your body, like after a night of heavy drinking. I’m exhaling exhaustion. Life on the road with only a few things to my name. Exhaling the stresses I’ve put upon myself.

  Strangely, I kind of love it. I don’t think I would do it any other way. I get to see what usability looks like and really means when I don’t speak the language. I get to see naturalized habits and cultural customs turned on their head (like right now, the person to the left of me at the restaurant is having a glass of champagne with his traveling companion, who just happens to be his 10 year old son. I get to meet new friends and share old stories.

  I get to grow. Which is actually a strange and difficult sensation when you are happy with your life. It’s one thing to grow and change things up when you are acutely dissatisfied with the way things are going, but it is a whole other set of feelings when you return to a life that inspires you and it no longer fits in quite the same way. When you grow and come back to what you were happy with, your whole mental structure gets thrown into relief. You start questioning things that don’t have easy or ready-made answers. Difficult though it may be, it is an amazing process. It is one I have really come, or perhaps grown, to cherish.

  Part of what these last months on the road have showed me; part of my own psychic structures and orientations to the world that are becoming clearer for me, are the ways in which I really seem to take advice to heart. I guess I have always been this way, but I am only now beginning to really see it. When I was 16, for example, I wanted to run a marathon. I wasn’t very fast, but I felt like I was up for the challenge. My coach at the time cautioned me of the serious, permanent damage that could happen if I embarked on such a venture too soon and too young. He advised me to wait until I was the age of the distance as a general rule of thumb: 26.2 years of age for a 26.2 mile race. At 25.7, I ran my first marathon. Close enough for me. I listened. I was told to work for a company for a while to study the culture and best practices before embarking on my own and greatly benefited from the advice. I would have wasted at least a year if I hadn’t listened.

  Even now, I am fighting off all the fatigue and exhaustion and heading to Athens on the wings of some advice a friend offered me over two years ago, encouraging me to act on an idea I otherwise might have let flit away. I’ll be in Barcelona soon, too, simply because a friend asked me to meet up.

  Lis
tening to the advice, suggestions and invitations that come from all kinds of people is actually a pretty interesting way to try and live your life. It’s almost like a treasure hunt, one clue leading to another though not always in linear fashion. Sometimes, you get the hint years before it randomly (or consciously) falls into place or comes to fruition. Every time I decide to listen, whole sets of new experiences follow and become part of who I am. I learn. I grow. Even though integrating that growth is sometimes a challenge when it comes to reentry, I am realizing that it is the suggestions of friends, family, people I admire, and even complete strangers that have formed the connective tissues and strong frame to my life. Even though I may be a different person in two months time, there are kernels of advice that rest in my past, waiting for their moment to loop back in, reminding me of who I have been at the very same time as they push me into becoming something new.

  So it goes, and so I go, spending my off season on blazingly fast, high altitude chunks of metal, criss-crossing the planet in pursuit of old clues. Exhale. Deep, exhausted, exhale. So it goes. I love it. I live for it.

  Chapter 18

  UNDERPASS LIVING

  Each story is like a new challenge or a new adventure and I don’t find help anywhere, or look for it anywhere, except inside.

  —Eudora Welty

  AUSTIN, TEXAS

  I live my life in public. My thoughts are on my blog. My companies have been meticulously documented. My motivations have been laid out for even the most distant stranger to review. I have almost 1,000 blog posts to my name, with 40,000 tweets or Facebook updates. I live as an epitomized personification of a generation that exemplifies the over-sharing of endless content.

  I’m right in the middle of it. Happy as can be with a distributed and transparent life experience.