Traveling is tough. Really tough. I love it, but every time wanderlust knocks on the door of my mind a deep, eating dread arises right behind it. It’s not easy fitting your life into a suitcase. It isn’t easy battling the weight of your luggage all the way to and from the airport, train station, or bus stop. It isn’t easy leaving your family and friends behind, even for a little while. Parents will worry, especially if you are a young woman with a knack for getting in trouble like me.
Travelling isn’t all sunshine and rainbows but it can be wonderful, and fooling around the globe is a huge part of my life. My father once told me a story about our first family trip, when I was only a year old. Of course, I don’t remember it, but my family went on “vacation” into still war-ravaged Croatia at the time. We were inhabiting a tiny house in the middle of an almost deserted village, rigged by bullet holes from passing armies. Every evening he and my grandfather would climb onto the roof and watch for tanks approaching from the nearby Serbian front. Today, not many people would go into a possible war zone, yet like many Czechs after the fall of the Iron Curtain, we did. And for all the trouble it was, we would do it again, because we can.
During communism, you couldn’t just leave. Western countries were totally out of the question (Imperialist enemies trying to destroy and undermine values of our motherlands) and ones like Yugoslavia (today’s Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, etc.) were only available if you were a member of the Communist Party (which none of my family were). And still, not everyone in the party obtained travel permits when requested. Applying for a travel permit was not like a simple tourist Visa. You had to write down what you intend to buy during your holiday, where you would store it, where you would go, where you would stay, and which sights you would visit. Therefore, many people didn’t get to see anything beyond our country. Luckily I am not old enough to attest to this first hand, but my parents and grandparents are. That’s what makes me travel. The occasional inconvenience of it pales in comparison to not having a choice to go somewhere. So, maybe you miss your bus or maybe the seat is too small for your legs (as every person 6 feet and up would confirm). Or maybe your hotel room is noisy, hot, freezing, or stinks. Or sometimes you feel absolutely helpless. Like when I got off the last train in Budapest and they shut down the subway in front of my nose. At first I felt like crying but then I remembered my great aunt, who had never been to the sea or mountains, or anywhere really.
Get yourself uncomfortable and enjoy whatever wanderlust throws at you: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Why? Because you can.
