HAVE PEN – WILL TRAVEL

by Rosemary Lord

On one of my recent visits to London, my brother Ted and I took a leisurely walk from Chalk Farm, north London to Convent Garden – that colorful, 16^th Century vegetable and fruit market; the iconic setting for the opening of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion.

As we turned the corner into the famous piazza, a massive onslaught of blank-faced people advanced towards us. Wall-to-wall bodies. Shoulders squared. No, “Excuse me…” or “After you…” We had to push our way through. But these young tourists, weren’t hostile. Just focused on moving forward, as one, cellphones and selfie-sticks held high. Seemingly unaware of the beauty of the surroundings, they advanced like automatons. Expressionless faces. Moving forward, as one.

We were taken aback. And we’ve never forgotten that intimidating image.

Where did all these people come from?

Outside Selfridge’s Department store on London’s Oxford Street, it happened there, too. An impenetrable wall of seething humanity, rolling forwards. Same thing at the Galleries Lafayette store in Paris. Tourists en masse. In a block – shoulder-to-shoulder – determinedly edging ahead. Crowds everywhere.

 It reminded me of those scenes in Dr. Who, when the hundreds of scarecrows came alive and marched, military style, into the town.

I’d never seen such large numbers of people on the move, in unison. No snatches of excited observations peeking through.  Just a rumbling monotone. Cellphones were held up to record their movements, becoming their digital set of eyes. They watched their own progress through the tiny mobile phone screens, instead of looking around as they walked, missing the actual, historic, fascinating surroundings, soaking up the atmosphere and the magic of the moment.  

A similar thing occurred in a Portuguese railway station when my siblings and I descended from a suburban train line. A cacophony of voices, train whistles and traffic noises met us – and masses of passengers pushing forward, regardless, staring straight ahead, offering no gaps to get through as they poured out onto the street. They were everywhere! And that was in a small Portuguese town – not London or New York.

Where did they all come from?

Somewhere, I thought to myself, there are towns and even countries that must be EMPTY! Because these folks are coming from somewhere.  In large numbers. Hordes of them. All at the same time.

What happened to the solo travelers, the adventurers, the observers, the investigators, the recorders, the note-takers? These blocks of people today weren’t looking at their surroundings, admiring the architecture, noticing street or shop signs, or even checking out items in shop windows. Just blindly following the crowds and instructions on their cellphones, like a rag-tag army that cannot linger for a moment to appreciate.

These walls of human flesh advanced across Europe in their masses, crowded into cheap airline seats, packed like sardines. 

I blame it on the cheap bargain holidays flights across Europe. They cost less than the price of a restaurant meal. That, and the ubiquitous use of credit cards. So of course, the kids are going to take advantage of it. If one does it – the rest have to follow.

What happened to individualism? Why is everything ‘group think’? What about following your own star, your own direction?

And what happened to ‘getting away from it all’? You can’t – because everyone is there, too! Perhaps a visit to a convent or a monastery is called for?

I’ve always loved to travel. I started exploring other countries fresh out of school as a teenager. Back in those Dark Ages, I would board a coach, train or boat and encounter a handful of fellow passengers, also off on some wonderful adventure. I’d wander quiet back streets in countries where I didn’t speak the language. I would drink it all in, occasionally taking a photo with my modest little camera, protecting the spent rolls of film until I had time to get them developed. I’d scribble on scraps of paper or in a small notebook – place names, what I’d seen, people I’d met. These would much later become fodder for my grown-up world as a published writer.

And wherever I travelled, I would notice other lone souls on park benches or sitting at sidewalk cafes, nursing a coffee or something stronger, writing, thoughtfully in notebooks. Perhaps another Hemingway, Steinbeck or J.K. Rowling in the making?

And so, I worry about today’s young, sponge-like minds seeking wisdom and experiences to steer them through adulthood. They will never grow if their youth is experienced through traveling in huge numbers, being told – on TikTok or other Social Media sites – where to go, where to stay, what to eat, wear and think.

As adults, we step into unknown territories and make mistakes along the way. That’s how we learn and grow. Life is a wonderful adventure when we can wander alone to new places. Or maybe with just a friend or two, fellow adventurers.  

I tend to see life through a writer’s eyes. To me, there’s a story to be written about everything! I wonder how today’s young people travelling in large groups, instructed by a digital program, could ever think for themselves and develop into great writers or artists, if they have not experienced life firsthand and learned to keep questioning.

I am sure those born with a writer’s or artist’s mind, will find their own way through; their own star to follow, their own inner voice to listen to. And find their own, peaceful corner of the world where they can create their own literary magic. Be it a proper writing room, studio, shed at the bottom of the garden, a cozy nook, or even a corner of the kitchen table. A place to write.

And with all the travelling I have done, I am always so pleased to come home again. Return to my own little comfy home, with all my writing tools to hand. It’s my retreat – far from, as they say, ‘the madding crowds.’

What’s your writing retreat like?