Eat, Pray...Travel

01 Dec 2011

Daisann McLane

Daisann McLane is an award-winning travel writer, essayist and photographer. She is also a columnist and contributing editor to National Geographic Traveler. In this blog post, she shares her views on how travel has the power to heal a broken heart, even if holiday romances don’t always work out.

 

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One bitterly cold winter 25 years ago I split up with my boyfriend, my first true love, and jumped on a plane bound for a place that I hoped would heal my broken heart with heat, ocean breezes and tropical flowers: Isla Mujeres, Mexico. Back then, the little island near Cancun was still a rustic fishing community with cheap guesthouses and thatched huts. I had never before in my life bought a solo ticket to a destination unknown. But broken hearts have the miraculous power to transform once-timid vacationers into fearless travellers.

During the days, I walked the beach, sat in cafes and sighed a lot. At night I ate grilled pork and rice at one of the little local restaurants with the other American backpackers on the island. Days passed, simply. Soon, before I even noticed it, I lost my heartache in the rhythm of the ocean, the fishermen’s comings and goings and the chatter of the roosters that woke everyone at dawn. Travel is a strong medicine, indeed. By the end of my vacation, my heartsickness was gone. Not only that, I went back home to New York City arm in arm with another sweetheart I’d met on the island, someone I lived with for the next four years.

"Journeys end in lovers meeting," wrote Shakespeare, who clearly had a jump on the marketing strategies of the modern tourism industry. For what, if not romance, is implied in all of the gorgeous glossy photographs of tropical places, timeless monuments and breathtaking vistas? The anticipation of travel is a lot like the early stages of falling in love; you choose a destination, an adventure, a culture that makes your pulse race, your heart leap. When you finally arrive in Paris, or the banks of the Ganges, or Tierra del Fuego, you never know if this will turn out to be a casual flirtation, a long-term relationship, or a torrid affair. Then sometimes in the end, after all the planning, hope and expectation, you find out there's just no chemistry at all.

The romance of travel is so intense and full of potential pitfalls that, except for that one time in Mexico, I've avoided mixing travel with my relationships – it just gets too complicated. Based on my conversations with other travellers (and the popularity of travel books like “Eat, Pray, Love”), I know I am in the minority here. Travel opens our hearts, and encourages us to leap into romances that we might otherwise think twice about. Sometimes these romances actually pan out and get real. Too often, though, they last only until the day of the flight home.

A few months ago my friend Karita took a holiday alone in Bali for two weeks. Soon after she arrived, she met a handsome Australian from Perth, and together they spent happy days, exploring the island on a scooter, snorkelling and diving, and sharing their life histories. Travelling often transforms strangers into friends, then lovers, at jet speed. By the end of the holiday, Karita and the Aussie had exchanged promises to visit each other in their native countries, and to be in touch often.

In fact, he never called or wrote again. Karita was stoic about the whole thing – "He probably had a girlfriend back home he wasn't telling me about," she sighed, when she told me the story. Karita never wants to go back to Bali again. I have never returned to Isla Mujeres, either. The romance that started so sweetly in the peaceful fishing village on the beach didn't have legs after all. The traveller and I eventually parted company. I haven't got the appetite to return to the place where it all began.

Since then, I travel with my heart on my sleeve – for travel itself. I let myself fall head over heels for the taste of cinnamon-laced chocolate in an Oaxaca market stall. I develop a crush on the delicate aroma of cologne in a Santa Maria Novella pharmacy in Florence. I am intoxicated by early mornings in the Buddhist temples in Luang Prabang, and by the grace with which the silk saris fall from the shoulders of women in the streets of Madurai, India. Maybe someday I will go further than this, and throw my traveller's heart once again to a person, as well as a place. But until then, with apologies to Shakespeare, I don't want my journeys to end.

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