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Tanzania's Rift Valley. Photo: Andrea Oschetti

Meaningful travel, or how to holiday with a purpose and return home with more than just smartphone snaps

  • One silver lining to the Covid-19 pandemic could be that travellers give more thought to how, why and where we go
  • But seeking fulfilment from a destination requires more than turning up; self-reflection is necessary, too

Once people begin travelling again for pleasure, following the corona­virus lockdowns, there is likely to be a stronger emphasis on “meaningful travel”, we’re told, with people being more grateful for the privilege and perhaps more mindful of the impact their wandering has on environments and communities.

With travel costs likely to rise to cover Covid-19-era protocols, Hongkongers may start to cut out long-weekend breaks to Phuket or Cebu and instead invest their money and carbon footprint in fewer, more substantial trips full of purpose and meaning.

But what is meant by “purpose”? Where do you find “meaning”? Unfortunately, the terms have become buzzwords and the concept of meaningful travel has been poorly articulated.

Even if we embark on journeys that have the potential to trans­form us, often, rather than pursuing our values, overcoming our fears or deepening our relationships, we find ourselves in front of a landscape that ceases to be “breath­taking” within a few minutes. We take quick snaps of monuments whose meaning we’ll – perhaps – figure out on the flight home. Such travel fails to live up to its promise.

Writer Andrea Oschetti runs a marathon in Jordan. Photo: Andrea Oschetti
I approach my own travel in what I consider to be the spirit of meaning and purpose. In Tanzania, I travelled through the wilderness on foot with a group of Hadza hunters, discovering the value of roots and finding a link to humanity. While running a marathon a day for six days across the Jordanian desert, I exercised deliberateness and decisiveness, finding fulfilment in accomplishing that which I set out to do.

In Patagonia, I retraced pioneer­ing expeditions and, in the great sanctuary of nature, I found my freedom. In the isolated valleys of the Dolomites I delighted in the aesthetics of nature and tradition, and regained a sensuous approach to life.

I am lucky to have been able to pursue many such adventures, but that does not mean purpose and meaning in travel are out of reach for readers with fewer oppor­tunities. Through self-reflection and with the right mindset, any trip can reveal unforeseen layers of purpose, bringing us closer to our truest self. Self-reflection can consist of something as simple as taking pictures of three events, places or people that make you smile each day; writing about why they make you happy in a journal; making one of the pictures your smartphone wallpaper for the day.

On a trip in the Himalayas, in the King­dom of Bhutan, I followed in the footsteps of Drukpa Kunley, a 15th century great master and divine madman who wandered those valleys and whose phallus is painted on the whitewashed walls of homes across the tiny country as an auspicious symbol. A heroic figure of the Buddhist path to enlightenment, he was a holy fool who was defined by his spiritual accomplishments rather than any slavish observance of strict monastic protocols.

The holy fool is found in both Western and Eastern cultures: the crazy saints of medieval Russia; the jesters at the court of Pope Leo X; the eccentric Zen vagabonds of Shingon, in Japan; the lunatic Sufi storytellers.

I was walking the Snowman Trek, 11 high-altitude Himalayan passes in northern Bhutan, with its remoteness and unpredict­able weather. In my backpack, I carried a book about Drukpa Kunley. One day, during an exploration of a nearby peak, I mis­under­­stood what my companions were trying to signal to me from our camp, and I ended up on dangerous terrain. It was silly of us not to have devised a system by which to communicate from a distance.

The summit of Mount Tarn, in the Strait of Magellan, in Chile. Photo: Andrea Oschetti

I came to appreciate the situation later, in the cosiness of my sleeping bag, reading about the adventures of Drukpa Kunley while outside was all rain and darkness. The holy fool is free from social constraints and cultural conventions, and has a limited consciousness of the ego. He knows that seriousness is not a virtue. Drukpa Kunley invites people to let go of the sense of self-importance, the affectations to impress, the restriction to do what is righteous – to not care if you make what others might consi­der a foolish mistake.

My adventures abound with dumb errors: wearing the wrong type of clothes; getting stranded without water; forgetting to pack a map, sunglasses or toilet paper; taking “short cuts” that got me lost; being caught in the dark. In the wilderness of Bhutan, I laughed at my mistakes and at my fears. I felt confi­dent I could face the bigger challenges of life.

On a different trip in the Himalayas, travelling in Mustang, the ancient Kingdom of Lo, I followed the old caravan road on a mountain bike to Lo Manthang, the district capital. As I pedalled deeper into Mustang, I left the main paths and entered a journey of self-discovery. Despite their modest means and obvious interest in the material aspects of modern­ity, the local people appeared content.

“Mustang is a happy land because of the people’s devotion to Buddhism, their strong sense of community and their contentment to live simply, like their ancestors did,” Lama Thasi, principal of the Cheri mona­stery school, told me. He noted that it was hard to learn about the Tibetan religion and culture while elsewhere. “Cultural under­standing is not just about studying books. It is about experiencing the way of the people, attending to the dying, herding the yaks, doing community work, feel­ing the winds, and watching the sky of this landscape.”

Stone figures used in religious ceremonies in a cave in Mustang, Nepal. Photo: Getty Images

The darkness in the Thubchen monastery’s prayer hall was broken by spotlights shining on magnificent works of Tibetan art: frescoes of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, tantric mandalas, sacred books written in gold, silk thangka, and statues of Indian yogis in bronze, copper and clay. These works of art reminded me of the elements of our spiritual paths: compassion, patience, equanimity, wisdom and gener­osity. If I could nourish those virtues once I was back in Hong Kong, I thought, I might be better equipped to respond to the psycho­logical frailties of living in a modern city: pride, vanity, touchiness and acrimony.

There are few experiences more rewarding than interacting with your host community. On your next trip, wake up a bit earlier than you might otherwise do, to witness the morning routines. Start at a square where locals spend their early hours, ask them about their favourite places. Perhaps venture into a market and ask the vendors about the food, greet strangers in their own language. Write about the experience in your journal. What did you notice about the people you met? Their expressions? The ring of their voices? What emotions did the interaction evoke?

I wanted to visit a place that was dear to Lama Thasi. He told me that to meditate in a cave where venerable monks had done the same was to benefit from their energy. He told me where one such cave was. Following his advice, I hiked up a steep trail that became narrower and more precipitous. I crawled into the cave and sat in silence. I was not sure what the lama meant about the old saints’ energy, but I took in the peacefulness and the mesmer­ising views of sky and mountains.

Later, I asked the lama what the ascetics were looking for in the caves.

“Nothing,” he said.

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