Conscious Choice: Learning to Travel Close to Home

January 2002

Learning to Travel Close to Home

by Marianne Goss

Just because travel is good and desirable doesn’t mean that we instinctively know how to do it well. At least I didn’t. I’d return from trips feeling I’d gone through the motions, crossing everything off the list but not taking the time to savor anything.

So, while co-workers were jetting off to various European destinations, the Far East and Hawaii (one even suggested that I was "overdue" to leave the country), my thinking was going in a different direction. A faraway, expensive trip would be a mistake, I figured, because I’d be doing the expected without really examining what I wanted to do. Fewer things, enjoyed more, seemed the prescription. And where best to practice that goal but right here in the Midwest, where most destinations aren’t "wow" places? Moreover, the stakes wouldn’t be high. Since it would be easy enough to return, I needn’t try to fit in everything on one trip. Since I could take the car and in some cases stay with relatives, I wouldn’t be spending a lot of money, removing more pressure about making every minute count.

I limited myself to destinations within about 250 miles of Chicago because I didn’t feel like driving farther than that. Because I didn’t want to spend time looking for a bed every night, I chose destinations with enough nearby attractions to stay put for a week.

Over the course of sixteen months I took six weeklong vacations: near the Amana Colonies and Cedar Rapids in Iowa; on the Lincoln trail in Illinois; in Milwaukee; at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Michigan; and in Brown County, Indiana; and Indianapolis.

I haven’t had many opportunities yet to test whether those modest trips have taught me how to travel better when the stakes are higher — when I’ve spent more money, gone farther, am on a "once-in-a-lifetime" trip — but they have given me a different mindset about planning vacations. The drift of my thinking now is about the how and the what rather than the where — I plan around what I want to do instead of what places I might go. After figuring out what I want to do, I can look into where to do it. And if there’s a suitable destination within driving distance, all the better: I don’t have to arrange a plane trip and will have my car at my disposal.

Thinking of activities rather than places, what comes to mind? A focus on history à la the Lincoln trail or the Amana Colonies; a learning vacation at one of the weeklong mini-universities that colleges offer during the summer; a stay in a state park (renting a cabin or a room in the lodge), and learning about the flora and fauna on ranger-led walks; a refuge for the body or soul at a spa or retreat house. I could also search for something organized — summer camps for singles (the Unitarian Church sponsors some every summer in Michigan and Wisconsin), biking and hiking tours, women’s adventure trips.

I’ve also stopped thinking travel always has to be the pursuit of the new and the different. If I enjoyed something once, what’s wrong with enjoying it again? Furthermore, if I’ve succeeded at slowing down and not feeling compelled to fit everything in, on one trip I won’t get to everything in which I might be interested.

When I started my education in how to travel, I thought I was aiming to be more spontaneous, to read fewer guides about what to see and do. Along the way I realized I can’t fight my personality that much, and if I don’t do some advance reading, I could miss off-the-beaten-path gems. There’s nothing wrong with making a to-do list as long as I screen it through my interests. Guidebooks list everything; I can pick and choose based on my likes and dislikes. If at home I don’t go to the Museum of Science and Industry, why make myself go to a technology museum away from home? If I don’t attend country music concerts regularly, why expect to enjoy one in Brown County? A guidebook should be just that, a guide, not a rules and regulations manual. I can plan around my own interests and instincts, not someone else’s must-sees.

I can be particularly selective in smaller cities, since I live in one of the biggest and best. Attractions peculiar to the region (e.g., the Speedway Museum in Indianapolis) or rated among the best of their kind (e.g., the Milwaukee Public Museum, the Indianapolis Children’s Museum) of course deserve a visit, provided I’m interested in their subject matter. But considering what’s available in Chicago, there may not be good reason to seek out lesser museums, zoos, gardens, and conservatories.

Whether it’s in city or country, I know that I need to vary the pace and balance sightseeing with relaxing. If a long to-do list threatens to rule my trip, then at least I should put "midday break" on the list every day. I don’t want a week of morning-till-night activity that would leave me more exhausted than when I started. I want to resist rushing about on the excuse that I may never return that way.

I’m not fooling myself that I’ve figured out a formula for a perfect vacation. Worries will go with me. I may have a less-than-easy traveling companion, or want a companion and not have one. There will be inconveniences and annoyances. I’ll get lost or lose something. Some days will be rainy. Sometimes I’ll have a so-so time not because of my psychological state but because I won’t enjoy the place or the activity.

I can’t arrange my life so that only good things are happening on my time off. But I can stop thinking that any vacation is supposed to be perfect.

Marianne Goss is a publications editor at Northwestern University and author of Midwest Passage: How Traveling Close to Home Broadened My Horizons (ISBN 0-9679953-0-2). The book is available from Book Clearing House at 800-431-1579.

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