“We were cut off from comprehension of our surroundings; we glided past like phantoms, wondering and secretly appalled, as sane men would be before an enthusiastic outbreak in a madhouse. We could not understand because we were too far and could not remember, because we were travelling in the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign – and no memories” Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

“He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone, young and wilful and wild hearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight and gayclad light figures of children and girls and voices childish and girlish” James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

I disagree with Conrad’s explanation for it, but he so eloquently captures the feeling. I’m not talking simply about the feeling of being different that comes from speaking a different language. Having grown up in a multi-lingual, multi-cultural society, I am aware of that it is entirely possible to have completely unrelated languages and yet share a largely common identity. This also contributes to my rejection of the idea of a unitary identity (defining the self in terms of just one facet).

Travelling makes you feel different in a deeper manner. Things which are so natural and taken for granted at home, which are so familiar that they feel like instinct, no longer work. It can be frustrating when all your weather-sense – which works so well at home, your ability to predict fairly accurately, based on cloud formations and wind patterns and temperature, what the weather will do during the day, no longer matter. Suddenly familiarity with the plant-life, knowing what insects are likely to sting, even your sense of direction, are all irrelevant.

The cumulative effect of those little things is a sense of alienation. Being different in a strange country is not just about not being able to speak the language or finding certain cultural practices strange. It is about being “cut off from comprehension of [your] surroundings”. Travel is often a humbling experience because this alienation, this lack of comprehension can leave one feeling impotent, frustrated and, frankly, silly.

But there is a delicious freedom in this alienation, too. Suddenly, removed from all familiar instincts, the all-too-familiar socialised norms fall away, too. It is the alienation of travel that makes it okay to try new and sometimes previously-taboo things. It is the alienation that makes it possible to overcome fears and prejudices in order to do something new. Someone  said that travel is not just about learning more about a new place, it’s about learning more about yourself. The alienation of travel, the fact that you cannot fit in and you have no hope of, you are cut off from, really comprehending your environment, creates a wonderful space to recreate yourself.

The glorious freedom of being alone, being anonymous and being alien is one of the deepest and most precious joys of travel. I suppose it is really what turns an ordinary trip into an adventure.