These reflections are prompted by my recent visit to the shrine of Our Lady of Fernyhalgh, near Preston, in the county of Lancashire in North-West England. Tucked away in the midst of fields, one gets a sense of just how remote this place would have been in its day, though the constant whooshing—faint but audible—of the nearby motorway reminds one that, in Western Europe, it is almost impossible to escape modernity altogether.

To go to Lancashire is to go to a place abundantly blessed in its rugged and rolling hills and in the—still today—cheerfulness and warmth of its people, and this despite the dourness and decline of many of its towns. Though it lacks the majesty of the Lake District to its north and the Peak District to its east, it is still a charming county with charming scenery and folk. It might be “grim ‘oop North” on a rainy day, but the Lancastrians can usually laugh it off with a jolly chortle. And I like to think—but I am a Catholic priest, so assume I’m biased—that this cheerfulness has something to do with the region’s history of Catholic faith, first through many brave souls who stood firm in their beliefs in hard times and then through the Irish immigrants who flocked to the county in the 19^th Century.

Fernyhalgh—also known as Ladyewell—is a witness to this fidelity. It is an ancient centre of devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, much loved by Catholics in these northern climes. If Lud’s Church spoke to me of fear, defiance and dissent (which, as I wrote in my previous post, also have positive sides to them), Fernyhalgh breathes a different atmosphere. One can still sense in its tranquil serenity something of the faith and courage of those Lancastrian Catholics who continued to go to pray at the shrine even in the worst years of persecution in the 16^th and 17^th Centuries. Bear in mind that at this time Catholics risked being hung, drawn and quartered (only look up what this means if you are not squeamish) for celebrating Mass (if priests) or staying loyal to the Pope and Church of Rome. To go to Ladyewell was, therefore, to risk being fined, imprisoned and even potentially killed. But go they did. All for the love of a woman, Mary, the Mother of God, as Catholics revere her.

What is amazing about the faith of these people was their devotion to a rite which many modern Catholics find boring and invent all sorts of excuses to avoid: I mean the Mass. This Catholic sacrament had been outlawed by the government and replaced by a new Communion rite based on a more Protestant theology. But many Catholics were determined to keep attending it and did so in secret sites up and down the land. Numerous country houses, run then by Catholic gentry, bear witness to this, with the hidden chapels and hiding holes for priests in case of a raid by government agents. Scores of young men went abroad to train for the priesthood and returned in disguise to minister to the clandestine Catholics, knowing it was only a question of time before they would be arrested and executed. Ordinary lay people—men and women, like St Margaret Clitherow, a butcher’s wife in York—risked and finally gave their lives to hide these priests. All for love of the Mass. Fernyhalgh has numerous relics of these martyrs.

Of course, if one really believed what the Mass is, one would not be surprised at this. For us Catholics the Mass is the re-living, the making present each day, of Jesus’ death on the Cross and his rising from the dead. When, at the Last Supper, he showed bread and wine and said “this is my body which is given for you” and “this is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for many”, and added “Do this in memory of me”, he was instituting the Mass. The Mass makes present Jesus’ giving and pouring out of his body and blood on Calvary Hill, anticipated in that supper and then re-enacted through this sacrament. If you truly believe that this is God in human form offering his life and whole self to you, then risking your life for him is no longer such a big thing.

I appreciate that all I have said thus far could appear to some readers as a form of Catholic triumphalism, basking in the glory of these illustrious past co-religionists. While I think that anyone who actually checked the facts of what I have written would find them to be correct, I certainly sympathize with this concern in that it is also true that we should never travel to blame others. To travel to fuel prejudice is almost the antithesis of the purpose of traveling. To travel is to open one’s mind, not to close it. While it is perfectly valid to travel in order to grow in faith—which is precisely the point of that particular genre of traveling we call “pilgrimage”—we should remember that faith must never become fanaticism. It should be a journey to a new place, not a return to old grievances. A pilgrimage should aim at the conversion of heart, not its hardening.

And so while I go to Fernyhalgh to be inspired by the bravery of these ancestors in religion—to try to live my faith today with the same courage they showed then—I also realize that I must not go to nurture a grudge or a victim complex. Besides, I am fully aware—to my shame—that while many Catholics have suffered great brutality in history, not a few have inflicted it on others. Thus, living faith should never be fostering resentment. As much as one might have suffered, collectively or even personally, the only way forward is to seek one’s own conversion, and not spend one’s life expecting others to say sorry. If we turn to God and virtue ourselves, others might in time follow our example. This “turning” is why we go on pilgrimage.

So, let me finish these reflections with some words from an ancient Christian writing attributed to a certain St Dorotheus. Put simply, the text’s advice is: blame yourself, not others, a self-blaming which, I would add, is an absolutely essential way forward in any ecumenical or inter-religious dialogue. In what way do I need to change to overcome the pride, greed, insecurity, bitter zeal or narrow rigidity which might lead me to mistreat others, in the name of religion or any other apparently noble cause?

But let the text speak for itself: “The reason for all disturbance, if we look to its roots, is that no one finds fault with himself. This is the reason why we become angry and upset, why we sometimes have no peace in our soul … We hope or even believe that we are on the right path even when we are irritated by everything and cannot bear to accept any blame ourselves. This is the way things are. However many virtues a man may have … if he has left the path of self-accusation he will never have peace: he will be afflicted by others or he will be an affliction to them, and all his efforts will be wasted.”

Suggested next reading: Questions You Need To Ask Yourself Before Traveling

The post How Travel Can Help Us Move Past Prejudice, Pain & Resentment appeared first on Modern Trekker.

My friend Carmella and I were road tripping through the Southwest, starting in Los Angeles and making our way through Arizona and New Mexico, then looping back around to California. We were in our mid-twenties and had never felt more free, each of us taking our first real grown-up vacation.

We rented a tiny car, threw our bags in the back, stocked up on baby carrots and gallons of water, and struck out on our own. We were elated. We talked nonstop. We left the smog of L.A. behind us, headed east, and arrived in Joshua Tree by evening.

Our First Time Staying In Airbnbs

By the bright light of the moon in the massive desert sky, we managed to find our Airbnb—a tiny cabin at the edge of the national park with just one neighbor in sight. We pulled up at 11pm and tiptoed to the door, still unsure of what we were walking into. We were greeted by the kindest woman named Stella, who’d waited up for us.

There was a little bedroom with fluffy towels laid out for us and a wicker basket of toiletries. There was just enough room for the two of us, and we snuggled up in our shared bed, laughing hysterically under the covers until we drifted off to sleep.

I knew we’d made a good choice when I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of coyotes yipping outside our bedroom window. I fell back to sleep marveling at the magic of the desert and woke the next morning to fresh green juice served in wine goblets, alongside stories of Stella’s past life in San Francisco. We were the first names in her pristine guest book, and we left a raving review.

If I thought we’d made a good choice by booking a room with no reviews, I was yet to be surprised at what was in store.

Joshua Tree To Madrid, New Mexico

We left Joshua Tree and eventually made our way to Madrid, New Mexico, a tiny mining town just outside of Santa Fe. Carmella had booked this Airbnb, and I was excited to see what the “eco cabin” in the hills of New Mexico would be like. We arrived and were greeted by the Airbnb manager, Lucy, settling into our cozy cottage with its compost toilet and limited electricity. Colorful prayer flags were strung about and we immediately felt at home.

It wasn’t until later that night, over glasses of wine beside a glowing fire under the full moon, that Lucy and I realized we had a mutual friend.

On the other side of the country in a remote Southwest town with a population of 200 people, I’d found a connection. We stayed up late into the night talking about synchronicity and human connection. What were the odds?

That trip ended up being one of those vacations where everything just works out. We ended up staying in Airbnbs a total of four different times and left all but one feeling like we were good friends with the owners. They were complete strangers. Welcoming other complete strangers into their homes. Literally opening their doors and hearts to the belief that people can be kind.

A Life Of Travel

As I continued a life of travel following that trip, I learned that this would be more common than not in all of my experiences of staying in Airbnbs. I’ve stayed in Airbnbs all over the world—rambling farmhouses in Maine, cozy cottages in rugged Tasmania, mountain suburbs in Ojai. Sometimes solo, sometimes not—but always with the faith that people are good at heart. (And of course, most of these were private rooms in a home, rather than an entire home independent from the owners—I always find that I like it better when hosts are around.)

Four years after my initial Airbnb stay in Joshua Tree, I found myself in a 1900s clapboard house in the Blue Mountains of Australia, a fantastic region filled with eucalyptus forests and stunning cliffs and roaring waterfalls. I was with a friend who’d never stayed in Airbnbs before, a friend who was a bit reluctant to reserve a room in a stranger’s house with nothing but hope, faith, and a few reviews.

The owner, a sweet woman in her fifties, invited us in and explained how she found herself there—escaping city life in Sydney at the discovery of a troubling illness, settling into the mountains for fresh air, art therapy, and recovery. I spotted my favorite artist’s work on her fridge, and she’d left us hot water bottles at the end of our beds for the chilly autumn night. In her kitchen hung a giant chalkboard upon which she’d jotted affirmations and quotes, and we got lost exploring her bookshelves filled with tomes on lucid dreaming and homesteading.

She was out of the house the next morning when we checked out with our backpacks in tow, and when we realized we’d accidentally left a cell phone behind, she was suddenly pulling up alongside us in her car, encouraging us to get in so she could give us a lift back to get it.

Complete strangers from countries other than her own. Trusting us in her home without her. We could have been the ax murderers.

My friend was shocked at how Airbnb worked. “She doesn’t mind that we’re here without her?” she said incredulously. “Are all hosts this nice? Is this always how it goes?”

(Of course, it doesn’t always go exactly like this. Not every single Airbnb host is kind and welcoming and goes out of their way to make you feel at home. But with a little awareness and intuition when you’re booking, you can find gold. And more often than not, it’s worth it.)

Conclusion

Now, I always prefer to peruse Airbnb before turning to a hotel or hostel. I love not knowing what I’ll find or who I’ll meet. When you can be open to it, there are stories to be heard, kindnesses to be gifted, meals to be shared, neighborhoods to be explored, friends to be made. I’m still in touch with some of my past hosts, and even just a connection over Instagram feels incredibly heartwarming to me.

Because in a world that feels increasingly scary and unsafe, there’s this: the unfailing hope and belief that people are intrinsically good — and that we have more in common than we think.

Note: I want to acknowledge that as a white American female, I carry a certain privilege that not everyone is granted, and others’ experiences of strangers’ kindness may not be the same as mine.

Suggested next reading: Why I Travel Alone (And Why You Should Too)

The post How Staying In Airbnbs Renews My Faith In Humanity appeared first on Modern Trekker.

The Oxford Dictionary defines travel as, “Make a journey, typically of some length.” But, if travel is simply to “make a journey”, then why do we love and crave the word? After all, we make journeys and travel every day. We travel to work, we travel back home from work, etc.

So what is it about the word “travel” that carries such excitement when the word itself can describe so much of our mundane activities?

A Code Word

In reality, there is little doubt that “travel” is actually a code word for adventure, exploration, discovery, escapism, new experiences, and more. Hidden away in the small word “travel” is a vast ocean of possibilities, dreams and fulfillment.

But then what happens if our travels provide none of these sensations? What happens when our vacations, travels or escapes from the mundanity of life are, in actual fact, a real let down? Then what is “travel”?

Perhaps some travel synonyms, in this case, could be presumption, wishful thinking, or even misplaced hope? We as humans often feel like we’re missing out and that the grass is greener on the other side, so perhaps “travel” simply hides and covers our own self-deficiencies and dupes us into thinking the problem is external rather than internal?

After all, if I could just be somewhere else, change my city and start over, then everything would be fine and dandy…right? This idea is explored more here. And what about inward travel? If one contemplates life are they “traveling”? If, as the Oxford Dictionary puts it, travel is just to ”make a journey”, then can you travel into yourself? And more on that idea here.

And why is it that some of us yearn for “more” out of life? What is it that we’re actually looking for? What is it about travel that seems to tap into that vein of longing? And why can’t I shake off the wanderlust? Why is it that, with Bono, I’m left saying (or singing when in the shower), “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for!”

But let’s just brush aside all the artsy fartsy rhetoric for one moment, is travel simply just for “fun”? Perhaps I’m overcomplicating it?

But then what is travel when we, as tourists, spoil the “fun” for locals, make fools of ourselves and bring discredit to our home countries by acting like idiots? And what about the loved ones we leave behind? Is it “fun” for them hardly ever seeing us?

Moreover, perhaps “travel” is to learn and grow as an individual. But how do we know if we’re “growing” in the right direction? In short, my friends, what IS travel? What is it, really? And why do we ACTUALLY do it?

Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t attempt to answer all those questions. However, at the very least, here is the etymology of word travel and a few travel synonyms I’ve taken from a Thesaurus that may help us understand a bit more about what this travel business really is all about.

The Etymology Of Travel

Our English word “travel” comes from the 14^th Century ye olde French word “travailen”. This word means, in essence, to make a difficult journey.

This word is also closely linked to our modern word “travail”, which means “work, labor, toil, suffer”.  The word “travailen” emphasized the difficulty and danger that often accompanied travel in the Middle Ages.

In short, for our great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents, “travel” was a bit of a pain. It was difficult and arduous.

Sure, it had positives such as fleeing danger, finding work, or escaping to find a new promising, hopeful and better life, but, in our modern day and age, how many of us actually travel to start a new, promising life or to escape any real danger? And, if we do, are our reasons as justifiable as our great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents?

In reality, probably not for the majority of us.

I cannot help but think that, in actual fact, our travel can often be quite selfish and consumeristic in comparison to these travelers of old.

That’s not to knock travel at all (I’m writing in a TRAVEL magazine after all!)

But I just wonder if, perhaps, we can sometimes be so consumeristic in our traveling that the very traditional notions of “work, labor, toil, suffer” never enter our minds. Perhaps “travel” is supposed to be hard and arduous to some degree? To include a bit of work among the joy? And, if we never find our travels difficult, demanding or stretching, can we really even call it “travel”?

Travel Synonyms

I know, I know. I’ve just asked even more questions rather than provide answers—I promise I’ll stop. And so, taken from the Oxford Dictionary, here are a few travel synonyms alongside a few personal reflections (and a few more questions…yes, I lied):

1. “go on an excursion” (that certainly has the travailing vibe mentioned above!)

2. “roam” (that interestingly sounds a bit aimless, I suspect a few of my “travels” were more accurately “roams”)

3. “wend one’s way” (so perhaps “My Way” by Frank Sinatra should be on every traveler’s playlist?)

4. “gallivant” (that certainly encapsulates the consumeristic thinking I mentioned above)

5. “odyssey” (now I feel like Captain Kirk from Star Trek)

6. “go” (fair enough, this one at least makes sense to me)

7. “trek” (had to include that for our namesake)

8. “progress” (what if you get lost and go the wrong direction? Can negative progress be a thing? Anyway, I thought travel was supposed to be a break from all these performance markers?!)

9. “roll” (I personally opt to walk rather than roll, but each to their own…)

10. “backpack” (that’s an interesting one, more on that here)

11. “go round“ (I’m sure Genghis Khan told the Chinese they were just on their innocent travels when he and his Mongol horde decided to “go round” the Great Wall of China)

12. “go rapidly” (semi-true: although airplanes are getting faster, airports are DEFINITELY getting slower)

13. “pilgrimage” (as a Catholic, I like this one. Surely shows the otherworldly side to travel and how, in going somewhere new, one can learn more about their old predictable selves, while even traveling into the very depths of God—if one has faith, that is. PS. I really, REALLY want to go on a Joan of Arc pilgrimage. Just throwing that out there)

14. “exploration” (we begin life curious, so is it any wonder that we find ourselves curious of other cultures and people later in life too?)

15. “jaunt” (as an Englishmen I would use this word if I wanted to take a stroll to the pub for tea—and by “tea” I mean dinner)

Conclusion

So many questions, so little answers. However, just like me, I hope you found some of these travel synonyms interesting and mildly helpful in coming to terms with this whole “travel” business!

Thanks for reading and comment below if you have any more interesting travel synonyms or your own thoughts on why we’re all acting like irresponsible adults by avoiding life with travel!

Suggested next reading: Why You Need To Ditch The Noise & Escape Into Silence ASAP

The post Travel Synonyms And What They Reveal About Travel appeared first on Modern Trekker.