I need to make one thing clear: I hate travel. The joy of travel is a myth perpetuated by a cabal of airlines, resorts, rental car agencies, travel writers and agents, credit card companies, banks, insurance companies and brokerage houses, with the aid of what used to be called Madison Avenue. You’ve seen the TV ad–ad nauseum. The beautiful, elderly couple (right out of a modeling agency), both trim and fit. He, with a touch of gray at the temples, looking like he just climbed Mt. Everest. She, blonde hair, unlined face, looking like she just swam the English Channel. (Actually, they ain’t so healthy. These are the very same people that are shown on the commercials during the evening news using Imodium, Correctol, Preparation H, Viagra, and hormone therapy just to keep going.) Anyhow thanks to (fill in the blank) this couple is on a tropical island, sipping exotic drinks, as they watch the blue ocean waves caress the beach.

Where did these people come from? Did they rush to the airport, finding no place to park, and then wait in long lines at the check-in counters and security stations? Was their flight delayed or even canceled? Were they finally squeezed into a plastic tube along with hundreds of other exasperated passengers, where they were served plastic food by barely responsive flight attendants? And when they finally landed (late) could they find their luggage? Did the local natives, eager to separate them from the wealth that Merrill Lynch or Smith Barney or you name it helped them amass, bombard them with offers of tours, taxi rides, and trinkets? When they arrived at their destination, did the resort mess up their reservation so that they were forced to stay at the seedy little place down the road? And when they finally ventured out to partake of the local cuisine, did they wind up spending the next two days in the bathroom trying to control the flow of fluids of varying color, concentration, consistency and odor that erupted from both ends of their bodies?

You wouldn’t know that there are problems associated with travel from the commercial. What the advertiser is selling is a dream not a product or a service and the people in the commercial are characters right out of a fairy tale.

Every one of us has experienced some if not all of the difficulties discussed above. Why then do we travel? The most common answer is: “travel is broadening”. But most of us (myself definitely included) go to some foreign land not speaking the language and not having had time to learn much about its history and culture. We spend most of our time there touring with our fellow countrymen and our interaction with the local populace is limited to halting conversations with waiters and the people behind the desk at the hotel. At the end of the trip the only thing that gets broadened is our bottoms and that’s from sitting on buses and planes and eating rich desserts.

There are other reasons for traveling. Some people lead such lives of quiet desperation that they need to get away even if the only adventure they find is being insulted by waiters in Paris. Some people want to go where it’s warmer (or colder). For many it’s the anticipation of the trip. Wasn’t it Shelly (or maybe Keats?) who wrote about the anticipation of the taste of the grape upon the tongue? These people love reading travel books and planning their itinerary. By the time they arrive at their destination, however, it’s old hat and they’re busy planning their next trip. (I bet that’s what the couple in the commercial did when they weren’t in the bathroom.)

I’ve met some people, particularly senior citizens, who have a list (mental or written) of places they want to see before they die. When they visit a new country you can sense them crossing the sites off their list. And, last but by no means insignificant, is the traveler who visits far off places so he or she can boast about the trip–the more exotic the location and the higher the cost, the better. The more subtle practitioners of this art never talk about the trip directly, but always seem to mention it as an aside in the conversation. “That reminds me,” they say, “of when we were in Africa.” They never talk about price but provide enough details (usually too many for the bored listener) to let the victim know that the trip would have put a measurable dent in the bankroll of Bill Gates. “We were on safari. There was a guide, clad in ermine, for each of us, and we rode on our own elephant, outfitted with a diamond tiara headpiece.”

In the last analysis people probably travel with the subconscious wish to fulfill the myth of the commercial. This time it’s going to be perfect. It's like marriage: the triumph of hope over experience.

In the spirit of full disclosure I have to report that I ignored my own advice and at the end of last year traveled on a seventeen hour flight to Bangkok where I promptly took ill with acute gastroenteritis. I was hospitalized for three days and was forced to cancel the trip. So, why did I go to Thailand? Actually for none of the reasons discussed above. I went because our son, Paul, has been telling us what an interesting place it is and my wife wanted to go. It was also her birthday present. And lastly, I hate cooking for myself even more than I dislike traveling. Amos Oz had it right. If you want to learn about a country read a good novel that takes place there.