Back at work

I have many stories to tell but for some reason my thoughts are jumbling around my head like dice in the cup just before the toss. Perhaps its residual fatigue or perhaps its that I stayed up very late finishing this book - one that's marketed as the "thinkers" Da Vinci Code (and is entertaining in its way, but clearly not as good as Da Vinci). Either way, two things are clear: I have little focus this morning and the pictures I want to post with my stories are on my computer at home. Thusly, this post will be about two things.

Security

In the post-9/11 & Iraq War II world that we live in, it is normal to expect that there would be certain security procedures present in high profile locations. We, as a culture, have accepted those provisions and adapted our lifestyles accordingly. In London, for example, there are almost no trash cans since "the terrorists" could plant bombs in them set to go off at inopportune moments. Thus, Londoners litter with a passion, almost as if it's a patriotic duty to tarnish the city with cigarette butts, cellophane wrappings, and the various trappings that constitute the detritus of urban living. The act of littering has become more than simply a careless disregard for the Londoners environment; its evolved into a giant middle finger raised in the ultimate salute to those who would terrorize: "We will not be stopped from disposing our trash, even if you threaten our precious trash cans!" they shout triumphantly as they ever so subtly add to the layer of urban droppings that commuters like myself wade through daily and the men in shiny vests spend their lives collecting armed with only a broom and their ideology. Everyone does their part in the war on terror and the trash man is no exception.

Dublin, however, has not boldly joined the fight against terror by removing their trash cans. Instead, its almost as if they added more. It doesn't make the city that much cleaner (drunk people care not about trash cans), but it does make it a heck of a lot easier for gents like myself. Oddly, Dublin is a city almost untouched by the war on terror. Aside from a few (hundred) security cameras, you barely notice the presence of police and you never find yourself walking through a metal detector. In fact, given Ireland's tumultuous recent history, it's fantastically shocking to realize that the city has a disdain for the traditional "target hardening" measures so enthusiastically supported by the free spending Department of Homeland Security. Not once did I experience a security measure when entering a museum or exhibit in Dublin. Maybe that speaks to how far down the country is on the terror threat, but I think I have a better theory. Terrorism is nothing new to Ireland. It's not shocking, it's not chic, and it sure as hell isn't going to provoke the regulars out of the pub - at least not until that pint of Guinness is finished. Therefore, it makes sense that Ireland's response is more reasoned and calm than the US response. Combine the two factors and I think you have your answer: shock of terror plus high threat causes billions of futile expenditures that will never make the US safe but does make the people feel a bit more comfortable all the while lining the coffers of a burgeoning crop of "homeland security" companies. Want to create an industry, follow the US government model.

Anyway, all of that occurred to me as I was walking through airport security on Saturday. The Dublin airport was a crazed mass of people all twitching and vibrating in odd rhythms more expected at a dodgy rave than a busy international landing strip. When I finally got up to the security gate, I understood. The only thing they didn't do was strip search me. Pockets, belt, shoes, jacket - all of it in the conveyer. Mind you, leaving the UK, I didn't even take my jacket off when I went through the metal detector, not to mention my belt or shoes. It was an odd contrast leaving Dublin, not something I expected, but one that left a lasting impression. The entire process shouts of something that I had not pondered previously: Ireland had to do something to look like they were fighting the war on terror and absurdly excessive airport security seems to be what they selected. A small blip on the anti-terror RADAR sure to placate the US when this small island nation would never support the war in Iraq or other stringent requirements at home. "Fine," says the US, "just don't let them terror bastards use your country as a launching pad. Increase security at the airports so that they can't blow anything up."

What was truly most bizarre, however, was my re-entry into the UK. If you go through Heathrow or Gatwick, the passport inspection can be a serious pain. They can ask you a lengthy series of questions (even with a visa) and generally delay your trip home to the point of annoyance. At Luton, I didn't even get my passport stamped to verify re-entry, not to mention inspected. Customs was shut down; everyone entered through the "EU" aisle and no one had their bags inspected for contraband. It was shocking and something that caused momentary hesitation, but I quickly dismissed as I knew any delay would cause me to miss my bus back to the city. I still wonder if I "evaded" security out of error - mine or the airports, I'll never know.

Solo Travel

There is this romantic notion that is espoused by some and tested by many that traveling alone is exciting, fulfilling, and thrilling. One of the reasons I wanted to go to Dublin alone was to test this vision within myself - can I do it? Is solo travel for me? I'm not generally the type to like to do things on my own like that. Independent, yes, but not to the point that I can have a fulfilling existence without meaningful contact of others. I'm a social animal, as I believe we all are, and solo travel flies in the face of that enduring reality. How can one have a meaningful interaction with people that are ultimately transitory in our lives? Then again, aren't most (all?) people ultimately transitory in our lives?

There are advantages to traveling alone. You set your schedule, you decide what you want to do and see, you can wait to eat lunch until your famished to the point of dropping because you couldn't be bothered to find food at the appropriate time, instead choosing to sacrifice sustenance at the alter of touristic discovery. All of these are things that I did and will do again when I travel solo. But, even those advantages are coupled with an ever present and more important disadvantage: life's journey is just more meaningful when you share experiences with another of significance. It impacted me little to meet an Aussie and tour the Jail with him aside from the genuine enjoyment of another's company for a brief moment. I found myself wondering at times what the trip would have been like with friends or family, what they would have thought, what fun we would have had.

This is not a desperate plea for female companionship. That comes to us all in time and it's something I've enjoyed in the past and from time to time in the present. But it's not about that. It's about sharing experiences with someone of significance, be it a brother, a sister, a mother, a good friend, a lover. This is where the solo traveler experience departs from my ideal. Yes, I can go it alone. Yes, I can enjoy myself, meet interesting people, and have a great trip. Those questions are not in doubt. What is clear, however, is that those experiences pale in comparison to what could be experienced when you travel with someone you truly care about, someone you are truly close to. It's not that solo travel is bankrupt, it's that when compared to traveling with someone you are close to, it can't compete.

I'll end this missive with the following: I'm sure that I will travel alone in the future; it's an inevitability that I see no escape from. I'm also confident that I will enjoy myself, I will go places, see things, and do things that I've long dreamed about and that will be fulfilling in its own right. But, if I had a preference, I'd do those things with someone who mattered, not a random character on a similar road of isolation.