The Rambling Man Fellowship (a sense of not belonging)

I've spoken (often) about my wanderlust here down the years, during which time, it's only accentuated. There was a time when I wouldn't have considered myself a Rambling Man, but a much-dreamed-of trip to Old Blighty when I was 16 changed all that. Drastically. To this day, London is still my true love. There is nothing like walking along the Thames on a sunny day, for me, nothing.

And it was during that trip that I first started getting a hankering for travel. Like most first-timers, I thought it was the building, the interesting snippets of history, the place. But as more experienced Rambling Men will tell you, it's the journey itself.

Cliche as it may sound, it's the act of going someplace else that turns us people on, not so much the place itself. And much as I've indulged this desire down the years, I've always felt there was something slightly wrong about it. Like, why can't I just settle? Why can't I just be content? Some people will book the occasional city break and get their fill, but me, I'm constantly scouting cheap airline tickets, and scrolling through apps like Booking and Tripadvisor. I have 4 or 5 international travel apps (For trains, buses, flights of course, and accomodation) going at all times. Even if I haven't used, say, my FlixBus app in over a year. Never once have I considered removing it, for that would be defeatist.

As it is, it's just there, a tap away for when I really urgently need it.

So as I say, I always thought that type of thinking was a bit defective. (Which didn't stop me getting around, of course.) Until last night, when I cracked open Billy Connolly's Rambling Man: My Life on the Road. I've been a Connolly fan longer than I've loved traveling, and reading the Big Yin's thoughts about travel, I finally felt "at home".

The one thing that made me feel less like an outsider was to be alone on the road. I'd leave the house and just start walking. I would go along the main street and see where it led me. I'd see the canal winding ahead, so I'd follow that for a while, wishing I had my fishing rod. I'd pass the Singer sewing machine factory and other places I'd seen before. I felt perfectly comfortable just walking by myself. I was on my own at last, and I felt enormously relieved. I realized that if I fitted in anywhere in the world, it was here, just rambling along to nowhere in particular.

Reading that, the feeling of recognition was visceral. I saw myself so much in Connolly's description of travel. I've never much empathized with people who think travel is visiting 5-star hotels in glamorous destinations and spending far too much money on restaurants they saw on TikTok.

Traveling is hitting the open road, and sitting on the bus long hours, and not knowing if and when you'll be out of this layover.

In my own books, I made up a culture called Travelers, who sort of follow their own chosen leaders, and go from place to place, seeing where life carries them. They're quite peaceful, 'cause they don't got time to worry about dynasties and governance or war. They just follow the journey that's laid out for them.

They don't think life's meant to be static. And rereading through my writing, I realize I don't, either.

Those who traveled did so not because they didn't have a choice, but because in a more settled environment they felt like an outsider. Such people have a deep and painful sense that they don't belong. They're in a place where they don't fit, so they wander off.

Reading that, I was nodding my head and almost had tears in my eyes. So many people view traveling as a fad, or a signal for money or whatever. It's not. As is probably evident with my writing, most of my budget is built around the possibility of future travel. All else pales, for me, in comparison to where the road might take me. So that's that for money.

In a sense, travel does seem like a luxury. Especially to people who hold down "proper jobs" and have "commitments". It seems childish, like you're running away from responsibilities, but it's not. There are few things more character-building than traveling for long periods of time, particularly solo. There's a great weight on you, you have to be aware, constantly learning things, paying attention, picking up cultural little tidbits.

It's just...the best.

In Romania, there's still a lot of that mentality about. Particularly in more rural settings, where people think travel is still really expensive and just a fanciful notion. Gradually, though, it's becoming less and less of a "fad", though. I started watching Yellowstone (finally) and one of the characters was talking about the unparalleled change going through real estate right now.

Cause before, people had to live in a place close to their job, or job-adjacent necessities. Now, people work from anywhere, which has markedly shifted focus to the environment you're living in. The view from the balcony. The parks nearby. That sort of thing.

The trouble with life is that it's pretty damn short, you know? And at the end of the day, you really don't have as much time as you may think for doing things for your job, but not for yourself.

Nobody's ever really lost. You just walk until you become unlost.

One of the happiest discoveries for me in the past couple of years has been that there's people like me out there. Billy's like that, apparently. So's my therapist (tremendous bit of luck, that). And with the fear of being defective because of my wanderlust out of the way, I turn my thoughts, as ever, to where to next?

To be fair, I've got a couple of short trips lined up in the next couple of weeks. And a German visit in May. But after and in-between? My mind's always on that. Rambling. Where to?