The Tourist and the Pilgrim

What looks like attainment in Milan—success, conquest, arrival—was experienced as one more letdown. What looks like the good life is experienced as loss of nothing less than one’s self. Just as the prodigal son spends down his inheritance to nothingness, so the wandering, ravenous soul consumes everything and ends up with nothing: no identity, no c

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Tourists, of course, are always other people; never us. We are different. We are travelers—intelligent, well-mannered, cultured, a blessing on our chosen destinations, a delight to have around. It’s a common attitude, and one that I have always found condescending and offensive, as well as inaccurate. If you travel away from home for pleasure, you’

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