Why do we travel?

Selfies in front of the Eiffel Tower. A way to disconnect. Plumping up on local delicacies. Hearing and picking up new languages. Hell, maybe Ryanair just had a deal we couldn’t pass up.

And whether we choose to travel because of this, or whether it is a side-effect of travel, one thing is clear: When we step outside our comfort zone, we broaden our perspectives.

Expanding Horizons

In my third year in Spain, I didn’t expect to expand my horizons all that much more, culturally speaking. I’ve had enough conversations about U.S./Spanish cultural differences to gauge my eyes out. Yes, Americans have dinner at six and Spaniards at nine–can we all get back to work now?

But I was wrong. Perhaps it’s because I’m older now or invested in nitpicking about culture for the sake of this blog. But this year more than any other, I’m more acutely aware of how traveling, or in my case, just sitting on my couch abroad, opens us up.

And it’s not always the places we visit, but rather the people we meet, that change us. (Pardon the cliché.) I don’t stay at hostels because of the great quality of the mattresses; I do it because I love meeting fellow travelers. I drink beers in bars instead of alone in my flat because a) I’m not an alcoholic and b) I crave social interaction, and hopefully a story or two from around the world.

Barcelona is the most cosmopolitan city in Spain, so it’s no surprise I’m not living with Spaniards or Catalans this year. I share a flat with an Italian and two Russian girls. We’re all in the Spain expat boat together, but I also get a peek into life in their home countries.

My roommates and me in Barcelona

Breaking the Tension

In today’s political climate, when the U.S. and Russia are best of frenemies, and FOX News is doing everything in its power to make Americans loathe and fear Russians, I’m all the more grateful for who I live with. Visitors to our flat have made joking comments before, and we’ve laughed about it too:

Two Russians and an American living together, and no WWIII to speak of.

In fact, we take turns emptying the dishwasher. We cook family meals together, and they’ll even let me throw in my socks when they’re doing a load of whites.

Imagine that. Not only civility between Americans and Russians, but friendship.

Unlike our countries’ leaders, my Russian roommates and I listen and learn from each other. They tell me two personal accounts of what life was like growing up in Moscow. They don’t make sweeping claims about a nation or political system. They don’t assume I own a gun; I don’t assume they sleep with nuclear weapons under their pillows. We talk about life, not politics, because three people have more in common than what the media leads us to believe.

They’ve told me all about Moscow; its frigid winters, White Nights summer festivals, and its grandeur. I used to picture all of Russia as Siberia, completely vast and barren. I never knew that Moscow was such a sprawling, lively capital, or that it is on par with Tokyo and London as one of the most expensive cities in the world. (Finding a cheap place to stay in Moscow‘s city center is like finding a FOX news lover who’s dying to visit Russia.) They tell me about touristy things to do there, like visiting the Red Square and Lenin’s tomb, or excursions beyond the city limits. But we mostly talk about friends and family, because all the rest, I could read in guidebooks.

I listen to them explain their life in Moscow: Family dynamics; religion, and breaking from it; holiday traditions; curfews; gender norms; old wives tales, which may hold some truth (but seriously, I still refuse to believe microwave radiation will physically burn me).

Their personal stories blow me away. We never have communal pasta dinners in our flat (and we live with an Italian!) because it evokes harsh memories. In Russia in the early 1990s, times were so bad that the girls essentially ate pasta and ketchup for a year straight. I try to wrap my head around how differently we grew up, but somehow all of us have converged in Barcelona.

My roommates don’t paint Moscow, or Russia in general, as a fairytale–there’s a reason they’ve come to Spain–but they’ve piqued my interest for a city I once never had the urge to visit. Meeting and befriending real live people is the number one way to cure bigotry, misconceptions, prejudice, and hate. It can also instill an insatiable travel bug.

The Key is Travel

Turn off FOX News, jump on a plane (if you can brave the risk of ebola), and meet a Russian. Or a Venezuelan or a Cuban or a Korean or an Iranian. People are people, not the sum of their governments, and the best way to understand that is to leave your living room. Travel changes us—that’s one reason it’s so addicting.

About The Author

Jenny

Jenny Marshall studied Language, Culture, and Society at the University of California Santa Barbara, and now teaches English in Spain. Here she writes about the intersection of language and culture, and lives a life translated by travel.