I was waiting at an old dock for the next boat to Bergen that early morning in May, the crisp air in the idyllic Norwegian village carrying with it the scent of trees and deep, still seawater. The landscape was breathtaking and unique to this heavenly part of the world, where majestic mountains overlooked a network of meandering fjords. Small white homes dotted the green foothills. As my husband and I waited in silence for our boat to arrive, a group of enthusiastic American tourists bounded off their tour bus, their laughter hanging in the morning air. The leader of the tour carried a long stick with a red plush teddy bear perched on top in order to be easily seen by her charges. The group chatted excitedly as they waited for the boat, seemingly ignoring the exhilarating sights that surrounded them.

When the boat arrived, I took my seat by the window, not wanting to miss a moment. Two couples from the tour sat beside me. They loosened their scarves, unzipped their wind breakers and settled in, their conversation unbroken. “Yeah, I’ve been selling aluminum siding for nearly thirty years,” one man said to the other, his back toward the window. As the boat pulled out into the silent fjord, their conversation about the benefits of siding in the cold Midwestern climate continued, leading to a related discussion about furnaces and home insulation. I kept my focus on the beauty outside the window: the tiny boats that passed us, the farmhouses up on the hill, the falcons soaring above it all, and as I immersed myself in the visual bounty, I couldn’t help but wonder what these tourists would tell their friends and family about the boat ride when they returned home. 

I was recently reminded of that early morning trip to Bergen when I met a woman here in Los Angeles who’d just returned from a bus tour in southern Italy. When I asked if she’d visited some of my favorite places there—Puglia, Matera, the islands of Procida and Ischia—she shrugged. “I don’t remember,” she said. “But I do recall meeting a lot of fascinating people.” I was waiting for her to tell me, perhaps, of fishermen in small coastal villages or cooks in country kitchens, but instead she continued, “There was a farmer from Wisconsin and a fireman from Louisiana on the bus. I loved hearing their stories. Where else would I ever get to meet such different people?”

How fascinating, I thought, that she would make the effort to travel thirteen hours on a plane to another continent, only to converse exclusively with people from her own shores. I’m not implying that she not get to know the other Americans on the bus, but surely not to the exclusion of the people native to Italy who would no doubt be happy to talk with her.

As I write this, I’m preparing a trip to five European cities to lead creative writing workshops geared to new English speakers. It’s always a great privilege to be welcomed and embraced by people of other lands. I eagerly await every new workshop, knowing there’ll be a slew of new voices and new stories to hear. Of course, I also love to experience their culture, their history and their cuisine, but what excites me most is getting to meet dozens—and sometimes hundreds—of people who will write about their lives, their thoughts and their dreams, and then share it with me and others in the room. 

Most people, I realize, who travel abroad don’t have the opportunity or they choose not to teach, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have memorable and meaningful experiences with the natives of those lands. Last year, while visiting Bali, a restaurant server nicknamed Neely suggested we attend the funeral of an elderly man in her village, which would allow us to learn about ancient Balinese burial customs. Neely also invited us to her home to meet her family and partake in their evening prayer. We spent the late afternoon with the five generations of her extended family touring their compound and learning about their daily routine, which included the grandmother cooking a vat of rice on the wood stove each morning for her four sons and their families, while the sons and a few of their wives went off to work in the village. In the evening of our visit to the compound, we were transported in the pouring rain on the back of Neely and her husband’s motor scooters to a performance at their local temple to watch one of Neely’s teenage nieces perform. Those events made for our most satisfying memories of Bali, the ones I return to again and again in my mind. 

Perhaps some of the people I’ll soon be working with in Europe will write about aluminum siding (although I doubt it), but even if they do, it will be part of the fabric of their culture, not mine. Isn’t that why we travel?

Lisa Lieberman Doctor, the Creative Travel Writing Editor for Wandering Educators, is the author of recently published book, Accidental Poetry: Improve Your English Through Creative Writing.  She has been working with writers since 1977. Over the years she has served as: a development and production executive at Universal Pictures, Warner Brothers, TriStar Pictures (where she was Vice President of Robin Williams' company, Blue Wolf Productions) and several independent production companies; a staff writer on ABC's General Hospital, where she was nominated for a Daytime Emmy and Writers Guild Award; an expert witness in motion picture copyright law; and a writing instructor at the UCLA Writers Program; the California State University; The Esalen Institute; The University of the Balearic Islands; and the TV Writers Fund For The Future. 

Photos courtesy and copyright Lisa Doctor