About Fear: On the mountain pass

Crossing the border from France to Italy in Bourg-Saint-Maurice, you have two choices. Option 1 is the tunnel. The tunnel is fast and boring. For this experience, you pay 50 euros. And often you wait to enter.

Option 2 is scary: the mountain pass Col du Petit-Saint-Bernard. No waiting. Instead, your car needs to climb two thousand meters. It takes 2 hours of breathtaking serpentines. It is a gateway to a different world. You touch the heaven, then come back to earth. You pay nothing. But not many people take this road. At this altitude, snow in the Summer is not uncommon. Ice on the serpentines can be deadly. And most people heading to Italy have summer tires.

I choose option 2. As my van continues climbing up, down in the valley I can precisely see the long line of cars waiting for the tunnel. God bless the tunnel - my road is free of cars, empty and quiet.

The landscape changes at every turn. The roar from the distant highway is not even audible. It becomes cold and silent. I am now surrounded by trees, rocks and clouds.

Then it changes again. Trees disappear and give space to rugged alpine landscape. The evening comes. I arrive at the pass. There’s rocks, two small lakes, a mountain stream, and patches of snow. There’s the immensity and majesty of the mountain. I spontaneously decide to stop for the night. I am alone, except a few other campervans parked far away. I listen to the wind and water.

Something strange happens. I am in the point of my journey which I feared the most. And the fear disappeared. The mind stands still.

This brings me to the second part of this essay.

Making Sense of Travel: About the Fear

It may be time to slowly confront the headline of this blog.

One reason for travel, especially travel alone, is to confront the fear.

The fear has so many dimensions. There is fear against getting out of our comfort zone: confronting the people, or the powers of nature. Getting harassed, attacked, robbed or scammed. Being visible, exposed or spoken of. Being alone, lonely and helpless. And so on.

Preparation for travel includes confronting these fears.

Then comes liberation: but no sooner than when you close the door behind you, and drop the keys in the postal box. Only once you have reached the point of no return, the daemons fade and soon are gone for good. The reality turns less scary, and more fascinating than what you had imagined.

By confronting the fear, I do not mean being stupid or reckless. Dangers exist. Rather, I mean learning to tell between the imaginary dangers and real ones.

Some examples…

People who never camped are afraid of wild animals. People who spent their life outdoors are not. Animals rarely harm people. Instead, those savvy travelers focus on prevention of hypothermia or dehydration.

I met a Dutch campervan owner afraid of being robbed in France. The French gangsters allegedly put you asleep with gas. I asked French vanlifers if they heard of it. They said: yes, this happens a lot … in Spain!

Europeans are afraid of wild Africa. In Senegal, I showed the following image to my local friends. I asked how they understand it.

The reaction was priceless: “Nice hairstyles! But why is one man in the cauldron?” The Senegalese did not get the point.

Real dangers are typically different from what our cultural limits makes us believe. Getting out of that box is so liberating.

…

As the night falls, the mind stops wandering and finally starts still. What will tomorrow bring? I realize the fears are gone. The immensity of the mountain has done its work. In this place between heaven and earth, I observe the last, lonely car climbing up the road. I hear no engine, only the long flares illuminating the mountain. What a spectacle.

This is the meaning of travel.

Good night.