The Traveller The words of an excitable traveller

“Travellers”… who are they? What makes a person a traveller? Is it having the money to buy a ticket to another country? Is it having the ability to take breathtaking photos of your surroundings? How does one decipher between a “traveller” and one who travels?

Seven years ago, at the age of eleven, I found myself following a crowd of exhausted individuals out of an even more exhausted airport. Around me there was small chatter. There were families discussing their long flight, friends talking excitedly about what they would do next and people looking for help to find a taxi, a hire car or any possible means of leaving the airport. As I stepped outside of the Denver airport in Colorado, I stopped momentarily to absorb my new surroundings. The cold wind brushed against my face as my eyes darted around me. I stared at my unfamiliar surroundings in awe before continuing on with my family to find our shuttle bus.

The shuttle bus drove us from Denver airport to Copper Mountain, where we would remain until it was time to go back home to Australia. I spent most of my time on Copper Mountain in skiing lessons where I met countless new people from all around the world. Although I had travelled overseas a number of times prior to coming to Colorado, this was the first time that I had ever met new people. This was my first experience being able to share my time away from home with people I had never met before.

There was a cafeteria on the mountain where ski instructors would take their class to have lunch. “Jj’s Rocky Mountain Tavern” or Jj’s for short. It was not until the 3rd or 4th time going to Jj’s that I realised something that changed my perspective on travelling significantly. As I sat in the usually crowded Jj’s, surrounded by numerous strangers in a country I had never been to prior to this, I smiled to myself. I watched as my new found skiing buddies inhaled their food and talked with one another animatedly. The warmth in Jj’s diner was jeopardized for a split second as a group of people entered from the outside. My friend, Hunter, looked at me as I continued to smile.
“What is it?” He asked, as a piece of carrot hung onto the corner of his mouth for dear life.
“I finally know what it means to travel.” I responded, laughing. More of our fellow ski buddies had stopped talking to look at us.
“You’re crazy.”

I will never forget that day in Jj’s diner that I somehow felt at home, away from ‘home’. That is what it means to be a traveller.