Pilgrim mind

I spent a month in Europe this past summer. When I returned, I gave a sermon at my church, Bell Street Chapel. This is the text:

A week before I left on my journey to Europe, I was talking about my trip with Lee Clasper Torch, a religion teacher at Moses Brown. He said that there were two different mindsets people bring to a journey, “Tourist Mind” and “Pilgrim Mind”. Although I had a sense of what he was talking about, I did not understand what he meant in any way that I could put into words. After two months of travel and reflection, I think I finally understand.

When you have a tourist mind, your primary role is that of consumer. You consume a cultural experience, whether that experience is a museum, a tour, or a pre-set three-course meal from a “tourist menu.” The people you meet are there to sell you a cultural experience. The tourist industry is, after all, an industry, and a large one at that. The people involved in the tourist industry aim to make money, whether they manage an intercontinental hotel, hock souvenirs, or organize city tours. It is an efficient industry, ushering people seamlessly from one cultural experience to another, away from the real lives of its city’s or town’s denizens. The tourist industry creates a barrier between person and place. Human connection, while not impossible, is found only in those narrow spaces between cultural experience and income. After a while, all the main tourist areas, Temple Bar in Dublin, The Royal Mile in Edinburgh, Grand Place in Brussels,and so on, all began to look the same, filled with the same kinds of souvenir stores, the same kinds of restaurants, and the same kinds of cheesy museums. The food and the souvenirs were different, but the feeling was the same.

There is nothing wrong with having a tourist mind. Many people, including myself, visit places to observe a culture or to see phenomenal sights. I went on my fair share of tours and museum trips. I even, regrettably, ate from a three-course tourist menu in Paris. But these pre-packaged experiences are not lasting or meaningful, at least not to me. They maintain our walls with other people, rather than bring them down.

When you have a pilgrim mind, your primary goal is not to consume prepackaged experiences but to create and learn from new and unique experiences. In the American heritage dictionary, one of the definitions for pilgrim is "One who embarks on a quest for something conceived of as sacred." This notion of a quest was an important one for my journey. In fact, I had several “quests” for my journey; for each city I visited, I tried to have a meaningful conversation with a local, exchange contact information with someone, and try the local food and drink. I reached my goals in all cities except Venice. I was also on a quest for the perfect beer. While I may or may not have found that beer in a 2000 Stille Nacht in Antwerp, my beer quest lead me to many a free beer, great conversations, and long nights of laughter. I was also on a quest to learn about myself, to see how I would fare visiting 14 cities in 8 countries with nothing but a 20-pound backpack. I had thought of some of my quests well in advance, but others only became clear to me throughout my journey.

The notion of the sacred was equally important. I found the sacred in all sorts of surprising places, both great and small. The first sacred place I found was, surprisingly, well, not that surprisingly to those who know me, in an empty bar, on the edge of the Dublin’s Temple Bar district during my second night. I had been to Temple Bar and Gogarty’s, large famous bars that were packed with tourists, Irish music, and expensive Guinness’s. While I enjoyed the music, I found it difficult to have a conversation in either one. I walked down the street and popped my head into an empty bar on the second floor above a restaurant. I turned to leave, but something told me to stay. So I did. I met George, the owner, a former engineer, who loves his wife and feels Dublin has lost its soul, despite its thriving economy. A couple of hours later, Darrough came to replace George. Darrough was younger and loved the new Dublin, and saw it brimming withpossibilities. Darrough, George, and I and talked to the wee hours of the night, way past closing time. It was the first of many such nights I had on my journey. Sometimes, it’s the quiet and empty spaces that have the most to offer.

I found the sacred in Paris. First, I must admit I struggled in Paris, despite my best efforts, which even included taking French for three months. I didn’t understand how people could charge 3 euro 50 for a coffee and found the people to be rude. However, on my second night, I saw one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. On the pedestrian bridge across from the Louvre, hundreds of people gathered in groups of 6 or 8, with bread, cheese, wine, homemade food, and guitars, and picnicked. They were living life as it was meant to be lived, with friends and family in community, accompanied by good food, drink, and music. In that moment, I understood the romance so many people have with Paris.

I found the sacred in Rome, in a bar called “Ma Che Siete Venuti a Fa,” where the owner, Emanuele, sat with me for 3 hours and shared with me some of the world’s greatest beers, gave me a t-shirt, and refused to take a dime, because to him, the authenticity of my enthusiasm and appreciation was payment enough.

Everywhere I went I met people who were open, friendly and generous. These were not the people paid to provide me a cultural experience, but just normal, everyday people, some of them fellow travelers, but mostly just people I met in restaurants, bars, or parks who returned my hello, or initiated it.

To be alone in a foreign country can be a freeing experience. It can also be a vulnerable one. In order to connect with others, I often had to go outside of my comfort zone, to force myself to talk to people. I had to bring a pilgrim mind and an open heart. Each time I did though, the rewards far outweighed the drawbacks.

Without bringing a pilgrim mind and an open heart, I would not have met Viola, an Opera singer from Cologne, Germany, whom I spent a day with in Bruges and Oostende, laughing and walking barefoot on the beach. I now count Viola among my friends, and we’ve chatted regularly since my return.

I would not have met Anna, a young German woman taking her first vacation in seven years, who recently regained her family farm, more than 20 years after the East German government took it away. I would not have met Frank, a Czech writer struggling with the competing demands of marriage, children, a full-time job, and a dissertation.I would not have met Noemi, a pierced tattooed circus performer from Bologna, who said she likes Rome because people do not stare at her like she’s a freak, like they do in the rest of Italy.

And I would not have met Emanuele, the bar owner from Rome, who uses a common love of beer as an opportunity to practice radical hospitality.I learned from all of these people and many more.

Their main gifts to me were their openness, their willingness to engage. In order to receive their gifts, I had to be equally open. And that connection, that connection to others, I think, lies at the heart of my journey. I feel as though I left as a citizen of the United States, but I returned as a citizen of the world.

For all the amazing art, the enormous buildings, the rich history, and the varied landscapes, what I’ll remember most are the people I met, their smiles and their laughs, The conversations with and generosity of friends and strangers alike.

Although I have been back for more than a month, my journey isn’t finished yet. I don’t know who will remain in my life from the scores of people I met along the way, and I don’t know how I’ll integrate the lessons of trip into my everyday life. But I do know, that for a month anyway, as a pilgrim in a not so strange land, I was my better self, and I saw the best in others. I’m already planning my next journey to Southeast Asia next summer. But maybe, between journeys, I’ll show the next pilgrim I meet the same radical hospitality that so many people showed to me.