Katherine's blog

Encountering people unlike ourselves is, often times, an inevitability, especially if one travels to new territory. It’s part of the excitement that comes with exploration and going off the beaten path. I find that this is often an energizing mentality, one that really gets your attention, which was the case in reading all of these travel stories.

Thinking back to the possible motivations for travel that we had discussed early in the course, each of the travelers that we read about had different driving forces that impelled them to travel: Odysseus wanted to get home to his family in Ithaca, Ibn Battuta began with a pilgrimage to Mecca, and Christopher Columbus was in search of riches and a Westward path to the Far East (amongst many motivations) for his Spanish patrons. Whatever the reasons were, all of our travelers encountered different, often unfamiliar, cultures and religions… with mixed results.

Herodotus’ travels are distinct in my mind because of the fact that he actually wanted to document different cultures. He deliberately sought out different peoples, and that was the impetus for his travels. This attests to a sense of curiosity on Herodotus’ part, and I really enjoy the simplicity of that fact. Many other travelers had more materialistic goals in mind, but out of all of them Herodotus displays a straightforward, genuine curiosity that frequently imparts a traveler. And this curiosity plays a big role when the unknown is involved; it can push you to seek out experiences and many times, you learn from them.

Herodotus’ anthro-historical approach to documenting Egyptian culture sometimes wore on me. By employing an objective documentation style over a retelling of personalized encounters, the interaction of cultures was more subtly displayed. I personally think that you lose much of the pizazz in this format because it is precisely the clash of you versus a different culture that makes it interesting.

Our fascination with Otherness is not a new phenomenon. It is precisely the reason why Marco Polo’s book was so popular; people read it for entertainment, and as the first person to travel as extensively as he did in exotic lands, he was the one to paint a detailed glimpse into an empire that was very different from their own. Here, the role of the Other moves between Khublai Khan/various Asian cultures and Polo himself; while we read it from Polo’s perspective and viewed the Khan as the strange Other, the Khan himself also points out Polo’s otherness as he travels his empire and wants to learn more about Western practices and Christianity. This highlights the paradox of otherness – its relativity, which depends on perspective.

And perspective is something that is lost on Christopher Columbus, of which is apparent in his encounter with the native peoples in the Americas. Blinded by his desire for conquest, he perpetuated his own unfaltering conception of who the natives were, a view that stressed their Otherness over a more fundamental concept, their humanness. Nowhere than in Columbus’ account do we see a more flamboyant display of ethnocentrism, such as his claiming of their land via verbal proclamation, a very Western act. All of the previous travelers clearly (and instinctively) utilized their own culture as a reference point for apprehending new lifestyles, and that is a natural way of trying to understand something new. But with Columbus, we see a violent clash of cultures, where otherness invokes fear and withdrawal rather than openness and toleration.

The various ways in which people have dealt with otherness during travels is a theme in which I find fascinating. Each author highlights different points about how otherness interacts with our travel experience, evoking feelings from fear to intrigue to a dependence on what is familiar to us. I definitely think difference and exoticism play key roles in present-day travel. Travelers today are intrigued by cultures that differ from their own, and this is a large part of why people throw out their guide books and go local. In today’s more tolerant world, otherness is largely an asset, appealing to our innate penchant for curiosity. And ultimately, I don’t think that is a bad thing for travel.

While Prospero is the man who is largely pulling the strings in the events of The Tempest, the character of Caliban intrigued me the most. He is introduced as a slave, with Prospero and Miranda often referencing his evil and deviant nature. As the story progresses, we see a portrait that develops from delinquent savage into demonic non-human creature, especially based on the phrases Stephano and Trinculo use to describe Caliban. Who is Caliban?

There are a lot of references to monsters and non-humanness surrounding the character of Caliban. “Servant monster,” “man-monster” and “devil” are just a few terms used to characterize Caliban; “Man or a fish? Dead or Alive? A fish!” Trinculo exclaims upon meeting him. His inherent savagery and apparent physical deformity makes it difficult to understand who (or what) Caliban is. I think that the shift from Caliban as an enslaved savage native to some sort of demon is subtle, almost interconnected in the two characterizations. This proves problematic when we look at Caliban under the lens of colonization.

After having encountered Columbus and Cabeza de Vaca, it is easy to associate him with the rhetoric of colonization. Caliban claims that the island belonged to him via his mother Syncorax until Prospero usurped it from him through magical domination. This storyline is all too familiar: inhabitants of the Americas are overpowered by European colonizers who bore guns and disease. So if Caliban was intended to represent the natives, is the monster theme appropriate? If we are to accept this view ofThe Tempest, I think that this language serves to dehumanize, making the savagery inherent in the Calibans of the Americas. It necessarily puts them in a subordinate role in relation to the Europeans, like with the wise Prospero acting as master to Caliban.

In the critical essay, “Shakespeare’s Indian: The Americanization of Caliban” we see the development of the colonization interpretation of The Tempest. It points out that this view was uncommon until the 19th century. Perhaps Caliban is not the noble savage from Montaigne’s Of the Cannibals.

Instead, I’d like to view Caliban more as a character of tragedy. Despite the awful characterizations cast upon him – that he is a monster and a brute – his lines are amongst the most intriguing. Poetic in nature, he speaks of the injustices he has undergone with Prospero’s treatment and highlights the irony of having taught him the ways of the island at the start. In spite of the ugly descriptions of his physical appearance and horrid nature, there is a strangely human quality about Caliban that, I think, emphasizes the tragedy behind his eventual foolishness.

Cabeza de Vaca’s narrative is one of captivity rather than conquest. While reading, I often forgot that he had originally come to the Americas in order to conquer. It was probably to be a lot like what we saw in the account of Columbus’ first voyage: claiming lands in the name of a King, Christianizing the local savages, gathering riches to bring back, imposing colonial rule for an obedient accumulation of followers, etc.

However, Cabeza de Vaca showed us that there are certain guidelines that conquistadors should generally adhere to in order to be successful. First and foremost, a conquistador must not be captured. This one is obvious. But it points to an even bigger no-no: don’t get too close to those you are attempting to conquer. In his captivity, he grew to empathize with the Native Americans. He developed a unique perspective that showed him the injustices of what they undergo with Western, Christian colonizers. This proves problematic when you think back to his original goals, for now he would not be able to “conquer” these same peoples. The job of a conquistador is made much easier when you apply a sense of otherness and maintain a psychological/cultural barrier between you and the people being conquered. This dehumanization is a key process in the conquistador’s duties, and Cabeza de Vaca’s experience with the natives helped to change his perspective. 

What is most interesting about Cabeza de Vaca’s adventure in the Americas is the reversed circumstances in which he found himself, captive and at the mercy of Native Americans. This role reversal is not seen in our other colonization narratives, namely Christopher Columbus. In Cabeza de Vaca’s journey he spends much of his time enslaved, subordinate to his Native American captors.

His own subjugation definitely had a profound impact on the way in which he experienced the foreign territory. The peacemaking friendship he develops with some of the Native Americans is extraordinary. It is the type of experience he never would have had had everything gone according to plan. The barrier between him and his men and the Natives would have been reinforced, continuing the colonizer/colonized and Western/non-Western dynamics. I definitely think that a different sort of perspective bloomed because of his captivity. It served to wear his guard down, and he took note of Native American practices. I find his entry into healing and magic especially interesting. And would he have become a trader had it not offered improved conditions over slavery? Probably not, considering his familial ties to conquest, in the form of Pedro de Vera.

Rolena Adorno’s essay, “The Negotiation of Fear” had some interesting points on the role fear played in his time abroad. She makes the point that fear is used by both parties in these encounters, something that did not come across as strongly in Columbus’ first voyage, and considering Cabeza de Vaca’s time with the natives, this is certainly true; it was not only the Westerners who intimidated the other side. Here, he dealt with various levels of fear, including fear that the land he found would disappoint his royal patrons back home and fear involved with physical survival amongst hostile captors.

But there is another type of fear that he had to set aside in order to gain the type of relationship that he did with the natives: “this is a third and final moment in the negotiation of fear: Cabeza de Vaca and his party are asked to negotiate away the terrible fears of the natives who have been terrorized by the slave-hunting Christians. Cabeza de Vaca does not mince words:

The sight was one of infinite pain to us ... the people thin and weak ... We bore a share in the famine along the whole way ... and they related how the Christians at other times had come through the land, destroying and burning the towns, carrying away half the men and all the women and boys ... They would not, nor could they till the earth, but preferred to die rather than live in dread of such cruel usage as they had received.(Hodge, 110)

His advocacy of humane treatment of these peoples makes him a Lascasian by experience rather than reading” (Adorno).

Ultimately, Cabeza de Vaca’s parting friendship with the natives is for the most part the result of his enslavement, which forced him to spend time around natives and their culture, and the setting aside of fear, which warmed him to the idea of them as people.

I was first drawn to this article in the Huffington Post, “Groupon Gets Columbus, But Not the Rest of Us,” because the headline is an intriguing intersection of historical (and travel-oriented) reference to Christopher Columbus and my own interests in the advertising industry. Using a recent Groupon Super Bowl television ad (which was produced by Crispin Porter + Bogusky and consequently pulled off the air due to controversy) as the case in point, the article raises some interesting parallels between the rhetoric used by Columbus and modern-day media representations of race and nationality.

Vamsee Juluri, author and professor at USF, argues that mass media portrayals of race are mere caricatures, without context and instead are reflective of the creators, rather than the race portrayed: “We are still talking at, around, and right through other people, as if they weren't really there, as if they weren't people at all,” critiques Juluri.

As discussed in the article and in class, Columbus appears to project his own imaginings onto the native people without considering the existence of their own culture and religion, demonstrating a time where “man colonized man by ignoring his voice.” Juluri contends that this same domineering perspective still exists in the language of our mass media, where “all that we see is a string of images hung out to display a narrative that is largely inside of one's own head and is almost entirely about one's own self.”

To be fair to Groupon, the creative idea behind this television ad was apparently to parody celebrity-narrated PSAs that are more about helping oneself than the cause, though this was lost in the execution. But it is interesting how, centuries after Columbus’ time, the reimagination of others continues on.

Amongst Christopher Columbus’ list of presumed motivations for embarking on this voyage westward was Christianization. He makes many references to bringing Christianity to the savages, who he assumes have no religion, and believed that he was on the cusp of Paradise at the cornerstone of the origins of man at the intersection of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.
 
However, in attempting to understand Columbus’ mindset through his written log-book and dictated comments transcribed by others, it is difficult for me to see a noble intent that truly centered on the spreading of religion. In one passage, he says “…your Majesties will discover from seven whom I caused to be taken and brought aboard so that they may learn our language and return. However, should your Highnesses command it all the inhabitants could be taken away to Castile or held slaves on the island, for with fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we wish.” Here, and in other similar instances throughout his log-book, Columbus appears to be prioritizing the sovereignty’s wishes at the top, consenting to perform whatever their bidding is. Furthermore, he displays an air of supremacy, outright declaring that they can forcefully enslave the native people. In another example, Columbus deviously tricks one of the native men: “I had not taken the ball of cotton from him, although he wished to give it to me. It was to create this impression that I had him set free and gave him presents.” He attempts to win their favor while concealing ulterior motives and priming them for servitude. In reality, Columbus had no issue with enslaving them for Spain. These types of comments run contrary to an innocent belief in conversion and the spreading of Christianity. Both the monarchs and Bartolomé de las Casas believed that they were to convert the natives and accordingly cannot enslave potential Christians. However, Columbus does not appear to hold the idea of converting others to Christianity to a very high standard.
 
This very debate is the subject of this article entitled, “The Religious Motivations of Christopher Columbus”. It considers the state of Europe during this time and looks at records leading up to Columbus’ first voyage westward. It points out that “we have failed to find any document dating from a time previous to the first departure which can be construed as a witness to any religious motives formulated by the Admiral,” which would have attested to some sort of premeditated religious inspiration prior to his encounters with the land and native peoples of America.
 
Likewise, I personally think that Columbus was not preoccupied with converting the native peoples. Conversion was to be a peaceful process, inclusive and nonviolent. However, Columbus had ideas for slavery and wealth from the very beginning. Christianizing the natives appears to be more of a means of suppression, a convenient byproduct, rather than an end goal. Columbus was not about conversion but conquest, and religion acted as a disguise for his scheming drive.

While we intuitively understand what a stranger is, attempting to break down one’s reception of a stranger and its implications can be a bit more difficult, for there are different reactions when faced with a stranger. This article entitled, “Strangers in West African Societies,” raises interesting suppositions regarding the stranger: “sometimes the stranger is viewed as a culture-bearer and is honored as a valuable asset by his host society,” (a scenario that goes both ways for Marco Polo and Kublai Khan); at other times, however, the stranger is held suspect, treated with a mixture of awe and suspicion, equated with the enemy, feared…” which happens more often than not. Though the article focused mainly on African strangers in disparate West African societies, the themes discussed present an intriguing foundation for our own analysis of Battuta’s travels.

 What makes his journeys unique is that he, unlike Herotodus and Marco Polo, traveled mainly within his own culture, one that was predominantly shaped by the pervasiveness of Islam. Battuta was never treated as an outsider, but rather as a fellow Muslim from another land. Here, the stranger mentality was distorted because his religion acted as a commonality shared between him and the people he encountered. While Battuta was technically a stranger, he was not received as such.

It makes me wonder how we are to perceive strangers in our own encounters – where is the line drawn? In a past research project on Couch Surfing, a response I received to one of my questions, Why do you think it is more active in Europe than in the U.S., was that Europeans seem less afraid of strangers than Americans. I definitely agreed with his opinion and thought this cultural disparity was pretty apt. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note the different ways people can react to strangers, from Battuta to couch surfers.

Ibn Battuta’s account of his travels struck me as very different from the way in which Herodotus and Marco Polo described their journeys. The most evident is the first-person injection in the descriptions of his experiences. Battuta begins by describing his (and his parents’) grief at his departure – “…I braced my resolution to quit all my dear ones, female and male, and forsook my home as birds forsake their nests. My parents being yet in the bonds of life, it weighed sorely upon me to part from them…” – and the illness that befell him. This takes a much different tone than what we encountered with Herodotus and Marco Polo.

But what was most distinct in my reading is the role of Islam and Muslim figures in Battuta’s travels and consequently, in his writings. In each town, there was at least one notable Shaikh that he needed to meet for blessings or a qadi who will show him hospitality. It is clear that his priorities are centered on his religion, a motive that we had yet to see so intensely in our previous readings. This is also seen in the way in which he structures his account. He travels from town to town, much of the time being directed there by people telling him about specific religious figures that he must meet. Accordingly, he digresses and offers background information on the miracles that were supposedly performed by such people. And so this is not simply a recap of travels but an anecdotal rendering of real figures in a historical context.

In addition, there is a sense of mysticism in Battuta’s account, both in his retelling of miracles and in the prophesy-like experiences he has with several Shaikhs. In one encounter, the Skaikh knew of Battuta’s dream and foreshadowed, “‘You will make the pilgrimage to Mecca and visit the Tomb of the Prophet, and you will travel through Yeman, Iraq, country of the Turks, and India. You will stay there for a long time and meet there my brother Dilshad the Indian, who will rescue you from a danger into which you will fall.’” Unlike Herodotus and Marco Polo’s journeys, which were filled with cultural curiosity and commercial venture, things that feel grounded, there is a strong presence of a non-earthly undertone that characterizes Ibn Battuta’s travels.

In my much belated post on some artifact related to Marco Polo, I thought I’d share yet another rendition of his tale: the comic book version. Published by Classic Comics in 1946, there is not much information on its contents. Rather, The Adventures of Marco Polo (Classic Comics edition) is regarded today as a collector’s item with appeal to comic book fans as opposed to historical Marco Polo enthusiasts.

Judging by the theatrical comic book style of illustration, the title that emphasizes his “Adventures” and the action-filled scene for the cover, I would guess that this comic book version leverages the fanciful, exciting escapades of Marco Polo’s travels. It is difficult to imagine any sort of encyclopedic account of the geography or the merchant tips in this interpretation, like in the translated manuscripts. But this serves as an amusing caricature of the distortions that Marco Polo’s tale presumably underwent over the centuries.

From one point of view, the Travels of Marco Polo is a story of how one man (along with his father and uncle) encountered the lesser-traveled regions of the Middle East, Asia, and parts of Africa. In this view, the audience follows Polo’s unique path through these regions and peoples, hooked by his adventures and curious about what his next moves will be.

But on another note, Polo’s tales are less about his encounters from his point of view but an attempt at experience by his audience, one centered on apprehending difference.  In his detailed, objective retelling of customs and practices, very much like Herodotus’ own style, one can tell that it is the cultural differences between the Western audiences and Eastern characters that take center stage.

In this editorial by Doreen Massey, which looks at questions of globalization today, there are stark parallels in how we tend to view the world in a time of globalization and “shrinking” due to communications technologies, and the presentation of Marco Polo’s stories. She frames perspective in a way that can be drawn back to Polo’s retelling, that “too often the question of difference, of cultural diversity and of the coexistence of otherness, is approached in terms of the world coming to us.” In essence, we do not realize the existence of difference until it has somehow entered our own lives – like in the case of Marco Polo committing his travels to writing for others to read – when in fact, it has existed simultaneously with us in another place.

And so Polo’s stories are more than him regaling his audience. There is an active participation with the audience themselves, in trying to comprehend cultural difference. Imagination plays a significant role, in that prior to hearing such stories, it was the only means of knowing difference. As Massey points out, “Susan Sontag offered the tangential but tantalising reflection at the end of her resonant essay, 'Trip to Hanoi,' the world seemed larger to her than when she had arrived.”

One thing that stood out to me in Herodotus’ description of Egypt is the way in which he conveyed distance: “…the lake of Moiris, to which lake it is a voyage of seven days up the river from the sea” or “from Heliopolis to Thebes is a voyage up the river of nine days, and the distance of the journey in furlongs is four thousand eight hundred and sixty”. For him (and I would assume most people of his time), he based the conception of distance on travel time. This system was pretty straightforward: a greater travel time most likely means that the destination was physically farther away. Coupled with universally agreed-upon measurement constructs, like furlongs or miles, the world that Herodotus knew seemed bigger and immovable.

But since his time, technology has changed the way in which we have come to know the earth, and it is intriguing to consider this shift after looking at how Herodotus experienced travel. People say that the world has shrunk. In addition to cars, trains, and airplanes, technologies like the Internet and social networking platforms have changed how we perceive distance. Traveling physical distance has become exponentially faster, and it is no longer much of an obstacle when it comes to the spread of ideas. We are interacting in a way that defies traditional distance, one that is not hindered by its physicality and brings inspiration in the form of global culture that is more accessible as a result of technology.

When we look at the maps created by ancient travelers, the goal there is to accurately recreate the earth’s layout. When we look at today’s maps, many are illustrating relationships that transcend physical distance.

Pictured Above: Infographic of Today’s Most Remote Places – Distance as a Function of Transport Networks

Herodotus made a life out of traveling almost everywhere, documenting the people and practices he encountered. He is regarded as both a historian and storyteller. It is precisely this fascinating mesh of methodologies – one of systematic analysis based on reason and facts combined with a humanistic interest in understanding different places and peoples – that catches my attention. Whether one considers him a historian, cultural anthropologist, explorer, or storyteller, Herodotus possesses an indispensible quality: curiosity.

Herodotus’ account of Egypt covered several different aspects, from its geography to its history and customs. He began with a geographic description, and as I followed his mental journey along Egypt’s presumed borders and topographical landmarks, I must admit he was already starting to lose my attention. His descriptive treatment of Egypt’s physical characteristics sounded flat, the matter-of-fact historian persona dominating his presentation. His geographic descriptions seemed detached from the Egyptian experience of the land, and his extreme thoroughness for minute details (for example, “…I have already before this shown that the distance along the sea amounts to three thousand six hundred furlongs, and I will now declare what the distance is inland from the sea to Thebes, namely six thousand one hundred and twenty furlongs: and again the distance from Thebes to the city called Elephantine is one thousand eight hundred furlongs.”) highlights Herodotus’ inclination towards scientific objectivity.

However, as I read on it became clear through his writing that there is this immense curiosity that underlies his personal theoretical considerations and penchant for detail. Taking the time to uncover such a vast array of cultural information speaks to an inquisitive nature that I believe forms the foundation of seeking out and appreciating travel.

It had struck me how open Herodotus seemed immersed in a situation where, “The Egyptians in agreement with their climate, which is unlike any other, and with the river, which shows a nature different from all other rivers, established for themselves manners and customs in a way opposite to other men in almost all matters.” But it is precisely this disparity that underscores how valuable curiosity can be – in the right (a.k.a. safe) situations. Curiosity is the positive motivation that pushes one towards learning. It helps people absorb new, sometimes opposing, ideas and puts their own knowledge in perspective. Amidst the intriguing Egyptian practices described, it is this underlying sentiment that appealed to me most.

There are many reasons why people travel. It could be educational, such as the Grand Tour of the 18th century or its modern-day counterpart of studying abroad. Others could be in search of riches and commercial dealings, making travel ancillary to obligatory business matters. Some look for fun and excitement, choosing exotic locales to explore or luxurious getaways for relaxation.

Whatever the reason for traveling, it seems that in most cases, travelers set out with a plan. What do you hope to accomplish with this trip – find rare textiles to sell back home, learn a foreign language, or perhaps see the Mona Lisa – and how will you do it?

Likewise, Odysseus had a very clear goal. He was set on going home to Ithaca. And as a result, he treated the act of traveling as purely functional; he sought the most straightforward means of getting to his destination, never viewing the experience of the trip itself as something he prioritized.

Odysseus had a plan, like many who travel. Wake up early, take photographs at top of Rockefeller Center, watch a Broadway play, see Times Square. Set sail with the whole crew, do not anger the Gods, avoid temptresses, arrive in Ithaca. But what I think is one of the most valuable elements of travel, valiantly demonstrated in The Odyssey, is the susceptibility towards the unplanned. Had Odysseus and his men traveled across treacherous waters uneventfully, then there would not be much to say about this trip. But instead, Odysseus amassed stories of blinding Cyclops, outwitting Circe’s potion, meeting the Shades of the Dead, and escaping the Sirens. The unplanned led them to adventure, albeit dangerous ones, and showed them things they would not have experienced otherwise. As John Lennon sang, "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans."

In my own travel experiences from studying in Florence, my favorites have always been times when I discovered something new because I had meandered down a different Renaissance corridor. There is an intensification of thrill and concern when you scrap your plans and guide books, but often times I found that I appreciated the experience more when it was something I had crafted unexpectedly myself. My default picture, also seen above, was taken during such an adventure, where I wandered the streets of Florence for an entire day and stumbled upon gorgeous views, funny graffiti designs, and my favorite, a vibrant carousel in an otherwise vacant, widespread piazza.