The philosophers and the prophets, thousands of years ago, understood by intuition that travel transforms a person. What is interesting is that the science of psychology today confirms that same intuition with research and with figures. What was once only a feeling has now been measured in scientific studies: travel is a real medicine for the soul and the mind of a human being — and perhaps one of the medicines with the fewest side effects that mankind knows.
Let us review the findings one by one.
Calm and the lifting of fatigue. The first and most tangible effect of travel is the one every traveller has tasted: release from exhaustion. Modern life keeps our bodies in a continuous cycle of stress hormones, and it is this unrelenting pressure which little by little leaves us tired, unmotivated and worn out. Travel, by drawing us out of our routines and our responsibilities, breaks that cycle; the mind finds an opportunity to start itself afresh — something like switching a tired machine off and on again. Research shows that a holiday journey lowers the level of cortisol (the stress hormone), in some cases improves sleep, and lifts the mood. And this effect is not fleeting; in a study carried out in Austria in 2018 on a group of organisational managers, the effect of travel was still present up to forty-five days after their return, and the reduction in stress and the increase in the sense of wellbeing remained for up to fifteen days. A good journey, put simply, is the recharging of an empty battery of the mind.
A shield against depression and anxiety. The effect of travel and of nature upon mental health is likewise striking. A meta-analysis at the University of East Anglia in Britain, examining data from more than two hundred and ninety million people, showed that exposure to green space is associated with reduced stress, lower rates of high blood pressure, less cardiovascular disease and less premature death. A change of surroundings, even for a short while, allows the brain to set down the heavy load of its worries and draw a fresh breath.
But one condition. Researchers have also found something important: the psychological benefit of a journey usually fades within two to four weeks of returning — unless the journey is undertaken consciously and “present in the moment”, and is not merely flight and displacement. And this is precisely what Seneca said two thousand years ago, and which we recalled in the first chapter. Two thousand years apart, and one and the same conclusion: travel heals when the traveller is truly present and active within it.
The building of character: openness, self-confidence and resilience. A good journey does not merely improve one’s state; it builds the person. According to research, travelling to other lands strengthens two important traits of character — “openness to experience” and “agreeableness” — that is to say, it makes a person more open, more receptive and kinder. Beyond this, travel necessarily draws a person out of his comfort zone: in an unfamiliar place, with a language he does not know and a route he does not recognise, he must solve a problem and overcome the fear of the unknown. Each time a traveller comes through such a challenge, his self-confidence and his resilience grow. Travel is, in truth, a practical exercise in courage.
An open mind and creativity. Direct encounter with different cultures and different ways of living does to the mind exactly what Montaigne described centuries ago: it breaks the sleep of habit. Psychological research has shown that living and experiencing life within another culture appreciably increases creativity, because the brain is compelled to see problems from new angles and to construct new solutions. Fresh experiences activate new neural networks in the brain, and this is why so many artists and writers have found their best ideas upon a journey. Even for the elderly this freshness is an asset: one study has shown that older people who travel further afield have higher cognitive scores and keep their minds younger.
The sense of wonder. One of the deepest gifts of travel is what psychologists call “awe”: that moment when we stand before a vast mountain, a boundless sea or a magnificent building and feel ourselves to be small. Research shows that this sense of being made small before the greatness of the world is remarkably beneficial: it reduces self-centredness and personal anxiety, lowers stress, and makes a person calmer, more generous and more connected to others. Someone who has seen the greatness of the world is less easily trapped in the narrow confines of his own small sorrows.
The healing of wounds and of grief. It is for these very reasons that doctors and psychologists today prescribe travel and nature as treatment. The practice even has a formal name: the “green prescription”, or nature prescribing. In Canada a programme called PaRx has become well known, in which more than five thousand doctors prescribe “time spent in nature” for their patients and even give them an annual entry card to the national parks. In Finland the recommended “minimum dose” is five hours a month in nature, and in Japan “forest bathing” (shinrin-yoku) has been recommended since 1982. One participant in these programmes in Britain said that it worked better for him than medication. And travel, especially in a time of grief and mourning, is a companion beyond compare; many who have lost someone dear have found, in walking in nature and in travelling, a space in which to weep, to think, and to come to terms with their pain — a place where, far from the eyes of others, the soul can tend to its wound.
Lasting happiness. And perhaps the deepest finding of all is that the happiness which comes from experience is more durable than the happiness which comes from possessions. Thomas Gilovich, a psychologist at Cornell University, showed in a twenty-year study that spending money upon experiences such as travel produces a more lasting happiness than the purchase of material goods; for goods grow old and ordinary, whereas the memory of a journey stays with us to the end of our lives, and every time we call it to mind we are made happy again.
The other side of the coin: the suffering of not seeing and not going. So far I have spoken of what travel gives us; but to complete this chapter we must look also at the other side of the coin, and at what the absence of the possibility of travel does to the mind. This section, to my mind, is the most important part of this whole chapter.
So long as a person lived in some remote corner and knew nothing of the outside world, he supposed that all of life was what he himself had experienced, and there was a certain peace in that ignorance. But today the media — and social networks above all — have brought that wall down, and what they display most of all is the exceptional and glittering life of the wealthy and of celebrities. Someone living in limited circumstances constantly compares himself with these polished images and feels that he has been left behind by a caravan full of wonders.
Psychology knows this phenomenon well. According to Social Comparison Theory, put forward by Leon Festinger in 1954, human beings have an innate tendency to evaluate their own abilities and opinions by measuring themselves against others. When a person compares himself with someone in a position “above” his own, this process is called Upward Comparison, and it brings anxiety and frustration. And now that more than four billion people are immersed for hours every day in this very comparison, the wound has become universal.
What is more troubling is a kind of “relative deprivation” — the feeling that one has been left with less than others. This feeling has been linked with depression and anxiety, and at the level of society it is one of the oldest explanations for the roots of unrest and public discontent. When such a feeling becomes epidemic among a great mass of the world’s people, it can turn into anger, into violence, and into a loss of trust in those who govern society.
And here the remedy becomes clear: if “seeing the world without the ability to go” is what makes people ill, then “the ability to go and to experience” is the cure. When a person can travel easily, and can experience the technology of the day and the amenities of a decent life close to where he lives, that painful gap between “what he sees” and “what he has” is filled; envy gives way to participation, frustration to hope, and passivity to human dignity.
Easy access to travel is, before it is a matter of comfort, a psychological relief and a guarantee of social calm and stability.
So travel heals by its presence and wounds by its absence. And this is perhaps the most important reason why the possibility of travel must be taken out of the monopoly of a few and turned into a right belonging to all.
But before we come to the “how” of this, let us see in the next chapter what exactly the traveller brings home with him at the end of the road.
Sources: the Austrian study (2018); the meta-analysis by Twohig-Bennett and Jones, “The health benefits of the great outdoors”, Environmental Research, University of East Anglia (2018); de Bloom’s research on the post-holiday fade-out; studies on the strengthening of “openness” and “agreeableness” through travel; research on creativity and the sense of awe; the “green prescription” programmes in Canada (PaRx), Finland, Japan and Britain; the twenty-year study by Thomas Gilovich (Cornell University); Festinger’s Social Comparison Theory (1954) and the theory of relative deprivation; reports in Psychology Today, Time magazine and the World Economic Forum.