The intellectual habit of facing inevitable questions
Magazine G's third question: "Why do we travel?"

Despite our instinct to seek safety and comfort, we are constantly on the move.
Why are we willing to embark on unfamiliar and uncomfortable journeys?
What do we gain from repeating leaving and returning?
What makes us travelers?
The third question of 『Magazine G』, which started by asking about ‘me’ and examined the boundary between ‘friend and enemy’, is “Why do we travel?”
Set in a world where movement has ceased, we hear the stories of twenty travelers.
From the daily life of a travel writer whose feet have stopped moving to issues related to the right to mobility for people with disabilities.
From the vision of the future of space travel that is just around the corner to the everyday scenes of Okinawa that still harbor long-held pain.
From travel tips for the sensitive to travel stories of contemplatives traveling between the East and the West.
The traveler's insight is based on the will not to lose sight of the curious eyes of the stranger.
Meet the eyes of travelers who revisit familiar things and embrace new things with a generous heart.

There is no way to be a traveler without leaving.
Even without moving from familiar places, familiar sensations, and familiar order, you can still be an enjoyable tourist if you are supported by excellent technology and content.
But I can't be a traveler forever.
The attempt to see what is invisible, the inevitable movement toward a space that seems out of place, the thrill of touching the unknown – these are the things that make us travelers.

--- p.
19

After the war, Okinawa became a US military base.
An autonomous government called the "Ryukyu Government" was established, but the final decision-making authority on its policies lay with the US military government.
The US military occupation lasted 27 years until Okinawa was returned to Japan in 1972.
Meanwhile, a vast US military base was built around the main island of Okinawa.
The base remains to this day, even after Okinawa was returned to Japan.
The Japanese government is currently planning to build a huge new military base by reclaiming land from the sea near the remote town of Henoko.
Within this history and structure, how can the desire to say, “I like Okinawa,” as a “Japanese” (of course, “Japanese” here is used to distinguish it from Okinawans) be justified?
--- p.
45

The human journey began when early humans left Africa 1.7 million years ago.
Since then, humans have made countless journeys.
One of them, the archaeologist's journey, can be defined in one word as 'day drinking'.
Drinking during the day may feel good to you, but it is a sad thing that makes people watching you click their tongues.
The archaeologist's journey seems similar.
It's not a tourist destination that everyone else goes to, but a destiny where you do research in mountains and forests that you've never heard of, get bitten by mosquitoes, and tap away at your laptop while driving on unpaved roads.
So archaeologists spend most of their lives on the road.
They rarely see treasures like gold, and spend their lives fiddling with pottery shards dug up from the dirt.
But if it weren't for that one joy, there wouldn't be any of the museum's numerous artifacts.

--- p.
57

The self that embodies the structure of a bottomless pit, the self that is caught in the cycle of lack of enjoyment and surplus enjoyment, is today's traveler.
Travel promises this self a surplus of enjoyment, but never fills what he lacks.
So, perhaps we too should hate traveling for similar reasons to Levi-Strauss's.
Travel renews our bodies and minds to be ready for wage labor again.
Travel reproduces the self defined through the cycle of wage labor and consumption, the cycle of lack of enjoyment and surplus enjoyment.
The further you go, the more firmly you affirm life here and now.
"If I could travel abroad once a year, wouldn't this be a decent lifestyle?"
--- p.
61

I want to stop this nonsense now.
If it's writing that substitutes external things for the self, it's a bit boring.
If things that 'looked pretty good after writing them down' no longer look as good as they used to, what should I write now, and what can I write again?
This is a concern that has persisted since my visit to Tunisia.
In a foreign land where I can only exist as a thorough observer, my self-reflection as a writer by profession deepens day by day.
The more inspiration I received from traveling, the more this was true.

--- p.
82

Migration is a phenomenon that cannot be explained solely by benefits such as the ‘pleasure of travel’ or the ‘fruits of growth’.
Mobility imposes certain costs on individuals, society, and ecosystems.
If the cost exceeds a certain level, it may be stopped altogether.
The 'balance between benefits and costs' and the 'changes in balance' that occur between the two elements over time are the most important frameworks for reflecting on the past and present of movement and travel and envisioning its future.
Without finding that dynamic balance point, which is realized in a unique space-time and appears quite robust, but can actually collapse even with a small shock, no movement can be realized in reality.
--- p.
123

The memories that taste unlocks are not just about a bowl of food and a table, but also about the feelings for the people who shared it, the atmosphere of the restaurant, the music that flowed, the reason why one was there at that time, and the trajectory of life that led one to that path.
When you experience that taste again at the right time and place, you remember and understand places and times you thought you had forgotten, and sometimes even the circumstances of others you had never experienced.
That's why people go out of their way to visit El Floridita, where Hemingway drank his daiquiri, and recreate the movie's menu, which includes jajangmyeon with chae-kkeut-sal.

--- p.
152

The inspiration you get from common tourist destinations and attractions across the country is usually similar.
This happens because of stuffed information and standardized approaches.
All we can do is fill in the gaps in time with vague imagination through stories excerpted from history or restored buildings.
Finding a temple site is a little different.
Only traces of the once prosperous temple remain in the empty lot.
Here and there, stones that were used as foundation stones for buildings have broken through the ground, and there are a few remains scattered around.
If you pay a little attention here, you will see that there are preserved stone objects that have been covered with the thickness of time collected in the area.
The fun lies in wandering through a vast, empty space, using your own imagination to create images of the past.
It's empty, so there's a lot to discover, and there's content to fill in the gaps with imagination and analogy.
Perhaps it can be said that in a space of contradiction, one feels pleasure.

--- p.
177