Information Age

Backpack in tow, I hit the ground running in New Zealand in the fall of 1992. The plane ticket was one-way, the itinerary was rough, practically non-existent. The plan was to travel until the money ran out, and seek opportunities to work along the way to replenish funds. Travel. Work. Repeat.

Provisions were scant: tent, sleeping bag, Therma-rest, hiking boots, Birkenstocks, a week's worth of underwear, 4 pairs of shorts, 4 t-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt, one pair of pants, 4 pairs of socks, one jacket, one swimming suit, hat, toiletries and a towel that quickly became musty. Sony Walkman and some cassette tapes. Journal. Toilet paper. Water. Travelers checks. Credit card for emergencies only. And a few books.

If you can wind your brain back to 1992, you will recall it was a seemingly ancient, pre-internet and cell phone era. My trip was not documented by blog, facebook post or tweet, but in letters and on rolls of film. If I found the right kind of telephone, I called home to check in with my parents every few weeks. I developed rolls of film along the way, wrote details on the back of each photo, and mailed the photos home, a manual blog, if you will. I incessantly wrote letters to family and friends, and kept track of recipient and date mailed so no one felt left out. It was mostly a one-way exchange of information.

And then there was my friend, Poste Restante. Poste Restante is a service where the post office holds your mail until you claim it. A well worn joke? "Who is this guy, Poste Restante, that you keep telling me to send letters to?" 

With a rough itinerary in mind, I included contact information like this in every letter: "I will be in Darwin, Australia in July, so send mail to Emily Follman, c/o Poste Restante, GPO, 48 Cavenagh St, Darwin NT 0800." Every time I arrived in a scheduled, known destination, the first order of business was to run to the GPO and check Poste Restante for mail. More often than not, I left disappointed, my old friend Poste failing me time and again. During a six-week stint working on a grape farm in Robinvale, Australia, the workers at the Robinvale post office just laughed when they saw me coming again to check on my mail. It was few and far between. And it was depressing.


Fast forward to today, when this caught my eye: China reaches 1 billion mobile subscribers. The travel experience is forever changed by the connectedness of this era. Even if you are far from home, you are never far from being in touch. I wonder how this connectedness might have changed my travel experience. But would it have changed it for the better or for the worse? At least some of the communication might have been two-way.  

I know now that while I was on the road having new adventures every day, most of my friends and family were home, living their lives, and let's face it, most of our lives don't include riding in the milk truck, tubing through caves, or climbing active volcanoes. Maybe they didn't write because they felt like they didn't have much to say. Maybe they were busy. Or maybe I just had too much time on my hands. And maybe my poor old friend Poste is nearing extinction.