Why We Travel to Difficult Places

The Pyramid of Skulls

The Basic Question

The sign in front of me read, "Please don't walk through the mass grave!" I was on the outskirts of Phnom Penh, at the site of the famous Killing Fields. After the Cambodian Civil War ended in 1975, the victorious Khmer Rouge began to purge the population of Cambodia. The wealthy, the well-educated, and the religious were the initial targets, but between 1975 and 1979, the Khmer Rouge killed over 1.7 million people from all walks of life. Many were worked or starved to death. Many were systematically executed at places such as the Killing Fields.

Visiting the Killing Fields is difficult. It’s difficult to stand next to the tree with the sign explaining it was used to smash babies against, killing them. It’s difficult to walk past the literal pyramid of skulls, wondering what story each nameless skull represents. It was difficult for me to explain to my children why anyone would set out to ruthlessly kill so many of their own people.

Of course, the difficulty of visiting such places is a candle to the sun compared to the experiences of those who lived through the horrors. I certainly don't mean to make any such comparison.

The Killing Fields outside of Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Why Do We Travel to Difficult Places?

What I want to know is: why do I choose to visit such places? I have a choice. I could have gone to Phnom Penh and skipped the Killing Fields. I could have gone to Washington DC and skipped the Holocaust Museum. I could have gone to Saigon and skipped the War Remnants Museum. But I didn't. I visited each, and took my wife and daughters with me. And I was never alone. These sites, and many more like them around the world, are popular tourist attractions.

Why?

Why do we visit difficult places?

Being from the U.S., it was extremely unpleasant to walk through the rooms of the War Remnants Museum, detailing the effects of leftover unexploded ordnance and Agent Orange brought to Vietnam by my country. At one point in the Holocaust Museum, my oldest daughter looked ready to explode.

These places aren't fun. They aren't relaxing. They aren't pretty. But somehow, my travels always seem to include one or two of these difficult sites. Why?

It might seem like difficult places teach important lessons. But is that really true? Did I need to see the Holocaust Museum to know that genocide is horrible? Did I need to stand in front of a mass grave in Cambodia, where buried bits of bone and teeth slowly make their way to the surface, to know that this was a tragic, terrible period in Cambodian history? Did I really not understand what would happen when bombs were dropped on villages of thatch and straw until I saw the pictures on the walls in Saigon?

No.

My attitudes, values, and beliefs were the same going in as they were coming out. I had already learned the morality lessons these places might teach.

Maybe it’s about understanding the tragic history of a place to better understand its present. But I’m not sure that’s true for the casual traveler either. My understanding of Cambodia and Cambodians didn't significantly change after visiting the Killing Fields. My visit to the Holocaust Museum didn't deepen my understanding of modern Israel.

Don't get me wrong: these tragedies were formative for the places they touched. Modern Cambodia is what it is in part because of Pol Pot. The Khmer Rouge left deep scars. But I doubt that a few weeks in a country gives most travelers the depth needed to fully grasp those impacts.

So maybe we go because we feel we must. What does it say about me if I go to Cambodia and ignore the Khmer Rouge's atrocities? Does it mean I don't care?

Maybe it does. I don't know.

For me, though, it’s about empathy.

Facing Tragedy, Finding Connection

I visit places in Cambodia, and Vietnam, and the U.S. that make my heart break, because in that broken heart, I find evidence that people are the same all over.

I have friends with whom I share only happy news. When I celebrate, they celebrate. But the people I feel closest to — my best friends — are the ones who share not only my laughter but my tears as well. They’re the ones with whom I truly share my life.

And what does travel do, if not convince us that wherever you go, people are people, and we are all sharing life?

So I go to places where I know my heart will break.

I don't go to feel sorry for anyone.

I don't go to learn that genocide is bad.

I don't go because I worry about what others will think.

I go because sharing sorrows is a fundamental way humans connect with each other.

For me, traveling is the ultimate way to participate in the human experience.

And that experience is about people.

The Khmer Rouge didn't attack a "them."

They attacked an "us."

The Cambodian people bore the suffering, but I empathize as a human, part of a large and diverse group, but still one group.

I go to difficult places so that I am connected.

Because travel is about learning how we fit into the whole of life.