A Traveler, Not a Tourist

I want to walk through air-conditioned airports
To hear five languages on the way to my gate.
I want to walk through a new city
And be stopped by someone
From halfway around the world
Asking for directions on my way
To the bake shop for lunch.
I want to run up hills to see fields of lavender
And lawns of fresh green grass.
I want to ride a bike through villages
Untouched by tourists
And learn about the people’s families and stories.
I want to learn about their favorite
Place to have a picnic
And about the tree that still stands
Where they used to play as children.
I want to sit on a rooftop
And watch people as they go about their day,
Then go to the market and ask about all the foods
I have never seen before.
I want to hear about the biggest fish
That a fisherman ever caught
And the look on his face
When he pulled it out of the water.
I want to wander through a town,
Get caught by the rain,
And take shelter in a restaurant
That I never would have tried otherwise.
I want to learn about the northern lights
From the people who see them all the time
And find out if they look for shapes in them
Like I look for shapes in the clouds.
A reader dreams a thousand lives,
But a traveler lives a thousand dreams.