Passage one ( The only way to travel is on foot ) The past ages of man have all been carefullylabeled by anthropologists. Descriptions like ‘ Palaeolithic Man’, ‘NeolithicMan’, etc., neatly sum up whole periods. When the time comes foranthropologists to turn their attention to the twentieth century, they willsurely choose the label ‘Legless Man’. Histories of the time will go somethinglike this: ‘in the twentieth century, people forgot how to use their legs. Menand women moved about in cars, buses and trains from a very early age. Therewere lifts and escalators in all large buildings to prevent people fromwalking. This situation was forced upon earth dwellers of that time because ofmiles each day. But the surprising thing is that they didn’t use their legseven when they went on holiday. They built cable railways, ski-lifts and roadsto the top of every huge mountain. All the beauty spots on earth were marred bythe presence of large car parks. ’ The future history books might also recordthat we were deprived of the use of our eyes. In our hurry to get from oneplace to another, we failed to see anything on the way. Air travel gives you abird’s-eye view of the world – or even less if the wing of the aircraft happensto get in your way. When you travel by car or train a blurred image of the countrysideconstantly smears the windows. Car drivers, in particular, are forever obsessedwith the urge to go on and on: they never want to stop. Is it the lure of thegreat motorways, or what? And as for sea travel, it hardly deserves mention. Itis perfectly summed up in the words of the old song: ‘I joined the navy to seethe world, and what did I see? I saw the sea.’ The typical twentieth-century traveleris the man who always says ‘I’ve been there. ’ You mention the remotest, mostevocative place-names in the world like El Dorado, Kabul, Irkutsk and someoneis bound to say ‘I’ve been there’ – meaning, ‘I drove through it at 100 milesan hour on the way to somewhere else. ’ When you travel at high speeds, the presentmeans nothing: you live mainly in the future because you spend most of yourtime looking forward to arriving at some other place. But actual arrival, whenit is achieved, is meaningless. You want to move on again. By traveling likethis, you suspend all experience; the present ceases to be a reality: you mightjust as well be dead. The traveler on foot, on the other hand, lives constantlyin the present. For him traveling and arriving are one and the same thing: hearrives somewhere with every step he makes. He experiences the present momentwith his eyes, his ears and the whole of his body. At the end of his journey hefeels a delicious physical weariness. He knows that sound. Satisfying sleepwill be his: the just reward of all true travellers. 1 、 Anthropologists label nowadays men ‘Legless’ because