A poem by Frankie Kennedy, suggesting that the exploration of fellow humankind is often the greatest form of travel. Illustration by Dave Hänggi.

Forget the trains, the trams,
the planes we would take to get there,
those miracles of rock, of stone, of glass.

Forget the bronze sand, the scent
of warm salt and spice, the music of foreign tongues,
that benevolent babble as dusk falls.

Forget the world’s cities and seas,
its forests and plains and mountains,
its buildings, its parks, its streets.

Forget all of this. The greatest adventure
does not live within continents, countries,
states or counties.

It lives in bone, in brain, in blood,
in the beat of the heart and the tip of the tongue,
the soles of the feet, waiting to run.

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