Travelers may be (actually, have been) classified along various criteria. For instance, there are those who, like Emil Racovita or Dumitru Hincu, to cite only a scientist and a philologist, before going on a trip, document themselves extensively, and their joy of digging up little-known or long-forgotten facts is imparted to the readers before even setting out. And there are those who leave home free from preconceptions, to experience the pure thrill (or shock) of discovery in situ. With dedicated TV channels, websites, magazines, and many more sources of information, however, one can hardly fall in the latter category these days. Except when having to fly unexpectedly to an exotic destination, such as Abidjan, like I did on a Christmas Eve in the mid-1990s. The decorated Christmas tree by the hotel swimming pool basking in the 30-plus degrees centigrade aside, I had to face more hostile peculiarities. I admit that I hadn't asked, but the Air France employee might have told their business-class (though for want of alternative) passenger that, at Houphouet-Boigny airport, unless one's health record, or vaccines against tropical diseases, or whatever, were in good order, to cross the border one had to almost beg (i.e. eventually bribe) the white-frocked man (and his 10-odd-year-old assistant) on the tarmac to escape the menacing syringe whose content one wasn't even curious to know. The next surprise was the freedom one feels when deprived of one's passport by airport police – think of its futility when traveling inside a country, and the danger of stupidly losing it, or having it stolen. Another surprise is the modern-looking city, with original high-rise buildings, some inspired by local tradition, interspersed with slummy corrugated iron shacks reeking of fried fish-and-bananas; all the same, I still don't understand why I was the only white pedestrian. The people are friendly, and it will even feel like sweet home to a Bucharester when accosted in the street with a familiar "Chef, I need some change or I'll miss the last bus home." One of my regrets is not having drunk hot chocolate in the land of cocoa; I may recommend the local instead but for the fear of a too frivolous tinge. This is not either an academic undertaking or a Baedeker. The temptation of an exhaustive account was luckily tempered by the sheer amount of material; accordingly, the criteria that operated in this issue were essentially reduced to two: most of the selected passages, if not outright literary, had to be as subjective as possible, even when the respective author had been on a scientific trip, since longitude, the population of a country and the like may be found in any encyclopedia; secondly, no geographic region was to be favored. We are certain that objections will arise on both accounts, and rightfully so; but remember, we never aimed to say it all at once! Naturally, it was the style and novelty of the writing that came first, irrespective of the period, though they may be uneven throughout the issue. That, however, is a risk we assumed upon embarking.
by Adrian Solomon
