in art. I found montage paintings compelling
than realistic landscapes. I liked chaos, and the
secrets of order deep within disarray.
I call people who are on lifelong journeys of
self-discovery ‘travelers’, because real travel
involves a bit of risk and even danger; it works
without foresight, making decisions on the
spur of the moment, and asking oneself each
morning, “Where should I go today?”
As opposed to a traveler, a tourist seeks a
planned schedule of visiting pre-planned sites
and events. For the tourists, reservations are
a must, always craving safety and predictability.
Tourists are buying ‘canned experiences’.
In our daily lives, we are either travelers or
tourists. The known is the friend of the tourist,
and the unknown is the friend of the traveler.
Being a traveler of the spirit, and seeking
adventure of the mind, are metaphors of
one another.
My first adventures were in playing hooky
from primary school. I’d use these escapes to
cycle off alone into the wilderness discovering
raw nature, or walking over to the university
student centre, watching abstract art
films, which were often very negative, about
concentration camps, ethnic cleansing or
prostitution. They exposed me to the lives
of the oppressed, and I came to know that
there was ‘another world’.
In 1963, I traveled from American coast to
coast, through Arizona visiting Taliesin
West. After an inspiring afternoon, another idea
struck me: there was a crazy man in the desert
who made bronze bells I’d read about in
TIME magazine. Recalling his name was Soleri,
I thumbed through the telephone directory,
finding a Paolo Soleri, and immediately
telephoned him. He answered, “Come right over.”
The next few days were spent exploring in
the desert with him, visiting underground
shelters, experiencing manmade cave-
dwellings, and learning how, in the backyard
of his ordinary house, he made bronze bells that
sold for thousands of dollars! Years later, he
became very famous for ‘Arcosanti’, his utopian
city in the desert.
During that visit Paolo Soleri shared with me
the concept I now call, ‘the culture of
construction’. He taught me that every building
has a place, and each place has its unique
materials, climate, craftspeople and
construction technology. So, traveling sparks
one’s imagination! Traveling knits enriching
friendships, and introduces one to gurus,
who expose the true personae within oneself;
and new possibilities of who you can be. One
learns innate truths and concepts that
will be carried through a lifetime. These
insights are what we call inspiration.
My roommate reached Harvard in 1966,
arriving from a 15,000-kilometre bicycle journey
around the borders of America, making him
my guru of adventure. The next summer we
bicycled 1,500 kilometers from Paris to Athens,
where I attended the Delos Symposium. We
entered countries with no visas and survived on
the hospitality of simple villagers and of
friendly small-town people who took an
interest in our life’s journey. In the summer of
1967, along the back roads of Yugoslavia, I
became a global citizen. I learned of humanity
traveling down back roads forbidden to
foreigners in a Communist country; everywhere
making friends out of strangers. In Athens,
and on board Doxiadis’ yacht, I befriended
Margaret Mead, Buckminster Fuller, Arnold
Toynbee, and my patron, Barbara Ward, and
other thought leaders of the 20th century. Ten
days in the Aegean Sea, hearing their stories
and learning of their worldview, inspired me
eventually to settle here in India.
In the afternoons, our small group would
explore classical Greek sites. One evening at
Samothrace, Professor Toynbee requested me
to assist him in climbing up the hill behind
the famous ‘Winged Victory’, temple, where
he thought an undocumented crusader fort