“I kind of like being lost” – An Interview with Elizabeth J. Haynes

All Lit Up: Thanks for taking the time to chat with us about your new book Food for the Journey: A life in travel. Can you share a little about how you came to travel writing?

Elizabeth J. Haynes: In my twenties, I started to keep diaries and notes when I travel (though not when I am home for some strange reason). When I came home from a trip, I would read them looking for ideas, characters or events that I wanted to explore in more detail. I always want to figure out what the travel, the people I met and the places I visited meant to me on a deeper level.

ALU: Travel writing sometimes risks the familiar and readers may feel like they’ve seen it before. How did you approach writing about popular destinations in a way that felt fresh and personal?

EJH: I do travel to some popular destinations but try to visit less touristy sites there. For example, on a trip to Puerto Vallarta with my folks, my mom and I decided to take a local bus to visit botanical gardens outside of town where an overly familiar talking parrot entertained us, and we explored the quiet hiking paths and native flora. Best of all, there was nary a time share salesman in sight.

I have an affinity for the quirky, the unique, for places, people or events that strike me as unusual, poignant, funny or interesting. I bring myself into my writing by exploring things that anger, inspire, amuse or haunt me: like the little girl in Cambodia to whom I thoughtlessly broke a promise. I remember traveling by bus on a dangerous mountain road from Srinigar to Leh, India, passing Burma shave signs with funny but sobering messages like “in a hurry, please don’t bother, let your children have their father.” I love juxtapositions: being invited into the home of the friendly local school teacher in Kargil, India and drinking tea with him under a poster of the Ayatollah Khomeini promising to spill the blood of non-believers.

ALU: In your essays, food is more than just sustenance and becomes a metaphor. How has your understanding of nourishment evolved throughout your travels?

EJH: Nourishment for me has been yes, literally food: roasted guinea pig in Peru, eggplant and pomegranate stew in Armenia, nasi goring and black rice pudding in Indonesia, but also spiritual sustenance. I have been so nourished by the family and friends I’ve met in my travels, their kindness, and their willingness to share their lives with me, many of whom have become life-long friends.

ALU: Travel writing comes with ethical responsibilities. How do you navigate representing other cultures and communities with care and respect?

EJH: That is an excellent question. I try not to judge, assume or misrepresent complex people or places or cultures. I write from my own point of view and, hopefully, with authenticity, kindness, humour, love and respect. I research the places I write about, try to not take myself too seriously and to not forget my immense privilege. I don’t have any answers. I do have a lot of questions.

These words from Pico Iyer’s essay “Why We Travel” resonate: “We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed…. And if travel is like love, it is, in the end, mostly because it’s a heightened state of awareness, in which we are mindful, receptive, undimmed by familiarity and ready to be transformed.”

ALU: You’ve travelled by just about every mode of transport—bikes, buses, planes, on foot. Is there a particular way of moving through the world that helps you connect more deeply with place?

EJH: My grandfather worked on the railroad and I love traveling by train. In India, my sister and I often sat in the ladies carriages with women and their children. We took turns signing songs and reciting poems and nursery rhymes, and shared our food. It was delicious and delightful.

I also love looking out train windows watching the landscape go by. Trains give me the space to write and dream. But I wouldn’t say no to a trip by kayak. I love being on the water.

ALU: Much of the book is about connection—with strangers, with family, with yourself. Were there any moments when you felt completely out of place? And if so, how did those moments shape your understanding of belonging?

EJH: I am a shy person by nature and do often feel initially out of place in new surroundings. On the other hand, I kind of like being lost. People are generally kind and helpful. I have also learned to rely on my inner resources. The few times I have gotten in trouble (being robbed), my intuition told me I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I listen to it now!

I recall being in a small, un-touristed town in Turkey during Ramadan. I was starving and couldn’t find a place to eat. Walking down a deserted street, I spied what looked like a dark and smoky cafe full of men. Timidly, I ventured in and sat down. Glancing around I saw there wasn’t a woman in the place. Whoops, I thought, bad faux pas. As I was deciding what to do, a server came over with complimentary tea and an appetizer. I had a lovely meal. The owner came over to welcome me as well and people waved when I left.

ALU: This might be like asking you to pick a favourite book, but was there a place you visited in the book that stands out as especially meaningful or memorable?

EJH: Cuba, for sure. I first visited the island in the 1990s with the Canada Cuba Friendship Society where we toured the country visiting schools, medical facilities, historical sites and museums. Later, I studied Spanish and Cuban culture at the Instituto Superior de Arte in Havana and cycled in Eastern Cuba. My trips there left me with a deep, profound love of the place: my beautiful friends, the art, the history, the music, the passion. I remember happening on a casa de trova (local folk club) in Santiago de Cuba where I heard an amazing and apparently famous group of musicians play with Canadian jazz musician Jane Bunnett. The Cubans I met were very well educated, socially minded, funny and spirited though their lives were often very hard. Pico Iyer calls Cuba an elegiac carnival, the best description of the country I’ve heard.

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