Posted by admin on Dec 3, 2011 in Blog, travel | 0 comments

terra incognita

>> thoughts on terra incognita, terra nova, cyberspace incognita, and terra miziana

I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents and the einoyment of the town crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. My holiday after­noons were spent in rambles about the surrounding coun­try. I made myself familiar with all its places famous in history or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or rob­bery had been committed, or a ghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages, and added greatly to my stock of knowledge by noting their habits and customs and con­versing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long summer’s day to the summit of the most distant hill, whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited.

This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of voyages and travels became my passion, and in devouring their contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the school. How wistfully would I wander about the pier heads in fine weather and watch the parting ships, bound to distant climes—with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails and waft myself in imagina­tion to the ends of the earth.

Further reading and thinking, though they brought this vague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own country, and had I been merely a lover of fine scenery I should have felt little desire to seek else­where its gratification, for on no country have the charms of nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver; her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verdure; her broad, deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine—no, never need an American look beyond his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery…

From “The Sketchbook,” Washington Irving

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