The gemstones of Topkapi, the writing desk of Kahlil Gibran, the labyrinth of Knossos... these images are with me after more than two decades, just as clear in memory as if I had viewed them today. They also remind me I have only the shallowest knowledge of Turkish treasures, Lebanese laureates, and Minoan mythology. The world offers an endless trove of information for those who seek it, but as John Lennon once said, "The further one travels, the less one knows."

I could describe how Egypt's pyramids look from the back of a camel. I've written about hiking Europe's longest gorge and climbing Japan's highest peak. I've raced along the beaches of the South China Sea by motorcyle, picked lychee from treetops while riding an elephant, drifted on Hawaii's breezes in a glider plane, crossed Nevada desert on horseback... all for the love of experience, and to record my discoveries for others to read.

I suppose I can blame my parents for these itchy feet. We moved from my birthplace in Longview, Washington when I was only a month old, then from Oregon to California when I was just one... relocations I'd be too young to remember. We settled in Indiana from the time I was in second grade till I graduated from college; not much chance of catching the travel bug there. So this wanderlust of mine must have started during that long drive from the West Coast to the Midwest when I was eight. What an adventure for a child to cross the Rocky Mountains, the Great Salt Lake Desert, and the mighty Mississippi. That trip gave me this notion that the world is my home.

Now, I have been to 47 of those marvelous United States. I've thrown beads from a balcony on Bourbon Street, had my shoes shined on Madison Avenue, and strolled down Hollywood's boulevard of stars. I've felt the spray of both Niagra and Cumberland falls. I've seen rodeo in Sikeston and campfires outside Cimmaron. I've even watched a President inaugurated on the steps of the nation's capitol. I've savored chili in Texas, long-necks in Maine, and cantaloupes sold beside US highway #1. I admit I've neglected the Northeast a bit, missing both New Hampshire and Vermont. I've also deliberately skipped Arizona, which I hope to share with my children when they are old enough to be astonished with me by the majesty of the Grand Canyon. America is such an expansive land, it is impossible to take in its entirety.

But the world is so much larger than a single country. There is so much to be seen and done elsewhere: a dinner cruise on the Seine, the floating market on the Chao Phyra, and the night ferry to Lamma Island. Visits to Toronto and London, Brussels and Venice, Sophia and Osaka. How could I have missed a sunset with olives and wine at Costa del Sol? How could I not take that helicopter ride near the Isthmus of Kra? Would my life be as rich if I hadn't dived for sea urchins in the Mediterranean? Wasn't it my destiny to see jai-alai in Manila and bull-fighting in Macau? If the United Nations ever issues a Citizen of the World passport, I will certainly have to be among the first to apply for it. Perhaps if I travel far enough, I will someday realize I know nothing of the world at all.

This, however, is clear: my weltanshauung is indelibly colored by my journeys. And I find it hard to understand how a person could live on this planet and not want to experience as much of its wonder and diversity as possible. Swim with a sea turtle, carouse in tavernas, pluck a wild orchid, ride the bullet train.... the world presents such an incredible wealth of opportunities.

I am happiest when I'm roaming the world and sharing my experiences with others through writing. Actually, it might be easier to describe where I have not been and what I have not done, than to catalog all the borders I've crossed. For example, I've never visited the Indian sub-continent. And I haven't ever set foot south of the equator. Rio and Capetown, Sydney and Madras, Karachi and Caracas... I know almost nothing of these places or the people who live there... yet. These are the explorations which are beckoning me toward my second half century. These will be the travels of my greater unknowing.

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