Traveling Through "Travelogues"

In British literature, many major works take the form of travelogues. When the so-called modern novel was being born, works like "Robinson Crusoe" and "Gulliver's Travels" appeared. Therefore, I have often felt that in Europe, the travelogue serves as a kind of magnetic field for creating fiction.

On the other hand, I read Ibn Khaldun's "Muqaddimah" (Prolegomena) during my first year of university. What was shocking was that although it is a travelogue, the daily records are incredibly detailed. As you read, a certain sense of shared experience with Khaldun on his journey begins to emerge. However, I believe Khaldun's descriptions are not literal records, but rather reconstructions based on notes.

So, I wondered what a literal record of a journey that isn't fiction would look like, and I began translating Captain Cook's journals. Those are recorded in 30-minute increments, and they try to ensure factual accuracy by having multiple people write them.

However, even over the course of 30 minutes, descriptions of facts can start to diverge. I find that space between literal record and fiction in travelogues to be very interesting.

In the field of Oriental History at Keio University, we once had Professor Shinji Maejima, a specialist in the history of East-West relations and Islamic history, who conducted pioneering research on travelogues and accounts of the pilgrimage to Mecca. His student, Professor Hikoichi Yajima (Professor Emeritus at Tokyo University of Foreign Studies), took over that work and deepened the study of Mecca pilgrimage accounts in particular. Since there is a special tradition of travelogue research in Middle Eastern and Islamic history studies at this Juku, I feel a responsibility to carry it forward.

Regarding the talk of literal records and fiction, Ibn Battuta's "The Rihla" (A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Travelling, completed in 1356) is quite factual. It was dictated in Fez, the capital of the Marinid dynasty in Morocco, and then Ibn Juzayy, a man of letters from Granada, Al-Andalus, refined it into fluid prose and added various supplements to polish it as a literary work. While the dictated portions are sufficiently factual in nature, one could say that fiction is partially woven in as well.

That is very fascinating.

When I was a student at Keio, I was very fond of the novelist Kunio Tsuji, and I went to Europe for the first time during the spring break of my freshman year. This was because many of Tsuji's writings were set in Europe, such as Greece, Italy, and France. During my second trip to Europe, I went as far as Spain. I learned that I could reach Morocco in three hours by boat across the Strait of Gibraltar, so I went there without any prior knowledge, and I experienced a culture shock even greater than what I felt in Europe.

On the day I arrived, the first person who spoke to me said something like, "Today is King Hassan's birthday and all the hotels are full, so I'll let you stay at my place," and then I was swindled out of money. But then, other people were incredibly kind to me.

Next, when I entered neighboring Algeria, the people were unbelievably kind; there were people who let me stay or treated me to meals even though we had just met. Although Algeria was socialist, the people held a devout Islamic faith. Neither of those elements existed in the environment I grew up in. Walking through it myself, I was shocked to find a world completely different from what was written in books or what I had learned in Japan.

Later, when I read travelogues of the Islamic world written by Westerners—for example, those by Nerval or Flaubert regarding Egypt—I saw that they projected a great deal of so-called Orientalist fantasy.

I realized that people freely narrativize and interpret others based on their own standpoint, and ultimately, writing about travel is also writing about oneself. I began writing because I wondered how I myself could write about it.

You mentioned that British literature was born from travelogues. Around when and through what process did that happen?

This goes back a very long time. For example, in Chaucer's medieval "The Canterbury Tales," travelers gather from London to head toward Canterbury Cathedral, going for a religious occasion similar to the "O-Ise-mairi" (pilgrimage to Ise Grand Shrine). The focus is on what the travelers talk about during their journey, and the travel itself becomes a driving force that creates the story.

Chaucer lived in the 14th century, roughly the same era as Ibn Battuta. There was also a woman named Margery Kempe, and in her book, there are parts where she travels to Jerusalem seeking religious revelation. The process of the journey is also interesting to read. I believe that kind of interest was carried over into the modern era, serving as a driving force when the novel was being formed.

When I say driving force, it sounds like intense movement, but actually, being a shut-in is also an important theme in novels like "Robinson Crusoe." As you know, Crusoe ends up on a deserted island, and he shuts himself away there time and again. It depicts a repetition of withdrawal and escape from it.

Therefore, travelogues are not linear things where one simply goes from point A to point B; they have a multilinear aspect where one shuts oneself in at a destination and then sets off again. I feel that this was, in a sense, a form that made it easy to depict human daily life.

Is that something characteristic of British literature?

To some extent, it can be called a characteristic. Since Britain is surrounded by the sea, it had a stronger tendency than France to go outward using naval power in the modern era. Also, the question of "Englishness"—what defines Britain—is often asked, and there are various elements in its racial and cultural background.

To begin with, the English language itself is a mixture of Romance and Germanic roots, and there has been a continuous debate until today about what Britain is and who the British people are. Because of that, I think there was a sense in which the hurdles for the outside world were lowered.

And that leads to colonialism, exploration, and ethnology.

I believe it does. One of the cultural keywords of early modern Britain was "Curiosity." If the country were unified, people might not feel much curiosity toward the outside, but there was a sense of being a heterogeneous group ethnically and linguistically, and that may have become the power to go outward.

That's very interesting.

You mentioned that Chaucer's work took on the character of a pilgrimage account, and it's also interesting to look at Ibn Battuta from the perspective of pilgrimage accounts in the Islamic world. In the Middle Ages, scholars who had mastered Islamic sciences, known as Ulama, wrote something called a "Barnamaj," which was like an academic curriculum vitae. It is explained that this evolved into the pilgrimage accounts called "Rihla."

Why would an academic CV become a pilgrimage account? In fact, for the Ulama, traveling and learning while wandering was considered the ideal form of study. They would study under specialized teachers in various locations and travel while collecting "Ijazah," which are like licenses certifying that they have mastered a particular text. They would collect these licenses to find employment at institutions like Madrasas (colleges).

There was mention of "Curiosity," and in Arabic, there is the idea that intellectual growth occurs through contact with "Aja'ib" (the marvelous). Therefore, contact with the marvelous is also written into the pilgrimage accounts. Ibn Battuta's "The Rihla" is an expanded version of these descriptions of Aja'ib.

So the experience of travel gradually accumulates and becomes that person's career.

That's right. Speaking of the marvelous, one example is the Pyramids of Egypt. They are frequently described in pilgrimage accounts, and Ibn Battuta left a rather long description of them.

There is a story in the historical records about a medieval Moroccan student who returned from a pilgrimage to Mecca. His academic mentor asked, "Did you see the Pyramids?" When he replied, "I studied a lot, but I didn't see the Pyramids," the mentor got angry, saying "That's absurd," and the student went back to see them again (laughs).

The idea is that the extraordinary experiences of travel are also the work of the one God, Allah, and experiencing them leads to academic and personal growth.

By the marvelous, do you mean things like the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World mentioned in ancient Greece?

One of the so-called Seven Wonders of the Ancient World is the Lighthouse of Alexandria on Pharos Island. Ibn Battuta describes this as well; it is an Aja'ib, a marvel. He writes that when he first stopped by in 1326, the top of the lighthouse was being used as a mosque, but when he revisited 23 years later, it had fallen into ruin and he couldn't get close to it.

An Ulama born in Malaga, Spain, named Balawi (died 1207), measured the height from the top using a stone on a string and found it was 132 meters high. It was truly utilized as a "mosque in the sky." It was a tower of unbelievable height for that era. Such things actually existed, and this too was considered the work of God.

That's amazing. But the Pyramids, which were pagan, are rejected in the Quran, aren't they? Were such things also respected as the work of God?

After the Crusades, some Muslim scholars and commoners developed an intolerant attitude toward other faiths, and movements to destroy ancient ruins appeared in some areas. For example, the faces of divine statues in ancient Egyptian ruins were sometimes scraped off.

In such a climate, Idris, a scholar at the end of the Ayyubid dynasty, wrote a defense of the Pyramids. He argued that the Pyramids were built before Noah's flood and were indeed the work of God.

I'd love to tell that to today's jihadist groups (laughs).

How did Ibn Battuta handle money during his travels?

The Islamic world at that time was a world where "Diyafa" (hospitality) and "Sadaqa" (charity) were extremely prevalent. People gave money and goods to others in hopes of going to heaven. Since the Quran also states that one should take care of travelers, providing aid to visitors was a matter of course.

One reason, I think, is that the Mediterranean world, including West Asia and North Africa, had developed transportation and many travelers even before Islam. So there was likely a custom of welcoming those on the move.

Ibn Battuta often stayed at Sufi lodges called "Zawiya," which aimed for union with God. There are frequent descriptions of him being provided with free meals and receiving money, goods, or clothes when he departed.

Before globalization accelerated after 2000, it was often possible to travel without spending money outside of Europe. I traveled in Sudan for about four months in the 1980s, and the total money I spent was less than 40,000 yen. Transportation costs money, but when you go to the countryside, they provide all the food and tell you to stay there. It happens even if you aren't asking for it. There is an incredible hospitality.

Also, when I traveled in Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo) in the 1990s, the value of the currency changed every day, so villagers in particular didn't want to keep money on hand. Even if they got money, they would use it immediately to exchange it for something else, like a game of Old Maid. Since they were happier to receive goods, we traded with T-shirts, shoes, and watches. I was able to travel for about a month just with the things I was normally wearing. It was a world like the "Straw Millionaire."

Basically, the host maintains their pride by welcoming the visitor, and the traveler feels grateful. I think the continuation of such interactions is the beauty of travel. If everything becomes a transaction now, and service based on what was paid becomes the standard, I feel that travel becomes a narrow thing.

Even in places like Cairo, as soon as you get to know someone, the conversation often turns to "Why don't you come to my house for a meal?" When you visit and try to leave, they say "It's still early, it's still early," and it's often hard to get away.

It feels like you're talking the whole time, doesn't it?

Exactly, talking until late at night. When I return to Japan, that's the first thing I feel lonely about.

In modern Europe, there was the major movement of the Enlightenment. For example, since the Middle Ages, Britain had the custom of the Grand Tour, which was positioned as the finishing touch to the education of noble sons. In the 17th and 18th centuries, it became a trend to frequently cross over to the European continent, enter various social circles, and meet and talk with various people. That situation continued until the French Revolution.

What was the movement of the common people like?

The movement of commoners, especially merchants, was also quite active. People persecuted for religious reasons in France fled to Britain, which was relatively free religiously.

For example, there were many watchmakers in France, but during the time of Louis XIII, they were driven out and came to Britain seeking freedom, which became the foundation of the modern Industrial Revolution.

Is the fact that the Industrial Revolution occurred related to the gathering of various talented people in Britain?

Yes. Britain had a fairly low threshold for its borders, and even in music, rather than "British music," it mostly came from outside. Even Mozart came as a young child and admired Britain for a long time.

Even within Europe, Britain has a feeling of being somehow easy to be in while traveling, doesn't it?

Yes. Even the English language today—it's not clear who established it or how. Generally, around the latter half of the Renaissance, various countries solidified their national languages. English spelling was a mess, so a language department was created within the Royal Society, but it dispersed due to the plague. Ultimately, various writers experimented within their novels, and it gradually became the written English of today and stabilized.

In France, the king was strong, so the language was refined at the king's court. Therefore, it is sophisticated, but the hurdle is a bit high. The same goes for Italy. In that regard, English is easy for anyone to approach. I think that is one reason why it has become what we call Global English today.

I often hear terms like "Queen's English," so I thought there was a strong sense of entitlement, but culturally that's not actually the case.

That's right. I think things like Queen's English or King's English were created precisely because Englishness was so unclear.

After all, George I, the direct ancestor of the current Queen Elizabeth, came from Hanover, Germany, and couldn't speak English. It's said that democracy was born because of that.

Britain is very good at the techniques for spreading its language to various places; in India, for example, when spreading English, they immediately created dictionaries for regional languages like Bengali and English.

That is a huge difference from France. When I was in Cairo, I attended a French language school called Alliance Française. The textbook used there, titled "Sans Frontières" (meaning "Without Borders"), described how a French person spends their year, writing things like "I went on vacation in the summer and drank too much." Even though most of the students were Muslim, everyone had to say the example sentence "I drank too much today" (laughs).

On the other hand, the texts in the British Council's English classes were full of social content, like "These are workers' rights, and we have the right to say such things."

On the other hand, since the Renaissance, Britain has had a fairly deep-rooted longing for the representation of Egypt—the so-called "Orient"—which reached its peak during the Romantic period.

Around the 18th century, stories of Egypt appeared frequently. The novel "Rasselas" written by Samuel Johnson is about a fourth prince named Rasselas living in the Happy Valley of Abyssinia (Ethiopia) who escapes the valley and travels to various places in Cairo.

The entire setting is from Abyssinia to Cairo. The Nile River was also a representative representation of the Orient in Europe for a long time.

In the case of Egypt, Napoleon's Egyptian campaign was one major turning point.

It seems there was an Egypt boom in 18th-century France behind that campaign, but there was a similar Egypt boom in Britain as well, wasn't there?

It has been there since the Renaissance. There is a fairy-tale-like work called "The Happy Prince" by the late 19th-century writer Oscar Wilde. The Happy Prince, from atop his statue, asks a swallow to give various alms, and that swallow is trying to return to Egypt. Egypt is mentioned as a utopia, with lines like "My companions are waiting for me on the Nile." That has always existed as an image in Britain.

For example, in the early modern period, around the 16th to 18th centuries, what was the movement of people for pilgrimage like in Europe? Were pilgrimages to Santiago or Rome significantly fewer compared to the Middle Ages?

While things like pilgrimages to Canterbury continued in their own way, the situation in Europe changed significantly as the Reformation occurred in various regions. In the case of England, it broke away from Catholicism early on and established the Church of England at an early stage. Whether or not you call that secularization, there was a major divide between Catholicism and the Anglican Protestantism of the state church.

Then the Puritan Revolution occurred, and the King, despite being the head of the Church of England, was executed in the revolution. At that stage, the consciousness regarding the sacred changed greatly, and movements emerged toward practical religion or Deism, which sought to understand the teachings of God through reason.

The movement of pilgrimage remained to some extent until around the beginning of the 19th century in forms like the Grand Tour, but even so, it was mostly driven by commerce. I believe the momentum of secularization was much faster compared to the Islamic world.

In the case of the Islamic world, the tradition of the Rihla (travelogue) continued continuously until around the end of the 19th century. Even in the 20th century, there are about ten travelogues that could be categorized within the Rihla genre.

In the Islamic world from the 12th century onward, the veneration of various Muslim saints spread. Since there were many living saints, meeting such living saints was a major objective of Ibn Battuta's travels.

He left very detailed information about the Nile Delta, and one of the reasons he traveled through that land was to visit a saint living near the Mediterranean. There, he was prophesied to "go on a very great journey," and the story is structured so that this actually came true.

How far east did Battuta travel?

He served as a judge for the Tughlaq dynasty, one of the Delhi Sultanates, and stayed in India for about eight years. From there, he joined an embassy to return courtesies to the Yuan dynasty in China. However, when they set sail from the Malabar Coast in southwest India, a great storm hit, the ship was wrecked, and all the gifts for the embassy were lost.

While we cannot say for certain, he likely went as far as the Coromandel Coast, but his visit to Bengal is questioned, and anything further east than that is even more suspicious.

When the story moves further east than India, it takes on a strong character of a "book of wonders." It is claimed he went from Quanzhou to the Yuan capital, Dadu (Beijing), but his visit to China is likely a fabrication. The descriptions in this part lack the feeling of a vivid, lived journey and are probably fiction.

In Southeast Asia, images of a "land of women" appear—descriptions of men with dog-like mouths or women being nearly naked—and it truly becomes like a collection of wonder tales.

It sounds like it's gradually approaching "Gulliver" (laughs).

It suddenly loses its factual nature. However, since information about the East obtained in India is recorded in considerable detail, it holds a certain historical value as a written record of hearsay information.

"Gulliver's Travels" contains descriptions of Japan. Since "Gulliver" was published in 1726, Japan was in its period of national isolation. Consequently, while not well known in Japan, many books mentioning Japan were published in Europe during this period.

For example, Robinson Crusoe returns after living on a deserted island, but there is actually a sequel where he travels across the Eurasian continent. It is a grand journey through India to China, and then through Siberia back to Europe. Before entering Beijing, Crusoe tries to go to Japan. However, he is dissuaded by those around him because Japan is considered savage and dangerous. In the end, Crusoe's young friend goes to Japan and spends eight years there. Since the author Defoe was someone who created fiction based on factual records, I suspect he handled it that way because he couldn't gather enough information at hand.

On the other hand, Jonathan Swift, who wrote "Gulliver," was a giant of fiction, and he writes as if he gained some important inspiration for his creation from Japan.

Weren't both Defoe and Swift writing based on actual travel experiences?

Defoe did not go on journeys like going to a deserted island, but he traveled extensively within Britain. In fact, he infiltrated Scotland as a spy for England. He left behind a factual travelogue called "A Tour thro' the Whole Island of Great Britain," which is extremely precise and provides a good understanding of the political beliefs of people in each region.

Swift did not write factual records, but he was from Dublin and is said to have traveled between Dublin and London 16 times in his life. Although the travel distances were short, those round trips likely connected to the imagination of "Gulliver"-esque imaginary travels.

In Britain, are there two genres: imaginary travelogues and travelogues written based on actual visits?

That's right. There are imaginary travels close to fantasy like "Gulliver," travelogue-style accounts, and precise factual records like those of James Cook. Cook's logbooks were military secrets, so they were kept by the Navy for 50 years. However, exploring various places cost money, and the post-revolutionary royal family didn't have that kind of wealth, so they produced books to stir up national interest. These are what we call exploration narratives.

Therefore, the major exploration narratives of the modern era, including those of James Cook, were actually first written by ghostwriters under the King's sponsorship and published in a highly adventurous form. Recently, the secrecy has finally been lifted, and the factual records have become clear.

For example, reading Henry Stanley's African exploration accounts now, they feel truly exaggerated and written with popular literature in mind. It's like watching an adventure action movie, with lines like "Arrows are flying, get down!"

Mr. Tanaka, I'm sure you don't write fiction, but are you ever tempted to include a sense of narrative?

There is that temptation. I was born in 1960, and from the 60s through the 70s, influenced by the Vietnam War and counterculture, I feel there were many travelogues, especially about India, written in a way that projected things modern civilization had lost. Since it was an era when it was difficult to go abroad, people would mistake the India described there for the real India.

However, when you actually go there, mystical things don't happen that often, and descriptions like "pure children with sparkling eyes" common in travelogues of that time—while their facial features are different—can actually be quite shrewd. However, that viewpoint is not without its own biases. In any case, I believe people can only recognize what they have seen or heard through stories. In that sense, one cannot escape narrativity.

When I went to Jerusalem, this happened. I took a taxi from the airport and asked to go to the Old City of Jerusalem. The Palestinian driver said, "I don't go to Jerusalem. I go to Al-Quds." For Palestinians, that place is Al-Quds.

Jerusalem exists in the world lived in by Jews and Christians, while Palestinians live in the world of Al-Quds. Even if it is the same place spatially, people position and narrativize that place within different names and different contexts according to the culture they belong to.

It feels like multiple layers are overlapping, and each person lives in their own layer. This is also a characteristic of the current era. From the writer's perspective, I think infinitely different descriptions are born depending on which layer and which part you write about.

To what extent do you intend to put yourself into your travel writing?

I'm trying various forms, but basically, I don't write much information. I am interested to the end in the people in that place—if it's Cairo, then the people in Cairo—and from what stance and while feeling what they see and live.

What does this woman living in Egypt truly value? Everyone wants to be happy, but they can never become happy in a straightforward way; they carry something that hinders them. I want to depict the way humans exist within such contradictions in various lands.

Mr. Tanaka's "Kodoku na Tori wa Yasashiku Utau" (The Solitary Bird Sings Sweetly) is wonderful. It's exactly about the way you cut out scenes. It feels like scenes cut out like short stories are arranged very beautifully.

Thank you very much.

In my classes, when I teach realism in literature, I use the description in "Robinson Crusoe" where Crusoe encounters a hurricane and the storm lasts for 12 days. The sailors felt more dead than alive and were so terrified they could do nothing for 12 days.

I ask the students where the biggest lie is in this sentence. They usually say the direction of the hurricane is wrong or the latitude is wrong, but actually, the biggest lie is the part where it says they "could do nothing for 12 days out of fear."

On a sailing ship of that time, if you did nothing for 12 days, you would sink instantly. I tell them that writing that the sailors were too terrified to touch anything is Defoe's realism, and that this is a literary invention in Europe.

In travelogues, if you don't do that, it doesn't work as a piece of reading. If you recorded changing the sails every 30 minutes and so on, it would be unbearable to read. Writing that the sailors were too terrified to move for 12 days is the real thrill of travelogues and, I believe, the origin of realism.

That's very true. When I was traveling in Africa, the time spent waiting was overwhelmingly longer than the time spent moving. In a village where there is nothing, when you wait for a boat, there is really nothing to do. But actually, you are doing something. You're eating, going to the bathroom, or bathing, but in your mind, two weeks just pass by with absolutely nothing to do.

However, if you write it exactly as it is, the reader won't be able to empathize. I think realism emerges in a travelogue when you can express that feeling of waiting during those wordless two weeks.

It is very unfortunate that movement has become difficult due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I believe humans have always moved since ancient times.

One point where humans differ from animals is that they don't have territories. Of course, in the modern world there are national borders, but that is different from biological territory. Animals basically only move within the range related to their survival.

However, humans move for things not directly related to survival, such as to find "the wondrous" or some important value. Moreover, as was the case with travel in the Islamic world, they do not reject travelers who have moved in that way. They don't attack even if a different person suddenly visits.

Through that, they have exchanged information and possessions. Such activities have refined human culture. In that sense, I believe traveling is a very important thing for humans.

Like COVID, the progress of globalization since the 2000s has increased the risks of travel in some aspects. Violent ideologies spread through the internet, and furthermore, since the "Arab Spring," weapons have acquired freedom of movement, making the globalization of violence a serious issue.

On the other hand, we are in an era where we can read things sent out locally through the internet while staying where we are. There are discoveries there that are different from traveling oneself. Instead of traveling to extraordinary lands, one looks at their own daily life through the perspective of travel. In an era where daily life feels like it has become extraordinary, I feel that carefully observing and living one's immediate daily life can also become a form of travel. There might be potential for new travelogues there.

As a historical researcher, I also think "traveling to the past" is good. While you are immersed in the world of the past, you can think about completely different things. For example, I recently found and am researching a rare history book written by a person who made a living weighing goods in Cairo in the early 17th century. The author writes that although he trained as an ulema, he could only get this kind of work, and the various problems of a large city depicted by a commoner are very interesting.

Since the world of Cairo in the first half of the 17th century becomes clearly visible from the descriptions of a single weigher, I believe there is an exhilaration very similar to actual travel when you are deeply immersed in such things.

When thinking about the post-COVID or with-COVID era, the first thing we must consider is that the globalization of the last 20 years and the tourism linked to it have, in a sense, been based on short-term profits.

For example, even if a Shinkansen network is built and the Shinkansen comes to a rural area, the resources of that area ultimately end up gathering in Tokyo. In many ways, globalization and tourism have existed in a form that prioritizes short-term profits.

In a post-COVID society, the key to true globalization may lie in valuing more diverse ways for people in each region to lead their lives—to use a railway analogy, not the Shinkansen, but the kind of places you go to on local lines. I feel that COVID is like a warning bell regarding that.

Another thing, as Professor Hasebe mentioned, the appeal of travelogues is the temporal aspect as well as the spatial one. Modern people focus their interest on the present, but I feel it must be said that historical imagination is weakening. I believe that kind of temporal or historical imagination can also be cultivated by reading travelogues.