Wanderlust is as much a disease as malaria, infecting its host like a mosquito bite that will never stop itching. Anyone stricken with it will not mistake its symptoms, yet few of us ever seek a cure.
Most people I've met with this condition can point to a seminal moment when they first caught the relentless fever for travel. For me that moment came in my final semester of college when I undertook a round-the-world voyage by ship. My travel resume up to that point was meager and uninspired, consisting of a few domestic car trips, one Mexican border crossing, and a single flight across the pond for an English music festival. That shortsightedness changed forever in one fell swoop in the spring of 1995, when I joined a small academic community in sailing around the globe.