Alexander Medel

There is no sight more gratifying to me than the open road, for the open road allows the body to wander and the mind to wonder. It offers an escape for the imagination and a way of life governed by freedom and fueled by curiosity. 

My name is Alexander, and I am a sophomore in Timothy Dwight College studying political science and history. Naturally, my day is complete with writing papers, reading research articles and attending lectures. And as much as I am a Yale student, I consider myself a student of the world with the open road as my classroom.

This travel column, On the Road, recounts several of my adventures on asphalt and all the lessons I have learned from the people, places and things I have encountered on all roads, from those well-traveled to those not taken. 

Until my road trip last summer, I had fallen in love only twice: once with history and once with a girl. I could write a novel about the first and a novella for the second. I have spent the past year reflecting on my third love, the Southwest, and recollecting my experiences and memories from my travels this past summer. As I look back on that road trip, I realize that it has enchanted me far more than I thought it had the power to do so. 

During my family’s 11-day journey, we shortened the lifespan of our SUV by four thousand miles, covered our sneakers with the dust of four different states and secured a summer tan worthy of Santorini. Above all, we managed to secure some personal objectives. My father had collected travel stories for his friends. My mother had compiled a travel album which lives for her friends on Facebook. I had fallen in love. 

My mind remembers the rainbow-colored badlands of the Painted Desert, the limestone cliffs of El Morro and the speleothems of Carlsbad Caverns. The allure of its mesa-covered, canyon-filled landscape is matched only by its rich history and culture. It is no difficult feat for me to remember the ruins at Casa Grande, the churches in Santa Fe and the cliff dwellings at Walnut Canyon. Even today, far from the desert and nestled in New England, I can hear the music of mariachi bands in San Antonio. I can smell the aroma of enchiladas fresh from the ovens of Mesilla. I can taste the buffalo burgers of the Oatman Hotel. Just as much as I came to love the Southwest for its beauty and culture, I came to appreciate it for the freedom it represented. 

I do not know if it was the vast, open ranges or the empty desert roads, but I felt a freedom in the Southwest I had not felt in a long time. The wind seemed to sing of individuality, and the sand seemed to dance with ebullient, turbulent joy. The land embraced the spirit of “Don’t Fence Me In.” In the end, the Southwest reconnected me with nature and disconnected me from a stressful life.

I am an Ivy League student who grew up in Silicon Valley. I know very well what it is like to live in bubbles, and it seems to me that my life has been nothing but movement from one bubble to another. To be fair, I thrive off the energy of this lifestyle. After a long while, however, it can get tiring and too restrictive. I got to the point where I dreamt of freedom — the chance to escape the freneticism and artificialities of the fast lane and enjoy life in the slow lane. In other words, I yearned to explore the space between the bubbles, and the Southwest promised just that. 

From personal experience, it is hard to forget that which has captured your heart. I became a major in history. I still find myself thinking about that girl from time to time. Every day, especially when my schedule is frightening and the weather frightful, I remember the Southwest. It seems like a dream to busy people like us. But, like many dreams, it waits out there for the fortunate to remember and for the curious to explore.