Catching Crocodiles

Herodotus is proverbially called the father of history.  Why do we read his document in travel writing class?

     Herodotus, the “Father of History”, recounts, in Book Two of Herodotus the Histories, Egyptian customs and traditions. Within ancient Egyptian culture, animals were thought of as sacred, with the exception of the crocodile. In the Thebes region, the crocodile was revered, but the Elephantine people saw these animals only as food. (1) This cultural ambiguity is nothing new and is still prevalent today. Finding similarities in cultures is one reason to read past authors, but an even more decisive reason to read the “Father of History” is to understand our place, not only as travelers, but as writers.

     When those people of the Elephantine region would catch crocodiles, they would get them to shore by blurring the lines of reality and composite: casting pork bait in the water and beating a pig on land. The sound of the animal would rouse the crocodile, who would then encounter the bait and bite. Once on land, the hunters would plaster the crocodile’s eyes with mud. If the animal cannot properly see, it is easily dispatched, but, without this “precaution [the crocodile] will give a lot of trouble.” (2) To be an authentic traveler, and above all, an authentic writer, one must face the world with mud-less eyes.

     Reading Herodotus in a travel writing class is important because it allows us to see the commonality of humanity, shows the progression of the art form of travel writing, and links the past and present. Herodotus is a writer who saw the world not through the thick coat of wool that other’s opinions produce, but forged, through experience, his own unique opinion.

     Herodotus’ text provides one of the earliest examples of human travel and documentation. His travels to Egypt produced insights on what is central to humanity: religion. He noted that the Egyptians, above all else, were meticulous with everything concerning this topic. This characteristic still encapsulates the world today. Although the breadth and scope of religion has developed overtime, the human inclination towards spiritual order has been a constant. Herodotus remarks that, “the names of nearly all the gods came to Greece from Egypt.” (3) This constant borrowing, recycling, or developing of older ideas is another trait that has stayed constant with humanity.

     In Rome, one is constantly bombarded with symbols and landmarks that meant one thing to an older civilization, and was adapted for the next. Even something as simple as building material, such as marble, was stripped of old structures and melted down to make new symbols, typically on the same sacred land. This remodeling inclination represents the crux of human understanding: current situations only take meaning when rooted in the past.

     The history of travel writing begins with Herodotus, but luckily, did not end there. Although his observations are valuable, he does little to reflect upon the meaning of what he perceives. His record of the Egyptian culture is detailed, reading at times like an Encyclopedia, but lacked eloquence. Transition sentences, instead of linking one idea to the next, sounded like this: “Well, these things have been as they are since the beginning of time, and there is no changing them; so I will pass to another subject.” The art of travel writing has developed into an industry, and the authors themselves have taken not to the acceptance Herodotus speaks of, but to probing and challenging. Some authors, like Elizabeth Gilbert, accept the world for what it is, not hoping to change it, but change herself. Gilbert can take the sacred land of earth, the land Herodotus christened with his pen, and build upon it her testament to human development: Eat, Pray, Love.

     The link between past and present is the goal between traveling and writing. One wants to take what occurred and make sense of it through the point of view of today’s world. Through experience and documentation, humanity is working not only to make sense of the world, but of itself. Each generation was given a new set of eyes, deeper than those before them. Instead of falling captive to the mud-wielding huntsmen of presupposition and sentimentality, fight for sight. Clairvoyance is worth the trouble.



(1)Herodotus. Book Two. 156.
(2)Ibid. 157.
(3)Ibid. 146.
(4)Ibid. 138-9.