Albert Camus hated travelling. ‘Fear is the value of travel,’ he wrote in his journal of an unhappy trip through Central Europe in the summertime of 1935, where he found himself gripped by ‘an instinctive desire to regain the shelter of old habits’. For Camus, who had tuberculosis, travel abroad raised the prospect not only of psychic unease but of illness: ‘We're feverish but porous. The slightest shock shakes us to the depths of our being … There isn't a pleasure in travelling … Pleasure takes us away from ourselves … The journey, which is sort of a greater and graver science, brings us back again.’This was definitely true of the trips Camus made to North and South America in...
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