A wise traveler never despises his own country.

Hear now the words of William Hazlitt, who proclaimed: “A wise traveler never despises his own country.” This saying, though brief, carries the weight of ages, for it speaks not only of journeys across the earth, but of journeys within the heart. To travel is to encounter new lands, new tongues, and new wonders; yet wisdom teaches that in gazing upon foreign beauty, one must not return with scorn for one’s own soil. For the land of birth, with all its flaws and failings, remains the root from which the soul has grown.

The ancients understood this balance. Ulysses, after ten years of wandering through strange islands and splendid kingdoms, longed not for eternal voyage but for Ithaca, his humble homeland. Though he had seen the palaces of gods and the temptations of immortal queens, he cherished the rocky shores and simple hearth of his native isle. To despise what is one’s own, after seeing the world, is folly; to return with renewed reverence is the mark of a wise traveler. Thus Hazlitt reminds us that true journeys are not meant to sever us from home, but to deepen our gratitude for it.

Consider also the tale of Marco Polo, who roamed across Asia, marveled at the wonders of the Great Khan, and beheld lands far richer than his native Venice. Yet when he returned, he did not renounce his home. Instead, he brought back stories and knowledge, enriching his country by his journey. A lesser man might have despised his birthplace as poor or small; but the wise traveler sees his homeland as the vessel through which he reached the world at all. Without roots, no branches can reach toward the heavens.

Hazlitt’s words also speak against arrogance. How often does the shallow voyager boast of foreign splendor, mocking his own nation as backward or crude? Such a man has learned nothing. He has only traded one narrowness for another. The wise traveler does not measure nations as one greater and one lesser, but sees each as part of the vast mosaic of humanity. To despise one’s country is to despise the soil that nourished one’s earliest breath, the language that formed one’s first thought, the culture that gave shape to one’s soul.

Yet let us be clear: to love one’s country does not mean to ignore its flaws. Even Ulysses knew Ithaca was rugged and hard, yet it was still his. The wise traveler can see his homeland’s faults, and yet hold them with compassion, striving to heal rather than scorn. In this lies true wisdom: to learn from other lands, to bring back what is good and noble, and to plant it in the soil of one’s own nation. The fool mocks; the sage enriches.

O listener, take this lesson to heart: when you travel, marvel at the wonders of distant places, but do not let your admiration turn to disdain for your own. Instead, return with eyes renewed, seeing treasures you once overlooked. The crooked street of your village, the taste of your bread, the sound of your mother tongue—these too are wonders, no less sacred than the foreign.

The teaching is clear: be a wise traveler. Let your journeys broaden, not sever. Let them make you humble, not arrogant. Let them teach you gratitude, not contempt. And when you return, do not despise your own country, for it is the ground of your being, the home of your ancestors, the cradle of your story.

Thus I say to you, children of tomorrow: travel far, learn deeply, love widely—but remember always to honor the land from which you came. For only those who cherish their own roots can truly grow tall enough to embrace the whole world.