Wherever we go, across the Pacific or Atlantic, we meet, not

In the words of Mary Ritter Beard, historian and thinker, we hear a profound meditation on the human encounter with the unfamiliar: “Wherever we go, across the Pacific or Atlantic, we meet, not similarity so much as ‘the bizarre’. Things astonish us, when we travel, that surprise nobody else.” Though spoken in observation of travel, these words hold within them a universal truth: the world is never strange in itself—it is our own limited perspective that makes it appear so. What is familiar to one people may be bewildering to another, and it is in this exchange of astonishment that the depth of humanity is revealed.

To cross the Pacific or the Atlantic is to leave behind the ground of the known and to step into a realm shaped by different histories, customs, and rhythms of life. For the traveler, every sight may carry the sheen of the unusual: foods never tasted, rituals never seen, words never spoken. Yet for those who live there, these are the patterns of daily life. Thus arises the paradox Beard observes: that what seems “bizarre” to the outsider is often the most ordinary to the insider. The astonishment lies not in the thing itself, but in the eyes beholding it.

This phenomenon has echoed through history. When Herodotus, the Greek historian, visited Egypt, he marveled at customs he deemed strange: women who traded in the markets while men stayed home weaving. To the Egyptians, this was life; to the Greek, it was inversion, almost unimaginable. Likewise, when European explorers first set foot in the Americas, they were stunned by foods like maize and potatoes, which the native peoples cultivated as staples. What the visitor called astonishing or “bizarre” was, in truth, the lifeblood of an entire civilization.

The word astonish carries with it both awe and alienation. It humbles the traveler, stripping away the illusion that one’s own culture is the center of the world. In this humility lies great value, for astonishment becomes a teacher. It tells us: your way is not the only way, your truth is not the only truth. The so-called bizarre is not a curiosity to be dismissed, but a mirror showing how narrow our lives may have been before stepping across oceans.

And yet, Beard’s insight is also a warning. To label something as bizarre is often to place distance between oneself and others. If astonishment remains shallow, it can foster condescension or misunderstanding. But if one looks deeper—asking why customs exist, what history shaped them, what meaning they carry—astonishment can transform into respect, and respect into kinship. Thus, the traveler must learn to let surprise lead not to judgment but to reverence.

Consider the journeys of Marco Polo. To him, the courts of the Great Khan were dazzling with wealth, ritual, and ceremony that seemed otherworldly. Yet in recording them, he offered Europe a glimpse into another civilization’s grandeur. Some dismissed his tales as too strange to be true, but in time, they became seeds of curiosity that inspired others to venture further. In this way, astonishment, though born of difference, became the bridge to new understanding.

The lesson is clear: do not flee from the bizarre, but embrace it as a gift. When you travel and find yourself astonished, remember that your surprise is not proof of strangeness in the world, but of the limits of your own vision. Let every new custom, taste, or tradition expand you. Ask questions, listen, and learn. For in doing so, what was once bizarre will become beautiful, and what once seemed alien will become a thread in the great tapestry of shared humanity.

So I say to you: step boldly across seas, whether of water or of thought. When astonishment grips you, do not recoil. Welcome it. For it is in the encounter with the bizarre that you shed the prison of the familiar and grow into a citizen of the world. And in this transformation, you will find not only knowledge, but wisdom—the wisdom that difference is not division, but the eternal richness of life itself.