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One of the earliest recorded travel epics was that of Hsuan Tsang, a Chinese Buddhist monk who took off on a 20-year jaunt from Chengdu across Central Asia to India in the seventh century. His goal: to resolve spiritual conflicts by seeing with his own eyes the original Sanskrit texts of Buddhism. He hoped to 'find an Ultimate Truth that would resolve the true nature of reality,' reports Richard Bernstein in his fascinating recreation of the dogged monk’s travels, Ultimate Journey (Knopf, 2001). Neither the wrath of kings nor the ravages of deserts and mountains could keep this spiritual explorer from his appointment with enlightenment.

The spirit of that quest lives on in the wanderings of many of today’s travelers. The past few decades have seen the rise of adventure travel, ecotravel, archaeological travel, bike travel, solidarity travel, home stays, spiritual tours, along with the venerable traditions of backpacking and Eurailing—all created to make travel more participatory, and personally nourishing.

Behind it all is a craving for authentic experience in an increasingly soulless world. Dean MacCannell, a cultural analyst at the University of California at Davis and author of The Tourist (Schocken, 1976), says travelers want to find a 'connection between truth, intimacy, and sharing the life behind the scenes.' Urbanization and technology have eroded primal links to the planet—open space, wilderness, greenery, food from the ground instead of from drive-up windows, community, celebration—the things that make us feel most alive and true to ourselves.

In search of self-exploration and a life that makes more sense than staring at a computer 50 hours a week, many of us are becoming contemporary pilgrims. We’re discovering it’s not the meaning of life we’re after; it’s meaning in life, 'the rapture of being alive,' as Joseph Campbell called it. But to get this soul-tingling satisfaction from travel, we have to leave our comfort zones for trails less traveled. Out there, 'away from all that’s familiar we’re forced to face the Truth . . . of our soul’s journey on earth,' says Phil Cousineau, author of The Art of Pilgrimage (Conari, 1998).

Travel that transforms requires risk and frequent bouts of making a fool of yourself. But you live to tell about it, and in the process your vision of who you are and what’s possible changes. You learn lessons about perseverance and flexibility, getting lost and found again, losing control and liking it, junking plans and following your gut. Traveling on your wits and your feet instills faith, in yourself and in the universe. You learn to believe your own instincts, and to know that if you keep moving, you’ll somehow get where you need to be. You’ll also discover what you need to triumph over the odds when you get back home: the idea that you can.

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