I enjoy travel, as you might expect from the books I've written. When I go abroad I prefer not to have a lot of plans or even hotel reservations. Many of my favorite experiences on the road -- and the ones I remember best -- have been in situations where I'm out of my element. That often leads to physical or emotional discomfort, but it's almost always worth it. For example, the first time I set out to scuba dive with sharks, in a place called Palau in the western Pacific, I felt scared. The water was 900 feet deep and I didn't have a weapon. But when they swam lazily over to check me out, my fear turned to awe. Their incredible beauty, curiosity and caution surprised me. (Yes, I would get out of the water if I saw a tiger or great white.) My brother and I once walked into a tough little biker bar in New Richmond, a small town in southern Ohio. Everyone stopped talking and stared at us. We're city boys; they probably thought we were lost. But we ordered Bud longnecks and shots of Maker's Mark and punched some Patsy Cline into the jukebox, and pretty soon everyone was back in conversation. Within half an hour the owner was introducing us to her daughter and we were shooting pool with the bikers, even though we didn't agree on all the rules. They found out we were people, even though we live in New York and L.A., and we were able to see them as individuals through their beards and leather. That, to me, is the point of travel: not just to "see things" but to make the world a bigger place. Although my travel books are meant to be funny rather than practical, my hope is that they help people appreciate other perspectives better and take themselves and their frustrations a little less seriously.