I love the bustle and stress in an airport, the dull waiting for the plane to board, the tasteless airline meals and the muddled and confused in-flight movies. These things mean that exciting things don't always come easily.
Unless you have a first class ticket.
I love the excitement and the confusion of visiting a new country with new customs and new sights (wth is a little water fountain doing in my bathroom?). It means that you're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
Unless you're a fussy tourist who wants everything their way, just like "back in the states". (If you're going to complain, go home).
I love interacting with the new people, with their exciting accents (Ever heard a Slovenian-English accent? Oh my gosh. Beautiful), their interesting stories, their hopes for the future, the fact that they are indeed separate people with separate lives, not tourist attractions whose sole purpose is to be "natives".
I love the difficulties and the blissfulness, the frustrations and the felicity, the omg-why-is-this-wifi-slow and the omg-this-pizza-is-amazing moments. They signify that no, not everyone lives exactly the same as you do.
I love drinking out of water troughs in Berner Oberland, diving off cliffs in Liguria, and skiing down immeasurable peaks in Friuli. I love scurrying across dangerous rope-bridges in the Soca Valley, I love hurrying out of the rain in Ljubljana, I love chasing my wind-blown fedora in Trieste.
I am a traveller who becomes a momentary resident of each country he visits and explores, leaving behind another bit of his heart. The heart isn't divided by travel, it's magnified. All the little bits scattered around the globe create this great network of "I understand why they all go to sleep at 12 in Italy", "It's not nice to wish someone gets kicked by a horse in Slovenia", and "Don't step on the PH in St. Andrews."
I am a proud traveller. Take my hand, and become one as well.
Or don't. Your choice, really.