I am a passionate discoverer of cultural destinations new and old. I relish the delicious, simple foods of a country and the pleasure in both the preparing and eating. I marvel at local artisans who reflect a country's rich culture and serve as ambassadors of the past and yet live in today’s world. Most of all, no matter where I am or what I am seeing, tasting or feeling for the first time, there comes a moment when those experiences move from their outside existence and inside me; creating memories that can literally hit me in the solar plexus with emotion. My family thinks I'm a bit off, but they tolerate me, as I hold the keys to most of our holiday memories and hopefully, will be planning the future ones. The months I put into research and planning before we take off actually gives me the feeling of having an insider's point of view before I arrive, almost as if I already “know” the place. While I try to share those highlights and excitement with my husband and daughter (THE best pizza in Rome, that secret neighborhood we have to walk, etc.), sometimes they just don't "get it". Or frankly, I probably "get it" too much….I can become a little obsessed. Thank goodness the thrill of the research is always outmatched by the real thing. And as we know, "best laid plans" will have their way of turning upside down; from intention into distress, usually with an unexpected, delightful edge. (I’ll share our “getting into Italy is easy; getting out is impossible!” experience next time.)
For example, I had put everyone on notice last summer that while in Venice we just HAD to find the gondola forcole maker (the masterfully carved oarlocks on gondolas), as they truly are a thing of beauty. Needless to say, without an address, it is virtually a "hide and seek" game trying to find a specific locale in Venice. As we wandered through the alley-ways peeking into doorways and windows, we listened for what we thought were the echoes of saws and woodworking; again and again only to find the sounds emanating from construction on a dilapidated building (is that repetitive in Venice?). After an hour or so of wandering, we were verbally accosted by a “gentleman” and then followed for several blocks (I imagine out of his own boredom or my husband's "be nice to strangers" philosophy). We repeatedly tried to dodge him and couldn't seem to convince him we really didn't want to give him all our money. Running into an open doorway in hopes of evasion, I turned around and voila! We had wandered into the folcore workshop. So from disaster, disappointment or just plain annoyance, you can often find your way....
We've had other surprises that have become humorous or poignant memories carried inside my heart (and tear ducts):
the temples in Kyoto where we wrote down our hopes and prayers for sick friends, later to be burned by monks for fulfillment;
the Australian swimmer who unexpectedly popped out of the Sea of China one afternoon when we thought we were alone on an island, and while still in the sea, hanging onto the rocks for what seemed to be "dear life", offered us a beer;
or the dog who leaped from a restaurant's cliff side wall into the vast unknown depths of Les Baux (on which it is said Dante based his Inferno), only for us to discover that over that precipitous edge was a little platform and his comfortable bed.
These experiences can happen anywhere, anytime. Wherever it is, when it happens, there is one thing I know for sure: it happened just as it was meant to. So raise your glass, and toast those travel memories. Draw upon them when you most need to. The French have a word that lives inside me always: la rémanence. While there doesn't seem to be a literal English translation that can be applied to one's life experiences, we can use the scientific definition to get our meaning: the magnetization left behind in a permanent magnet after an external magnetic field is removed. The permanence of that feeling; may it be easily accessed and wonderfully re-lived inside your heart.
Salut!
