I’m ready to begin being myself again – to resume the task of applying myself to the world in the most practical, efficient and exciting way possible, and that requires me to be in a place I consider home, near the people and the vocation I feel called to. My uncle Tom wrote in a lovely travel book given me by his daughter Anna a line from Rumi – ‘let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love.’ That, for me, is all of you. While I have time left on my dance card in Europe, I am eagerly looking forward to returning state-side. For this and one or two other reasons (I am starting to run out of money!) I will be giving SE Asia and China a miss on this trip. I had been especially looking forward to hanging out with Annie in Xian China, but that will have to wait for another journey.
Spending my time in Sweden, I have finally begun enjoying ‘The Art of Travel’ by Alain de Botton. It is a collection of essays on various aspects of travel, told from the life perspective of a place and an artist – like Madrid with Alexander von Humbolt as a ‘guide.’ This chapter, ‘On Curiosity,’ was about the difference between traveling as a fact finder, like Humbolt traveled through South America in the early 1700s, and as a traveler/tourist, as Botton traveled Madrid in the 1990s. He lamented that there was such purpose in Humbolt’s journey – every detail, from ocean temperatures to every plant at every elevation, was new to his audience of aristocrats and scientists back home, while Botton had nothing new to discover about Madrid save his personal growth, which may or may not grace him on any particular day. He finishes the chapter with this: “But our admiration for Humbolt may not preclude our feeling a degree of sympathy for those who, even in the most fantastic cities, have occasionally been visited by a strong wish to remain in bed and take the next flight home.”
I had this sense acutely when I arrived in India. I remember laying low in my first hotel room in Delhi, chatting with Corinne, trying to figure out what I wanted to do or see in India. I felt this drive to find the movement of India itself, to be drawn towards something; that India itself would imbue me with a sense of purpose, would tell me what would be worth seeing or doing. I became more and more frantic to find that India didn’t care one whit if I came or left, seeing anything at all, aside from the hundreds of tuk-tuk drivers clambering for my attention on the street. Even after thinking for weeks about why I was traveling and how entirely justified my Indian timeline was, reading Botton’s account of wanting to stay in bed and head home was powerful and validating. I have not been finding facts or contributing in a meaningful way to society other than opening and expanding my own perspective. Of course this is no small thing, but when I am beating a hasty retreat, my purpose retreats with me.
When a new group of travelers come together on a train, in a café or hostel, one of the first bits of information shared after where you’re from and where you are going is why and or how are you doing this trip. Jokingly, someone generally says they are finding themselves and everyone laughs – ‘expensive trip to find what you bring with you all the time!’ I have not created much more identity than when I’ve been at home, though as I have relied upon the bones of myself on this journey, I have discovered much about who I am and will be.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I remained myself, if I was stripped down a bit by these struggles as we are all from time to time, humbled, exposed. I was cleansed a bit – the self that was left 20 lbs lighter, requiring the two weeks eating rich food and relaxing in Stockholm is me still. Well – no more bottomless thoughts before I account for my past two weeks in some more detail, and get back to telling stories of Italy (where I will be when you read this!!!).
When I made my way to C’s apartment on March 9, I was in fairly rough shape – this is to say that I spent a fair amount of my time lounging about because a walk across town was good enough for a day’s effort out of me. By the end of the first week I was feeling much more solid (pun intended – it was at a week home that I visited a clinic to have some tests done, everything came back ‘negative’ which meant cutting dairy to have more energy and fewer trips to the toilet). C had finals, so I would lie in for a few hours, poke around online (reading mostly about the ongoing Arab Spring) and reading and eating until she came home. We were living in an apartment in Kungsholmen that she let for two weeks. It had a Murphy bed, a balcony facing west and a kitchen and bathroom all to ourselves! I would prepare dinner, and after eating we would write an email or two and settle in to watch a movie before doing the whole thing again the next day. It was a lovely way to convalesce and spend some quality time. Here are some apartment photos:
The final image there is C pointing to our apartment from a bridge. We spent a fair amount of time wandering the neighborhoods of Stockholm in the early spring weather. I've got a few proto typicals, along with a shot of the 'pedigree moon' over Stockholm's City Hall.
The second to last is C and I walking on the ice between the Stockholm islands - there is open water in the deep background. Apparently people skate across the ice well into spring, holding special ice picks in each hand in case they fall in. Yikes! Next stop Italy - thanks for reading!
Spending my time in Sweden, I have finally begun enjoying ‘The Art of Travel’ by Alain de Botton. It is a collection of essays on various aspects of travel, told from the life perspective of a place and an artist – like Madrid with Alexander von Humbolt as a ‘guide.’ This chapter, ‘On Curiosity,’ was about the difference between traveling as a fact finder, like Humbolt traveled through South America in the early 1700s, and as a traveler/tourist, as Botton traveled Madrid in the 1990s. He lamented that there was such purpose in Humbolt’s journey – every detail, from ocean temperatures to every plant at every elevation, was new to his audience of aristocrats and scientists back home, while Botton had nothing new to discover about Madrid save his personal growth, which may or may not grace him on any particular day. He finishes the chapter with this: “But our admiration for Humbolt may not preclude our feeling a degree of sympathy for those who, even in the most fantastic cities, have occasionally been visited by a strong wish to remain in bed and take the next flight home.”
I had this sense acutely when I arrived in India. I remember laying low in my first hotel room in Delhi, chatting with Corinne, trying to figure out what I wanted to do or see in India. I felt this drive to find the movement of India itself, to be drawn towards something; that India itself would imbue me with a sense of purpose, would tell me what would be worth seeing or doing. I became more and more frantic to find that India didn’t care one whit if I came or left, seeing anything at all, aside from the hundreds of tuk-tuk drivers clambering for my attention on the street. Even after thinking for weeks about why I was traveling and how entirely justified my Indian timeline was, reading Botton’s account of wanting to stay in bed and head home was powerful and validating. I have not been finding facts or contributing in a meaningful way to society other than opening and expanding my own perspective. Of course this is no small thing, but when I am beating a hasty retreat, my purpose retreats with me.
When a new group of travelers come together on a train, in a café or hostel, one of the first bits of information shared after where you’re from and where you are going is why and or how are you doing this trip. Jokingly, someone generally says they are finding themselves and everyone laughs – ‘expensive trip to find what you bring with you all the time!’ I have not created much more identity than when I’ve been at home, though as I have relied upon the bones of myself on this journey, I have discovered much about who I am and will be.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I remained myself, if I was stripped down a bit by these struggles as we are all from time to time, humbled, exposed. I was cleansed a bit – the self that was left 20 lbs lighter, requiring the two weeks eating rich food and relaxing in Stockholm is me still. Well – no more bottomless thoughts before I account for my past two weeks in some more detail, and get back to telling stories of Italy (where I will be when you read this!!!).
When I made my way to C’s apartment on March 9, I was in fairly rough shape – this is to say that I spent a fair amount of my time lounging about because a walk across town was good enough for a day’s effort out of me. By the end of the first week I was feeling much more solid (pun intended – it was at a week home that I visited a clinic to have some tests done, everything came back ‘negative’ which meant cutting dairy to have more energy and fewer trips to the toilet). C had finals, so I would lie in for a few hours, poke around online (reading mostly about the ongoing Arab Spring) and reading and eating until she came home. We were living in an apartment in Kungsholmen that she let for two weeks. It had a Murphy bed, a balcony facing west and a kitchen and bathroom all to ourselves! I would prepare dinner, and after eating we would write an email or two and settle in to watch a movie before doing the whole thing again the next day. It was a lovely way to convalesce and spend some quality time. Here are some apartment photos:
The final image there is C pointing to our apartment from a bridge. We spent a fair amount of time wandering the neighborhoods of Stockholm in the early spring weather. I've got a few proto typicals, along with a shot of the 'pedigree moon' over Stockholm's City Hall.
The second to last is C and I walking on the ice between the Stockholm islands - there is open water in the deep background. Apparently people skate across the ice well into spring, holding special ice picks in each hand in case they fall in. Yikes! Next stop Italy - thanks for reading!
Did Lora Wichser AND Laura Holway give you that book? Because we certainly have good taste!
ReplyDeleteEnjoy Italia! I can't wait to see you!!!!!!
Ack! No, just you Laura - sorry! But you both certainly do have good taste! See you soooooooooonnnaa!
ReplyDelete