On the Road Again
Dreams are turning into reality and the road is feeling wide open and filled with promise once again
At some point during the pandemic, I read that planning a trip can be even more satisfying than actually taking one. At first, this seemed like a ploy to make us feel better about being in lockdown. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Perhaps the excitement of the planning is greater than the potential disappointments one might face on the road.
I, for one, suffer from what I’ll call travel amnesia. When we plan a trip, we don’t think about the crowds we might encounter in Venice or on the Inca trail. We don’t envision the limp salad at that restaurant that your friends promised was to die for, or the luggage lost on a flight to Prague. The hotel that promised, but didn’t really have air conditioning. When we plan a trip, it is always ideal.
As a therapist friend once said to me that disappointment is the distance between expectation and reality. And, after all, true travelers (not mere tourists) are dreamers, and dreamers are prone to exaggerate. One of the great pleasures of travel is the unexpected: the lousy restaurant where you make a great new friend, the canceled flight that forces you to spend a glorious night in a town you never planned to visit in the first place.
Perhaps the excitement of the planning is greater than the potential disappointments one might face on the road.
Sometimes the detour becomes the destination. Case in point: One night my husband and I found ourselves in Antwerp. We had a special restaurant in mind (it was booked) and a hotel on the square (ditto). Granted, we should have called ahead. In the end, we found ourselves in a karaoke bar where we shared a table with Belgium’s number one Elvis impersonator and with whom my husband, several beers in him, did a great rendition of “Unforgettable.”
While I love the serendipity, it was starting to dawn on me that I could recreate some of the joys of the journey just by imagining them. (Though I never could have imagined the Elvis impersonator in my wildest dreams.) I began to plan trips that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to take — given the pandemic, the state of the travel industry, and the world.
I’m not your average traveler. I don’t use a travel agent or outfitters. I create my journeys out of maps, travel narratives I read, novels I’ve loved, and, yes, the occasional guidebook. My mother used to joke when she’d see me take out a map (a real, physical map), she’d say, “Oh, oh, she’s traveling again.” So for the past fourteen months, this is how I’ve been traveling in my den upstairs or in the cabin we rented near our daughter in the Catskills — with maps and guidebooks and dreams to spur me on.
The list in my head grew long. Some far-flung; others closer to home. A road trip to Chicago to visit friends and family or perhaps the coast of Maine. At one point Croatia popped into my mind and I began looking into flights. I had “rain-checks” on a number of canceled trips. I actually called one of the airlines and asked if they flew to Zagreb.
“Zagreb?” the confused representative said. I had to explain where it was. “It’s been a while,” she replied.
So for the past fourteen months, this is how I’ve been traveling. In my den upstairs or in this cabin we’ve rented near our daughter in the Catskills — with maps and guidebooks and dreams to spur me on.
I settled on Greece and Southern Turkey where I made lists of the islands I wanted to hop between. Because my travel and my reading go hand in hand, I built a stack of books to read or reread: The Odyssey, The Colossus of Marousi, (Henry Miller’s amazing travel narrative about his first journey to Greece), the poetry of Cavafy, the novels of Kazantzakis. I started to envision going to a friend’s bed and breakfast in Kenya that borders on the Serengeti. But, in the back of my mind, I kept hearing, “If I ever get on a plane, if I ever travel again…”
But now we are vaccinated, and “if” has morphed into “when.” Those imagined journeys can start to become real ones. I feel like those two boys in Scotland who made a list of the 500 things they want to do in their life. One was to send a toy pirate ship around the world; it just made it to Miami. There are literally dozens of places on my wish list, but I’ll start with a few — the ones that seem most tenable just as soon as we hit the road, get on a plane, a ferry, a donkey, whatever.
For my first few trips I’m going to go back to my old stomping grounds — places I’ve loved but most importantly visiting people I’ve missed. I’m calling these my “friend journeys.” The first will probably be that road trip — whether to my hometown, Chicago, to see family and friends, or Maine or just to see pals on Fire Island. The next one is for October, and I’m crossing my fingers and praying that Europe will be fully opened up.
In Puglia, Italy, there is a family who has basically adopted us. We used to do house swaps all over the world, and this family found us on the website Intervac. They have a fortified farmhouse (think a small city) and we fell in love with it, and with them. Since then we have eliminated the middle man (though I love and highly recommend Intervac) because every summer for years, except in 2020, we have stayed in their farmhouse. I have written several of my latest books on their ping-pong table.
When in Puglia, I start my day at the café in town where I know all the locals. I speak Italian, which helps, and the barista makes my macchiato just the way I like it; then if it is market day, I’ll get fresh eggs and strawberries, or drive twenty minutes to the sea and grab the catch of the day as it comes off the boats. I might spend the rest of my day at the farmhouse but usually by early afternoon I am ready for an outing. Lunch in a favorite nearby town, a trip to the sea, a visit to some ruins or odd caves.
My general rule is I eat one meal out a day, just to get out of the house, but the rest we cook at home. In Italy, I love pranzo — that leisurely extended lunch that usually includes delicious seafood and a rosé in an unlabeled bottle that probably came from someone’s grandmother’s vineyard.
From Puglia, we will go to Paris. And hopefully, there will be side trips. I had promised my husband a birthday trip to Berlin that has been long postponed, and another to Portugal.
After our U.S. road trip and European “friend journey,” I plan to return to Jamaica. Another trip that was canceled in 2020. I have been doing research in Jamaica for several years and have made many trips, but this one was to include my daughter and her husband. Well, outside of the pandemic, my daughter also had a baby, but I think that in early 2022 we will be at a place called Chillin’, which is just the right vibe I’m looking for right now. The sea, fresh fruit, and rum. And, yes, once again, friends.
And then I’m ready for the far afield. The trips of a lifetime. The ones I now know we should not postpone any longer. I was going to wait until my grandson is old enough to enjoy Africa, but if I have learned anything from this pandemic, it’s carpe diem. Who knows what might happen down the road. I have always wanted to see a giraffe in the wild.
The list goes on. I’ve been contemplating tango lessons in Argentina, the South Pacific, where I’ve long wanted to go, and Vietnam for a self-guided cycling tour. My wish list is long, but my restless leg syndrome is settling in. I am ready to get going again if it feels safe and if I am not putting others at risk. Dreams are starting to spill over into reality and the road is feeling wide open and filled with promise once again.
