Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.
-Anita Desai
There are places we all claim as our happiest of spots. The places that we return to over and over. The places we never tire of, that we continually discover anew and those we simply love. I suspect most of us can identify at least one, be it somewhere in the present or a long ago childhood memory. In my life, there are four such destinations that, with full knowledge of the extravagance of these visits, we have gone repeatedly and will continue to do so whenever we are able. All of these places have resulted in bits and pieces in our many collections, some of which I have shared in previous chapters. But I sometimes wonder if the places themselves are part of our collection of things – certainly, they are part of our collection of memories and their souvenirs serve to trigger the stories that are held therein.
When I was a teenager, the idea of New York City was mind blowing and fascinating and exciting and a grand part of my imagination – an important place, my kind of place. Having lived in Princeton, New Jersey as a child for a year while my father was studying there, I had been to the Big Apple, but I remembered it only vaguely. Upon discovering the fashion magazines of the 1980s (my extensive Vogue collection still exists in a box somewhere), I was pretty sure I would end up there in some capacity. But, alas, my early ventures into designing and creating my own clothing from old bedsheets didn’t quite achieve the desired results. This admiration was apparently still the case when Bryan and I began our relationship, as he gave me not one, but two coffee table books about New York in our early years. We have been fortunate to visit this city many times, and have come to love all it has to offer. A city alive with theatre and music and art and museums, it contains all that we seek – and sometimes a little bit more. We have shed tears, laughed and felt our spirits soar as part of the audiences of many, many plays, concerts, operas and shows. We have seen exhibits of astounding art, strolled through world class museums, sought out marvels of architecture, wandered through and around buildings that exemplify how a city can soar into the sky. We have stopped in serene parks and dodged traffic, hopped into yellow taxis and jumped on subway trains. We have sat in the candlelit calm of the chapel used to treat the wounded in the days following 9/11, and listened to voices singing their compline with reverence and stunning beauty. New York is a special place. A place many love. A place of wonder and excitement. And, it has the best pizza anywhere.
The first time we were in Paris, we were completely smitten. For art and museum lovers, this is not a bad city to visit. For those who love character and cafés, cathedrals and chateaux, also a pretty good destination. That first visit was partially a concert tour and having the opportunity to sing at Notre Dame – and see some of the areas that tourists don’t get to wander through, was quite exciting. We spent a few days after the tour wandering the famed streets of this dream city, and swore we’d return. We have. Several times. Each time renting apartments so we could feel like we lived there – baguettes under our arms, flowers from a stall, a book purchased from the green vendors’ bins along the Seine. It would be difficult to count up the sites we have visited – the big ones, the small ones, the odd ones, the ones that moved our souls. Most of what has come home with us has been books. Books that contain things we knew, books that contain discoveries made along the way, books about the places we went. There are also a couple of prints acquired in two very different locations. The first two are fairly anonymous, signed but unidentifiable. They are hand coloured prints of scenes from the 1920s. Probably done as advertisement art – a lucky find at the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. Simple things that remind us of one of our best travel days ever, wandering through one of Europe’s largest antique markets, and a lively lady who was very concerned with wrapping these trifles up and couldn’t find anything with which to do so (they survived the journey home nonetheless!).
The Louvre is undoubtedly one of the greatest museums in the world. Its collection of art and objects is remarkable. We have discovered that most of it is quite peaceful to visit – unless you have your heart set on getting into the same room as mademoiselle Mona Lisa (she’s lovely, but turn around and look at The Wedding Feast At Cana by Veronese….stunning). On our most recent visit, Bryan decided he would like a souvenir of this, arguably, best art museum in the world. Something real – not a mug (shocking) or other tourist trinket. We wandered to the second floor of the main gift shop, away from the crowds and started to search. Here is where one can buy Rodin sculptures, which are still being cast in limited quantities each year, art books and all sorts of paintings and prints. After much searching, he chose an etching by Pierre Brébiette, an artist from the early French Baroque Era. This print is probably from an old book, and I’m fairly certain it was chosen, in part because of its narrow, rectangular shape. But it is also a little example of the kinds of subjects artists were inspired by then, and have been inspired by since – mythology, religious imagery, nature. This image is quite small and remarkably detailed. It speaks of skills worth remembering, worth revisiting, worth really looking at. Perhaps this is why Paris has been, and continues to be such a draw. It is full of human creativity – it is full of stories of building, tearing down, rebuilding, conflict, the rich, the poor, revolution, beauty, cuisine, density. It is the city of lights. We can learn from what has been illuminated; we can be cautioned; we can be inspired.
If there was one city we would happily pack up our things and move to, it would be London. This is a place that has captured our imaginations time and time again. It is old. It is modern. It is bursting with energy and history. The theatrical offerings are unparalleled, the access to concerts of all sorts is easy and they are plentiful. The English countryside and all its character and beauty is within easy grasp, there are gardens and cemeteries and double decker busses and, wait for it ... free museums. It is our version of paradise. We are both in agreement that if we could only choose one destination for the rest of our lives, London would be it. We have had many adventures in this breathtaking city. The best play we ever saw was there – as were the worst theatre seats, the hottest train on the Tube, the most expensive airport breakfast ever – that beautiful Chihuly exhibit at Kew Gardens, the wonders of Westminster Abbey, singing under the dome at St. Paul’s Cathedral, a dash through the Portrait Gallery whilst waiting for our evening theatre to begin, fascinating wanderings at Hampton Court Palace. And, my favourite museum of all time, the Victoria and Albert Museum. A place filled with things. Rooms and rooms of things. A collector’s heaven.
One of my favourite London memories involves an afternoon, or two, at the Harrod’s department store. On our first visit to one of the largest and oldest department stores in the world, we were feeling a bit peckish when we stumbled upon the Georgian tea room on the fourth floor. It looked quite lovely and we decided to stop for a little afternoon snack, and to rest out weary feet. At the time, we didn’t really know much about the place, and did not order tea that day, but our friendly waiter gave us some tips that have served us well on subsequent visits. He suggested that we return for the full afternoon tea, and that we arrive hungry, with a bit of time to spare. Now, afternoon tea is generally a light, if luxurious, meal so we wondered at the hungry bit…and the price. He assured us that it would be worth it. Unknown to most who indulge in this extravagance, the Harrod’s tea is an unlimited sort of situation. The waiters will happily refill the various levels of your tower of treats as many times as you are confident enough to ask. And, as an extra special bonus tip, he quietly told us that they would, in fact, pack up any unfinished delights to take away, should we be unable to finish what we had ordered – encouraging us to acquire a complete refill right before we were about to depart. These are good tips. It is possible that our first Harrod’s tea was both a lunch and dinner experience, plus enough for the following day. I’m not sure this was Mr. Harrod’s intention when this tradition started in 1824, but the exorbitant price felt much more reasonable when spread out over several days' meals. Afternoon tea always reminds me of this place, and of the laughs we had at our ridiculous boldness. But it also reminds me of the waiter who shared how hard it was to live in a city like London – one of the most expensive in the world – as an immigrant from Eastern Europe. Working in these luxurious surroundings, trying to do the best for his family. A stark reminder of how incredibly fortunate we were to have been able to indulge. Travel has a funny way of giving us extraordinarily heightened experiences and then bringing us back to earth where we must also see the experiences of others. Such an incredible mixture of exhilarating joy and sobering reality.
I’ve deviated a bit in these musings on our favourite places. Perhaps these are not exactly things we love, but places. The few actual things we have that remind us of these places are precious, but the memories have become a part of us. Places often do that, they add to who we are, to what we know, to how we view the world. It is obvious that we have become attached to some pretty grand locales – New York, Paris and London – among the greatest cities in the world. Visiting these wonders is a luxury, and that is not lost on me. But a big piece of what makes them part of the things we love is that we discovered them together. Our matching and divergent interests combining to create experiences greater than those we might have crafted had either of us wandered on our own. This little collection of cities is one I treasure. One that, even if I never see any of them again, will stay with me until the end of my days.
Not all of our travel collection is grand. The most treasured spot we have is just a small town that we have been visiting every summer for more than a decade. I would say this is my favourite place. A place where I feel completely at home, and completely at peace. A place that is beautiful. Rockport, Massachusetts is a seaside town that is partially a touristy summer vacation destination about an hour outside of Boston. I say partially because, despite having an area brimming with the usual souvenir shops and ice cream parlours, it is also a picturesque New England town filled with artists and small galleries, and a place where the townspeople have vehemently fought against the influx of chain stores and restaurants. There is no Starbucks here – but one can get a nice coffee and strudel from Helmut’s bakery. No McDonald’s, but a fresh lobster roll or container of fried clams are both readily available. This is the kind of town that renovated an old harbourfront building to be a stunning little concert hall – complete with a large wall of glass behind the performers on stage, through which one can watch the sunset across the water while listening to a concert. This is a town where the day’s activities include a walk, a book and breathing in the sea air, or perhaps a visit to a heritage site in the region. There are handmade chocolates at Tuck’s Candy Factory, established in 1929. This place feel like a movie set, picturesque and friendly. We have wandered down most of the streets, and sat and gazed at the ocean for hours on our visits. We have been recognized as regulars in restaurants (even after a year’s break) and have chatted with artists and shop keepers alike. We have said 'good evening' to the group of older souls gathered in a corner of the town square, a nightly ritual that we've observed on our evening stroll for as long as we've been visiting. We have seen the rising of an orange moon from the pier, and let the salty sea water sweep over us as we sit on the granite rocks that built this town. A place filled with artists, we have acquired a few works over the years. Prints of local landmarks, a terribly sad bunny that couldn’t be left behind, a representation of the brave souls that bring us our supper. And who could forget ‘taxi cat’ – a source of giggles whenever we see it, although it is completely unclear what this fellow has to do with this sleepy little town, one that may not even have a taxi service. Mementos of a place we dream of all year. A place we look forward to returning to when it is once again possible. A small, unassuming place. Neither grand nor famous. A simple, beautiful place. A place that calms our souls and allows us to return to our lives refreshed and invigorated.
Oh, the places we've been.
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