The beingness of slow travel
Sunrise in Collioure, France.
This year, one of three activities I’m working toward is travel. Travel provides me with time to make art and creates refreshing space outside my usual activities. I also write about slow travel.
It’s been an abundant travel year, and Barney and I spent most of June and all of July in Europe. The impetus of our European travel was for me to attend Karen Karbo’s Come to Your Senses writing workshop in Collioure, France with guest writers Natalie Serber and Lidia Yuknavitch. While Barney and I were “in the neighborhood,” we planned to see Le Tour de France live in Paris. We had one month between the end of the workshop and the Tour’s eight laps on the Champs-Élysées. By the time we left Collioure, Barney was in vacation mode, and I was having a stress spike.
Evening in Collioure, France.
For maybe as long as I can remember, I have wanted to write and publish a book. In March, I signed my contract with HCI Books to publish Heidi Across America, and this long-held dream to publish was happening. We collaborated on a cover design, and the listing went up! Between signing the contract in March and leaving for Europe in early June, I succeeded in cutting only 2,000 of the 15,000 words I agreed to eliminate. My manuscript delivery date was mid-September, and I figured I could cut the remaining 13,000 words while we were abroad.
Undertaking this editing project while abroad prompted me to think a lot about what it means to travel. Many aspects of what we were doing was slow travel:
We didn’t need to hurry – we had a month to reach Paris.
We were being flexible and spontaneous – the Mediterranean was too hot for me, so we scrapped our plans to explore the coast and followed my instinct to the mountains and a few near-ish cities that I read were reliably cooler in summer.
We stayed at least two nights in every place we visited, sometimes up to a week in one place.
We weren’t driving and had the leisure of train travel and walking to explore.
Barney loved asking locals for dining recommendations.
I’m an introvert, and Barney’s an extrovert. He gave me a book when we were still getting to know one another, Hiding in the Bathroom by Morra Aarons-Mele. It’s a book for entrepreneurial and career-advancing introverts about putting yourself out in the world when it goes against your instincts. One of the tips is to adopt an extrovert. Check. I let Barney handle asking locals for recommendations.
Collegiate Church of Saint-André in Grenoble, France. Martinet swifts circle above. We followed a recommendation to Café de la Table Ronde and enjoyed an evening feast with the church as our backdrop.
Karen had offered the gift of editing tips before we left Collioure. (In 2020, I had cut 100,000 words from my manuscript and had struggled with the last 25,000. There wasn’t any fluff left, which made it difficult to decide what to cut.) By the time we arrived in Turin, I’d tackled my word count nearly every day, and Le Tour de France had begun. We had almost a week in Turin, and I hoped I could complete the editing task while we were there.
Billboards in Turin, Italy.
Our Turin hotel was 4.5 km from the city center. I searched online our first night to familiarize myself with what there was to see in Turin. There were a few things – the Shroud of Turin, Maurizio Cattelan’s sculpture of a horse hanging from the ceiling in Castello di Rivoli, a palace, some canals that were nice places to ride bikes and see the city – but nothing really gripped me. It’s a great city for chocolate, and that’s gripping, but we had two massive inertial energies keeping us close to the hotel – word cutting and Tour. I didn’t feel like putting effort into anything beyond editing, the Tour, and where we could walk. I was glad Turin isn’t considered a tourist city.
Barney was content to just be in Turin. He delights in discovery via recommendation and serendipity. I like that, but I am also curious about places (see online search behavior above). If there’s a must-see or must-do in a place that captures my interest, I like to try to experience it. Together, our two approaches make for a balanced travel experience, one that isn’t overly planned or underly planned. Sometimes we end up with a few duds, but that’s fine. More often we’re wowed.
The view from our 8th floor hotel room in Turin.
I would not have been ok with our Turin experience if it was my only week abroad. Why bother with the expense and disruption if all we were going to do was mimic being at home? We could do that by getting an Airbnb an hour away. Granted there wouldn’t be the same external differences of language, food, customs and environment in that scenario, but how important are those differences if all you plan to do is take a break from the usual stuff? (Admittedly, it’s difficult to fake an 8-hour time difference, which lends to vacation from regular habits and patterns.)
But this wasn’t our only week abroad. Still, for the first few days in Turin, I was preoccupied with our experience and my inability to make sense of it.
When I was home, I didn’t worry over the many must-see and must-dos I hadn’t experienced – in my home state (and even town) or anywhere across the nation.
One of many veggie booths at the open air market a short walk from our hotel in Turin.
One morning, Barney and I were out for a walk in the swelter. Turin was cooler than the Mediterranean, but it was still hot.
With my thoughts all jumbled, I said, “When I lived in Portland and people visited, I always recommended they go to Voodoo Doughnuts. I never stood in line, nor have I ever tasted a Voodoo Doughnut.”
“Never?”
“Nope. Have you?”
“Nah.” Barney waved his hand as if shooing a fly.
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I’m also not bothered about the many places in America I haven’t seen. But something about making the investment to go someplace like this,” I gestured to the narrow sidewalk with its outdoor bistro seating in the street, “makes me feel like I should make the effort to experience what’s here.”
I recognized that I was having a slow travel experience of Turin. We were essentially living in a neighborhood and doing what the residents did. We visited the open-air market, enjoyed the local pasta and pizza, walked the streets, explored the nearby parks, and savored local flavors at the neighborhood gelateria.
We found a little pizzeria during a walk.
Both of us made the same discovery that peperone is not what you might think. When you wonder why you have a bunch of bell peppers on your pizza and no meat, it will make sense.
I like rocket. Barney not so much.
rucola = rocket (AND arugula)
The next morning, Barney played a TED Talk of death doula, Alua Arthur, reflecting on why thinking about death helps you live a better life. She talked about how many of her clients wished they had more time. She was curious, more time for what? With humor, she said, “It’s rarely to go see Machu Picchu, I’ll tell you that.” Later, Arthur talked about how we’re human beings not human doings. Visiting Machu Picchu is doing. Spending time with loved ones and enjoying the things in life that nourish and delight us is being.
Shortly before Barney and I went out for our morning walk, I checked Instagram and found an encouragement from Natalie Serber to post “glimmers,” things in the world that ignite delight, joy, comfort, and a light heart.
Arthur’s talk was just what I needed to hear, and Natalie’s prompt was the perfect way to refocus my attention. All my confusion about seeing and doing in Turin melted away into a lovely experience of being.
My evening glimmer
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