In “A Thousand Clowns,” the unemployed writer Murray Burns often goes to the docks in Manhattan to shout “Bon voyage!” at the people leaving on ocean liners. I loved this about Murray, one of my favorite literary characters in high school, but I’ve learned over the years that it’s more fun to watch people arriving.
So I don’t really mind when I have to pick up friends at MIA (as I did last night). I get to the International Arrivals Hall early and wander about, trying to guess the provenances of the people filing out or, sidling up to small groups, the languages being spoken. The last time I was there I got a nice photo of a little girl sitting with her father under a cluster of “Welcome Home” balloons. And then of course there are all the emotional reunions, the lovers’ kisses and the inter-generational, no-holds-barred bear hugs.
Last night, to my dismay, the hall was quiet and there was little to see. When our friends finally emerged, they said their flight from Paris was practically empty. I felt a little cheated.
Someone posted on social media recently that she was on a beach in Brazil, toward the end of the day, and heard people clapping. She thought they were applauding the sunset. Then she learned that they were in the vicinity of a lost child, and the custom is for people to clap so the parents will know where to find their wayward offspring.
I liked this story for two reasons. One, it showed the special cohesiveness of Brazilian society. And it also demonstrated to travelers that going where the locals go – even when it’s the beach – can be illuminating about the culture.
On social media recently I came across a video someone had posted from Ho Chi Minh City. It was of a central square, which looked familiar, and as the camera turned, I saw the Rex Hotel, where I had stayed in 1994. There were a few new additions – a Gucci store – but the high-energy scene of traffic and people and lights was just as I had remembered it. I recalled how I would stand on the hotel steps, taking it all in and wondering how I could describe it to readers back in Florida, most of whom had never seen such a show. And, watching the video, I realized that travel writers are now relieved of the responsibility of description, for the physical world is now all on film.
Paul Theroux wrote about the realities of expat life in yesterday’s New York Times, listing, at one point, some of the countries Americans find popular and noting their drawbacks. Venomous snakes in Costa Rica; drug cartels in Mexico. For Portugal, all he could come up with were “parking problems.”
An interesting interview with Rick Steves in yesterday’s New York Times magazine, particularly when he talked about the personal costs of travel (though they were similar to those experienced by many workaholics). And he somewhat downplayed the environmental costs. He claimed that, if suddenly rendered unable to travel, he would embrace the situation, taking as much joy in the pleasures of home as he did those of the road. It reminded me of Jonathan Raban’s acceptance of, and fascination with, the stroke that ended his traveling life (which he brilliantly chronicles in his memoir Father and Son). Good travelers possess an innate optimism, and curiosity about things, that serve them well wherever they are.
Arthur Frommer died yesterday at the age of 95. Best-known at the author of Europe on 5 Dollars a Day, and founder of the Frommer travel guides, he was also the only person who ever called me out of the blue to offer me a job.
It was in the late ’90s. I had met Arthur once, when he spoke at the Barnes & Noble in Plantation to talk about his new magazine Budget Travel. I ended up writing a column about the evening, in which I said: “What Dr. Spock was to child rearing in the ’50s, and Masters and Johnson were to sex, Arthur Frommer was to travel.” Shortly after, a travel writer at the LA Times, who heard him speak in Los Angeles, told me Arthur used that line in his introduction.
So one afternoon, while I was sitting at my desk in the Sun-Sentinel newsroom, the phone rang and Arthur was on the other end. He said that he was stepping down as editor of Budget Travel and wanted to know if I would be interested in the job. Everything about the offer was appealing – editor of a glossy travel magazine in the media capital of America – except the nature of the publication. As its name suggests, Budget Travel was a practical magazine of tips and information, far from the evocative travel writing that I loved and, surprisingly, was allowed to do at the Sun-Sentinel. I told Arthur I’d think about it – Hania was intrigued by the idea of living in New York – but I eventually decided to stay in the provinces, putting out the kind of travel publication that gave me joy.
I think I made the right decision. After The Best American Travel Writing anthology debuted in 2000, the Sun-Sentinel’s name appeared in the first nine editions. Its last appearance came in 2008, the year I got laid off.