In May of 1994 I spent a week in Normandy, researching stories to run on the 50th anniversary of D-Day. It was one of the best and most moving trips I took in my 19 years as a travel editor, and it culminated in my finding, in the small town of Vouilly, Le Château that had served as the press corps’ headquarters in the days immediately following the invasion. Since then it had been turned into a bed & breakfast and, naturally, I spent the night. Before arriving there, I had stopped in the more famous town of Sainte-Mère-Église and visited its Airborne Museum. In the guestbook, a 15-year-old schoolboy named Benoît had written: “We must attempt, with these relics of the slow reconquest of liberty, to perpetuate the memory of that which no one has the right to forget.”
Eight people came to Books & Books in the Grove last night to hear my conversation with the traveler and publisher Hilary Bradt. Admittedly, we had stiff competition: Sebastian Junger was over at the Gables store. But Hilary, a charming octogenarian, has also had an adventurous life, one that his included hitchhiking – as she told the audience – in every decade except the first. Her article about her most recent experience, in Germany, appeared in the Guardian.
After the event, over bowls of French onion soup at Le Bouchon, I told Hilary that travel writing is not as popular in the U.S. as it is in Britain. And not just Britain. She said she did an event in Belgium that 60 people attended. And 40 of them bought her book, which of course is written in a language not native to the country.
It’s raining for the second straight day in Paris, which means that all but two of the courts at the French Open are covered. The temperature is in the low 60s, an improvement over the other night, when it was 10 degrees cooler and Daniil Medvedev appeared for his match in leggings. Cool and damp is fine for Welsh rugby; not so much for tennis. Especially when the moisture makes the courts unplayable. The announcers all express sympathy for the players, made to start and stop, and then wait indefinitely. And I think: Yes, yes, it must be tough for them – but what about the tourists? The people who saved for years to visit the City of Light – at the end of May! In the era of global warming! – and now find themselves huddling in doorways or sipping hot chocolate in bright cafes. Luckily, they’re in a city with decent museums.
I’m reading the memoir of Hilary Bradt, founder of Bradt travel guides – in preparation for my interview with her next week at Books & Books – and was amused to learn that, in her early days of budget travel, when rental car companies charged by the mile, she and her husband would occasionally drive on Texas country roads in reverse.
I gave a talk last week and during the Q&A a woman asked me something I’d never been asked: “What place have you been that you would never return to?”
I thought for a very brief moment, and then said unequivocally: “Myanmar.”
Before boarding the flight with the well-decorated seatmate, we had lunch at Legal Sea Foods. Our table was up against the window, with a view of the runway and, off in the distance, the dome of the capitol. One of the things that makes Washington such an attractive city to visit is the proximity of the airport.
Our waiter arrived, apologized for making us wait, and explained the reason: “I was in a passionate discussion,” he said.
“What about?” I asked him.
“History,” he said, giving me another reason to love Washington.