One of my favorite stories about Italians adventuring in America has come from one of my best English students, a very established Bolognese marketing professional, who knows more about American politics than I do. He wrote this story about his first trip to the United States, when he went alone several decades ago before he was even twenty years old. The first time he read it to me, I died laughing. Hope you enjoy it nearly as much as I did.
My impressions about my journey in the United States.
By Paolo, October 2012
I was in Mexico at the end of February during a journey that I had begun two months before, and as you are probably aware, it was warm over there. Suddenly I decided to go to New York, but in New York it was winter. I left Bologna, Italy only with summer clothes because I had planned to go to the USA on another trip late in spring. Well just a few days later I left Mexico and I touched down at J.F. Kennedy airport when I was under twenty years-old, without knowing English, without a hotel reservation and during the winter dressed in summer clothes. It didn’t seem too bad!
I remember that at the gate of the airport I wore an alpaca overcoat that I had bought in Peru… but only as a present for a friend of mine. But my friend was a skinny girl! So imagine, I arrived at customs, dressed like a hippy, with long hair and wearing this weird overcoat, Jimi Hendrix style. They frisked me!
I found a taxi who drove me to Manhattan. I got out of the taxi, right in front of a hotel. I took my suitcases which were very heavy because I had bought some stone objects, and I went into the hotel. It was fully booked! I found myself in the middle of a street not knowing exactly where I was, without an idea of where I could go. In addition it was getting dark and mean characters were coming towards me. I was getting scared about the situation. I tried three or four other hotels and eventually I found a room. The receptionist understood my position and smiled at me. I went in the room and I had a warm bath. After my bath I stopped me in front of a window and I looked at the roofs covered by the snow and …I was in Manhattan!
I’ve finally realized that I am addicted to traveling. Perhaps because I embrace the opportunity to be a fleeting resident in a new place where I am willingly sucked into someone else’s world. A world where – for the time being – there is no laundry waiting, no dishes to be done, and no bills to be paid.
I want to pretend that this new and exotic world is mine, if only for a few days. I want it all, actually, because somehow I also want to figure out how to transform my visit from something fleeting and touristy into a long-term, measurable connection. But how? Because honestly, as much as we strive to know about these places we visit, how much do we really know?
I find myself wandering tiny streets, optimistically searching for that café or restaurant where only the locals go so I can somehow meet them and understand their spirit. And let’s face it – this is not an easy task. These places are not on google maps. Or on tripadvisor.
So after many fruitless attempts at this technique, I have gladly settled for the next best thing. Which is actually not settling at all really. It has become my favorite activity in every city I go.
The places I go to instead of the elusive “locals only” spots are on google maps. And they are probably in your travel books too. I guess it sounds too good to be true. And maybe it is, because maybe you aren’t going to like my answer. The place that I go in every new city I visit in order to understand and connect with the city, is the local art museum.
Yes, I get it. At face value museums can seem uptight, cold, and uninteresting. Boring perhaps is the best word. But I beg to differ. Far from being a victim of bad lighting and boring docent lectures, my museum visits over the last year have often been the highlight of my travels. Favorites range from Baltimore’s provoking American Visionary Art Museum, to Winslow Homer’s rugged New England beach landscapes at the Portland Museum of Art in Maine, to the overwhelming Monet exhibit at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris, and the passionate permanent collection at the El Museo del Barrio in East Harlem.
Sunset in front of the American Visionary Art Museum
What is most fascinating about these museums, and what subsequently prompted me to write this blog post, is each of them are about as different as you and me. Why? Because within their walls rest objects created by people. These objects each have an individual story to be told. But the true fascination comes from seeing them grouped together in permanent or temporary exhibits, as the collective story they tell reflects the personality of the city and the individuals that make up the city you are visiting. Seriously.
On my current tour of the US, I’ve spent my evenings hanging out with friends and loved ones, and my days wandering the halls of my favorite art museums. I know, I can’t complain. My trip thus far has included New York, Washington DC, and Chicago. I return to the museums here over and over again. They are amazing. But each one is very different, and their differences are related to the cities they call home. Understanding their differences is about getting to know what makes each of these cities tick. Here’s why I love each of them.
Chicago is one of my favorite cities in the world, and its museums haven’t let me down. It is a city that embodies the resilience and graciousness of the American spirit like no other city in America, and these qualities are skillfully mirrored in the permanent collection of the Art Institute of Chicago through combinations of masterpieces like Grant Wood’s American Gothic, Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, and Mary Cassatt’s The Child’s Bath, among many others.
All of this amazingness on the backdrop of a beautiful building steps away from fabulous Millennium Park. It is really no wonder why this museum is one of my favorite museums in the world.
Subsequently, it was quite àpropos that in this museum, wandering the endless maze of Roy Lichtenstein‘s work last Thursday, I had one of those light bulb moments where I finally came to understand a museum’s unique ability to poignantly capture the essence of the city it calls home. Seeing the Lichtenstein exhibit taught me the importance of comics and comic art in the cultural heritage of Chicago in a way that I never would have understood otherwise. Hurry up because the exhibit closes soon.
My favorite museum steps – the Metropolitan Museum of Art
When I realized that Harry and Sally spent an afternoon here in a scene of one of my favorite movies of all time, When Harry Met Sally, it confirmed that I was not alone in my love for this place. But how could I ever think I would be? Like the Art Institute of Chicago, a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art is an experience both in and out of the building. There is nothing like approaching the Metropolitan Museum of Art and witnessing hundreds of people treating the steps of this magnificent building like their own front porch. Sitting outside in the sun, dancing and painting on the sidewalk, entering and exiting the museum in a flurry of positive activity. People of all shapes and sizes happily co-habiting and epitomizing the je ne sais quoi of New York, where constant wonder shocks you in the realization of the diversity of humanity. All this on the backdrop of the sheer awe of the scale of the museum building and its collection representing in perfect form the grandeur of New York City. The museum’s permanent collection of art and artifacts is just as diverse and grand as the outside. So much so, there is little my words can do to convey the experience. There is truly something for everybody here – from fashion to Egyptian architecture. Just like New York City, you can literally find the world in this museum. You just have to go.
A cold but lively night in Chinatown in front of the Portrait Gallery
I have never met more new people in one day on vacation than during a day spent at the National Portrait Gallery. No matter how much I love a museum, no appreciation I have can ever compare to what I feel for this place. This is, hands down, my favorite museum.
Believe me, the first time I visited this place I was just as surprised by my reaction as you might be. But the reason is very clear – while the connotation of the word “portrait” might call up ancient images of boring rich people who you have no interest in, this place proves that everything you expected to feel about a portrait is unfounded. This is a museum whose purpose is understanding people through art. A docent here once told me that the museum is half art and half history, as understanding each portrait is to enjoy the artistic quality as well as absorb the story behind each of people in the paintings and to understand our own history more succinctly. Mirroring the role of the city it calls home, this museum truly represents not just the nation’s capital but the United States as a whole. In a true exercise of cultural democracy, the Portrait Gallery proudly displays portraits from the most stately politicians to your next door neighbor. Here and only here is it possibly for a person like me to meet everyone from George Washington to George Bush to the founder of the Girl Scouts, and finish my visit by strolling through 180 portraits of residents from the Iowa hometown of portrait artist Rose Frantzen.
And it gets better. The National Portrait Gallery shares space with the American Art Museum. As you wander the halls of the Portrait Gallery you will find yourself mistakenly wandering into a hallway belonging to the American Art Museum. Wait, did I say mistake? I wish I made mistakes like this more often. After seeing Norman Rockwell at his finest two years ago, I began wondering if I needed to reserve two spots on my number one favorite museums list. Last week my delight with this museum surpassed everything I’ve ever seen here, with the best collection of photography I have enjoyed in years as part of the African American Art: Harlem Renaissance, Civil Rights Era, and Beyond exhibit. My suspicions are officially confirmed, and I now have two number one faves.
But my favorite afternoons in Washington, DC are actually spent both inside and outside the museum on its dramatic steps in the center of Chinatown. Coincidentally – or maybe not so coincidentally – this museum joins the ranks of the Art Institute of Chicago and the Metropolitan Museum of Art with its urban proximity to the spirit of the city.
Gee, what more could I ask for? Hope you too can find your favorite places in the next city you visit.
Today I experienced that moment – that unmistakable moment – when my sunny carefree Sunday suddenly got kicked up a notch. The sky overloaded with giant, moving grey clouds, the wind began to kick my hair around, and that hot, sticky world that normally consumes me the second I leave home or work suddenly went away and what came instead was a chill and an unmistakable sense of foreboding.
But somehow, I didn’t mind. Just like all the other people at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY, didn’t mind. Why not? What is so magical about a summer storm? The unexpectedness of the experience? The visual drama? The weather?
We could barely see through the raindrops on the window to the storm just on the other side.
In my former corner of the world in the south of California, summer storms are nearly non-existent. So my fond memories of these experiences all come from my summers spent in New York City. To me, summer rain IS New York City. The drama, the smell, and the temporary urgency fleetingly catapult me back in time fifteen years to walking to acting class on the lower west side of Manhattan in July and racing for cover under the nearest overhang, only to discover four construction workers doing the exact same thing who subsequently became my new best friends.
A study in contrasts, a summer storm is all at once overbearingly dramatic, yet not in the slightest bit threatening. The torrential wind and downpour is dramatic but warm, and somehow, not dangerous. There is a universal understanding that this storm will be over soon, and life will go on as before. In fact, life will even be a little more bearable with that slight breeze in the air, a cleaner city, and humidity washed away with the storm.
My aunt, Suzanne DeChillo, snapped this photo of me taking pictures just after the storm.
Today I experienced the magic of the summer storm from a perfect vantage point – front row seats at the picture window facing the Croton Bay at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY. Guests sitting just outside the window on the patio ran inside for cover in a fit of temporary hysteria – hair flying, makeup running, food drenched. But my family and I sat inside, dry and entertained, and relished the beauty of the moment. These moments that I cherish, that I rarely experienced in my life in the west.
The ocean is deceptively calm.
These photos are of the end and the aftermath of the storm. And what a reward it was to discover the bay like this. Just a short train ride from Grand Central Station, this place instead feels worlds apart from the bustle of the city. The perfect place to relish a summer storm.
You know those instants when the beauty of a moment transcends your eyeballs and you are actually viscerally affected by the amazingess?
On this marvelous summer day, driving the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania about an hour and a half outside of Pittsburgh, I experienced one of those moments. And I was so overtaken by the perfection of the world at this moment in time, that I pulled off the road and took a picture.
I only wanted to record the feeling that I was experiencing, somehow, and I was only shooting with my iPhone 3, so I wasn’t expecting anything special from the photos. I was just optimistically striving to create a visual reminder to help me pull out this memory sometime in the future.
But, I guess the amazingness of the moment not only transcended my eyeballs, but it also transcended my iPhone. By some miracle, this little butterfly entered my frame at the exact moment the shutter snapped.
I am so grateful that this instant was made immortal by this photo that lingers on in my life. I love it dearly. It now proudly represents my many trips up and down the Lincoln Highway, which to this day remains one of my favorite travel memories.
And a lesson learned – who needs the Turnpike? Slow down and take the back way. There’s probably a butterfly or two waiting for you…
The love my friend Andrew has for Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is so evident in his photography and in his stories of his adventures there. He has spent much time throughout his life in Jackson Hole, as his family has a tradition of meeting there during the summer. I asked him to share some of his photos and some history about Jackson Hole. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
A seemingly remote destination, any way you decide to set forth into Jackson Hole is an experience in itself, largely due to the amazing views and the sense of truly getting into the wild. However, when you touch down at the airport, pull into the cities of Jackson (the only incorporated town in the valley) or Teton Village (the town surrounding Jackson Hole Mountain Resort known for its steep terrain and North America’s Ski Area with the highest vertical drop), you realize there are parts of the valley that are well trodden. In the midst of the summer tourist season it is difficult to find the hidden treasures and get away from the crowds; most treasures were uncovered and marketed to the worldly tourist years ago.
The valley is popular for good reason. The splendor of the indigenous wildlife and the natural scenery is unparalleled, and even led to a conflict over the killing of elk and the use of their teeth for jewelery. This practice was outlawed by the state of Wyoming in the early 1890’s for fear of the Elk becoming extinct in the valley, which led to a conflict known as the Bannock war of 1895. Unfortunately, conflicts in the region of Wyoming were not limited to the Bannock War. The region has been a battle ground on many occasions due to the conflicting interests of ranchers, hunters and conservationists over the years.
A visit to Jackson Hole without seeing moose, deer, bison and elk is unlikely especially if you time your trip during the late summer and early fall. Bison seem ubiquitous at times; my grandmother even nicked one with her car one summer. The bison was fine. The Toyota needed a new bumper.
In addition to the splendor and largely due to the growing popularity of the area as a tourist destination, the roster of activities is large and growing. One can hike, bike, climb, fish, boat (canoe, sail, kayak, whitewater raft), paddle board, para-glide, camp, and I’ve been told the shopping is quite good if you are so inclined.
There is nothing like a cross-country road-trip to capture the spirit of being an American. While cliché, there is truth to what they say – the freedom of nothing but you, your car, an open road, and infinite possibilities ahead of you somehow defines us as Americans in a way. Our life, our freedom, and a million ways to go. What do we choose?
In this case, I chose to drive from San Diego, CA to Pittsburgh, PA. The road-trip was a cathartic experience, as I left my life in San Diego – family, friends, loved ones – in order to make the transition to Pittsburgh for a graduate program at Carnegie Mellon. With each new day on the road, I slowly but surely lifted out of the funk that had overtaken my life, working in administration in San Diego for years before I made the big decision to plunge into graduate school on the other side of the United States. The challenge of the logistics on the road and the surprises that seemed to come with every turn were exactly what I needed. My dad always gently reminded me that change and new environments bring new ideas. Now I finally see what he’s talking about. I guess if you agree that we are all in a constant state of evolution, this trip definitely sped up my process just a tad.
I hope you’ll have a chance to do one of your own, soon…
To help out your planning process, here’s an interactive map of our route complete with photos mapped along the way, as well as a google mapwith our exact destinations plotted.
ITINERARY I revolved many of our stops around friends and major landmarks
Favorite Day of the Trip: Our day in Denver and Boulder, CO. Both cities were beautiful and dynamic, full of great things to see and explore, great food, great beer, and a nice vibe. I want to go back.
Most Random Experience: On the way out of South Dakota we ran into the Sturgis Festival. I don’t think I will ever see so many motorcycles in one place again.
Favorite State: Utah. Unbelievably beautiful.
Best Meal: Chicago deep dish pizza with my great friend Tracy, of course.
Biggest Surprise: Iowa! Iowa was a really dynamic state, full of universities and cool people. My friends live in Iowa City where we visited them. The city architecture was interesting, the food was great, and we loved our stroll around town with them.
This photo gallery of my fave pics from the trip can be plotted on an interactive map of our route by clicking here.
There is really nothing I feel I can say to do justice to a place like Maui. Being here is like visiting another world that you have always hoped existed.
Somehow, the moment I stepped off the airplane in Maui, an overwhelming feeling of relaxation overcame me. I don’t know if it is the climate or the beauty or the energy of the area, but this feeling is unmistakable. That being said, there are many different experiences that can be had on this island, despite it’s small size. When I visited, I frequented less touristy areas thanks to some friends I was visiting that worked on the island, and this made a huge difference in my experience. They took me to beaches that had no more than ten people in sight. This was a huge shock, as being from southern California, I am used to beaches stuffed with people. We were everywhere on the island, from the endless beaches as far as you can see, to the mountains in the center of the island. Literally everywhere you turn you find incredible beauty.
That being said, this vacation has it’s limitations. As a city girl, as much as I love Maui, a two week vacation is a perfect amount of time for me to be in this fairly isolated environment. Things are pretty expensive here, as most goods have to be shipped to the island. And this is not a vacation for a foodie.
But, whoever said anyplace is perfect? Truly, everyone sometime in their lifetime must experience a day on a Maui beach, more beautiful than words can express, and nearly deserted. My hike with friends here in the bamboo forest remains one of the most memorable travel experiences of my lifetime.
So, in summary, go to Maui. As soon as possible.
