The view from the Rialto bridge in Venice is – in a word – indescribable. Yes, you are submerged in tourists. But if you can just face forward and take a deep breath and let the beauty of Venice pour in, you will never forget the moment. The curve of the Grand Canal teeming with activity just below your feet, the pastel painted buildings lining the water with bobbing boats parked steps away. Yesterday was a warm, sunny day, and the canal was gleaming with energy. Even the birds seemed to know this was the place to be.
Living far away from home isn’t always easy. But this sunset view of St. Peter’s Basilica just off of the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta in Rome has a way of melting away all of my homesickness. Just one gentle sweep of my eyes across the Roman rooftops and all my worries are gone…
I think most of us will agree that the word tourist has acquired a bit of a bitter aftertaste. Admittedly, I am as guilty as the next guy for striking down any notion of the idea that I might possibly enjoy being a tourist sometimes. I’d actually probably rather stay home than get caught doing anything that could potentially be labeled as “touristy.” Far be it for anyone to catch me enjoying a nice Mexican lunch in Old Town, San Diego. But why? Where has this anti-tourist phenomenon come from? How have we managed to self-inflict this somewhat silly stigma upon a relatively innocent word?
I opened up my iPad and looked up the definition of the word “tourist” in the dictionary. The definition is short and sweet: “A person who is traveling or visiting a place for pleasure.” A wholesome and respectable definition if I’ve ever heard one. But this makes the negative connotations of “touristy” even more perplexing, as by this definition, rejecting going somewhere touristy is essentially the same thing as rejecting the act of going somewhere for pleasure.
But then I take a moment to think about touristy places, as in places bursting at the seams with tourists. Disneyland calls to mind. Or Venice perhaps? And then my heart drops a little as I forget about the beautiful canals and bridges, and Main Street, and I am instead overwhelmed with images of hoards of people in t-shirts and sneakers. Not romantic.
So ok, I get it now. Lots of tourists – not so great. But going back to the definition again, “…visiting a place for pleasure,” is pretty great. So, why wait until you get to Disneyland to be a tourist, where you do have to join hoards of thousands of other tourists in your pursuit of pleasure, when you can just do that at home?
Once I went two years in San Diego without going to the beach a single time. Shameful, I know. My home is currently Bologna, Italy. Living abroad has bestowed on me an important gift – the opportunity (and excuse) to be a tourist in my own home, when I return to my previous homes in San Diego, Pittsburgh, and New York every summer. In my pursuance of pleasure, I will be a tourist nearly 100% of the time when I return to America this summer. Without a set routine bogging me down anymore, I am free to pursue pleasure by seeking out those activities that not only define the city in the eyes of the world, but also those special activities that I have found that define the cities for me and me alone, like eating most of my meals at The Mission when I’m in San Diego, or having yogurt at the top of Bloomingdales in Manhattan. And I also plan, without shame, to pursue those most stereotypical activities. The first thing I want to do when I get to San Diego is go to the beach. In New York I’m counting the days until I get to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And in Pittsburgh, the incline.
Which brings me to my most important point: what’s life without a little curiosity and fun? Don’t wait till you’re on vacation.
I live in Bologna, Italy, a mere five and a half-hour drive from Basel, Switzerland, which hosts one of the most important annual modern and contemporary art shows in the world, Art Basel. In my two years of living in Bologna, did it ever occur to me to make a trip to Basel? No. Why not? Good question. Laziness…money…ignorance perhaps…I guess it gets the best of us sometimes. Our own backyards are sometimes the last place we explore. In this case, I was lucky enough that my friend Zong rescued me from my remiss by inviting me to meet him at his gallery’s exhibition this year at Art Basel.
Having virtually no visual arts education and not being a fan of fairs and trade shows in general, my decision to go was in the spirit of adventure, friendship, and trust in Art Basel’s excellent reputation. And, well, why not? The exhibition spanned a full week in Basel, with about 300 galleries exhibiting, strictly chosen from a group of 2,000 applicants. It sounded promising.
Simply put, Art Basel wholly lived up to its reputation and in scale, was truly the most impressive collection of modern and contemporary art I have seen in my life. And I really can’t stress this enough – you don’t need to know anything about art to enjoy an exhibition like this. From all-star artists like Picasso and Warhol, furniture and design displays, photography, and installation art, there is something for everyone. And don’t even try looking at everything – there’s no time. Just stop and look at what really gets you.
Statistically speaking, there is something for everyone, and because this is not your average art show, that something is likely to be, well, amazing. I will never forget the moment I walked into one of the exhibit halls at Art Basel, roughly the size of a football field, and realized the entire hall was dedicated to installation art. This is not the sort of thing you find every day. I suddenly felt like an eight-year-old that just walked into Disneyland. I spent the afternoon weaving my way between larger than life paintings with their own soundtracks (think Moby Dick dressed in costume complete with whale sounds and a recorded reading), huge sculptures, through installed walls of fictional deserted businesses on an urban street, and into countless dark rooms with video projects, each one like a treasure waiting to be pulled out of a grab bag. By the end of the day, my mind was soaring from all the stimulation from so many visual delights. I was thrilled. I even managed to convince my athletic and left-brained travel companion, David, to come. He found solace in the visual mind tricks from architecturally inspired installations.
And the cherry on top of the fabulousness that was Art Basel was the beautiful, accessible, and relaxed city of Basel. While the city was packed with people attending the exhibition, there was plenty of room for everyone (aside from the steep hotel prices – book in advance). I spent a relaxing evening enjoying a stroll along the River Rhine, soaking in the beautiful architecture and the wonderfully relaxed vibe. My friend David spent the day hiking along the river, which he filled me in on with his iPhone photos when we met later for dinner at a local favorite for beer, The Fischerstube.
Reuniting with Zong in what really did turn out to be a mecca of modern and contemporary art, I really started kicking myself for not being more proactive with my travel adventure research and coming to Art Basel sooner. How many other amazing places are there to explore and things to do in the world am I missing because, well, no one has invited me? I’ve really got to get on this…Next year, Venice Biennale, here I come!
Here’s a slide show of my favorite photos from Basel:
Art Basel 2013, a set on Flickr.
When deciding from long lists of potential vacation destinations seems to have less reason than throwing a dart at a dart board, a good potential mantra could be, “If it is good enough for George Clooney, it is good enough for me.”
Such is the case with famed celebrity destination, Lake Como (Lago di Como), which is in Lombardy, Italy, near the Swiss border. While George Clooney was forced into selling his villa here several years ago due to ongoing paparazzi onslaughts, this area has long been a destination for real and quasi royalty, with a guest list boasting the likes of Pliny the Younger, John F. Kennedy, Mark Twain, and Tom Cruise.
So what is so great about Lake Como? Who knows. But there is something undeniably charming about a grand, lazy lake, winding around rolling green hills dotted with tiny villages painted in pastel, with the occasional eloquent villa tucked around the bend. And to make matters better, after a day on the lake, a relaxing dinner of homemade pasta with black truffles and Tuscan wine awaits.
Bellagio is one of the famed villages in the community, accessible by a dependable network of boats serving most of the villages in the area, and boasting a namesake casino in Las Vegas that is nearly the same size as this tiny little town.
Oh, and George Lucas also filmed part of Star Wars here. Check out these articles with more info to tickle your fancy…
A sunset this heavenly seems fit only for a date of equally epic proportions – Romeo, perhaps? Well, this is Verona, Italy, seen vividly in my sunset shot from my trip last weekend. And I guarantee you, Verona’s capacity for romance doesn’t disappoint. If you buy your plane tickets now, you might just be able to claim Romeo as your valentine. And if you are good at keeping secrets, his address is via Arche Scaligeri 2. Shhhhhhh!
Don’t worry, I’ll keep Juliet occupied. 😉 She’s pretty much just a bronze statue these days anyway, so I think we’ve got it in the bag.
Happy valentine hunting!
Best of Verona, a set on Flickr.
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.
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.
The Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago
The American Spirit
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.
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City
Diversity and Humanity
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.
The National Portrait Gallery and the American Art Museum, Washington DC
Stately and democratic
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.
An intense love of travel has inspired me to start this blog, so I can think of nothing more appropriate as the subject of my first blog post than a simple question: why in the world do we love to travel so much?
Let’s face it. Our beds at home are pretty comfortable and time zones are pretty significant. And who really likes airports anyway?
I get sick within thirty seconds of smelling jet-fuel. I always forget my perfume. And every day on vacation is a bad hair day because I never have enough space to pack all my curly hair products.
But somehow, I magically forget all of these complications, not just once in a while, but every time I travel. Because if I didn’t forget these things, if I am any semblance of a rational person, I would probably never travel again.
Ok, maybe this is an exaggeration. But definitely don’t ask me about my future travel plans the next time I am on a bus at 6am to the Ryanair airport in the middle of nowhere with two hour’s sleep and a paper due at noon.
Being that you are reading this post, I can only assume that we share a passion for travel in common. And being that we are both human, I am also assuming that you have your fair share of gripes with your own travel experiences. I would love to hear some of them in the comments of this blog, so please share.
So, then this brings us back to my original question – why? Why do we travel? Why do we give up our nice, warm, comfy beds in exchange for potential disaster, or at the very least some scratchy sheets?
I can only speak for myself. And honestly, it has taken me a really really long time to figure this out. I travel because I want to connect with people. This may sound a little strange. I will try to explain.
I don’t mean “connect” in a literal sense, like I am going on singles tours to meet my future husband. I mean, I travel to satisfy an ever-clamoring (sometimes annoying) voice deep down that wants to understand people, everywhere. Where they live, how they live. What they do for fun, what they do for work. I want to understand everything, from their routines to their extremes, to their history. I am fascinated.
When I come home from my latest exploration, I see home differently, every time. I’m exhausted, my washing machine is never happy to see me, but I’m happy because I’m sporting this new-found perspective about the people who have welcomed me into their city. While I probably never absorb much in my brief visits, it is enough to whet my appetite for more. And the memories of this place fly all the way home with me, and simmer for a while as a little hop in my step for the next few days. And ultimately, they make the world a little smaller for me. Which somehow, is a good thing. 🙂
(The above photo was taken of my friend Lizbeth, struggling with her suitcase on the umpteenth staircase of our trip to the south of Italy last September, with no elevator in site.)