If you could see me walking down the Boulevard Voltaire in the morning, your first thought would probably be “why are you lumbering like a mummy?” It’s because I thought it’d be cool to buy new Doc Martens for my trip. It was a dumb decision on many levels.
First, most women over 15 years old in Paris are at least 5’ 11”, so the extra three inches I gained from my Chelsea Platforms don’t even figure in the equation. Second, even though it’s never been painful to break these in in the past, I was not walking miles and miles everyday—like I am now.
Even with bandaids on my heels and two pairs of socks, I still feel as though I’m being tortured just having to walk to the metro. Luxury problems. There was a time when I thought my life was going to reach its unceremonious conclusion without any metro to speak of.
You know, to more sophisticated people, there’s nothing terribly exciting about traveling here and there. For me, the idea that I quelled a sadness, a year ago, by clicking the Google icon, putting my debit card number in the right field and picking the word “Paris”—and the the fact that I found myself on a plane actually heading to France— borders on the miraculous.
The first time I read “A Moveable Feast,” I was 22 and that world that Hemingway spoke of seemed magical and further from my grasp than the moon. And to think that all I needed to do was wake up and take a walk and I would be standing in the same spot where Hem would’ve gotten his liter of crisp and metallic tasting white wine that went so well with the andouille and the mustard sauce and the crust of bread that made him thirsty and want to drink more wine—I’m somewhat beside myself.
Excuse my poor imitation of the master.
I was always certain that European travel was for the fortunate. The well off. I based this information, half from my own erroneous preconceived notions and half from the reassurances of people who had less of a clue than even myself. The truth is, yes, a round trip to Rome or Paris can very easily be $6000. It can also be $550. The fares change drastically from one day to the next. The moral of the story is that there are enough people in your life who will think nothing of telling you what you can and can not do—you don’t need to be one of them.
I was no better, once. I have a vivid memory of expecting a very nice tax return in 2018 and making a point of printing out the passport paperwork. I think I even filled it out. I remember finding it later that year—untouched on the same spot on my desk. So whoever needs to hear this, take the advice of the embattled but still highly creative and prolific Woody Allen: 80% of success is showing up. In other words, go to the damn post office and get the passport. You’re closer than halfway there at that point.
The birth of COVID was what finally inspired me to follow through with all of the steps involved with getting my ass out of the US. Between the stimulus money and the inexpensive plane fare, I was convinced that it was my one chance to make my dreams come true. In retrospect, it was. But only because that is what I told myself. This year, the number of people traveling outside their country was far beyond even pre-Covid numbers, but I still bought my plane ticket for $500.
Truth be told, I have every intention of finding a similar airfare to Venice, Italy for next year. It becomes a lot easier to live with the fact that I wake up at 4 am every morning and get back home, sometimes, after 7 pm when I can lose myself in thoughts of canals, gondolas, and rich food.
And as brilliant as all of those things are, it all pales in comparison to the idea that I am living out an almost unrealized dream. International travel while I am still young enough to not need a keeper. Still energetic enough to hop trains and explore new sites. Still innocent enough to be excited by all of it. And still scrappy enough to absorb some of the inevitable inconveniences that accompany European travel.
For instance, I made the error of only booking a hotel until checkout time today and I just realized my flight back is not until tomorrow. It’s not too bad to change hotels, but it requires having to carry all of my worldly possessions for the two plus hours that separate checkout with check in.
As I intimated, I could imagine many worse realities.
So think about it. If you are reading this, feeling slightly envious or convinced that you don’t qualify for excitement because of jobs, kids, money, bills etc, give yourself the gift of silence. Quiet all of that harmful noise in your head and just commit to getting yourself a passport.
You’d be surprised how that one single move can change everything.
Looks like a fabulous adventure and kudos for investing in yourself :) I may not always know where my keys are but I have my passport in my line of sight at all times, just in case. Adventuring is so underrated, gotta keep that eye on the prize mentality alive. Safe travels back to the states.
Love this one too, Billy. Thank you and warning for the future- always break in new shoes when you know there will be lots of walking😎