Travel A.D.

Not Bavaria or the Swiss Alps, but lovely Leavenworth, Washington on July 6th, 2019.

I tend to avoid having people in my pictures. I'll wait for a gap in the crowd to capture a row of brick-and-mortar buildings in an unhurried, unnatural state. I'll let people pass me on a trail, just to get that perfect, uninterrupted picture—a lot of figuring and waiting used to go into making a completely human-free photo.

Six months ago, I might've deemed the shot above to be lesser because of its visible human hustle. I would've preferred a calmer, uncluttered take on the scene. But now, a photo like this holds a whole new meaning. It's a representation of a time, not long ago, but that already feels like a distant memory. An unrestrained time. A more carefree, easy-going time. A time when wherever I went, I felt right at home––didn't think twice about talking to strangers, even hugging them, if the moment called for it. Just this past winter, in the thick of the holiday hectics, I received two hugs in one day from perfect strangers. I hope we get back to that––hugging freely, roaming freely.

Somewhere on the internet, I recently came across a photo of 12 women crammed together on the back of a boat – arms linked – they were laughing and loving vacation. And my very first thought was: oh, that was taken before. I find it fascinating how stark the contrast between before and now is. How before takes its own shape, and now has a different form we're still figuring out. Last year feels like the new B.C., before Christ – before covid. Photos that were taken B.C., plans that were made B.C., activities we used to enjoy B.C.

To take for granted is to fail to properly appreciate (someone or something), especially as a result of overfamiliarity. "The comforts that people take for granted." I realize now how much I took for granted. People in pictures, hopping on trains and planes, renting cars without thinking about Lysoling them before operating them, the ability to fearlessly visit China, room service, high fives, antique shops, sushi, toilet paper, talking to strangers…the list goes on. 

I remember how the further west I went or the deeper into rural America I ended up, the bigger the reaction to, "I'm from New York," I'd receive. Lots of responses like, "Wow! All the way from New York!" and "No way! I've always wanted to go there someday!" I wonder if, for the next year or so, the reaction will be more like how people treat vampires in movies…making a cross with their fingers, holding their breath, kicking garlic at me, running from me. Probably not, but I'm interested in the subtleties of change that I have yet to discover.

But by now, you know me well enough to know that I won't leave you feeling melancholy and longing for the past or future. When I remember how it was, feel how it is and imagine how it will be, I'm taking all that I've experienced to date as fuel for a bright future.

When we finally get back out into the travel-sphere, I think it'll be a good practice of accepting each experience for exactly what it is. Not wishing for more of this or less of that, not wishing it were the way it was, just being ever-so fully present and grateful for what you have and where you are. 

Those first licks of travel are going to be so glorious…like being deprived of pizza for months––even years––then finally savoring every flavor of that first bite. What could be better than that first taste? Think of the first time you get to attend a big event again...the thrill will be comparable to that of a newly freed prisoner's first kiss in decades. It's about how distance (or even absence) makes the heart (and the senses) grow fonder.

So, let the photo above serve as road-trip inspiration and a PSA that the feel of being far away is never out of reach, as long as you've got a motor and gas and the drive to ride. This is a picture of Leavenworth, Washington: the Pacific Northwest's little sliver of Bavaria, complete with alpenhorn players and an Oktoberfest beer wagon. Between the charming village shops and the gorgeous mountain views, it's enough to truly make you feel like you've transported from the U.S. to Europe.

This adorable town was jam-packed last July. A woman working in their year-round Christmas store, Kris Kringl's, told me that if I thought it was nuts then, I wouldn't believe how wall-to-wall it gets around Christmastime. And from pictures I've seen, the place looks as stuffed as Times Square at 11:59 pm on 12/31. Today, I bet you could snap a shot and it'd feel like a real ghost town. Because it's the people who bring it to life. And I hope that not before long, places will be back to being packed to the gills, with people happier than ever to be bumping into each other. Maybe this forced separation will bring us closer than ever before. Maybe we're going to appreciate each other and each experience in a whole new way. I hope so. And you can count on me to keep pumping you up for exciting, new adventures in the meantime.