Wanderlust

It's a very long winter. We had more snow by mid-January than in the typical six month season. I've never liked the cold which begs the question -- "You've lived in the north east all of your life??" I can't answer that reasonably, but at my age it's a moot point. Most of my friends and relatives who were way smarter than me have retired or semi-retired. They travel. Some escape the winter by heading south. Some of them hold up in foreign ports for weeks on end. I don't envy much. Traveling I envy. Oh, I've had a few trips. There was my adventure in England "back in the day." (see June 2008 Crossing the Pond) And I became my actor-son's groupie when he was performing in regional theatre and traveling his cabaret show. I saw Virginia Beach; St. Louis (twice); Montgomery, Alabama; Berlin, Germany; and more. In 1998, at low ebb, my dear friend Pete Jones telephoned me from his home in Laguna Beach. Pete was concerned that I'd never see Venice (my big dream) if he didn't see to it. Thinking of me while he was suffering from cancer. And though he'd meant to take me on the trip himself, he wasn't able. So he arranged a journey for me (with my son, Jamie, because he wanted me to have someone to share the memories with.) He did it all from his hospital bed. We went to Paris for six days; traveled by train to Venice by way of Milan. We spent six days in Venice. Then on to Saltzburg -- Pete's favorite place. Four days there, then two in Vienna. We finished the trip in Munich for two days and flew home from Frankfort. Pete was my best friend.

Jamie met me at Logan Airport in Boston, flying up from NYC. We arrived in Paris on the first of May. It rained most of the time we spent in Paris but it didn't matter. We crossed all of the bridges; rode a carousel; strolled a museum or two; ate crepes; went to a movie; brought bouquets of flowers to Père Lachaise Cemetery; were chased out of the lobby of the Ritz Hotel because we were wearing blue jeans. We visited with a dear friend who had been an exchange student with us eons before -- she came with her lovely son and her sister for hot chocolate. We went to Le Comedie - Française where we were stared at because we'd dressed up. We walked. We walked. And discovered so much about each other. Venice was very sunny and very warm. And very crowded. We were out each morning by 6:30 and roamed the streets without competition. It was beyond expectation. Each evening after dinner, we'd have our gelato while searching for Campo Barnabas (in the film SUMMERTIME, Kate Hepburn meets Rossano Brazzi there). We walked. We walked. And discovered so much about each other. Saltzburg was stunning. I will always wish that Pete could have been there with us, to show us "his" Saltzburg. Once we arrived in Vienna, we knew we should have stayed two days in Saltzburg so we'd have four in Vienna. It was glorious. We saw Cosi Fan Tutti. And we walked. We walked. And continued to discover so much about each other. On the train to Munich, we felt foolish because we were nervous crossing the border into Germany. The train stopped, and two men slammed into our compartment. One was in a black leather jacket. They demanded passports and had a good time scaring us. They actually did work for the railroad. When they left and the train started again, we laughed until we wept. We watched fields of red poppies from our "Miss Marple" train windows. In Munich, we went to the theatre. WEST SIDE STORY done in German. It lacked something.....(you can only imagine!) By the time we reached Munich, however, we knew that Pete had passed away. And we were suddenly tired with that news. Pete was my best friend.

That was my great trip which deserves a small volume actually. And it was my great gift. It continues to reverberate. It turned me into an eternal tourist. It made me what Pete called "Journey Proud." It turned my son and me into friends. Adult friends. Oh, I'll get the occassional phone call still and hear him say, "I need to speak to my mom." But on any level, we can talk. (Wouldn't it have been amazing to take a similar trip with each of my kids?) Anyway, that was Pete's greatest gift. That, and his deep and abiding friendship.

So now I have this big birthday approaching in March. At low ebb (again) I feel that I am in need of a holiday instead of a cake with a forest fire of candles. For several months I have been squirreling away as much money as I can, and I'm taking myself on a birthday trip. I'm going to Italy. A very short trip, really, but I know it will be a good thing. I'll have a day in Rome, two days in Florence, three days in Venice. I won't have company; but I learned a long time ago that if I wait for someone to show up before I do something, it probably won't get done. Funny thing: when I was maybe 11 or 12 years old, I wrote a poem which I can't totally remember. But the last line was something about it being wonderful to "travel through the world alone." My English teacher thought that was a foolish concept and berated me for it. I wonder if it was 'fore-shadowing." When I feel some trepidation about it, Jamie tells me my trip will be empowering. I can use some of that. In the interim, while this relentless winter carries on, I have something wonderful to plan. Pete would call me "Journey Proud." He was my best friend.