Far Away Places–2024

Today, I claim executive privilege and repost with considerable emendations, one from the past.  It’s a personal anniversary, my sixth–in wedding anniversary terms that would be “iron”– and I’m in a bit of a reflective mood:

I don’t think any of my sentiments have changed in the intervening years.  I haven’t been to any “far away places,” since my last trip in 2018 or since I wrote the following, and–truth be told–I’m glad of it, given the catastrophic failure of the airlines and the airports in either hemisphere to get people through the turnstiles, onto their flights, into the air, and down again with any semblance of punctuality or organization, either with or without the luggage they brought with them, which more often than not seems to end up God-only-know where, lost, perhaps forever.

Then, there’s the whole “Boeing” thing. Lord.  Glad-above all else–that I’m not orbiting 250 miles above the earth on the International Space Station. Elon Musk, call your office.  (I know I’ve been critical of you in the past, but–unlike your attempted rather ill-considered intervention on behalf of the Thai soccer boys, I think you could actually be useful here. Once again, lives are at stake.)

For the time being, though (maybe forever), I’ll visit the far away places of my memories, and perhaps enjoy them vicariously through books and film.  Maybe I’ll even write some reviews of my favorites.  Stay tuned.

But just today, without further ado, from 2020:

I’ve been in a few such, in my time.  In fact, I spent most of the first ten years of my life in several of them, and what I remember most, all these years later, is the warmth, the tastes, and the smells.  Never having the tip of my nose freezing and feeling as if it’s about to fall off.  No chilblains (a hazard of British winters, but apparently unknown in America until something called “COVID Toe,” which looks a hella a lot like chilblains to me). The scent of bougainvillea and moonflowers on the night air. Fresh mangoes, and pawpaws, right off the tree.  Fairytale gardens full of exotic flowers and fantastic beasts (eat your heart out, Jo Rowling), playgrounds for my childish imagination:

The local markets, rich with herbs, spices, and more varieties of peppers than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio:

Then there are the not-so-pleasant memories:  The cannibals.  The gangs of large African men sent to kill us.  The poisonous snakes put in our beds.  Car chases.  Armed guards.  And some of the not-so-pleasant smells. (If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your distance from Camelus Dromedarii.  Not only do they spit; they stink.)

Six years ago today, I started on my last trip to a “far away place,” in this case, Chiang Rai, Thailand.

I wrote about my observations along the way in this post:

One of the things I learned about myself is that, even at my great age and half-way through my seventh decade on this earth (“for those of you in Rio Linda,” that means I’m in my 60s), I still travel pretty lightly and well, and I still enjoy the travel experience itself, even though the trip from Pittsburgh to Chiang Rai (via Chicago, Tokyo, and Bangkok) takes about 34 hours, end-to-end….

One of the things I noticed on the journey itself, as I went from American Airlines to Japan Airlines to Thai Smile Airways was how differently they present themselves to the customer in the context of their national culture.  The US airline–bustling, friendly, a bit in-your-face, cheerful, rather shouty, and the standard plastic food.  The Japanese airline–very quiet, a bit distant, extremely polite, delicious food, and a musical, low-pitched, spoken language   (all good things, as the flight from Chicago to Tokyo takes, seemingly, forever.  The one from Tokyo to Bangkok, not so much).  The Thai airline–super friendly, but loud and a bit disorganized, good snacks (it was only about an hour flight from Bangkok to Chiang Rai), all overlaid with a language that (and this surprised me) sounded very harsh to my western ears…

There haven’t been too many “far away places” over the past few decades of my life.  The Chiang Rai trip was the most recent.  I found there a beautiful, generous people, and one of the loveliest days of my life at a wonderful cooking school.  Hats off to Suwanee.  I’ll never forget you.

There were gorgeous landscapes (what I saw of them).  Spectacular food and foliage.  A few nice memories. Lots of pollution, jammed and dangerous streets and alleys. (At least they drive on the proper side of the road. So there’s that.)  Impossible to find one’s way around without a guide.  Some not-so-pleasant memories there also, although nothing to do with Thailand or the Thai people, both of which are lovely.

And here I sit, mid 2024, thinking once again about far away places.

I’ve always loved the song.  Perhaps my favorite cover is from Vera Lynn–a lady who did her bit in some very far away places, sometimes with considerable privation, and in considerable danger, singing to her beloved troops.

But today, I’m going with Willie and Sheryl.  If you don’t like Willie, I’m not sure I want to know you, and I’m willing to extend a probably undeserved amount of credit to Sheryl for her preoccupation with the state of the planet’s toilet paper inventory long before the rest of us gave it a thought in the early months of the sad and stupid coronavirus era.

Besides, like me, Willie’s a geezer, his voice is more reedy than ever, and I just like that he plows full-steam ahead and appears to be on course to do that all the way to the end. He’s 91 now, and  he released his 75th album, The Border, in May of this year.

I saw Willie live, in August of 2023.  And wrote about it here: Lifting the curse and living to tell the tale.

We all have it within ourselves to lift the curse of our past, and move on to a bright, sunlit future.

All that is necessary is that we want to.

Wishing all who read this post contentment, joy, and freedom from the constraints of the past.

You can get there.  But only if you want to.