“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller
Nowhere to be… and everywhere to go
Sitting in the Air France lounge at Boston Logan waiting for my Condor business class flight to Malta via Frankfurt, I thought about the leap of faith I had taken to get there. From working my entire life to suddenly be doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do – explore. Explore places and cultures and new experiences with no roots and no safety net. And very little money.
It hasn’t been easy. It’s taken lots of planning and lots of letting go of material things. You see, I started selling off my belongings almost a year ago, until I moved out of the condo I had lived in for 14 years and owned nothing that didn’t fit in a carryon and a personal item. And I’ve been strategically amassing credit card points and miles to help fund my travels. After all, I am no longer willing to sit by the back toilet on a plane or stay in hostels. I’m adventurous, not a masochist.
My choice has raised a few eyebrows. I don’t have a hefty retirement fund, I travel alone, and I’m not choosing the traditional retirement path of golf and pickleball and occasional travel, but always to return home to a house of stuff accumulated over years.
Instead, I have no home to return to. For now, wherever I happen to be is home. I honestly have no idea how long I’ll keep doing this – or where I’ll end up. But that is part of the fun.
Anyway, back to the subpar Air France lounge in Boston. I was not impressed. Grateful to be able to wait for my flight in a lounge, but not impressed. It was crowded and the food left much to be desired, even if they did have brie.
As I travel, I will share my opinions of lounges and airlines and hotels and cities, but this is not exclusively a travel blog. I will share how I funded much of it, but this is not a points and miles blog. I’m a retired solo female traveler on a budget, but I won’t write exclusively about any of that. I’m also a reader and a writer, so some of that may be sprinkled in. And I’m a dorky Star Trek fan, so I think I’ll just end by saying:
“These are the voyages…”
The Literary Scene in Chas is Alive and Well… or at Least OK
Since moving to Charleston three years ago, I have whined to my friends back in Charlottesville about the lack of literary events and organizations down here. In C’Ville I was part of a wonderfully supportive organization for writers called WriterHouse. (Check out my previous post on this great place). C’Ville is rich with writers and lovers of the literary arts, with an annual book festival, Virginia Festival of the Book, loads of literary residents, and a great indie bookstore. Maybe it’s because of UVA’s renowned MFA program, maybe it’s something in the water. Who knows? But I was definitely spoiled.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Charleston. And I have a terrific writing group. But what I missed was what I had taken for granted for so long: opportunities to listen to and meet writers like Rita Dove and Carolyn Parkhurst and Maya Angelou (yes, I heard Ms. Angelou read, watched her mesmerize a room of thousands with her words, her presence, and that amazing voice), opportunities to take classes from talented MFA grads and published writers any time I wanted, and opportunities to attend writing festivals within driving distance in Richmond and DC.
The Spoleto Arts Festival is an incredible thing here. It is full of dance and music and theater, but where, I kept asking, were the literary arts? They have a poetry reading each year – Sandra Beasley, a DC native and friend of a mutual friend, read last year and she was terrific – but not really much else. Or at least as far as I knew. But this year, I just happened to be reading the Spoleto schedule when I discovered that they do, in fact, have a literary festival of sorts. It’s supported by the Charleston Library Society, and I’m not sure why it is not better known or publicized. I don’t know who they’ve had in the past, because as I said I didn’t even know it existed, but this year was the perfect year for me to discover it. Because two of my favorite authors read.
George Singleton, a SC native who lives not far from where I grew up, is a fabulous southern writer whose stories are about the guys I grew up with. In fact, when I read his stories, I feel like I’m sitting on his back deck drinking a beer and listening to him tell something he heard about somebody we both know. He has a new story collection, Between Wrecks, and you should check it out. It’s terrific. As a bonus, he’s just a nice, laid-back kind of guy. Now, I have to admit, we have a mutual friend, and at her suggestion, I emailed him when I moved to Charleston to introduce myself. He was nice as he could be, but I’m sure he was thinking, who the hell is this and what the hell does she want? Then, when I showed up at his reading, I introduced myself as the person who wrote him an email 3 years ago to introduce myself, and maybe he thought, oh shit, stalker. I don’t know. But he was charming and nice and we chatted about book tours and Anderson, SC and Wofford College, where he teaches, and then I got out of there before he got creeped out and went for a restraining order.
David Gilbert‘s literary landscape is far from SC. He is a New Yorker, and his book & Sons, which I listed as one of my favorites of 2013, is set in NY. It has gotten some incredible reviews and is one of those books that when you start it you think, he can’t do that, he’s breaking some serious rules here, but then he pulls it off and you want to know how. It really is a big, brave book. Mr. Gilbert read for about an hour and when it was over I practically tackled him to keep him from moving over to the wine and I said, you know, I loved this book, it was so amazing, but the Normals was one of my favorite books ever. And he looked at me like I was insane – the Normals didn’t get the love of the critics, and lots of people have never even heard of it – but I really did love it. Anyway, he shook my hand and said thank you and got away as quickly as possible, probably wondering if maybe I was a nutcase and he should get a restraining order.
So my opinion of the literary scene in Charleston has been restored somewhat. I just wish I could find more literary events before next year’s Spoleto. If anyone out there knows of readings in Chas, please comment or email me. I’ll try not to freak out the author.
A Snow Day in Charleston
I never thought I’d have to miss work down here because of snow and ice, but the Ravenel Bridge from Mt. Pleasant where I live into downtown Charleston where I work has been iced over and closed since last night. I spent a good part of the morning writing, waiting for the bridge to open back up (which it still hasn’t at almost 11:00pm). This snow day was a gift really, because I couldn’t come up with excuses to run errands, and since I’d cleaned my condo top to bottom yesterday, I couldn’t be distracted by dusty lampshades or dirty dishes. So I wrote. And it felt illicit and exciting and valuable because it was stolen time. As I wrote, I looked out of the window every now and then and thanked the weather gods for this gift of time. But as magical as it was, it sure didn’t make me miss Virginia winters.
By the way, it’s supposed to be 70 on Sunday. Now that’s my kind of winter weather.
