LiteraryTraveler.net

I’ve heard critics of the e-reader mention everything from the death of book publishing to the strain on our eyes as their reasons for eschewing this new technology.  They scoff at the tidy little devices, the Kindles with their bland gray screens and the flashy gloss of the iPad.  They aren’t interested in seeing what should be–in their opinions–carefully tucked away behind a mussed-up cover all splayed out on a screen.  Like all Luddites, they cling fruitlessly to their books and magazines, holding out their paper products for all the world to see.  Look, they cry, I still read, as though the very act of reading were somehow compromised by the lack of pages.

You might wonder why I describe the book traditionalists in such specific yet derogatory terms.  This is probably because I still number myself among the masses.  But I am slowly changing.

The change began months ago, when I received a Kindle as a Christmas present.  I did not fall instantly in love.  There were aspects I liked, but the idea of a little square of plastic replacing all my boxes of books?  Well, that just didn’t seem possible.

However, I am beginning to see the beauty of the Kindle, to understand the allure of reading off a screen rather than a page.  With one click, I can buy the book recommended by an overzealous friend.  My Kindle offers instant gratification–not to mention the ability to read whatever I please (I admit I have more than a few literary guilty pleasures), free from the judgment of the subway-riding populace.

Oddly, my Kindle also has brought me closer to strangers.

We tend to believe in the isolating powers of technology, but recently I’ve come to see that new gadgets can be excellent conversation starters.  And I am not alone in this observation.  Yesterday, The New York Times ran an article suggesting that e-readers weren’t a sign of the impending downfall of human interaction, but rather another way to open lines of communication between strangers.  Furthermore, they argue, e-readers are just plain cool:

“I think, historically, there has been a stigma attached to the bookworm, and that actually came from the not-untrue notion that, if you were reading, you weren’t socializing with other people,” Dr. Levinson said. “But the e-reader changes that also because e-readers are intrinsically connected to bigger systems.” For many, e-readers are today’s must-have accessory, eroding old notions of what being bookish might have meant. “Buying literature has become cool again,” he said.

I don’t know whether my Kindle signals to the rest of the universe that I’m a hip, modern bookworm.  But it could scream nerd for all I care.  I’m slowly evolving from book-lover to simply word-lover, and the change feels great.  So, go ahead, ask me about my Kindle.  Just don’t ask me what I’m reading–it might be kind of embarrassing.

I just shared a positive anecdote about surrender in a culture shock situation, but it can also be a liability.  A traveler has to be willing to push boundaries, to grin and bear the uncomfortable situation.  However, especially during the early phases of adaptation, this flexibility makes her vulnerable, too.

The subtle culture shocks – tremors, as I called them – can define a culture in contrast.  You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.  And sometimes “it” is something as minor as a healthy selection of peanut butter.

Likewise, a person can be defined in contrast – you are marked by your limits, notable for what you do not do.  Let’s add a moral element to the food, and say that a vegetarian may identify as someone who does not bloody their mouth with the inhumane slaughter of animals.  But what if the vegetarian’s host family slaughters a goat in celebration of her arrival?  If she ate it, it would be a sign of respect to the family, and certainly reflects a willingness to push her boundaries.  But at what point does she violate her own beliefs?  And, if they are constantly in negotiation, how will she know?

I tended to know when the line is crossed – rampant sexism always gets my goat – but I had trouble knowing when to keep that goat as a pet, or when to slaughter it in public (I think this feeling of disgust means the metaphor is officially exhausted).

My question is:  How and when did you learn to set boundaries when you were traveling?  Which of your convictions – culturally transmitted, personal, religious, etc. – are nonnegotiable, and how do you react appropriately in situations where they are threatened?  Where, and how, do you draw the line?

Day 10 of this road trip across the country and I find myself in the center of Memphis, Tennessee.  I spent over twelve hours in the car yesterday and drove through 5 states; it was liberating and quite astonishing.  I am sure I am not the first person to do such a thing, but I never really thought that I would travel that much in a twelve-hour period.

I am currently sitting beneath the balcony where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968.  The sun shines down upon me on a very different era of this nation; our African-American president, Barack Obama can attest to that.  He plainly demonstrates the advancement of Black Americans everywhere and the growth of our country as a whole.

I visited the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis at the Lorraine Motel, the exact location where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot.  Admission was $13 dollars and for an extra $2, I purchased the audio tour, which I highly recommend.  It clearly guided me through the museum and allowed me to stop or pause when I wanted to read further into what they were speaking about. The museum offered a great display of our nation’s struggles with civil equality.  Displays of segregation, the sit-ins, the riots, the protests, the lynchings, the KKK, the marches–all this and more was made visible, present.  Both the desire and willingness African-Americans had to fight for our country and the terrible reality of our history of oppression were prominent throughout the museum.  I was overwhelmingly impressed with this museum and am so happy that we asked Camille, a local, for her recommendations.

Before walking to the museum, we ate brunch at a local hotspot on the corner of Second Street and Union Ave: Cockados.  A quaint, welcoming restaurant that offers bottomless mud coffee and an amazingly decadent dish of bananas and peanut butter sandwiched between two French toast drizzled with maple syrup, whipped cream and blueberries.  Cockados is a great way to welcome yourself to Memphis.  This is also where I received the museum recommendation–as opposed to going to Graceland.  Clearly, we took their recommendations and are 100% happy with our choice.  I was very impressed with Memphis and had a great time there.  After the museum and before getting back into the car, we took a stroll down Beale street and sat outside with our large beers, live music and 7-year-old street performers.  Memphis was not only beautiful, it was also rich with history and culture.  But enough for today.  The road still stretches in front of us, so we head north… safe travels.

I wrote about culture shock a few weeks back.  It hits everyone differently.  Katie was disoriented but liberated when she realized that she was no longer a member of the tourist majority in Mallorca.  My friend Ben started bobbling his head while people were speaking after he spent six months in India.  These moments of realignment – or, more frequently, the tremors of adjusted detail – give the traveler a new space in which to define herself.

Gregory David Roberts’s Shantaram provides a literal example of this redefinition.  The novel’s protagonist leaves Australia with a forged passport bearing the moniker Lindsay; he becomes Lin-sang when his Bombay guide has trouble pronouncing his English name; he becomes Shantaram when the inhabitants of his guide’s home village decide to give him a Maharastrian name.  His name means “man of peace,” a contrast to his violent past, and the protagonist explicitly states that “the man I am was born in those moments.”

Shantaram is not a subtle work – two pages earlier, “Lindsay” commented, “My culture had taught me all the wrong things well.” – but it contains some excellent advice for travelers who venture out of their element.

When Lindsay confronts a particularly awkward situation – say, his host’s father insists that the visitor pat his prominent “tummies,” and repeated this request despite polite refusals – he notes, “Sometimes you have to surrender before you win.” He then asserts that “surrender is at the heart of the Indian experience.”  Surrender in some form – to circumstance, to strange-looking currency, to a radically new sleeping schedule, to communicating through a series of drawings – is at the heart of any travel experience.

My most vivid moment of surrender came on a Sunday during spring in Argentina.  I was supposed to be taking a walk with my friend, Sergio.  Most travelers – especially control freaks whose unfamiliar environment renders them powerless – build routines, fulfilled expectations, safe zones.  Sergio and I had a pattern.  I could relax with him, and his family, because they felt familiar.  I knew what to expect.

So when he asked if I’d like to go for a walk on Sunday morning, I said yes.  When he mentioned that his mother would be joining us, I was surprised, but affable.   When we worked our way out of his barrio onto the main street, I was concerned – his mother, Ophelia, was walking in the middle of a major road, which is particularly dangerous on the route to the truck-heavy campo.

Before I could ask Sergio what she was doing, we had turned the corner, and stepped into the middle of a large procession.  People filled the road for blocks behind me.  A quarter-mile ahead, a pick-up truck carried a statue of the Virgin Mary and blasted prayers over a loudspeaker.  I punched Sergio in the shoulder – this was a pattern, too – and considered my situation.  I hate crowds, loud noise upsets me, I’m not Catholic, I had no idea where we were going, and I had no escape plan.  I was, in a word, rattled.  Sergio gripped my arm, told me that we were walking to Toay, the next town over, and urged me to follow his mother, who was hand-shaking and elbowing her way up to the statue, laughing a Santa Maria.  I took a step forward and began to mouth the prayer, learning as I went along.

As I’m sure everyone has heard, Eat, Pray, Love hits theaters this Friday.  In case there is anyone unfamiliar with this cultural phenomenon, Eat, Pray, Love follows the protagonist, played by the always gorgeous Julia Roberts, as she travels around Italy, India, and Bali.  She starts a “no carb left behind” project, she consumes copious amounts of delicious pasta, she learns to pray and discover herself in India, and she finally finds love in Bali.  But here’s the thing: Julia Roberts isn’t playing some random character – she’s playing a real woman.

The woman in question is author Elizabeth Gilbert, who penned the 2006 memoir/travel narrative/food porn extravaganza that quickly became a best seller.  The book has inspired numerous readers to search within themselves for a deeper strength, and to reexamine their lives, looking closely at what makes them truly happy.

Gilbert starts the book – and the movie – unhappy.  She has just gone through a messy affair and a subsequent divorce.  She’s educated and wealthy, but she is just not satisfied.  Something, an elusive something, is missing from her life.  This realization prompts her to drop everything and begin traveling.  She is lucky enough to have the funds to undertake a project many of us can only dream of, but her story is still relatable.  Gilbert is lacking something, and through risking everything, she finds what she needed the most: herself.

In honor of the movie’s release, I’d like to suggest we all take a moment and think about what it is that makes us truly happy.  For some people, it’s the thrill of travel, or the calm of mediation.  For others, it’s creamy, indulgent pasta or freshly made sausage.  For me, it’s fresh basil, old cotton t-shirts, used books, and red wine.  What makes you feel blessed?

Our newest feature article takes us somewhere hot, somewhere new, somewhere a little bit dirty and a little bit dangerous: the back roads of Bolivia.

Author Stephen Eisenhammer decides to follow the trail of his personal hero, Che Guevara, who was captured and executed in the South American country.  Like Eisenhammer, Guevara was a man of letters, and took pleasure in documenting his journey.  With Che’s Bolivian Diaries in tow, Eisenhammer sets out on a pilgrimage to discover something new about the revolutionary figure.

It’s always a funny thing when we go chasing after heroes, and Eisenhammer’s trip is no exception.  In recent years, Che has become even more of an international figure, what with the films and books and preponderance of red screenprinted t-shirts.  Che has entered our consciousness as a man of uncompromising ideals and reckless bravery.  However, as it often happens, the myth has obscured the man.

The man was more than just a ruthless general: he was also a lover of poetry.  Che particularly enjoyed the works of Chilean writer Pablo Neruda.  While there are certain ideological similarities between the two men, I like to imagine that Guevara turned to Neruda for refuge from war.  I imagine him paging through the tender love poems, the odes to women loved and lost.  In my mind, this gives a softer edge to the Marxist hero.  Instead of seeing a general, a great fighter and a fearful opponent, I imagine a bearded figure, quietly drunk on words of love.  His appreciation for the written word adds another cast to Che – and it may be the reason he is so beloved by intellectuals everywhere, despite his bloody past.

If you, like me, are curious as to what Eisenhammer learns about his hero, you will have to check out the full article, On The Bolivian Trial of Che Guevara, A Literary Guerrilla.  And when you’re done, spend some time perusing our other articles on Che’s favorite poet: Pablo Neruda.

Back in the glory days, Joan Didion wrote, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” I disagree, unless “we” are identified as that ultimately solipsistic portion of the population that cannot feel engaged in life without constructing narratives. “We” need stories in order to process experience, to cope, to understand, to consolidate stray stimuli into graspable themes and get on with our lives. You’re one of “us” if your psychologist tells you to get out of your head. I’m happy to be placed in almost any grouping that places me alongside ole Joan, but I don’t delude myself: “we” are not everyone.

The nice thing about living in your head is that is makes books an extremely low-budget form of escapist travel. You could go the route of travel narratives, but that’s taking it a bit literally, and we favor the abstract. Period pieces can do the trick – they construct a complete, comprehensible reality. Or we can read books that take you out of your own angsty head, and visit someone who occupies a similar psychological space.

With this in mind, I’ve cast my eye on Melissa Milgram’s Still Life, Zachary German’s Eat When You Feel Sad, and a collection of J.G. Ballard’s short stories.

The narrator of Still Life began investigating the phenomenon of taxidermy from a journalist’s perspective, and ultimately ends up with her subjective hand all up in a drowned squirrel. A narrator who struggles with boundaries, who cannot feign distance between self and subject, is just the kind of head I can crawl into.

Likewise, German’s Eat When You Feel Sad chronicles that habituated loneliness that characterizes the life of a twenty-something. (Cough). Never mind that I’m totally bitter that this author has co-opted his ennui into a book deal even before he’s experienced its ambition-eroding properties full-force. Still, a stray paragraph from him novel proves that there is a mind – an entire population of adultolescents minds, I imagine – going through the same aimless motions, hoping a friend will connect to gchat, tossing away poignant, but predictable, independent clauses.

One’s twenties, in my experience, are a period of disappointment. This sense of disappointment is, no doubt, tied to delusions of grandeur, just as depression can be linked to narcissism. Woe is me, me, me, and I am the entire world.

Science fiction has explored this trope of speck-like human subjectivity, counterposed to a sublime, immense universe. Not to get too meta or self-contradictory, but I’m not sure if this is a bad thing. If we can acknowledge our speck-like perspective and use it as a means of appropriating some universal narrative, then we’re getting somewhere, even if it’s just more psychological wilderness.

Ballard’s Enormous Room is about a man whose refusal to leave a suburban house limits his perspective until he believes it is the universe. But this delusion of grandeur, this bloated perception, transforms the banal topography of the living room into a strange, new world, and the reader is awestruck, and temporary expanded, by the narrator’s lunatic explorations of his kitchen.

To the kitchen, then. I’m feeling sad.

Now that I have begun my journey across the country and have my destinations planned, I find myself breathing easy and at peace with my choice to leave my home state. Maybe it is the rush and excitement of an amazing adventure coinciding with new discoveries and sites, but my happiness has almost entirely overwhelmed the feeling that there is something I’m missing.

Another two weeks of unknown routes, friends, new knowledge and self-discovery still lie ahead.  These weeks are sure to promise long days of driving, sunburns, fast food, hot weather, and many moments of being lost; I welcome even these inevitable inconveniences for the mere pleasure of learning about my country and myself.

Today’s discoveries took place in Washington, DC.  In all my 24 years, I had never been to DC and have never explored the ‘Mall.’  Today I had the opportunity to walk the long distance of the National Mall towards our Nation’s Capital, then back towards the Washington Monument, and over to visit Lincoln on his Memorial.  I popped in to see the Obama’s with hopes to play a quick game of basketball (actually I stood outside the gate like every other tourist and snapped pictures). I visited the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum and later hit up the National Museum of American History where I had the chance to view the flag that inspired the Star-Spangeled Banner, our national anthem. Today was a full day of walking, sun burns, and almost endless amazement.  Although our country is young compared to other nations, I felt proud to be standing in front of all the sites that proclaim our heritage.

Traveling for over two weeks and moving across the country puts me in a position of unemployment and quickly very conscious of money. So, needless to say, I plan to travel in such a fashion that will leave me with funds to begin a new life, in a new state.

Today, I got a heavy dose of history, national sites, with the added perk of self-discovery – all for the price of $19.60. The museums were free and because I chose not to rent scooters or bicycles to get from one site to the other, it was an extremely inexpensive day. Of course, I could have spent more money (you can always spend more money) but if you want to explore for cheap, all you need to do is pack some water, a lunch, sunscreen and good walking shoes.

Tomorrow will bring a new destination with new discoveries.  It will also bring me one state closer to the eventual goal, so stay tuned for more tips, lessons, and stories from my trip.

The relationship between book and the physical world is one of equal exchange and opportunity.  Often we take to the written world to better understand things in the physical world, but just as often we take to the outside world to better understand what we have read.  Though some books are enjoyed purely for entertainment, many others instruct us, broaden our horizons, and open our minds (much like travel).  To put it more simply: We learn to read, we read to learn.

Reading, like travel, can also occasionally be a confusing activity.  It challenges us to view different points of view, to absorb new ways of thinking.  In this week’s feature article, Sabil of Naguib Mahfouz in Cairo, Egypt, author Robin Graham engages in both kinds of learning.  In my (literature major-informed) opinion, Graham approaches the work of Mahfouz in the best possible way: he both reads to learn about Cairo, and visits Cairo to learn about what he has read.

It doesn’t help that Cairo is not a simple city.  Like much of the Middle East and Africa, Cairo is beset with conflict.  Understanding this conflict, and the complicated intersections of Islam, tourism, and terrorism that go on throughout the city, is no easy task.

Viewing Cairo through the lens of Naguib Mahfouz, author of the Cairo Trilogy, Graham remarks that the Islamic city is a “changed world.”  Coming to Cairo, he is able to see that Mahfouz’s works carried an underlying “dark prescience that eventually cast its shadow into real life.”  Cairo is, through all the political turmoil and social change, a city of uncertainties.

Yet uncertainties are what make for some of the best reading – and the best thinking.  We invite you to take a moment on this lazy Sunday to broaden your horizons by reading Sabil of Naguib Mahfouz in Cairo, Egypt.  It may require a moment of reflection (or two) but we promise you will learn something, because even an expert in foreign relations can glean something from stepping into another’s shoes and walking the busy streets.

August 1st, a marker in the year that could represent summer concluding, back to school shopping for the kids, classes reconvening, or summer excursions approaching. Whatever this date may represent to you, it is always beneficial to have a vacation lined up, it creates excitement and anticipation.

Do you have children and feel like you have been bombarded with play dates, pool parties, floaties and pigtails all summer? Do you need an adult vacation away from the kids to reconfirm your adulthood and step away from the apple juice? I have found an all-inclusive 4-night excursion to Riviera Maya, Mexico.

All your meals and drinks are included in the price, as well as snorkeling, windsurfing and kayaking. Enjoy a few blissful nights on the white sand and playing in the baby blue water to replenish your energy.

If you are opposed to leaving the children with the grandparents, or if you happen to feel that they should be rewarded for their angelic behavior, I have found a 7-day pass for Disney World in Orlando, Florida. This pass will grant you entry into all the parks including Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Disney’s Hollywood Studios and Disney’s Animal Kingdom for a week. The Disney pass is $234 per adult and $201 per child. Spend the last few weeks of summer together as a family visiting with Mickey Mouse and all his friends.

I came across another great site, the Suite 101 Budget Travel section.  It provides informative articles on how to budget for Disney World and beyond.  Check out this article on 5 Cheap Places to Eat at Disney, written by feature writer Michelle Snow.

Whatever this date represents to you, whether it be about celebrating your adulthood or spending some time with the children before they go back to school, there is no better time than now to take a moment to breathe in the fresh summer air.  I am sure the memory will be much appreciated when winter hits and the atmosphere turns cold enough to burn your lungs.

Enjoy the rest of the summer months and breathe deep.

This weekend, America had the closest thing we’ve ever had to a royal wedding.  While we don’t normally cover political nuptials on Literary Traveler, one detail of Chelsea Clinton’s wedding stood out to me: Her choice of poem.  Clinton used a tribute from the poet Leo Marks to his girlfriend Ruth, who died in a plane crash in Canada in 1943.  For those unfamiliar with this rather obscure writer, here is The Life That I Have:

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.

For more information on this poignant piece, check out the discussion of the use of poems in politics over at Forbes.