Oct

What’s in Your Suitcase?

by Joyce McGreevy on October 9, 2017

A souvenir store in Budapest, Hungary leads a writer to seek the locus of travel inspiration and other aha moments. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Souvenir stores straddle the border between “this place” and “any place.”
© Joyce McGreevy

Collected Travel Inspiration,
With & Without Souvenirs

Souvenirs—talismans of travel inspiration, mere trinkets, or trash? Can they inspire aha moments or only memorialize them?

The very word is a souvenir of 18th century French—from souvenir “to remember.” But I like the ancient Latin even better. Subvenire, “to come up from below,” tips its hat to the subconscious. It makes me think of opening old boxes in a basement and finding forgotten treasure, some silly, small item of no value. And yet . . .

Lost Souvenirs

My first souvenir? Petite plastic dolls from a Paris flea market. In the 1960s, my sister Carolyn and I splurged all our pocket money on them, one franc each. Ah, but that included “tous les meubles!”—all the furniture. Our dollhouse was a cupboard in our hotel, itself a souvenir of La Belle Époque.

A dollhouse in a store window in Sofia, Bulgaria leads a writer to ponder the travel inspiration we find in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A dollhouse in a store window in Sofia, Bulgaria.
© Joyce

They’re long gone now—dolls, furniture, the hotel, too. But my flea-market mind maintains a little shrine for them.

The first recorded use of souvenir as a token of remembrance occurred in 1782. One dictionary after another presents this tidbit but omits the actual example. It’s like finding a silver lid minus the vessel. Souvenirs are like that—parts that can only hint at the whole.

Today, few people admit to souvenir-collecting. Marketing reports attest that travelers spend more on sightseeing than on shopping, souvenirs, and nightlife combined. Yet souvenir shops do booming business around the globe.

It’s Only Natural?

Early souvenir hunters “preserved” the past by breaking off bits of it. In the 1800s, visitors to Plymouth Rock were even provided with hammers.

An 1850 souvenir of Plymouth Rock leads a writer to ponder the downside of souvenirs and the true locus of travel inspiration. (Public domain image, National Museum of American History)

A chip off the old block? Some souvenirs proved too popular.
Plymouth Rock Fragment by National Museum of American History, CC BY 4.0

Can the quest for remembrances make us forgetful? Recently, a mother and daughter from Virginia mailed back “souvenirs” to Iceland—a stone and a bag of sand they’d collected from the black volcanic beaches of Reynisfjara.

Back home, they learned that Icelandic law strictly forbids such souvenir collecting. The tourism board accepted their apology and promised to return the items to their natural setting.

Practical Souvenirs

A friend of mine collects “shoe-venirs” when she travels. Every walk she takes begins in lands she has loved.

A chef I know collects household objects—a moka pot from Milan, spices from Moroccan souks. They link his American kitchen to kitchens around the world.

I like how these souvenirs, modern cousins to ancient vessels and vestments, are connected to daily rituals.

Ancient gold jewelry in the Benaki Museum, Athens, Greece inspires an aha moment about their connection to ordinary souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Charms of another age, at the Benaki Museum, Athens.
© Joyce McGreevy

Post-travel Souvenirs

One January, after returning from verdant Maui to snowbound Chicago, I saw melancholy sidle up to me. An aha moment intervened. I collected post-travel souvenirs: thrift store décor; Hawaiian-themed groceries; traditional island music. I adore Chicago, but Chicago-infused-with-Maui did wonders for my psyche that winter.

Garden objects in Maui lead a writer to ponder the reasons we find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Objects catch our eye, but it’s the context that we crave.
© Joyce McGreevy

Ephemeral Souvenirs

Even minimalists-to-the-max collect souvenir ephemera. It’s scientific fact. Just as magnets attract iron filings, humans attract paper: playbills from Piccadilly, coasters from Costa Rica, a café napkin from Nantes.

One day, you rediscover it—the train ticket turned bookmark. Suddenly, you’re traveling again, backtracking along the past, or pressing your nose against a window onto the future.

A collage made of travel ephemera on an office wall in Chicago leads a writer to ponder ways people find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Travel ephemera on an office wall in Evanston, Illinois.
© Joyce McGreevy

Whimsical Souvenirs

Now comes the parade of fringed pillows, ceramic caricatures, and other tchotchkes. Brazenly they shout out where you’ve been: Niagara Falls 1978! I heart Twickenham! Gibraltar ROCKS My World!

All hail souvenirs that sport the name Souvenir. If that Souvenir of Venice tea-towel were a person, it would stand arms akimbo and declare, “Yeah, pal, that’s right, I’m a Souvenir. What’s it to ya?”

Mass-produced pillows in California lead a writer to ponder why people find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Southwestern “souvenirs” for sale—in a California suburb.
© Joyce McGreevy

“Elsewhere” Souvenirs

But what of provenance? During my youth in Ireland, the more stereotypical the souvenir, the likelier it was to be stamped An tSeapain tir adheanta—“Made in Japan.” Who made the faux French dolls my sister and I played with? Where did they live? What were their lives like? Souvenirs keep secrets.

Twilight in Baltimore, Co. Cork, Ireland leads a writer to compare the travel inspiration of souvenirs vs. experiences. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A moment made in Ireland.
© Joyce McGreevy

Elusive Souvenirs

The day I left Budapest, I passed between souvenir stores. Innumerable wares glinted in the sunlight like autumn leaves. As a single-suitcase traveler, I pretend I’m “immune to the stuff.” But the ache of departure made me gluttonous with desire, as if travel inspiration were something to consume: I wanted the “all” of Budapest.

Oh, I see moment: Maybe that’s what travel souvenirs represent—a longing to live multiple lives in myriad places, in times that never have to end.

Empty-handed, heart full, I boarded the train and said goodbye to Budapest.

Now then, what’s in your suitcase?

See souvenirs so quirky they seem satirical, here.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Joyce McGreevy Comments

Cultural Symbols/Life Lessons/Worldwide Sites/Your Own Aha Moments

Jun

More Than a Travel Mascot

by Joyce McGreevy on June 26, 2017

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, dressed for Maui, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

“Have pawsport, will travel,” that’s Bedford’s motto.
© Joyce McGreevy

To See the World Differently,
Take Your Travel Buddy

I have a confession. Although my posts for OIC Moments suggest I’m a solo traveler, that’s not the whole story. Truth is, I never travel without a guide. To some, he’s just a “travel mascot.” To me he’s much more, a travel buddy who helps me see the world differently.

Bedford, take a bow. And a bow-wow.

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, dressed in Scottish tartan, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Testing the tartan in Scotland . . .
© Joyce McGreevy

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, sipping tea in Istanbul, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

. . . and the tea in Turkey.
© Joyce McGreevy

Gnome on the Range

Seeing the world with a travel mascot is nothing new, of course. In the 1980s, an Australian man decided that his neighbors’ garden gnome needed to get out more. Photos he sent back anonymously featured the gnome at famous landmarks.

Cue the surge in gnome-nabbings, elfin escapades, and photographic tomfoolery. Petite plaster pilgrims began popping up around the planet. Gnomes roamed to every continent, even Antarctica.

The World Is Flat Stanley’s

Then there’s the “Flat Stanley” phenomenon. What began in the 1960s as a dad’s whimsical bedtime story for his sons grew into a worldwide literacy project.

Kids send forth a paper cutout of Flat Stanley to discover fascinating places and people around the world. Today’s tech-savvy students can even launch a digital Stanley via smartphone. Students then collect photos and write about Stanley’s adventures.

Travel buddy Flat Stanley, shown at Doonagore Castle, Doolin, Ireland, inspires students to see the world differently. (Image © Jules Larkin)

He’s flat, but his world is wide: Flat Stanley at Doonagore Castle, Doolin, Ireland.
© Jules Larkin

Best in Travel Show

But the most famous travel mascot of all is Charley.

You know him from John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America, the 1961 memoir that inspired millions of readers to see the world differently. Here’s how Steinbeck introduced his travel buddy:

“He was born in Bercy on the outskirts of Paris and trained in France, and while he knows a little Poodle-English, he responds quickly only to commands in French. Otherwise he has to translate, and that slows him down.”

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown with books about traveling dogs, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Bedford drops subtle hints that he’s itching to travel.
© Joyce McGreevy

From Portland to Every Land

Which brings us to my own travel buddy.

I first met Bedford while I was, uh, conducting a thorough study of American cultural artifacts at a Goodwill in Portland, Oregon. There among relics that, in technical terms, included bric-a-brac, knickknacks, and whatchamacallits, I found a diminutive cloth canine lying face down.

Concerned that this downward facing dog might remain lost amid the archaeological middens, I resolved to secure him a residency.

So I set him upright at eye level, directed his gaze toward the main door, and tilted his head fetchingly. Thus, I reasoned, the very next person to see him would be captivated.

My good deed done, I walked away. But then I glanced back to check the effect.

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown at the Bosporus, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Bedford on the Bosporus: A little whimsy can broaden one’s perspective of the world.
© Joyce McGreevy

That was 15 years ago. Since then, my Oregonian pal has adopted the name Bedford. Inspired by Bedford Falls in It’s a Wonderful Life, it also honors Bedford’s penchant for tumbling out of bed every morning in his eagerness to begin the day. Funny, I know just how he feels.

Business Travels with Bedford

Initially, Bedford’s travels were limited to business trips. Many a late night editorial slog benefited from his dogged assistance.

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown with laptop, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

He traveled undercover in those days, hidden in the checked luggage. Neither of us breathed a word about his existence to my colleagues lest they raise questions of seriousness.

As in “Seriously? You travel with a little toy dog?”

Which simply wasn’t the case. One, I’m rarely serious. And two, who are you calling a toy?

Bedford, Come Home!

It was on a business trip to Denver that my luggage went missing. But it wasn’t the replaceable business wardrobe that concerned me.

Looking back on it now—as one who’s since embraced her inner Pippi Longstocking—I’m not ashamed to tell you that I was thunderstruck with sadness. Yes, over a little cloth dog.

Several anxious hours later, my luggage resurfaced. Another passenger had mistaken it for his own. It was then that I made a Big Decision: It was time for Bedford to come out of the suitcase.

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown with tiny travel gear, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

“A Dog Is a Bond Between Strangers”

So wrote Steinbeck, and it’s proved true of Bedford. This global Citizen Canine has:

facilitated delightful conversations with families from Amsterdam to Zagreb
coaxed smiles out of blasé sophisticates, weary waiters, and grouchy bureaucrats
and inspired many a business traveler to change the subject from marketing platforms to childhood memories.

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown with Irish children, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

I guess there’s just something about spotting a cheery canine character beside you in trains, planes, cafés, and long lines that helps break down social barriers.

Not to be dogmatic, but I believe Bedford has contributed to a pup-surge in pawsitive international relations. He loves all cultures, and understands every language except cynicism.

As Steinbeck noted of Charley, “This is a dog of peace and tranquility.”

A toy canine travel mascot named Bedford, shown at the Huntington Botanical Gardens, inspires his human travel buddy to see the world differently. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Oh, I see: If this mini alumnus of Goodwill “University” can graduate into a global goodwill ambassador, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us rovers.

With or without a canine traveling companion, we can see the world differently. It starts when we unleash our natural instincts for warmth and good humor.

Have you ever had a travel mascot or travel buddy? How did this help you see the world differently?

Comment on the post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Joyce McGreevy 1 Comment

Art of Travel/Life Lessons/Worldwide Sites/Your Own Aha Moments

Dec

Aha Moment Maker: Battle of the Bubbly

by Your friends at OIC on December 28, 2013

CHAMPAGNE, 1668—A Benedictine monk named Dom Pierre Pérignon arrived at the Abbey of Hautvillers near Épernay. His tenure as the cellar master for the abbey’s prized wines began with a challenging assignment.

It seems that unexpected cold snaps in the fall when the wine was bottled had temporarily halted the fermentation of the wine. When temperatures warmed in the spring, the vintage began to ferment for a second time, producing excess carbon dioxide and giving the liquid inside a fizzy quality.

Not only was fizzy wine considered poor winemaking, but bottles in the cellar kept exploding. Dom Pierre Pérignon’s assignment was to correct the situation.

Over time, however, affinity for the fizzy wine grew. By 1697, Dom Pérignon had reversed course and brought the bubbles back. He learned from the weather-induced mistake and employed a second fermentation to develop the “French Method,” which is still used today to make champagne. As a result, Dom Pérignon became known as the father of champagne.

His paternal status was challenged, however, by a British winemaker’s discovery in the 1990s of a paper presented by Gloucester doctor Christopher Merret in 1662 (six years before Dom Pérignon arrived at the Abbey). It detailed experiments to create a bubbly wine, and included a recipe that resembles modern-day champagne.

The result is an ongoing debate across the English channel, and it’s not likely to fizzle out anytime soon.

What’s the aha moment you see?

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What’s in Your Suitcase?