I did say I’d talk about the value of having been slowed by circumstances beyond my control — specifically, that sprained ankle. . . And I’ve been reminded of that value this week, having the brakes applied by a bout of laryngitis. Remember I told you last post about my busy week? I didn’t mention that throughout all that activity, I was coughing and sneezing and post-nasal dripping thanks, I’m guessing, to a cornucopia of seeds and pollen and all manner of tiny floating bits in the air. My voice was hoarse, yes, but I attributed that to the coughing and sneezing and all that airbound vegetation.
And the coughing was lessening and the sneezing (and yes, I did an antigen test, just in case, altho’ I had no fever). . . but around noon on Tuesday, I opened my mouth to tell Paul something and only squeaks emerged. . . (Do you think it had something to do with all the talking I did during all the previous week’s social activity? No! Surely not!)
I had to cancel an aperitivo meet-up I was really looking forward to. Might have felt sorry for myself a bit as well. I mean, seriously, the ankle, then the UTI, and now laryngitis? A whining little voice in my mind pipes up to remind me there was that dental stuff earlier in the year — that’s maybe a voice that should have laryngitis š
It’s a very weird sensation to be voiceless. All kinds of metaphorical stuff comes to mind. (Strangely, I’ve been finding that the word “ventriloquism” keeps popping up instead of, or alongside, “laryngitis.” As in, “I have ventriloquism.” Huh!?) And on a practical level, if you need to call out to someone while out walking by yourself “Excuse me, you dropped your wallet!” or “Could you call your dog off?” — well, you can’t do that.
Paul had to phone to make the doctor’s appointment, and to cancel my dental cleaning for the next day — and he had to accompany me to my appointment because, of course, I couldn’t answer any of the doctor’s questions unless I wrote my responses. I couldn’t say “Ahhh,” but stuck my tongue out under the depressor and I let her swab (ruling out strep throat), and went home to execute a regime of ibuprofen.
With the inflamed vocal cords calmed slightly, I was able to honour a made-weeks-ahead reservation at a restaurant that’s getting all the buzz it deserves (a very generous birthday gift from my favourite son) . . . but anyone wanting to eavesdrop on our table would have caught a very one-sided conversation. . . Even my Mmmmm’s were sotto voce! The rapturous eye-rolling spoke clearly, though. . . (Saint Lawrence Restaurant).
But I’ve mostly chosen to stay home this week and will do so for at least a few more days, doctor’s suggestion, to give my larynx time to heal. We went to a great show last night by the all-gay Vancouver Men’s Chorus, so much fun (and also, it seems to me, super-important to attend these days — Pride month and Pride generally more needed than ever!), but this morning I’m staying home from Italian class and practising Non-language for a change. . .
Baking bread and sketching, reading and writing, catching up on my mending, playing in the garden with a well-dressed handknit mole . . . and updating my travel journal, pasting in all the paper paraphenalia I’d collected. . . then thumbing through to relive favourite moments. In fact, my travel journal entries were much more complete than they’ve ever been, because Sprained Ankle = Involuntary Slowdown.
Having had time to capture some of the significant, if tiny, moments during the trip and now, having time to revisit those moments, I’m thinking again of how well Slow Travel suits me. Other travellers have told me that they’d never have time to keep a journal during a trip because they wanted to see as much as possible while Away. A sentiment it’s hard to argue with, and one I might have subscribed to when I was younger.
But in a condition where I couldn’t go see all the sights I’d wanted (that circle of cypresses in San Quirico, only seen in passing, wistfully, through the van window), I re-learn how entertaining and rewarding the smaller observations can be. And with this week’s slowing down, going back to read through my travel notes, thumb through my pencil or ink-with-a-splash-of-watercolour sketches, I resist the pressure to tuck them all away, to move the blog ahead rather than continuing to tell you about something that’s “Oh, SO two months ago!”
Truth be told, I’ve hesitated sharing sketches with you because many of them are so, well, sketchy. Because this trip had to accommodate clothes and footwear for city days and days hiking, and because my sketching gear had to be packed 20 to 30 kilometres a day, I’d reduced it to one very small sketchbook (Moleskine, 9x14cm or 3.5×5.5in, not watercolour paper, but can take a careful light wash); a mechanical pencil; a fine-nibbed ink pen; a water brush; and a very light Sennelier mini-palette with its tiny brush.
I also brought a larger watercolour sketchbook, but used only three of its pages, one not completed. Still thinking about how I could do better with watercolours next trip. Pretty sure one or two well-chosen brushes could make a difference, but also getting over the value (cost!) of those pages. And it may just be that pen-and-ink with a splash of colour suits me better.
As well, despite having imagined — once immobilized by my ankle — that I’d have all kinds of time to draw and paint, in fact each day required packing up in the morning so that luggage and I would be ready to be transported to our next accommodation. And there’s that nasty gap between 11 .m. check-out and 3 p.m. check-in. Settling in, unpacking, time for dinner, some writing time, some social media updating, and the little sketches in quick moments and minimal materials/tools worked best.
I did manage one watercolour page in San Quirico. I’ve shown it to you before, but including it here with photos of the inspiring tiles. . .
I have another sketching week planned for the Fall and perhaps I’ll find tricks to loosen up and paint away, but for now. . .Below, you’ll see a messy example of what that little notebook and a pencil, some ink added, let me do. I suspect it won’t read clearly to you at all, but it brings me back to the small crowded bar which also served as reception for the first hotel I had to be driven to after my injury. As I write in my journal,
Dropped off about 9:30 at Il Garibaldi — a bar-hotel-restaurant with a gas station pump right in front — and just off highway.
One person working the bar — young woman, very competent and very busy, serving up one coffee and brioche or cappuccino after another, mostly to men stopping during their work morning — so she had no time to do anything other than acknowledge us, tuck our luggage out of the way and show us where we could sit. A spot in the sun with a view for me while Paul walked into San Quirico to figure out where he could join the VF. When he came back, we had a coffee and the server indicated our room would be ready soon
And this was the “panoramic view” of the room where we had that coffee. The framed doorway at centre right was perhaps ten feet from our little table, and to its right was a freezer filled with ice treats, over which were shelves full of pamphlets and decorative artifacts. To the right (by the door out to the gas pumps) was that vending machine for drinks (There was another vending machine behind us, on the other side of that door to the pumps).. .
Sweeping back left, near the centre seam of my page there’s a rack full of chips and candies, while above the doorway is a shelf full of wine bottles and decorative pitchers. More bottles on a shelf just behind the fellow sitting on the bar stool and if I’d had another minute sitting, I might have filled that pastry case with some croissants (cornetti, more accurately, different to the French version which I can’t help preferring) filled with crema di pistacchio). . .
But my sketching time ran out, because, as my journal entry continues, By 11 we were in, and it’s truly a surprise — a stunning view of the Val D’Orcia spread out below us (and a charmingly tiled red-and-white bathroom albeit with a dangerous toilet seat).
Somehow, I’ve been fiddling with this post for something like four hours! Admittedly some of that time might have been spent in retrospective reverie. . . Time to get outside for a walk (we’ve enjoyed a sweet rainfall over the past 24 hours, and the air’s much cleaner, streets and sidewalks as well!). I’ll share more of this day’s journal entry with you very soon. I hope you don’t mind reading more “old news” (SO two months ago). It’s just me, dragging my heels against that Great Big Clock. You know the one!
Let me know what you think in the comments section. Perhaps share one of those small yet significant moments — homely moments, if you will — from your own travels. And not necessarily far-flung travels, but just somewhere slightly different, novel enough to make you look more carefully, be more mindful.
xo,
f
Sorry to hear about your laryngitisā¦life seems anything but dull.
Your sketches are lovelyā¦I remember when you started and were somewhat reluctant to share them! I so look forward to seeing more of your artwork.
The wee knitted fellow in your garden is very sweet!
The littles must love him ā¤ļø
Take care and rest up I think slowing down is a good idea.
Author
Thanks Leslie. I do think my sketches are improving and meanwhile, I enjoy making them.
Hope your voice is back quickly! Personally, I love a good reason to take it easy and putter. I keep hoping for an all day rain (perfect excuse) but the forecast looks dry :-(.
Glimpses into your sketchbook are some of my favorite posts. Sketches tell a story, while photographs, as nice as they are, are just a reflection.
Take care of yourself and savour your down time.
Author
Thanks Beverly! We had a rainy day and I agree, perfect puttering weather. . . They seem to be at a premium right now, though.
I’m so glad to hear when readers like the sketchbook sharing. And I appreciate what you say about sketches vs photographs from that side of the screen — I know that the time it takes to make a sketch captures much more than a camera’s split-second aperture click can do, although that snap grabs a crazy amount of digital data. . .
So sorry youāre unwell, but enjoyed this lovely post so much, perhaps because Iām visiting beautiful Melbourne for the first time since 2019 and collecting lots of slowish travel moments of my own. Your sketches are charming and such a personal and deep reminder of details that might easily become lost.
Iāve often struggled while travelling, and arriving at a place or an experience that resonates deeply, between savouring it fully in the moment, and recording it by journaling or taking photos, which can distract from the experience. With age, Iām favouring being in the moment more, and documenting less, but I still take some photos, though I no longer use a travel journal. Iāve attended two marvellous art exhibitions in the last two days, a major show of Pierre Bonnardās paintings, lithographs and sketches displayed in a specially designed setting, with decorative wall treatments, furniture and other decorative elements at the National Gallery of Victoria. The second exhibition yesterday at Geelong Gallery (an hour by train from Melbourne) was of modernist Clarice Beckettās haunting, lyrical paintings. Beckett lived and worked in Melbourne in the early 20th Century and she was an expert in using tone to create moody, mesmerising landscapes. At both exhibitions, I chose not to read all the interpretive labels and to just be with and look at the paintings. Both were wonderful experiences, especially the Beckett, and am so pleased we made the trip.
Hope you feel better soon šø
Author
Wonderful that you’re in Melbourne after all that pandemic time — your sense will be experiencing it anew after the long absence.
And how wonderful, those two art exhibitions! Interesting all the different ways we have to travel — through life, really, not even necessarily Away from Home. . . Depending on how we’re wired, I think that some of us can savour an experience fully by writing about or sketching what we see — that is, it can enhance the experience rather than distract from it. What’s important is to find and honour our own travelling style, and it sounds as if you’ve got that well in hand.
I’ve just had a look online at some of Clarice Beckett’s work — so evocative! and haunting, yes! What a shame not only that she died relatively young, but also that so much of her work was destroyed posthumously.
How kind of you to look up Beckettās work online. She was well known here during her lifetime and her work was even included in an exhibition of Australian artworks at the Roerich Museum in New York in 1931. But, like many women artists, she was largely forgotten after her untimely death in 1935 until she was ārediscoveredā in the 1970s. Her artwork is now included in many Australian galleries but she deserves to be better known more widely.
I hope youāre fully recovered from the laryngitis.
Sorry to hear you havenāt been well. Losing my voice was a pretty regular occurrence for me but not since retirement.
I love travel journals! While photos are great, the text, sketches and images really evokes rich memories for me.
Lovely sketches! Xx
Author
I used to partially lose my voice when I was teaching, but never so completely before. . . I’m glad yours has improved with retirement (as so much has, right?)
We are currently in the midst of planning a trip to Portugal in the fall. So exciting. Weād thought this time we might be lazy and use a tour company our friends tried, itineraries for a self-guided trip include a rental car, accommodation all booked, as many activities as you like, all tailored to our expressed likes and dislikes. Well, thatās the theory. But after a half hour discussion with an agent, they sent us the exact same itinerary as our friends who went last year. Sigh. I guess they donāt do as much ātailoringā as we thought. Ha. Weāre back to square one doing our own thing. Which will be good in the long run, I know.
Hope youāre feeling more chipper soon, my friend. š
Author
I saw that you’re planning that — I loved Portugal the two times we visited and had hoped we might get back again, but it’s been ten years or more and I’m starting to think not. . . Disappointing about the tour company, but you two are such experienced travellers that it would be hard to match what you’ll put together on your own. For the first time, we used a company to set everything up for us for the Via Francigena (having no interest this time ’round in hostels or backpacking our own gear) and some of it was much more generic than we would have chosen. . . but practical for our purposes.
I’m keen to see your plans come together — going to have to get out my Portugal notes and photos; we really enjoyed the country!
Love those bathroom tiles, most uplifting and cheerful way to start a day. Sorry about the laryngitis, a peculiarly painful state of affairs that often brings amusement to others, briefly. One of those conditions that absolutely demand you do nothing but be quiet, take the painkillers and rest. I think our strange weather has a lot to do with things at the moment.
Author
Yes! You get what happens with laryngitis exactly — it sounds much more amusing than it is. Something worrisome about not being able to communicate easily.
Also, when you live with someone — and you’re Me — it’s very hard not to speak . . . I suspect I’d be healing faster if I threw some duct tape across my face
Ha ha!!! (Don’t)
Mindful travelling is the best & I think journals & artwork focus the mind so well . You are so good at focusing on the details too . Last summer we were walking in Wales whilst staying near the Mawdach estuary . We had wandered off the path in the hills when a voice shouted ā I think youāve taken a wrong turn ā . It was a young guy , perhaps in his thirties , who was living alone in the hills in a very old , very small , stone cottage . He was happy to chat & even showed us round . It didnāt take long , one room about 12 ft x 12ft with a sleeping area in the roof . Very basic , oil lamps , calor gas for cooking & no water supply . He had a car which he left at the end of a track about half a mile away then everything , including his water , had to be carried up the hill . He was well educated & a stonemason by trade , so he was a practical man . He wasnāt a hermit though . He had internet available , visited friends regularly & was looking forward to a friendās wedding in London . Whilst I couldnāt live like that , I envied him the natural , unspoilt beauty all around him & his mindful life . Heād been there a couple of years & loved it . I can still see that little place in my mind & often wonder how heās getting on . Did his vegetable patch flourish ? Did he build that sauna he had planned ? We are back in the area later in the year so we might try find him again – if we can !
Hope the voice is back soon
Author
This is what I think as well, Wendy. For some — as Maria says below — the journaling distracts from being in the present for an experience, but for some of us, the journals and artwork keep us mindfully in the experience.
I love this travel story you share (you have so many of these!) — I’m perennially fascinated by the idea of living like this although realistically I’d probably find my limits quickly. Sue got me interested in watching Martijn Doolaard’s YouTube series about restoring a couple of stone cottage in the rural Italian Alps and again, the simplicity of his life there and his immersion in the natural world definitely appeals in theory š
I suspect your laryngitis was caused by a colpo d’aria. The most charming and endearing reason for illness which was quasi-seriously suggested to me when I was suffering from an annoying and productive cold and cough. Although I do leave my throat bare. Hm.
I don’t know how to describe the way I approach travel. I like to go to a place and just be there. Grocery store, pharmacy, open the windows, cook, listen to the radio, see the neighbours, become a regular, sit on a bench in the square/park, stroll through a museum, pop into an exhibit. Walk around town with no need to do anything I don’t want to (including but not limited to gondola rides, Eiffel tower climbs, double decker bus tours, etc.) There is a plaque on a bench in Place des Vosges saying “Georgia sat here and ate ice cream every evening for weeks’. Well maybe not but there should be. Heh.
These domestic sketches are wonderful…and the colours of those tiles!
Hope you’re fully recovered soon.
Author
Ha, the infamous and ubiquitous colpi d’aria. The fear of it became most evident when I realized that my g’daughter’s swimming teachers were blow-drying her hair before sending her back to her parents after class — they did that for the whole class of 6-year-olds. Now that she’s a few years older, I think she’s trusted to do her own, but here, of course, I’d always just hustle mine to the car, perhaps with a toque pulled over (in Winnipeg, you’d have done better in winter, but La Ragazza lives in Rome! They weren’t worried about freezing temperatures, but oh, that colpo d’aria.
Yep, you approach travel the way I do. Part of why we go back to Paris so often is that we’ve long ago done as many of the landmarks/must-see sites as we’ll ever want to, and now we can enjoy wandering and following our inclination. And if I want to eat at the same brasserie three nights in a row, well, I do just that. No worries at all about what the cool new must-try spot might be.
Exactly my kind of travel ,Georgia! I sign everything you’ve written!
Dottoressa
The tile watercolor reminds me of a favorite mindful watercolorist:
https://www.instagram.com/gardenercook/
Her book: Color In and Out of the Garden-
It makes one slow down and really look at the colors in flowers, leaves, seashells.
Lovely and inspiring like your blog!
Author
Thank you for pointing me to @gardenercook. I’m now following her account and I love the palettes she puts together from the natural world. I’m flattered that you’d see any likeness with what I do here!
sorry to hear about the laryngitis but I’m very keen on reasons to slow down and on slow travel generally. Georgia captures it beautifully. I like to find a bar or a cafĆ© where the locals go and go often enough for people to recognise me and say good morning. I like to wander about and make sure to look up. I like to eat baguette or the equivalent in a park. I like to take ferries not harbour trips, buses not cabs. at home I enjoy a morning just poddling inside and out and I love a poddling kind of day while traveling. love your sketches and love the idea of your spending four hours on the blog!
Author
Yes! “I like to take ferries not harbour trips, buses not cabs” . . . This says So much!
You’ll be winding your travels up soon — enjoy the rest of your impressive trip, and then have fun being astonished by how your garden’s grown while you’ve been away! xo
I’m so sorry to hear that you’re not feeling well,Frances! Hopefully it is much better now
Love your sketches and the tiny bathroom is so beautiful and,thankfully, with a shower,not a bathtub! Sometimes,small things make a great difference!
Dottoressa
Author
Thanks, K! My voice is slowly improving.
I also seemed to have lost my voice briefly many years ago, never sure of the cause. Yesterday while being the dressage steward for our little horse show I found myself making small sketches in the margins of my list of competitors. It was such a charming Summer scene, the various animals and everything in full bloom.
Author
I’m picturing those margin sketches — sweet!
I haven’t had laryngitis in a few years, thankfully, but I winced when I read you have it – it’s really awful when you can’t communicate, isn’t it? I trust that by now you’re on the healing side of things, and can soon return to Italian class, apero hours, and the like.
I seemed to have developed a travel pattern over the last year or so. Husband is mobility-challenged, so can’t walk like I do, so I get up in the morning and go walk someplace. Then post-lunch we do something together. In Paris I had specific outings in mind: City Pharma one morning, Notre Dame another, Dali’s Camino-inspired sundial on a third. We were in London last month, and one morning it was St. James Park (::swoon::), the next, through Mayfair to what is rated the best yarn store in London (you know that when you buy yarn when you travel that it’s a souvenir and doesn’t count against your yarn stash, right?). We’re off to Dublin next week and I already have a couple of jaunts in mind. The walking is a kind of slow travel that I enjoy – we see so much more at that level, don’t we?
Author
I like that pattern of travelling together. . . we’ve had to find ways to accommodate our different bio-rhythms (as in, I’m an early riser and he’s NOT!) so I’m often out on my own in the morning.
I envy your lifestyle, being so close to so many great cities: Paris, London, Dublin, casually tossed into one paragraph — wonderful! And with a luxurious time frame that allows for lots of walking, rather than a 7-city-5-days itinerary! Absolutely the way to do it!
So sorry about your coughs, sneezes and voice loss. Only time I’ve had laryngitis I took a nightly medicinal wee cognac (not whisky – don’t like the stuff!). I swear it helped.
My thought on seeing that beautiful, fresh mosaic tiled shower was – gosh, what a lot of work to keep the grouting as clean as it is!
Author
There’s often a stress factor with laryngitis, I think, so that the cognac could definitely help. By the time mine got fullblown, I was on a regime of too much ibuprofen to be adding alcohol to the mix, sadly . . .
Yes, I hope they have a magical sealant for that tile and its grouting!
The red bathroom tiles are cheerful and remind me of a motel we stayed in in Key West, FL years ago. It was a nothing special, inexpensive place, but we have special memories from the stay. The bathroom was cheerful with all of the red appliances. Our teenage son was with us. We toured the Hemingway House and then went to a used bookstore, where our son purchased a couple of Hemingway books. He stayed up late into the night reading.
There was a thunder and lightening storm one night and we all got up and sat on the porch watching the show.
I hope that your throat is better and you are enjoying the start of summer.
Author
I love the way the memory of those tiles leads you to Hemingway House, to a bookstore, to your son reading Hemingway. . . and then the memory of the storm! Thanks for taking the time to share that.