Category Archives: Travel

Right before sunset, a few friends from the neighboring shacks stopped by for an import cocktail hour, spent by the shore and looking out over the ocean waiting for the whales to breach. We watched their spouts blow plumes of water spray into the air, then saw their tales curve up before disappearing below. If you watched the same space you would see them breach – rising into the air and splashing down with majestic abandon. Here, at the edge of the world, it felt like a bridge to a better place. Maybe that was God. Maybe it was grace. 

As the gathering dispersed, JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin and I made our way to the canopied area looking over the shore to watch the sun go down. This was such a special gift, and we thanked JoAnn for bringing us all this way to make it happened. Later we would do our best to thank Dave and Francois, but words and little gifts can in no way match the gratitude we felt for being brought into this wondrous circle. 

JoAnn had predicted this visit would change our souls, touching us in a way that only a brush with the sublime could do. After almost twenty-five solid years of friendship, to discover such a place of peace together will be one of the blessings and highlights when we look back at our lives together. 

We lead very different lives than we did all those years ago, and finding ourselves at this perfect place was a fitting moment of serenity after all the torture and tumult of getting through our 20’s and 30’s. In some ways, all our restless searching and substitutes for love were destined to bring us here. And boy was it worth it. 

We joined Dave and Francois in the main shack for a delicious dinner by candlelight. Breaking bread with new friends and old is surely one of the happiest ways of sharing an evening. Backed by a rising moon, and the sounds and scents of the sea, our time in such serenity was coming all-too-quickly to its close. 

We returned to our little house, retiring to bed happily spent and satiated by all the beauty we had feasted upon in a single day. Leaving the windows open, a light breeze carried the sea air through the room, while the sound of the waves lulled us into a slumber. 

“The sea-shore is a sort of neutral ground, a most advantageous point from which to contemplate this world.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

The next morning I woke before dawn, drawn by the sea to where the sun would rise. Another day would begin. Another set of eyes would survey this scene. Another group of seals would swim along the shore. 

A pocketful of sea stones would be my only amulets to return to this enchanted place. 

At the top of one of the dunes, they had set up a canopied space for four loungers looking over the ocean, and what felt like the world. The sea pulled us with a mesmerizing call, so we made our way down the dunes to the shore. Unbothered by people (thanks to the plovers and their blocked-off nesting space) we had the entire beach to ourselves – a previously unknown anomaly in all my years of visiting Cape Cod – and a treasure of tranquility. JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin walked slowly along the ocean, watching for the heads of seals to pop up and say hello, while empty exoskeletons of sea life littered the way. We paused to pick up a few select stones, and sat down to listen to the water roll in. 

There is a calm and grounding feeling that can only be elicited by a peaceful day at the ocean. It connects one to the universe in a way nothing else can approach. Perhaps it’s due to the waves, and the way the moon tugs at our waters, uniting and bonding celestial bodies as two parts in a much-grander scheme. Or maybe it’s the way that standing at the ocean’s edge literally grounds one, sinking our feet deeper into the sand, rooting us to a body of water that stretches to other continents.

Whenever I found myself in emotional trouble when I was younger and lived alone in Boston, I’d make my way to the harbor. There wasn’t a Seaport back then but it was enough just being near the dirty water and seeing the moon dance on the waves. Even in winter when the wind would whip the wires against their flagpoles, and the lonely clanging was all we could hear, it managed to be a calming influence. 

How far away such a cold scene felt from this sunny day at the shore. Stones and shells and seaweed glistened in the salty sea wash, sparkling in the sun and demanding closer inspection. We stayed there for a while, feeling like kids again, then made our way bak through the dunes to sunset and dinner…

In the happy confluence of destiny that life occasionally deigns to throw our way, this past winter what was supposed to be a quiet getaway for our friend JoAnn turned into a threesome when Andy’s cousin Tyler and his boyfriend Kevin asked if they could stop by on the same weekend. Tyler and Kevin were planning on going to a family party further north, and JoAnn was already cozily ensconced in the attic loft. Our upstate New York winter made other plans for the boys, as a snowstorm barreled down on the entire area, canceling their party plans and stranding us all indoors for the wintry weekend. It was there, amid the falling snow and winter doldrums that JoAnn proposed the idea of a summer getaway at the end of the world. She described a scene of idyllic charm and natural beauty, accentuated by a pair of friends – David and Francois – who sounded as enchanting as the pair of houses that stood in rarefied stead in the dunes of Provincetown. Entranced by her stories, we were instantly on board, and she vowed to work her magic to see if she might bring us along someday. 

And so it was that we found ourselves snaking through the early Saturday morning traffic along Route 6 on a sunny summer day, a far cry from the winter scenario that birthed the trip, and as we passed the row houses that marked the entrance to Provincetown, I felt the familiar thrill of returning to a place that had first captured my heart and imagination over a quarter of a century ago. This visit was decidedly different, as we took a turn toward the dunes and away from the town, where only a few ever get to go…

A curving tree-lined path led us to the entrance to the seashore, where JoAnn’s friend graciously arrived in a truck to bring us to the pair of shacks he inhabited for the summer. Getting to the dunes is no easy feat. Dave told us tales of hapless visitors who neglected to let enough air out of their tires to traverse the sandy, and often steep, landscape. One could easily get stuck or stranded if they ignored the requisite rules of these roads. Dave expertly guided us through the rolling hills of sand. The world we had known disappeared behind these dunes and a new one opened up before us. I wondered if others would define their lives before and after the dunes. What lessons would such beauty gift to us?

Arriving at the main shack, we were greeted by the friendly wave of Francois, already at work inside, while Dave brought us to the little house where we’d be staying. A pair of sumptuous beds was made up, and a bank of windows looked directly out to the ocean. The unobstructed view stilled my step, and a wave of gratitude overcame me as I realized we’d be sleeping right on the shore. It would be the first of many moments when I’d pause to be fully present. 

After settling in, we joined Dave and Francois for a lunch of burgers and various salads. As is most often the case, food simply tasted better by the shore, and when mixed with good company it made things even more delicious. Listening to the story of how Dave and Francois came to be friends, I was grateful for JoAnn for bringing us into this enchanted world, and grateful to Dave and Francois for being so graciously welcoming. To feel such kindness in the world was an antidote to all the awfulness the last few years have brought. 

We let down our guards, and allowed the sun and the sea to cast their spells…

Dew dripped from the tips of the seagrass as I quietly made my way along the dunes. Only the birds and a few ships were out at this early hour. The wind, which could be wild and relentless, had softened to a slight breeze, allowing the grass to wave and dance in gentle rhythm. Here, where we had only a few hours ago watched the sunset over one end of the ocean I found myself alone, waiting for the sun to rise over the other end. 

Only on the magical peninsula of Provincetown can you find such a view of both sunrise and sunset. Here, where the first spark of the day shown suddenly red over the sea, and the sun rose and set in a matter of seconds – the line between dusk and dawn so miraculously demarcated – I sat on the dunes trying to take it all in. Here, at the edge of a world that no longer knew how to breathe in such beauty, I paused to inhale. 

Seeking out solitude, I made my way from our little house on the dunes along the path to the main house, then meandered along to the roped-off entrance to the beach. Blessedly blocked off to the public for the plovers, the entire expanse of this bit of Cape Cod shore was empty. Seagulls soared silently through the sky, and the only sound was the hypnotic rolling of the ocean – the ocean that never quite slept the way that we did, that had no need of sleep, and that stayed implacably unbothered by all our encroachments. 

On this day of departure, after an all-too-brief brush with a sublime beauty so gorgeously accentuated by new and old friends, I sat in the dunes waiting for the sun to rise, and recollecting what felt like a full and fortunate life in a single day…

This upcoming weekend marks the first time I’ll have the privilege of staying at The Plaza, despite flirting with the idea every time I’ve planned a trip to New York. The closest I’ve come to its storied decadence has been a cocktail at the Oak Room and one of their famous Afternoon Tea services in the Palm Court (for Mother’s Day). Both were thrilling enough on their own, though I have a feeling they are but appetizers for the main course of a weekend stay in one of their rooms. That’s finally coming to fruition as we head into town to catch the first preview of ‘Plaza Suite’ with Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick. If ever there was a time to splurge on a room at the Plaza, this would be it. (I love a consistent theme.)

To prepare for this once-in-a-lifetime event, I’ve been reading ‘The Swans of Fifth Avenue’ by Melanie Benjamin and ‘The Plaza’ by Julie Satow ~ the latter which tells the tale of the hotel’s history and many of its famous and infamous denizens and guests. There’s something special about a hotel with a past, and the Plaza has a rich history that breathes and pulsates within every gilded hallway. The echoes of Truman Capote’s famous Black and White Party whisper around each corner, while sumptuous bouquets of orchids keep modern-day secrets while wearing glamorous veils. A delicate perfume pervades the place, hinting at decadent shops below, and lending an elegance that touches all the senses. The Plaza is an immersive experience ~ an attitude, a sophistication, a feeling that bridges past, present and future. I can’t wait to step into that history.

“The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

On our last full day in Savannah we did what tired tourists do ~ hopped on a tour bus and let that do the walking work for us. It’s the easiest way to see the highlights of a city, and when you have elderly parents, and your own legs are in middle-aged fatigue, and your husband has pushed through to be with you this weekend despite his pain and hurt, you get on the bus and do your best to enjoy it. The day was chilly, even in the sun, so it was better to be inside the bus, even after a few riders insisted on raising the plastic windows and letting the wind in. We saw the bulk of Savannah and all of its greatest hits.

The tour brought us to early afternoon, when Andy and our parents retired to the hotel for one last siesta. I went back out and found my way to Forsyth Park, where I sat down on a bench and started writing my friend Alissa a note.

What a silly thing to do ~ to write to a friend who was no longer here. But it was all I knew ~ it’s all I have ever known ~ and as I sat there thinking about our years together, a squirrel hopped onto the bench across from me. A friendly, if skittish, visitor to remind me that life somehow will go on.  It was only the start of how I’m going to process this.

Seeking peace in beauty, I walked to the Telfair Academy, one of the oldest art museums in the Southeast. It was where ‘Bird Girl’ was on display, after the popularity of its original location in Bonaventure Cemetery proved too much for the sacredness of the place. I found her, alone in her room on this last afternoon in Savannah, and I sat with her for a moment, just the two of us, strangely on our own.

“Loneliness is not being alone, it’s loving others to no avail.” ~ John Berendt

For our last dinner in Savannah, we rode to the river, where Andy had the best plate of fried green tomatoes on our last trip here. He wanted to share them with Mom and Dad, and as the Georgia Queen sailed into the night, rows of lights illuminating the river, we enjoyed a dinner of Southern specialties. Mom then delivered the news that for the first time in forty-four years we would not be spending Christmas Eve at my childhood home, but at my brother’s house. It had been an emotionally exhausting week and I didn’t have it in me to question why. Maybe it’s time. The universe was signaling more change. Fighting it is harder than going with the flow. And after all that had happened, a Christmas Eve change of venue seems a silly thing to be hurt about. It’s never too late, or too early, to start new traditions. I may start a few of my own. 

Our flight was early the next morning. An unexpectedly bittersweet trip, Savannah still managed to work its magic. 

In the glossy leaves of a magnolia.

In the sweetness of a praline.

In the perfume of a gardenia.

In the trickle of an unseen fountain, flowing behind a brick wall lined with creeping fig, softened by sprigs of baby ferns…

“Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

“Art never responds to the wish to make it democratic; it is not for everybody; it is only for those who are willing to undergo the effort needed to understand it.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

Andy and I had been wanting to return to Savannah since we first toured the city together a few months ago, so we invited our parents along for a long weekend jaunt for some Southern charm and (ideally) some Southern sun. The latter appeared for a bit, and the former was everywhere we looked. Anything was better than the bit of snow upstate New York had, so we’re counting it a success, albeit a bittersweet one.

Like Boston, Savannah is mostly manageable by foot, but with Andy’s health issues and my Dad’s increasing infirmity, we kept close to our home base, opting for an Uber to get us to all our dining destinations. Luckily, the enchantment that is Savannah can be encapsulated and experienced within just a few of those magical squares, and from the moment we touched down and inhaled the swarthy air of the low country, we felt its spell working to erase the rigidity and regret of the Great Northeast.

Starting things off with some southern food at the Public (too conveniently located across the street from our hotel) we introduced Mom and Dad to the indelible fact that Savannah was, for us, in large part about the food ~ everything else came secondary. When our room was finally ready, everyone but me went back to rest up for dinner. I needed to walk some of that food off, so I ventured toward the river, following Bull Street through the pretty squares along the way. It was warm and sunny and felt so wonderfully far from November’s cold and rain. The camellia bushes were mostly in bud, with only one or two in bloom ~ I preferred it this way, cherishing each blossom like the treasure it was.

“The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

As I reached the river, the sun was just descending and I got a text to call Chris. Sensing it was important, and not good, I called and he told me our friend Alissa had passed away. Chris had introduced me to her way back in 1998, and since that time we’d maintained our own friendship ~ from Boston to San Francisco and even halfway across the world when she moved to South Africa. She left behind a young daughter, Sophia, and my heart suddenly broke.

The sun in Savannah slanted differently then, as every sun every day hereafter would, and the loss would haunt me along every step of the trip.

Warnings of the steep historical steps leading me up away from the river were posted near the ferns and mosses of the crevices of stone as I climbed, wandering in a state of somber shock. I didn’t cry until I came upon a camellia bush in full bloom. I paused and inhaled its aroma. Alissa is one of those friends who truly appreciated the beauty and little pleasures our world has to offer ~ whether it’s a stunning dress, a bouquet of flowers, or a plate of artfully-rendered food. In this beautiful city, I sought solace in the gorgeous green squares, but there was none to be found.

Savannah, which was always haunted, now became haunted in a different way. A sadder way.

The light of the day drained away, sooner than I expected it. By the time I made my way back to the hotel, it was dark out. A volley of church bells pealed nearby.

The world felt lonely, and I was only beginning to process what had happened.

“Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to was never there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? No place… Nothing outside you can give you any place… In yourself right now is all the place you’ve got.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

According to our schedule, we are due to return from Savannah, Georgia today, and in preparation for the posts that will likely follow from said trip, here’s a linky look back at previous time spent in that magical place. 

The very first time I visited Savannah I was on my own in 1997, having driven down the Eastern coast on a solo trip from my Royal Rainbow World Tour. Savannah was an impromptu stop to save myself when I realized just how far Florida was. I hadn’t yet read ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’, and I had no idea of the enchantment that Savannah held. Mostly I stayed to the Marriott on the river, venturing out only for a couple of quick walks. There were ghosts there, and I felt their presence to such an extent that I didn’t want to go out at night. Instead, I ordered room service and turned all the lights on. It wasn;’t until the sun came out the next day that I took in the beauty of the city. I drove beneath the Spanish moss and traveled around the historic squares before leaving. I vowed to return, even if it would take two decades. 

That second trip was inspired by the Book and the Movie, and a dear old friend. JoAnn had been wanting to visit for a few years, and I was more than ready to return, so a couple of years ago we booked a trip and touched down in the midst of the magic. It was a beautiful experience, and the ghosts I felt this time were kinder and friendlier, or maybe I was just less scared. When you’ve seen twenty years of life, not a lot can scare you. We had the best time – the only thing missing was Andy, and I vowed to rectify that.

Savannah is, at its heart, a romantic place. Love and passion and the fever of beauty conspire in one glorious mix of sensual indulgence. I wanted to share that with Andy, so earlier this year we made our own trip there, wherein we could indulge in all the treats the city could offer. 

Now we have brought my parents to this enchanted place, and we’ll report back how they – and we – enjoyed it. 

“Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.” – Ernest Hemingway