What can I say? I adore books that are about traveling... and I don't mean, travel books. It's not like I'm sitting at home reading Frommers Las Vegas 2009 (classic Frommers- totally busted a gut reading about the Wynn!)
No, I like reading about people striking out on their own (or with friends, or family, or lovers, or dogs, cats, bears, emus, whatever)and traveling across this great land of ours- or heck- even perhaps a pretty nice land of theirs.
I loved the books Assassination Vacation (Sarah Vowell), and Killing Yourself to Live (Chuck Klosterman) I loved that they taught me a bit about the land I live in, and you know, a bit about themselves.
I'm a sucker for a bad one liner- She/He/They/It traveled 250,470, 5,000 miles to discover a truth that was inside them all along.
Reading those books makes me want to take to the open road. Just walk into my job, and say, "I'm taking three weeks off- and uh- can I get like a Two thousand dollar advance? No? Okay, well forget it! I can just rough it out on the road! I can totally Dean Moriarty myself across the side roads... Oh, crap- have you seen the price of gas a gallon? You sure I can't have an advance on the pay check? Okay, never mind."
I guess being sensible is okay too... but I, like most people I would assume, long to get out there and have a unique experience while looking out over a mountain pass, or out into the Pacific Ocean.
I used to take annual trips to New Mexico during the summer months (back when I was young, and didn't have things like a car payment, or rent, or a full time job) I loved the 12-14 hour drive through Texas, and into New Mexico, watching the landscape change from the hot Texas grassy plains, to the dry New Mexico desert, to northern New Mexico were all the foresty pine trees are. I would hop of the car out snap a few pictures of the mountains, then hop back into the car. I'd eat in interesting restaurants, I'd meet lots of people. I long for those days again. I would love to hop in the car and drive in any direction, and randomly stop and take lots of pictures, and eat in interesting places, and meet interesting people... and just kind of hold on to those memories- just like Richard Marx.
BUT THEN, whoa nelly, I just read (or looked at?) And the Pursuit of Happiness- and realized that I've been doing it all wrong the whole time.
Happiness is more art book than anything else. I'm sure Maira Kalman took plenty of pictures while she took her trip across parts of the country. I wouldn't be surprised if she recorded some of the "interviews" she conducted. I'm sure she had issues where something exploded in her suitcase... but none of it comes across in this book. What comes across is someone who loves to travel, to meet new people, to see new things, to have new experiences, to learn, and to take all that stuff, all those experiences, and all those voices, and filter them into a clean, simple book with clean simple paintings, and clean succinct wording. And I loved every bit of it.
It made me want do to the things she did. It made me want to go to the places she went. I wanted to see Jefferson's bed at Monticello. I wanted to go to Springfield, Illinois to hang out where Lincoln hung out. I even kinda sorta wanted to see the sewage treatment plant she visited. Who knew poop could be made interesting?
Doctors I'm sure.
I would love to meet Maira for pie sometime. I figure she likes pie (pgs 150-151), and I like pie- she seems to like history, I like history. She can tell me all about her travels and I can tell her all about mine. So it's a date- right? I just need gas money to get up to New York.