Damn it, Bourdain...
I, like so many other vagabonds before me, was inspired by his wanderlust, his wit, his candor, his courage, and his overall punk-rockness. One thing I’ve always loved about travel is that it takes me outside of my head. Makes me realize how big the world is and how small I am. Makes my problems seem almost insignificant, and therefore if not laughable, certainly manageable. I feel like one of the biggest gifts travel can give us is perspective. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that wears off. Had he just become desensitized?
When I first started traveling, before Bourdain inserted himself in our living rooms and laptops, the world seemed exciting and gigantic, but after returning home and getting caught in the daily grind, it would slowly shrink back down to faceless continents in a 3rd graders geography book. Bourdain’s television shows changed all of that. They reminded me how vast and varied this planet was, how much more there will always be to see. During the long stretches when I was stuck in the city, watching him travel the globe kept me hungry but also helped to tide me over to the next plane ticket. Watching his show on Granada over a hungover iced coffee and bagel five years ago is what inspired Billy and I to go to Spain in the first place. Now we want to move there. How many other life-changing moments has that man inspired?
I keep envisioning the closing moments of his show, where his voice plays over a series of shots and helps us reconcile - or not - what we’ve just seen. He never tried to wrap things up in a tidy bow just for the sake of an ending, but somehow hearing him acknowledge the contradictions and complexities of a place and it’s people was even more satisfying. I keep thinking of this, only now, in my Fellini-esque imagination the closing shots are a montage of his life, playing silently, without his steady voice to walk us through it, shoulder our confusion, share in our wonder. He was done with all that. It’s up to us to figure it out…or not. Find comfort in the uncomfortable, peace in the pointlessness, humor in the tragedy.
So, with that in mind, this is Aveiro. (Shitty segue, but I racked my brain for a good one and I'm not sure it exists.) I fell hard for the cities of Portugal, and this was one of my favorites. Known as the “Venice of Portugal” the banana-shaped boats lining Aveiro’s canals make for a perfect way to explore this seafood-loving town. So, naturally, we took a choo choo. Sometimes you gotta just give the kids what they want...even if it's not a real choo choo.
I have to hand it to the kids, they got us off the beaten path, er, waterway, which allowed us to see some cool stuff that we wouldn't have seen otherwise, like the University of Aveiro. Some amazing buildings here designed by some of Portugal's premiere architects in the 1980s. It felt like the setting of some dystopian future.
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We didn't get to spend enough time here (although the Oompa Loompa ride was not a minute too short, thank you very much) but the energy of the place hits you right away. Maybe it's the University, maybe it's the colorful boats that looked like they were ripped out of a children's book, maybe it's all that damned tasty seafood, but there's a vitality and appreciation of the good and simple life here that is undeniable.
I’m not going to call killing yourself punk rock. Cut an ear off, man, but don't cash it all in. It sucks and it's sad and I wish Bourdain was here to be all sharp-witted and wise about it. Of course, he wasn't here to finish my blog posts for me before but I guess that's what we do after people die, appropriate them in ways that help us to feel a little bit better.
My friend and I were talking about suicide - well, texting actually, which is just weird but I guess that's 2018 for you. He said that he'd never kill himself because he "loves a good fight." I thought that was oddly heartwarming - a proactive stance. Of course people kill themselves for all sorts of reasons, depression has all sorts of manifestations and I usually aim for all sorts of equanimous acceptance, but yeah, a good fight, I like that. That seems about as punk rock as it gets.
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