As we’ve been on the road (or in the air. . . or on the sea) this month, I’ve frequently thought of Pico Iyer’s words on why we travel. We don’t travel, Iyer wrote,

“. . . in order to move around—you’re traveling in order to be moved.  And really what you’re seeing is not just the Grand Canyon or the Great Wall but some moods or intimations or places inside yourself that you never ordinarily see . . .”

Those thoughts from Pico Iyer then began to mingle with a short poem used by a writer I follow to begin a recent post. Her first few lines were:

“Perhaps the place to start is not to ask
‘What can I do’ but first ask ‘What do I love?’
Begin from there, where the heart expands
Where you know for sure
What actually matters . . .”

All of which led me to consider what I’ve seen from the places I’ve traveled over this month that expands my heart and touches parts of my soul that are not as frequently moved in ordinary life. What actually matters.

This post from the road is not exhaustive, but I hope it is illustrative.

---

SMALL OASES OF BEAUTY

When exploring new places, I love turning corners—be they on city streets, as one exits the back of a basilica, or in a large kitchen garden—and seeing a small scene of beauty. From Dublin and Ballymore to Tours and villages throughout the Loire Valley, I’ve been moved by the work that gardeners, shopkeepers, designers, and everyday citizens do to bring the natural wonder and grace of the world to our attention. And I even learn something along the way. Who knew, for instance, that artichokes had these amazingly vibrant purple blossoms?! (It turns out my daughter Claire, who lives near the artichoke capital of the world, knew.)*

And while walking through the delightful town of Amboise—a place full of small, hidden gems—who would expect to see a rare white peacock? **

The small oases of beauty remind us that there is much that is right and good in the world, if we will disengage from the addictions of our misery machines.

---

HEARING PERSONAL STORIES

One important reason we’ve lost a feeling of community among our fellow humans is that we do not really listen and hear their personal stories. Somehow in my travels I’ve been privileged to meet people in different walks of life and hear their stories. Some are like Julie—the 10th generation of the White family to live at Bantry House—who told us how at 35 years of age she now “runs the family business” of managing the estate with her mom, who is owner and “head gardener.” Both come at their work from a love of family, land, and history.

At the Jameson whiskey distillery in Midleton, County Cork, a feisty young Irish woman named Abbie who said she was one of five sisters with the same bright hair and outlook on life—a “personality hire” was the way she phrased it—took us through the process of making Ireland’s special nectar. With wit, wisdom, and a deep love for her native land, she told us why this place mattered to her.

Finally, one of the most moving storytellers (in both the literal and figurative sense) was Joel, our black taxi cab driver in Belfast. In that strife-torn city that has been working for the past 25 years to heal generations of hatred and mistrust, working class men who came up through “The Troubles” on both the Protestant and Catholic side have come together to share their stories with visitors in a uniquely personal way. Joel drove us through neighborhoods, explained the various murals, and provided a first-hand account of how so much has been accomplished and why so much healing remains to be done.

I stopped to see what Candice’s contribution to the Belfast peace wall had been, and was not surprised to find a short yet compelling statement written in her clear hand:

“Healing begins within . . .”

It is an important reminder in our own time of discord and distrust.

During our recent adventures I was also moved by conversations among our fellow travelers telling their personal stories. Over the course of several meals, new friends Ed and Karin taught me how to have difficult conversations with others by focusing on empathy, deep listening, and an ability to hold on to reality and the truth without being judgmental of others. Building community, like building democracy, never ends.

---

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

During the trip I’ve been reading Daniel Mendelsohn’s book An Odyssey: A Father, A Son, and an Epic, which was gifted to me by my dear friend George Farr. It is a work about a father and son’s transformation as they study Homer’s classic tale together. In the opening section, Mendelsohn notes that the Odyssey, “filled as it is with sudden mishaps and surprising detours, schools its hero in disappointment and teaches its audience to expect the unexpected.” As our plans were changed day-after-day by Atlantic typhoons and airport security alerts, “expect the unexpected” became our mantra.

Of course not all unexpected surprises are disappointments.

When we travel, we know we’ll see magnificent cathedrals and castles (in Europe) as well as vast and awe-inspiring landscapes (from the American West, Norway, and the Alps to New Zealand, Australia, and Africa).

But I didn’t expect to see a “shell house” folly in Ballymaloe, complete with an intricate dome the equal—in its own quirky way—of many a cathedral. The interior design of The Shell House was begun by Blot Kerr-Wilson in July 1995 and completed on the 26th of October—the day before the farm and cooking school owners, Darina and Tim Allen, celebrated their Silver Wedding Anniversary. The house was built as a surprise present by Darina for her husband. This small folly contained many unexpected treats, including the fact that every shell used in the ceiling once encased a mussel or scallop that was consumed at Ballymaloe House or at the Ballymaloe Cookery School.

Then there were the too rare memorials and statues to people and events often marginalized or forgotten in daily life. Instead of some long-forgotten general, this Dublin statue—simply entitled “The Kiss”—perhaps unexpectedly reminds us that while life is finite, love lasts forever.

City Hall in Belfast is a structure worthy of its place in public life, but even there, one finds the unexpected: a statue among the statesmen and queens of Mary Ann McCracken, a social reformer, educator, businesswoman, and lifelong anti-slavery campaigner; a Pride stained glass window; and a small remembrance of the transformative and life-changing work that President Bill Clinton and Senator George Mitchell did to help bring about the Good Friday Peace Accords (back when US leadership meant something in the world).

I often think of craftsmanship in terms of architecture or writing, but I’m reminded when we travel and discover such delightful small restaurants as Richmond in Dublin . . .

. . . or Nobuki Table Japonaise and case. in Tours, that chefs are also experts at their craft, creatively assembling flavors and delivering artful presentations that make for a tasteful and delightful experience.

And then there’s music. Always music. What a wonderful treat it was to find a restaurant at the end of our block in Paris that featured gypsy jazz music. During our meal, this trio took us back to the 1930s origins of gypsy jazz, as played by the incomparable Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Grappelli. A street musician, playing a mouth accordion, even stopped by the open door and played along for a few bars.

I love these unexpected discoveries.

---

Among so many other things I have encountered along the way, I’m so very grateful for the small oases of beauty, the personal stories, and the wholly unexpected treasurers that have moved me in new and important ways over the past few weeks.

More to come . . .

DJB

---

*Perhaps the farmers and gardeners who read this newsletter knew this fact . . . but I’m neither, and this beautiful purple blossom came as a big surprise to me.

**In peacock-land, white peacocks are not considered beautiful (especially to other peacocks). As a result they have difficulty finding mates . . . which may be one explanation as to why they are rare.

---

Photo of the retreat of St. Finbar in Ireland by DJB.