Krakow? Oh wow!
Travel unraveled.
This Thursday, Thanksgiving afternoon, Sweet T. and I fly to Kraków via Zurich.
Kraków?
Of all the overseas destinations I thought I’d get to first my bingo card did not have the former capital of Poland. To date, the extent of my international travel encompasses Canada and Mexico. Until 9/11 a passport wasn’t required by law to visit either. There was a brief moment in 1985 when I thought I’d fly to London with a girl I was crushing on. That year while visiting a different girl in San Francisco I spent the entire day after my 23rd birthday procuring a passport. I’m looking at it now and there isn’t a single stamp in it.
How fucking sad.
I never did get to the U.K. and that crush had no interest anyway. It would’ve been another wash-out, like my Fog City pen-pal.
Some people get the travel bug and I envy them. Of all the deathbed regrets I wish I’d seen more of the world! must bubble just under the top 5. Why trotting the globe was not important (unless it included the possibility of sex, apparently) is hard to explain but let’s break it down.
To begin, I’m not fond of air travel. Prior to 9/11 (there’s that bright dividing line again) the airport experience didn’t evoke cattle being pushed through a chute. Now I’m convinced I’ll keel over on the security screening line after being told to remove my belt (yet again, despite having TSA Pre-Check) and hold my arms straight out at my sides. The humiliation of my pants slowly slipping down might be what finally does me in. Once on the plane it’s your classic crying baby or adorable tyke kicking my seat or loud talker who can’t STFU that’ll do me in. Then there’s turbulence. I always think This is it. We’re all gonna die. Horribly. What we need is a way to be knocked medically unconscious after boarding, to be revived only upon successful touch-down. Propofol Airlines, anyone?
So strike 1 against long-distance travel is getting there and back.
Strike 2? The expense. Maybe you were one of those hippies who grabbed a backpack and hiked Europe in your gap year, couch-surfing with your foreign friends or flopping in hostels? Yeah, that could never be me. I didn’t have a gap year or any foreign friends and the idea of not having my own bathroom en suite horrifies me. I’m sure there are still ways to travel on the cheap (looking at you, TravelZoo, with your fifteen emails a day) but I’m saving up to treat that debilitating illness RFK Jr. will no doubt engender.
Strike 3? Our cats. It’s bad enough when we’re out for the night and return to face those How dare you leave? stares Baby Billy and Marty perfected. Despite our Nanny Nancy (my cousin on my dad’s side), who’s an honest-to-God cat whisperer, we feel guilty ever moment we’re away. Yes, some people travel with their cats but we don’t even take these two to the vet since we found one that visits.
Will Kraków be the key that finally unlocks a penchant for travel? I hope so. Sweet T. and I saw Jesse Malin’s incredible Silver Manhattan this past Saturday and it reminded us yet again how lucky we are. I told Jesse’s story in NIHILISTIC last December, after seeing him perform live for the first time since the spinal stroke that left him a paraplegic. Silver Manhattan lays out his entire journey and to call it inspirational is beyond trite. For me, it was earth-shaking. This whole project, NIHILISTIC, began because I wanted to tell my story about the same NYHC (New York hardcore) music scene that gave rise to Jesse’s band Heart Attack. Besides the Beastie Boys I’m hard pressed to think of any other OG NYHC alumni who crawled from that wreckage to reach national prominence. But watching Silver Manhattan I was struck by the similarities in our stories, even down to both of us being born with lazy eyes and having to wear ridicule-inducing eye-patches to school (I won’t spoil it by telling you Jesse’s mom handled his objections to wearing the patch but my mom’s approach was to yell We’re PAYING for that and you’ll WEAR it! Okay, my parents DID eventually get me some surgery, so…). Another similarity was how music came along at a crucial moment and became the thing that transformed us. The guitar was our way out. Jesse just happened to be far more talented, confident and driven than I ever was.
And he had that PMA (Positive Mental Attitude).
On the sidewalk outside the Gramercy Theater after the show Sweet T. and I were kibitzing with Paul Bearer and his wife Julie, marveling over just how great the show was. I said “Me, life hands me lemons and I say FUCK THESE LEMONS, THEY SUCK!” Everyone laughed. I added “I think it all comes down to your parents. Maybe if I’d gotten one of those positive, uplifting moms instead of the depressive alcoholic I got…”
Thanksgiving is two days away and I’m grateful for all life has given me. My troubles amount to nothing next to Jesse’s. I’m going to walk all over Kraków with the woman I love and savor every step. And maybe next year I’ll finally get to the U.K. And Rome. And Malta. And…
Happy Thanksgiving, travelers!
