Vacances du Soi
The first scent of vacation is a reminder of what you have embarked on, which is complete abandonment of your world. Estrangement. That scent, usually of the staid air of a passenger terminal, reminds one of the key imperative, the fundamental tenet of a vacation: home doesn’t exist. One is no more to contemplate one’s home life while on vacation than one would strain to remember if the bathroom faucet was left on while walking the surface of the moon. My apartment accepts the flap of the drapes in the wind of an open window, the accumulation of dust on an Ikea coffee table, and the rottening of crisper vegetables, without concern. It will forgive me when I get back. Complete and total removal from the context of your own life, that is the goal of a vacation.
That is how I treat them, anyway, so I will more than likely be out of contact for the next week or two as I traipse a little around the west coast of the USA and Canada. In my bag is a camera, a couple of books, a pen, some clothes. More than that and I might feel tied to home. When we travel we’re all tourists; there’s no escaping that now. But it’s more fun to act like we’re not. So I’m going to pretend like home doesn’t exist for a little while, and I’m not saving anything for my return. Leaving it all there. What happens in Olympia, WA stays in Olympia, WA. I’ll see you all soon.
Postscript: For a better, and perhaps more hesitant perspective on vacations, see the ever-excellent Outer Life.
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Olympia, Washington, eh? Not sure where exactly that is, but if you happen to pass by Mount Spokane, think of me. I got lost in those mountains two years ago while going for a bikeride in Idaho. It’s right on the state border, just west of Coeur d’Alene. I’ll tell you the tale sometime if you ask.