Monthly Archives: December 2012

Searching for Shakespeare in Historic Stratford-on-Avon

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In this second in a series on the realities of being a being a travel writer, I want to mention something that is not only important to travel writing, but to the essence of good travel itself: Be open to surprising detours.

Case in point: A couple years ago I received an assignment to visit England’s Duxford Royal Air Force Base, a historic airfield in the countryside just outside of Cambridge. Duxford is part of the Imperial War Museum and hosts the world’s premier collection of vintage warplanes. I was to write about the base and its amazing array of famous fighters.

While making my way north from London, I made a point to stop at one of my favorite places, the charming town of Stratford-Upon-Avon. The picturesque town, about a hundred miles from the capital, is known the world over for its Shakespeare connection: The great man himself was born here (his childhood home is still there) and then retired to a nearby home after his dazzling career in London.

It was during my visit to Stratford (which was intended to be a quick one) that I heard about an archeological excavation being done at the site of New House, the home where Shakespeare spent in his final years. The home was demolished in the 1800’s, and took with it information about the man’s last decades.

Overseen by the Birmingham University Archeological Unit, the dig aimed to get some answers about the man behind the legend. To do that, large swaths of the property were being excavated. I took one look at the historic undertaking and decided I needed to find a way to be involved.

I introduced myself to the lead archeologist and got in touch with the head of the project. I explained that I was a visiting American travel writer and that I’d love to write an article about the dig. I asked to assist on the excavation in order to get a better feel for the project. Before I knew it, I had been ushered onto the grounds, issued a yellow vest, and given a quick tutorial in proper excavating.

The next day I was kneeling in the dirt, sweating heavily under the sweltering summer sun and scraping centuries of dirt from Shakespeare’s cellar floor. Trowel in hand, I followed the exposed lines of Elizabethan brickwork with my eyes. These lines formed the foundations of the Bard’s final home. It was thrilling to be a part of uncovering history.

My tenure as a pseudo-archeologist ended a week later when I decided I had all the research material I needed (translation: I was tired, sunburned, and out of clean clothes). I turned in my trowel and headed northward for the Duxford base.

I kept the yellow vest, though.

The Duxford visit went well, and the resulting story was successful. But the Shakespeare article remains one of my favorite pieces, and the experience was one of a kind. There were other incidents related to that visit, but those will not make it into the pages of a travel publication anytime soon. And none of them have happened if I hadn’t kept my antennae alert for a good story and then made the effort to get involved.

The moral of the story is that while a travel writer must get his story, he also must listen when a better one calls out.

Heed the call.

Seeing Seattle Through A Visitor’s Eyes

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I was reminded recently of an odd quirk in our human nature. When most of us travel, our senses are hyper-attuned to our surroundings. This is partially a conscious decision; the adventure of discovery is exhilarating. But part of it is an unconscious function. When we are in a new and unfamiliar environment, seldom-used neural pathways light up and allow us to soak in all the sensory data of the new place. We become alert for possible threats.

Hanging out at home —in my case, Seattle—is quite a different situation. Like everyone else around the world, my city’s streets and sounds and sights tend to blur into the background as I go about my daily activities with an acquired case of tunnel vision. So, it’s always eye-opening when a visitor comes to town. I assume the role of tour guide, and just like magic, the blinders fall away to reveal a wonderful city that I’m lucky enough to live in but rarely notice.

This strange paradox played itself out this week as I entertained an old friend from my hometown of Chicago. Given a few days of vacation time, she headed out to the West Coast to spend a few days seeing Seattle and reconnect with me. I was happy to play tour guide, but did not expect such a vivid reminder of how our minds tend to filter out so much of our surrounding, for better or worse.

The little sensory details begin to come to the fore, revealing themselves as if they’d always been hidden from view. Showing my friend the quirky, urban crush of the Capitol Hill neighborhood, I experienced with fresh senses the cacophony of street bustle and the kaleidoscope of colorful outfits on the neighborhood’s flamboyant residents. Escorting my friend through a nicely manicured green space on Seattle University’s campus (which I often cross in a hurry to get somewhere else), I noticed the eye-popping array of colorful flowers as I rarely have before. Escorting her to a popular scenic overlook, I saw with fresh eyes the beauty of the Puget Sound as it stretched out toward the Olympic mountains, the last of the fall sun setting over shimmering water.

Occasionally I wonder why I stay here. There are warmer places, less expensive places, and cities with better food and less traffic. But watching the ships following the sunset out toward the open ocean, I took a deep breath of air infused with the scent of fresh pine and suddenly remembered why I always return here.

My guest is gone now, but my love for this beautiful city is rekindled. She thanked me for showing her my city. I did the same.