Selfies at the Uffizi, Harper Lee in Naples; Tom Wolfe and Robert Towers at Columbia; Mass Tourism Everywhere; The Tolls at Aosta; "You can’t take it with you.”
Just beautiful, Tom. As a fellow park bench enthusiast, I’d like this to be engraved on the plaque of the future BTP Memorial Bench outside Mazzola Bakery in Carroll Gardens: “My only obligation was to sit there and exist. Sometimes I think my main skill is sitting on park benches.”
Damn, Beller, this is awesome. Thirty years ago, on book tour in Germany, I got into a half-court basketball run with young soccer players. They were quick and largely clueless. A lot of wild passes and airballs. They fell for every headfake. Then an older guy walked up. Early 40s to my late 20s. Same height as me but sinewy. He that walk, ya know. Shit, I thought, I'm gonna get destroyed. And he did indeed destroy me. After a few games, I had to go. But the dude and I talked a bit. He said he'd played a few years in low level pro leagues in various places. His English was good, which I learned is common in Germany. I told him I was a writer in the country to promote my book. "Ah, you are Red Indian," he said, using a old Euro term that probably isn't used anymore. In Germany, Karl May's Winnetou character, an Apache Indian warrior, is hugely popular. The guy said he wanted to travel to Apache land and meet the tribe. I said, "They're a short people. A lot of point guards." I gave him my book. Nobody had a pen so I couldn't sign it. He'd be in his 70s now and probably dominating the old men's games.
I have a lot to say about all of this, especially what the American West, Indians included, looks and feels like to the Europeans, the Germans most of all, but for nowIi’ll leave it at: my trip ends in Berlin. I’ll report.
Thank you, Larry. Good luck on getting to the end. It’s a multi-day process. But like these old cities, not going anywhere. Though come to think of it, that is a very blase remark to make considering our shared old city.
Ha. I read this moments after finishing Ed White’s most recent book. (I refuse to say final because a) I don’t want to and b) there must be more work to be published.
Such a great piece. A couple things that might be of interest: the Miramare is the name of the hotel that Tom Ripley stays at upon arriving in Italy. The name comes from the time Highsmith spent at the real Miramare in Positano (possibly the one you stayed at?)
Also, re: mass tourism. Marco D'Eramo has some great writing on this subject, perhaps you've read him? He has a book called "The World in a Selfie" and some articles in New Left Review.
This was a pleasure to read from start to finish, except I can't remember what was in that Walter Benjamin essay and now that is irking me. (A lesser writer--me?--would have tried to connect Lil Uzi and Big Uffizi, somehow, but in any case that bit was hilarious--all the stuff with your kids as witnesses is.)
At the Uffizi a lone German tourist handed us his camera, then struck a heroic pose—profile turned, chest thrust out, chin lifted, hands on hips. I snapped the shot, stifling a giggle. The rest of our Italian trip Nancy and I copied his pose at every landmark, smiling the whole way.
Just beautiful, Tom. As a fellow park bench enthusiast, I’d like this to be engraved on the plaque of the future BTP Memorial Bench outside Mazzola Bakery in Carroll Gardens: “My only obligation was to sit there and exist. Sometimes I think my main skill is sitting on park benches.”
Thank you.
Damn, Beller, this is awesome. Thirty years ago, on book tour in Germany, I got into a half-court basketball run with young soccer players. They were quick and largely clueless. A lot of wild passes and airballs. They fell for every headfake. Then an older guy walked up. Early 40s to my late 20s. Same height as me but sinewy. He that walk, ya know. Shit, I thought, I'm gonna get destroyed. And he did indeed destroy me. After a few games, I had to go. But the dude and I talked a bit. He said he'd played a few years in low level pro leagues in various places. His English was good, which I learned is common in Germany. I told him I was a writer in the country to promote my book. "Ah, you are Red Indian," he said, using a old Euro term that probably isn't used anymore. In Germany, Karl May's Winnetou character, an Apache Indian warrior, is hugely popular. The guy said he wanted to travel to Apache land and meet the tribe. I said, "They're a short people. A lot of point guards." I gave him my book. Nobody had a pen so I couldn't sign it. He'd be in his 70s now and probably dominating the old men's games.
I have a lot to say about all of this, especially what the American West, Indians included, looks and feels like to the Europeans, the Germans most of all, but for nowIi’ll leave it at: my trip ends in Berlin. I’ll report.
By the second graf I was good and truly hooked.
Thank you, Larry. Good luck on getting to the end. It’s a multi-day process. But like these old cities, not going anywhere. Though come to think of it, that is a very blase remark to make considering our shared old city.
Yep. It definitely has a use-by date, given how the climate and drill-baby-drill is slowly delivering it to the Gulf. A terrible fate to contemplate.
Ha. I read this moments after finishing Ed White’s most recent book. (I refuse to say final because a) I don’t want to and b) there must be more work to be published.
Such a great piece. A couple things that might be of interest: the Miramare is the name of the hotel that Tom Ripley stays at upon arriving in Italy. The name comes from the time Highsmith spent at the real Miramare in Positano (possibly the one you stayed at?)
Also, re: mass tourism. Marco D'Eramo has some great writing on this subject, perhaps you've read him? He has a book called "The World in a Selfie" and some articles in New Left Review.
Very nice Tom, a solid layup. I relived my Stendahl syndrome all over again. Sounds like you did as well.
This was a pleasure to read from start to finish, except I can't remember what was in that Walter Benjamin essay and now that is irking me. (A lesser writer--me?--would have tried to connect Lil Uzi and Big Uffizi, somehow, but in any case that bit was hilarious--all the stuff with your kids as witnesses is.)
At the Uffizi a lone German tourist handed us his camera, then struck a heroic pose—profile turned, chest thrust out, chin lifted, hands on hips. I snapped the shot, stifling a giggle. The rest of our Italian trip Nancy and I copied his pose at every landmark, smiling the whole way.
Fantastic
Great read. Looking forward to the next installment as you continue on your travels.