In general I'm a big fan of The Best American Series and the new one's for 2010 just came out. I bought The Best American Essays
and The Best American Travel Writing
since they are my two favorite collections. I flipped through the table of contents, skimming for essayists I know and love, and new ones I'm interested to read, when I saw that The Best American Travel Writing and The Best American Essays both have an essay by David Sedaris in them. It's the same essay! Guy Walks into a Bar Car, which originally appeared in The New Yorker and can be read online. David Sedaris is known for being funny, so if you're looking for some giggles this is a great essay.
I wasn't vastly impressed by this piece but I think it's worth mentioning since it was chosen by Bill Buford and Christopher Hitchens this year. The essay is about Sedaris' trip on a train. In the bar car he meets a man who he is possibly attracted to, and he gets to talking and drinking with him. The guy is a total wreck, an alcoholic, screwed up family, and unemployed. Later in the essay he talks about a Lebanese man he met on a train some years before (he was 24), he felt an instant connection with this man, and the man invites him to come stay at his college with him, but Sedaris refuses. He later regrets this decision because, well, I think we've all been in that situation before. The essay looks at the train and travel as a kind of hopeful, romantic, new beginning, but then acknowledges that this is often not the case. And even when it is the case, we are often afraid of being truly romantic.
I love the way the essays starts: "In the golden age of American travel, the platforms of train stations were knee-deep in what looked like fog. You see it all the time in black-and-white movies, these low-lying eddies of silver. I always thought it was steams from the engines, but now I wonder if it didn't from cigarettes." This is a great set up for the rest of the essay. Sedaris gives us a well known image, beautiful, foggy, romantic train platforms that are full of mystery and elegance, but then he turns around and says something he has always though as beautiful and enticing might actually just be something gross or unimportant. And this is something I think happens a lot in travel. You dream up a place to be exactly what you want, but once you arrive it isn't anything like you expected. I experienced this when I went to Rome. I thought it would be this beautiful, romantic place, and I ended up thinking it was kind of disgusting.
He further ties this into age. He meets the Lebanese man at 24, but he meets the drunk more recently as an older man. "When you're young, it's easy to believe that such an opportunity will come again, maybe even a better one. Instead of a Lebanese guy in Italy, it might be a Nigerian one in Belgium, or maybe a Pole in Turkey. You tell yourself that if you traveled alone to Europe this summer you could surely do the same thing next year and the year after that. Of course, you don't, though, and the next thing you know you're an aging, unemployed elf, so desperate for love that you spend your evening mooning over a straight alcoholic." So in some ways life is a lot like travel. We enter with expectations, but as time goes on we realize they might not be exactly what we thought.
You can read this essay at The New Yorker, and if you do please come back to tell me what you thought of it!
I am an Amazon Affiliate. If you make a purchase using one of my links I will earn a small percentage which will then go back into this blog.