France, Part Deux

What is the purpose of travel? This issue was raised recently in fellow Substack writer Freddie DeBoer’s column, “Think Less, Agnes.” He quotes writer Agnes Callard as saying that “travel gets branded as an achievement,” and suggests she argues against travel as a “transcendent experience.” DeBoer, however, counters that when he was a child traveling with his father to Bali, one evening he was surrounded by his father’s and friends’ laughter and storytelling, and “was transported by pure sensation.” So—transcendent or not transcendent? Either/or is too narrow a focus, but travel’s purpose is a worthy question.

In my earlier column, I suggested that for me travel was partly about rest and partly about leaving room for unexpected pleasure to find us. However, our trip to France in May (we made it!) was very little about rest. Delta cancelled our outbound flight and wouldn’t fly us out for the same price for three days. We discovered later that French legislation banning short-hop flights went into effect the day we were to leave and created chaos—never mind the chaos that all travelers are feeling this summer.

That flight delay meant we taxied directly to the Gare de Lyon from Charles De Gaulle, changed our train to an earlier one, and arrived in Lyon six hours earlier than originally planned for a total of about 24 hours of sleeplessness. The hotel was firm about check-in times, so we wandered through the gorgeous outdoor market along the river, then sat dazedly in a café hunched over glasses of wine until we could collapse for a nap before dinner.

We had intended to see the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon, a museum we understood to be second only to the Louvre, but the guidebooks neglected to mention a French holiday, so we missed it, and instead walked to the Musée de Confluences—13,000 steps that we have taken to calling the death march. We slept well that night!

We intended to taste in Beaujolais wine country, but the vineyards were closed or busy. But we enjoyed lush green countryside and discovered a pretty hilltop restaurant for lunch where we could look out across the valley and watch the cyclists climbing the hill in preparation for another Tour de France. We had intended to stop at a medieval hilltop town on our way from Avignon to Lyon, but my husband had gotten sick. In Paris, we had wanted to go to the Louvre, but lost the chance because of the Delta delay. Instead, we saw an intriguing show of pastels at the Musee D’Orsay. 

This wasn’t the experience of transcendence I was looking for, even with the compensations. Instead, I felt stuck in my frustration and pettiness, sad that so many of the joys I had anticipated were not part of our experience. There was no moment of deep breath, no letting out of angst because joy and awe were taking its place.

Except.

At Cluny, an abbey almost destroyed during the French Revolution, inside an empty storage building, I could sing a note, and it echoed gloriously off those stone walls.

And on the Sunday morning we left Avignon, the bells started calling the faithful to church. This combined with the swallows diving and crying through the morning air was so beautiful that I stood on the little patio adjacent to our room with my phone extended toward the sky hoping to capture all that joyous music.

And another: At our Paris dinner reservation on my husband’s birthday, we ran into one of his students at another table.

And in Lyon, a drink watching the changing light on the Saone River:

I’m searching for transcendence, whether I’m traveling or not. But the weight of my desire is too big for any experience to carry. I wanted more—to be sustained on a wave of it throughout the trip. Greedy girl. I should know better at my age. If I have control, there is no room for transcendence. If I don’t have control, I must notice and appreciate the gifts—including our return flight being allowed to land in Canadian wildfire smoke. Lucky after all.

Thanks for reading.