As delayed flight #198 to Calgary finally touched the runway, my nerves steeled for the first leg of this trip.
The facts. My brother is 5 years older than me. In our childhood, he use to purposely upset a crucial romantic scene between Barbie and Ken by pretending to be Godzilla, storming through to rain destruction on love ever after. He loves golfing and has a successful career in computer programming. I hardly know him.
My thoughts whirred along with the baggage carousel.
Certainly we’ve had phone conversations and visits. Quips were bandied around. The harsh truth – a sense of who he is or what his dreams entail is a remote tower, impenetrable and cloudy.
I waited for him underneath a sign labeled “cell phone passengers pick up only”. Any outsider could easily pinpoint my expression. Disheveled, confused – a woman clutching her new life in a daypack, backpack, and for some odd reason – a live cat. In a pet carrier that doubles for a duffel bag. Uh huh.
Brother pulled into the pick up zone in a sleek BMW, a far cry from my car free, transit induced life in Vancouver.
We greeted each other briefly, hastily piling bags and limbs until every man, woman and cat were safely encased in the vehicle. Off we went.
One travel ingredient that hasn’t gotten tired is grounding into a foreign place. Calgary is set apart from that rule, I spent my formative years here. ‘New’ doesn’t exist in the equation.
The BMW lulled along the densely paved roads, gliding among traffic perfectly spaced apart. Then I saw them. Strip malls.
Ohh, that’s where I use to wait for my crush Brad, Grade 9, wasn’t it?
We sailed past the 64 Avenue N. road sign.
The brown house on Norfolk Drive. I was six. Dolls and ice cream were my world.
Suddenly we entered a more recently built community, one that was raised long after I left. It stings to know life indeed, goes on without you.
I counted pick up trucks sharing road space as we made our way towards my brother’s condo. 6 so far. Nothing special for Cowtown. But these were 21st century models, glossy and pod shaped, not the worn down GMC’s of my youth.
I noticed the lack of humans. Nobody walking the streets. Just cars coughing out exhaust. Dust swirled, sticking to the ribs of the car.
As the BMW climbed Country Hills Drive, my vision locked onto the endless skyline – sunsets dipping into the earth, almost stark and remote. Like my desires and wishes. It’s too easy here. To fall into a sleepy, unimaginative state. I hungered to leave — be in the action — ingest little explosions of life. Not dry, brittle dreams, brown as the foilage is 8 months of the year here.
While memories mingled with unspoiled impressions of Calgary, I turned to my brother. We had chatted throughout the car ride, but a veil had stopped me from focusing strictly on him.
I finally understood why I’m here. It’s not about a place. There won’t be any carousing at the Stampede, logging rope time with cowboys. I won’t be hankering to hike the hoodoos of Drumheller in hopes a dinosaur bone discovery makes me a rich travel writer. I’ve grown beyond the borders of Calgary.
It’s about people. Relating to my brother, discovering what makes him tick, then loving him strengths and flaws together. What loomed most was reconnecting with a mother who can’t communicate with me.
Hot tourist spots or local cuisine is not in store for me. What I’ll bloat myself with are stories from childhood, those comfort foods my brother and I adore, and holding my mother’s stable hand, the one not gnarled by dementia and suffering.
It’s wise to ask yourself: is travel about the people or the place? Or both?
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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
@Jen – Great comment! I couldn’t agree more. And do believe we are given our families for a reason. I’ve learned so much from dealing with my family and would never change that.
Reading this and stories like this always make me think of how sad it is that sometimes (or most times) we can relate to complete strangers but not to people we’re tied to by blood. Why were we born into our families? Is it our lifetime challenge to learn to love/accept these personalities?
Hope you accomplish your mission and encounter some new sights along the way. Travel is about both.
@Candice – It’s definitely both, yet not always the same time! Go figure. And thanks for the compliment! :)
Powerful piece, Jeannie! For me, it’s both. I get the feeling it’s the same for you, too.
@Alison – Home is in the heart, but connection can certainly come from a place. It’s strange, I spent my childhood here, part of my adult life and I really don’t feel tied to Calgary. Soo, begs the question – where is my home? The heart does sound viable. :)
What a powerfully written piece! So much of this resonated with me. My parents still live in the house that I grew up in. I haven’t lived in that city since I was 17. Whenever I go home to visit, driving into the city, I have a strange sense of familiarity but at the same time distance. Something has always changed since the last time I was there but also I’ve changed. It does hurt a little to see that life has gone on without me, but that only serves to remind me that my friends and family may share a little hurt that I’ve moved on and changed as well. It’s a difficult balance, and yet sometimes I find myself sitting in one of the old hangouts with a dear friend and it’s like we are 16 again. I think ‘home’ lives in your heart and is a combination of people AND place. It is also memory and emotion and that is something that can’t change and be taken away from you.
@Gray – I certainly can’t argue with that answer. :)
@Andrea – It has been a bit bumpy – getting to know someone you knew in childhood is much different than who I am as an adult, or who he is. We’re gettin’ there!
@Shawn – Thanks for commenting, interesting take from someone who’s been doing this for some time. I do think a bunch of ‘stones’ can hold emotion and power for someone, but hey – the longer I do this, the more I’ll find out. :)
@JenniFTF – Thanks so much for that lovely quote! Sometimes a single person doesn’t always present themselves to cement that memorable experience, so what do we draw from? Perhaps the collective energy of a town or city? As a solo traveler, guess that’s all I can ask for.
@Erica – Very true. It helps to have some sense of community.
Fantastic post! Revisiting family is always a journey in itself for me…
Wow, this is really beautifully written, Jeannie.
And I’m going to go ahead and be the contrary one who answers your question with “It depends on the place.” There are many places I’ve visited, and lived, where the people mean more to me than the place itself, regardless of how cool or beautiful the place might be. Then there are the places where the place itself was more important than the people. I think a place has the ability to inspire certain thoughts and emotions in us, as long as we associate it with something greater than ourselves. So it’s no longer “just a place” but takes on a greater meaning. Stonehenge, for instance. has such a natural/spiritual significance in my culture that I couldn’t have cared less if there were other people around or not.
People and Culture for sure is the number one interest for myself. The Places and sites get old fast and just becomes a bunch of stone. But to learn about the different dynamics it takes slow travel and to admit to the negatives of the world along with the positives. At least from my experience after 2.5 years.
Hey nice Thesis site, I just transferred my blogger blog to Thesis, I have other sites running Thesis and wont look back.
Thanks for sharing this thoughtful and personal fost, Nomadic Chick. Really appreciate your questions, your memories, your vulnerability and your writing style. I found this quote recently, which answers your question from my perspective: “A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” ~Tim Cahill, travel writer and founding editor of Outside magazine.
Whether traveling to meet family or visiting a new place and making friends, I lean toward believing it’s the people , not just the sites, that make a place truly special and memorable.
Oh wow. Just wow.
I think some of the worst places on the planet can be uplifted by the company you keep. Nothing beats a sense of family, even when abroad. I know its what keeps me going at times. Although my little sister and I are so terribly different, I rely on her sweet words of encouragement to get me through the hard times.
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