I have an episode on my podcast, Everywhere, that also covers this journey with my Mother. Listen here.
As much as I rely on my smartphone - for you know, pretty much everything, all the time. There are so many instances where I just think: I want to throw this device into the Hudson River and live a simpler life without it. And I know I am not alone in this feeling.
Now, let’s imagine the phone-free life of a travel writer. First off, maybe I should check if those old school Internet Cafes still operate all over the globe? So next up, imagine me schlepping bundles of printed boarding passes around. I’d actually have to hail a yellow cab without my Uber app, so that will be something old that’s new again.
But, how will I tell my husband we’re boarded, and now pushing back, and now taxiing, and now taking off? I do already read real books on pretty much every flight I take, so that one I have covered. I’d have to save my hotel addresses and reservations, and print them out like my Great Aunt used to do in a giant leather folder that she carried with her everywhere. Or maybe I need very chic oversized lanyards with my paperwork. But then again, I could get nicely lost on purpose with just a paper map, or even no map, wherever I am. Believe me, a little part of me finds all of this rather thrilling. Low tech, high tech.
I think this all the time - technology will save us, but not before it destroys us. When it comes to travel, my feelings are quite specific. As someone who isn’t on any social media - yes, you heard me correctly, no social media whatsoever. Ha, recently my little brother said to me, “maybe you don’t exist.” And I liked that. I did social media when it came out years ago - I used it and abused it, and then about 10, or so, years ago I cut it all off. Cold turkey. My compulsive nature and a deep desire for real, in the moment experiences were simply too strong to deny. And I am a happier human for it.
Recently I counted 20 travel writers/bloggers/influencers who died in 2018 from trying to capture their best image for their social channels. So nearly two dozen people died for a photo? If that’s not reason enough to get off all social media, nothing will be. Every time someone shows me their idyllic beach photo, or that picture perfect yoga position photo on top of a camel, or another plate of over-styled food, you know the ones, I just think “were you actually there, or just posing?” Sometimes at a work lunch when I am just about tucking into my salad, I get told to wait as it’s being photographed by an influencer. What kind of life is this that every moment needs to be memorialized, I have to wonder. Luckily I had some practice, spending a month in Japan with my mother showed me how to do less phone, more life. Just in the now, the right now.
So let me tell you about Mother. I often describe her as the sweetest, smartest, funniest, happiest aunt everyone should wish for. If she was a believer of reincarnation, I’d say she was in her last life - having learned every lesson she needed to: having finally reached that evasive, sneaky thing they call enlightenment. She wants for nothing, judges absolutely nobody, and lives very simply. It’s beyond inspiring. She does also have an acerbic tongue and wit that will hit you like a wave from behind.
But more importantly, certainly for me, is that she’s the type of traveler who after she breaks her foot on the Otter Trail in South Africa, but just keeps going and walks the remaining 20 miles. Without a complaint. If she wasn’t so skinny I think she could have made it big in the MOSSAD, Israel’s Special Forces. She is also the type of traveler who is not interested in driving around cities in a fancy black car seeing things from behind a window. Nope, she puts on a pair of sneakers and walks every block, every nook and cranny. Plus she greets and chats to everyone she comes across - from the President of an African state I’ve never heard of, to the Mr Delivery person holding her takeout .
And so Japan is perfect for her. Everyone is as polite as she is, and walking all over is so much part of the culture that she fits right in. Although she towers over everyone, she graciously bows right down to chat. Traveling with Mother is always the most fun any human can have, she’s up for anything. Like, let’s not Google this at all but go and find out where the birthplace of pearls could be. And we did, it is a little prefecture called Mie (MEEYE), a few hours south of Tokyo, where only female divers were trusted to find pearls.
I see how Mother’s eyes are filled with magic, as she learns how to use a vending machine to purchase anything imaginable. And so we turned this into a game - something that almost every situation calls for, right? It started with “What is the strangest item we could get from a vending machine?” I thought I had won when I found a vending machine with little doors revealing puppies, but Mother one upped me when she discovered goldfish, spiders and even pet snakes. We weren’t into the dirty underwear vending machines or the ones dispensing dry ice. But Mother won our competition hands down with her unearthing of a vending machine that dispenses doggie wigs. Because you know that day when you’re out and about and your pup urgently needs a costume change, or maybe a disguise? And we didn’t Tweet about this, or Instagram this moment - we savored it, just for ourselves. So indulgent.
Well, we really got into the vending machine thing - we ate entire six course meals under a bridge in Tokyo, all from a vending machine. We also managed to buy an enormous inflatable pool swan by mistake - Mother just wanted a new iPhone charger, but she was thrilled nevertheless. At some point in Kyoto, since it was freezing one day, we bought matching Harajuku Girls pink sweaters with 13 bunnies sewn onto them. I got an extra large and she got a small one. We were Twinsies. And guess what, we didn’t need to take a photo of this. We didn’t need to post ourselves on Facebook, we just lived it and laughed at it. Mother rocked her new look, it wasn’t really my color.
Besides for visiting some of the oldest temples in Kyoto with Mother, or eating our palate cleanser sherbet from our personal three foot high ship, done table-side out of sculptured ice, we also soaked in an ancient ryokan’s mud baths and then sat on tiny wooden chairs getting scrubbed by a very thorough Inn Keeper. I think at some point we caught a glimpse of the royal Princess, maybe holding a Starbucks coffee.
But most loving is when Mother and I wanted to get fitted for kimonos. Cultural appreciation in case you were wondering. We’re not tchotchke slash souvenir people, so we needed something that could actually be put to good use. In Tokyo old family-run kimono shops are all over - easy to spot with kimono-clad mannequins outside. We found an old boutique close to the palace gardens. The owner was a smiley woman in a glamorous light purple kimono, whom I told that I wanted to be fitted with Mother. Right away she grabbed my hand and invited us in. I’m pretty particular about mostly wearing black, whereas Mother runs down a color wheel once and awhile. So we settled on black for me, dove gray for her. When I learned that the word kimono means “something that is worn,” the literal meaning made me want to wear it more.
There are supposedly nine types of popular kimonos. Mother was into the summer style, a Yukata, the most casual style of kimono. I settled for a samurai style kimono with an obi (which is the belt that holds it all together, in case you wondered). Of course, fitting a kimono is a leisurely affair: a long chat about to pattern or not to pattern, to clash or not to clash, to parasol or not to parasol. And then lashings of wisdom about which attire is appropriate for which social obligation. Apparently I skewed towards very casual, basically living a pool party life with no umbrella.
But attire is not just what you put on your body. It’s about meditation, and observance. A lovely matcha tea ceremony unfolded in front of our eyes, all forming part of this choreography. And at some point fabrics and robes were whizzing by, and then...next thing you’re standing on a tatami mat fully garbed. And look, once more, we didn’t have a phone or a camera to commemorate this moment. We just stood, dressed in beauty, next to each other, hugging and smiling. Mother, not one for tears, may have wiped a little droplet away at this very moment. I, of course, was water works.
So, naturally, I had to think, is this appropriation of a culture that is not mine? Am I being offensive or insensitive, or am I sincerely and absolutely celebrating and honoring a beautiful custom. My kimono maker told me that it’s all about intention. Not the what, but the HOW.
I explained to our maestro that I lived in America and Mother lived across a very large pond and I just don’t get to see her as much as I would like to. And now Mother, just isn’t so young anymore. Mother and I planned to put on our kimonos, and call each other on FaceTime every week. And so there we are, on different parts of the globe, chatting over a cup of tea, whilst in our beautiful garments. Me for a morning cup, Mother for an afternoon treat.
And that would be our little connection in the world. Just ours, nobody else’s and no proof was necessary to know in our hearts that this really happened. Something seemingly so small, and perhaps insignificant, tethering us just a little more.