Travel Memories : Exposure to Great Art.

When I signed up to study abroad in the fall 2008, I knew that it was going to change me. And I wanted it to. I think most people get to a certain point in life and get bored. College is a great excuse to travel because you can get credit for it, and because you can run run as fast as you can away from the third-year slog when you’re sick of the whole school routine, but not ready to graduate.
So there I was, bored out of my mind and ready for something different, something independent, and I’d been wanting to travel abroad for as long as I can remember. So I choose an awesome program through my university that offered optimal traveling opportunities – 3 days of school work, 4 days of traveling each week with a 10-day trip to the destination of my choice. It sounds expensive, and you’re right – it wasn’t cheap. However, it was the best deal out there. It was the cost of a regular semester of tuition plus the inter-continental airfare, a 3-month EuRail pass, a €150 per week stipend for travel costs, and room and board included in the charming Haus Wartenberg [est. 1694.] Yes my friends, it does exist, this beyond-perfect program. I traveled to a grand total of 24 cities in 15 countries in less than 3 months.
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But what does traveling abroad really do, aside from letting you escape your normal routine? Why and how did it change me, particularly as a writer and creative?
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There are less touristy ways to explore a city, but to me, the museums are one of the best ways. This is the essence of culture and human thought distilled over centuries, passionately portrayed through painting and sculpture, writing, architecture, furniture, and personal artifacts. One of my fondest memories was an afternoon spent at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, which houses the most extensive collection of his pieces and personal items in the world. Then, of course, there is the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsay in Paris, the Uffizzi and the Accademia in Florence, the Vatican Museum in Rome, the National Gallery and The Tate in London… I could go on.
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The opportunity to see this kind of work gave me perspective on the scope of art’s emotional and cultural impact on humanity. Art matters. It is what remains of our legacy long after we are gone.
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In that context, and at that time in my life, my perspective on my own writing and art shifted from being a source of anxiety to a source of identity, something to cultivate and be proud of. I still struggle with that concept, but I did come to understand that this is what God made me to do. The instinct to write when I was traveling became a source of solace and therapy, a way to commemorate my thoughts and experiences as I went, and to pay tribute to the artists that I deeply respect.
Have you traveled abroad? What are some of your favorite museums? Pieces of art?
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Photographs:  
 
1 : Me in Prague, Czech Republic. October 2008.  | 2 : Sculpture heads, the Vatican Museum, Rome. September 2008. | 3 : Fountain outside of the parliament building in Vienna, Austria. September 2008.
 
[All images were taken by me, Bethany Suckrow, except for my portrait, courtesy of Brenda Ronan.]

Guest Post | Soul Traveling by Elizabeth Hudson.

Today’s guest post is brought to you by Elizabeth Hudson of StoryWrought.Wordpress.com. She’s traveling to Ireland this week, a place that is dear to my heart [I’ve been there 3 times.] What’s your soulmate country?

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Soul Traveling.
Even as I write this post, I’m sitting in the airport, tingly fingers moving across the keyboard.
Why am I nervous? I couldn’t tell you.
I’ve traveled before – many times in fact.
But never to my soul mate country.
My friend Amanda termed the phrase, and while I cannot take credit for it, I can understand it completely.
You know, that one place where you feel more at home than anywhere else in the world. And even if you haven’t made it there yet, that one place that you long for, unable to rationally explain the desire to others. It’s that landscape that you’ve dreamt of for years, even without glimpsing with your own eyes.
For some, it’s Chile. For others, it’s South Africa, Italy, or Thailand. For you, it may be New Zealand or Sweden. But for me, it’s Ireland. And it’s always been Ireland.
And it’s Ireland that I’m betting everything on.
Four days ago I said goodbye to a steady salary, a position with promotional promise, the choice of renewing my lease with a roommate I call best friend. All for Ireland.
I booked a flight and gave my three-week notice, determined that a two-week road trip in Ireland would change me. Inspire my being with new experiences, new words, new characters and electrify my writing.
I haven’t the slightest clue what will happen in the upcoming months. I just know that I’m going to come home from Ireland [unwillingly], write until my knuckles ache, and look for any way to make it abroad again.
Because travel does so much for the soul. It reassures a writer that the world is still a beautiful and endless space. 
That purpose can still be found out there in the wilds of city streets and spongy moors. That all you have to hear is that clear whisper of vocation in your ear.
“But you must be quite sure, Stephen, that you have a vocation because it would be terrible if you found afterwards that you had none.”
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
So in only a matter of hours, I’ll be landing in Shannon to search out the answers I’ve been waiting so long to hear: that I am a lover of words for a reason.
Ireland must be that place.

~

elizabeth hudsonElizabeth Hudson is a writer and blogger at StoryWrought.Wordpress.com currently abroad in her soulmate country of Ireland. She writes about writing, creativity, travel and story. You can catch more of her musings at @wanderinglizzie.

[Photograph by Bethany Suckrow. Taken outside Temple Bar in Dublin, November 2008.]

Detour : St. Joseph, MI.

On our way home from a family wedding this weekend [yay Whitney and Jon!] my husband and I took a detour and stopped in St. Joseph, Michigan. We spent our  honeymoon there two years ago and wanted to revisit Silver Beach, which holds a lot of happy memories for us. Sunday was gorgeous : 78 degrees and sunny. The clouds rolled in as the sun was setting, giving us a spectacular lake view that we couldn’t help but capture with some snapshots. The first I took with my iPhone, the rest were taken by Matt with his Nikon D80.

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When I was young I didn’t appreciate the natural beauty of Michigan. Then again, most of what I new of the state was southwest Michigan, which really isn’t that spectacular away from the lake. Now though, I love that on our way home to Chicago we can stop and drink in a late summer evening, complete with Silver Beach Pizza and a GIANT waffle cone of Kilwin’s pistachio ice cream :

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On Losing Things.

I woke out of a sound sleep this morning to the ring of my cell phone. Disoriented, I answered to hear my brother’s frantic voice. After spending 5 days in Boston for the Harvard Model Congress, he was boarding his early morning flight home when it hit him: he’d left his bag of newly-purchased vinyls somewhere in Chicago O’Hare International Airport.
“I don’t know what to do! I retraced my steps, I ran all the way back to the concierge desk in the Hilton and asked around to see if they’d found anything, I talked with airport security. They can’t help me find them and I can’t remember where I left them,” he said, his voice frustrated and strained.
I listened and tried to comfort him, but we both knew that his souvenirs were lost forever. Sadly, a $75 stack of vinyls won’t wait around for the one who leaves them behind. If he’s anything like me, he’ll probably lose more than that.
I remember the feeling well. When I traveled abroad in the fall of 2008, it seemed like I left pieces of myself all over Europe. In the midst of doing something as simple as fumbling for my passport, I’d forget the item I set down next to me.
It started with a bag of fresh-market grapes I left in a train station in Slovenia, and then it was a stack of postcards (written and stamped), a pair of jeans, my cell phone, my camera, my laptop charger, and sometimes, I think, my heart. Minutes, hours and many miles later I would realize that I was empty-handed and there was nothing I could do about it.
Mementos, possessions, they’re replaceable, maybe even forgettable. Nevertheless, the moment you realize you’ve left them behind, a deep ache, an inconsolable sense of failure sets in.
Sometimes, life feels that way. Memories, bittersweet and vivid as they are, won’t replace the tangible feeling of a weathered album between your fingers or the weight of a friend in your arms.
You’re on a train, a plane, in the car, and every second is taking you further and further away from reaching back in time to that moment when you held everything in your hands.