Sinking In
Adding Small Travels to Slow Travels
“In every city, there is another city that is hidden.” - Italo Calvino
Just up the street and around the corner from my hotel sits a small quiet cafe perched up on a second floor balcony overlooking a relatively calm but brilliantly verdant street corner in the otherwise noisy and chaotic yet charming city of Hanoi, Vietnam.
At this particular moment down here closer to ground level, things seem tranquil, peaceful, almost stately. Far enough above and away from a few neighborhood locals sitting on their doorsteps waking up to the new day and the throngs of tourists that’ll soon be seen scuttling about trying to pack in as many must-sees and must-dos as time allows, this balcony is a restful haven in an otherwise busy place.
Hanoi can be overwhelming. With so many discoveries to be made around each and every street corner while out exploring the city on foot, a short timer’s feet will surely tire. But right here, right now hanging out on this small balcony at this mellow hour of early morning of a bright new cheery day, my feet are happy to be free and at rest as my fingers casually tap away at these keys.
As my tenth day in Hanoi nears, I’m just now delightfully realizing that I’ve found another one of my “happy places” sitting right here on this stool, looking down from this very balcony, perched up in this wonderful cafe, nestled deep within my favorite neighborhood, perfectly located in the heart of this incredible city, a fabulous stopover in one of my all time favorite countries of this big beautiful world of ours.
My mind is free to wander in a place like this. Thoughts such as “just when will my ‘day’ really start?” populate the busy morning ticker tape. “Was breakfast at the rooftop restaurant of the boutique hotel this morning not part of my day?”
“How about the two minute stroll down the block to get to this cafe so that I could fully kick my jet lagged head into high gear with a strong jolt of bold Vietnamese coffee that’ll once again defeat the weak earlier efforts of lame hotel coffee? Does that count?”
“Or does my day only start once I’ve finished composing this draft post, drop the keyboard into my pocket, pay up at the till, and head back to the room for a token nod to those still practicing my former line of business?”
I used to think the day would only begin in earnest once I started to tick things off my to-do and to-see lists. Now that I’ve grown older, tired, wiser, and more contemplative, my travels have started to transform. Slow travel has become not only necessary but also relished. Why not do nothing at all this morning but sit right here on this balcony and watch the world go by?
The reality is that I’ve been rediscovering a deeply buried trait that I’ve been ignoring for far too long. A long lost facet that I’ve enjoyed exposing, dusting off, and buffing out. How can a guy like me, who’s historically packed twenty pounds of activities into a ten pound day, now manage to do so little? Wrong question. Incorrect assessment. Successes are now far more intangible and difficult to measure than they’ve ever been yet I still consider many of them my greatest accomplishments.
Nonetheless, the end result is the same. After so many years of constantly flitting and fluttering about, the many stops along the way have worn me out. Once flapping with excitement to soar up over the next horizon, this old butterfly’s wings now tire out all too quickly. The dewy wet wings of my eager younger years have been drying up and are getting a bit droopy. Quite distressingly, a few crusty nodules are now mottling what had once been a full and fresh vibrant display. Slow travel is now not only necessary but a must-do for these aging wings.
Refreshingly, what I’ve come to discover in recent years is that some of the nicest flower beds around have been sitting right here in my own garden all along. Sometimes even planted right beside me. Yes indeed, these are the same flowers that in past instances I’d simply let fade into the background. At best, I would’ve just taken a quick mental note not to trample on their petals as I hurried past them on my way down the path to get to yet another place, another time, another world.
While the more commonly known “slow travel” movement encourages people to take their time to get to know a destination without the stresses of a hectic over-packed itinerary, “small travel” harnesses the concept that some of the best finds are actually right there next to you in your own backyard, only to be discovered if you were to give yourself the freedom to slow down to a complete stop, take a look around, sniff them out, and allow the tens of thousands of intense details that surround you in your immediate environment to take register in what would otherwise be a head that’s already up the road by a few mental clicks, or botanical garden or two if you still want to continue flapping along with that butterfly motif.
With all the excitement that comes with landing in a foreign country, exploring a vibrant world city, and delving into the wonders of a strange new culture, lately I’ve been finding that I enjoy taking it not only slower but smaller too. A few regular reminders from some old trusty friends is all it usually takes to nudge me in the right direction. One of the best tools I carry to encourage me to take it small is something I’m already in the habit of packing: my flip flops.
Before expounding on the virtues of sandals, I’ll be the first to admit that this old dude’s never had a beautiful foot. Let me be the first to tell you that owning a pair of often stinky, sometimes dirty, and always ugly feet has been nothing but sheer joy, especially with their crooked toe joints and bonus sets of gnarly ingrown toenails. Yes indeed, I’ve been living a wicked warlock’s wildest dreams (this is precisely the moment in time when that cute little butterfly motif you may still be holding onto will instantly vaporize in a flash of bright light and a small poof).
Too frequently crammed into the binding confines of climbing shoes by summer, the pinching hurt lockers of telemark boots by winter, and the stuffy quarters of dress shoes by workday, the state of affairs for my poor toesies quickly unraveled. As time marched on, problems with my feet took center stage. Headliners included stunning surprise appearances by The Black Toenails and unforgettable pop up jam sessions from A Fungus Amongus. Though much despised by all, Not The Brightest Tendonitis soon became regulars as they wormed their way into the lineup with show stopping performances.
Thankfully over the last decade, I’ve been able to wear more forgiving footwear. At any chance I get, I love giving my feet a breather with some heaven-sent time spent in a pair of simple sandals.
For world traveling, despite their extra bulk and weight, my orthotic flip flops have found a permanent spot in my backpack. They’re bagged, of course, to keep the stink in when not in active use. Perfect for the occasional stroll across the common spaces of a hotel, guesthouse, or dorm, they also shine for short casual jaunts around the neighborhood.
I now frequently find myself purposely wearing my sandals to force a change in the way I think about a destination. Because I can’t travel any great distance in them without triggering annoying chronic injuries, wearing flip flops forces me to not only “slow down” but also to “small down.” Wearing flip flops out the door forces me to ease the pace, appreciate the finer points, and take register of some of the familiar faces around the neighborhood so my greetings aren’t instantly shrugged off as scraps of meaningless nothingness shed from the masses of fleeting tourists rushing by. I’ve found slow travel to be a fantastic way to really get to know well the blocks surrounding my new home away from home.
Flip flops have now transformed all of my travels. Daily destinations often become more states of mind than anything else; ones that allow me to stop and take notice. The small architectural details fanning their displays up and down the block, the stately banyan tree at the intersection up ahead prominently standing in as the big local monument, and the glorious flower boxes adorning the windowsill across the street that receive the loving doting attention from the elderly neighbor who loves wearing purple all work together to remind me that it’s the people around us and the things that they dedicate their loving care and attention to in our daily lives that matter most.
Slowly strolling along in a pair of sandals, the tiniest of details start to emerge from the blurry mists and gain clarity. The taxing efforts of always being on the move begin to dissipate. The constant fretting about where to go next eases up, fades away, and reveals that what’s been sitting right there in front of me the whole time will end up being the most memorable and cherished memories of the entire trip. The soothing almost meditative whisper of my flip flops lightly touching the pavement underfoot leads me to a special time and place, right here, right now, in this very spot.
I’m due to check out of my hotel this morning and move onto a different neighborhood on the other side of town. How sad. How can I let a place like this go? The only thing that makes sense is to extend my stay. Just give me just a few more nights in the same hotel in this same old neighborhood, down around the corner and up the next block, so that I can postpone having to say the inevitable goodbyes to all my newfound friends, human or otherwise.
As the last of the morning mist burns off, another wonderful realization comes to light just as I’m about ready to pack up and head out. Hanoi has stolen my heart again.