Coming upon this old steamer trunk in a Taos resale shop today I realized I'd never actually seen a real one. It triggered mysterious memories of trips I've never taken. I've always been seduced by the idea of journeying to Europe via ship - not a cruise ship which I probably wouldn't like, but the kind of ship that people journeyed on before airplanes were dominant. Trips that are somehow intrinsic to many old movies.
Sabrina. Holiday. An Affair to Remember. Lady Eve. Now, Voyager. Deck chairs. Lap robes. Drinks delivered by crisp efficient cabin boys. In those movies everyone always seemed to be getting ready for a "midnight sailing" while love affairs hung in the balance or adventure awaited.
When I was in my early twenties, my then-steady-boyfriend's cousins were sailing to Rome. We drove to the pier in Manhattan to see them off. There really was champagne and confetti, the dank smell of the river, screaming gulls, the promise of the open Atlantic ahead, and a horn blowing as people on board and on shore waved to each other as the ship pulled out. I wanted to be on that ship to Rome more than I wanted to do anything else. I still do.
Mesmerized by the vast array of stuff all around me and with my head full of thoughts of midnight sailings, I wandered around the shop bleary-eyed and unable to do anything more than take a picture. When I got home, I browsed through some of my travel books and found this quote by Alain de Botton which, in a way, expresses what I feel about ship travel (as I imagine it) vs. airplane travel.
"In the [airplane] cabin, no one stands up to announce with
requisite emphasis that, out of the window,
we are flying over a cloud,
a matter that would have detained
Leonardo and Poussin, Claude and Constable".
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