Carte Postale

April 1962 ~ Versailles, France
4 postcards = $1.00
4 airmail stamps (.65/ea) = $2.60

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July 2022 ~ Somewhere along a rural midwestern postal route
4 postcards = $4.00
4 international stamps ($1.40/ea) = $5.60

I was originally going to call this space Letters From Elsewhere. I liked the air of mystique and vaguery around the word elsewhere and how it calls to mind visions of anywhere but where I am or where you, my darling reader, are right now. That’s what draws me to travel writing, I suppose. Being transported elsewhere.

I’ve been tempted lately, for example, to write about a trip I once took above the arctic circle in the middle of winter so as to transport myself to somewhere that isn’t 100°F right now. Maybe, soon. For now, though, I am sorting through my collection of postcards, my letters from elsewhere, taking my imagination on trips to lands as near as the next town over and as far away as Kazakhstan. These cards will serve as some beautiful decor in this new home of ours, adding pops of color and wanderlust to the walls.

I used to think most postcards were sent from people’s vacations so as to brag a little from the beautiful places they stumbled upon. (And trust me, I cannot wait for the day when I get to Easter Island — my dream since I was eight years old — and can send out cards to loved ones, rejoicing that I finally made it). But now I realize that if you receive a card from someone when they’re on vacation, or any time really, just think how special it is to have crossed their thoughts for more than a fleeting moment. Someone took the time to select and purchase a card and carefully write out a message to you.

Postcards, you see, are intentional on the writer’s end. A slow process that takes thought and time. A little meditation if you will. In this day and age of instant texts and emails, it’s rare that we get to know our friends by their penmanship or signature. I love handwriting so dearly and it’s just not the same to see a person’s signature written in the default font of digital communication. The swirls and swoops of one’s penned letters are so unique to an individual, in a way that Arial or Times New Roman will never be.

The historian in me also enjoys the markings on postcards, noting time and place and experience. Hand cancellations feel like little passport stamps. These tangible pieces of art and heart take incredible overland journeys, sometimes with a boat or plane ride thrown in the mix. It’s always a gamble as to how long it will take to reach its destination. Sometimes the ink runs in the rain or the corners get a little battered along the way. Once I even received a postcard that most definitely had a faint boot print on it. All this for an out-of-the-blue “hello,” a little surprise hug in the mail. A letter from elsewhere.

Wish You Were Here

December 14, 1930 ~ Barbados
A lazy feeling in the air. Anne decided to go swimming, so departed in a motor launch with Percy and Charlie, which goes directly to the Aquatic Club pier. I was going to spend my time writing my postcards, which we had bought the day before, but being idle was much nicer so I wandered about dispensing conversation here and there to the Capt., the purser, the doctor, a few passengers and pretty soon it was noon.

Anne returned and we had lunch and soon after went to our card writing in earnest. We settled a table near lift boat 5 on the starboard boat deck and prayed that we be not interrupted. It was quite warm and got warmer as we raced with our writing to get the cards off before sailing. As usual, the old rubber stamp “Wish you were here” was cutting down Anne’s writing efforts. Percy came along and we sent him to find out when the mail would leave. Alas, the mail had already left.

Anne finished her batch and raced to Payn with her troubles. She came back to tell me he would send our mail ashore with one of the shore-going men. It started to rain so we ran below where we stamped our written cards. Anne took all that were ready to Payn who put them in a large envelope and then waited for the rest of mine. I finished a few more and rushed to the landing stage where the messenger was waiting. The envelope was sealed and we hoped that the cards would be safely deposited in the post office. I had a few more to write and would have to wait until our return to Barbados to mail them as I had the necessary Barbados postage stamps.

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July 13, 2020 ~ Weston, CT
I’m still a proponent of cards sent by post
Just a quick note to say “I’m thinking of you”
Signed and stamped and left up to chance
As to when it will finally reach you

If I were to send one from where I am now
My greetings from isolation most sincere
With a picture of my quarantine “paradise” on front
On back I’d write, “Wish You Were Here”

I’ve always loved postcards, both writing and receiving. They come out of the blue, with regards from abroad, a Twitter-length documentation of place and time and ramblings. I started making my own postcards for a school project in college, swapping out the cliché photos of touristy things on front for something slightly more artistic and personal. It combined so many of my loves – handwriting, photography, stamps, news from elsewhere. I would send the cards abroad to friends or acquaintances in the places I’d traveled to, asking them to write me a note and mail it back, eagerly awaiting to see the post markings and stamp of choice. Sometimes they would be quick. Others would surprise me by showing up months later.

This project started in the isolation of the darkroom, feeling as free as ever. Painting the emulsion onto carefully chosen card stock, seeing foreign landscapes come to life again on the enlarger. My mail smelled slightly of developer and fixer, just an added bonus if you ask me. When those darkroom days were no longer available to me, I turned to digital. While not as rewarding, I do appreciate the pop of color the prints add to my collection.

 

Last post I wrote about missing strangers as a result of this lonely quarantine business. Another thing I’m longing for, without question, is sending postcards or having them sent to me. Since no one is traveling right now, if you want to send me a postcard from isolation, I would be most grateful.

xo,
Monster

Tales Of Travel From Then And Now

Perfect penmanship fills the pages of fragile, yellowed stationary
Chicken scratch crowds the lines of cheap notebooks and journals
The letterhead is stamped with names of ships and hotels of yore
The margins are dotted with postage stamps from around the globe
Dates in the top righthand corner span the early 1900s
The new millennium is when my story begins
Tales of travel, adventure, and mischief play out
My sentiments, exactly.

Dear Aunt Jean,

You left this world shortly after I entered. In the three years that we walked this life together, I knew right away that you were something special. I called you my “grown up friend” and felt more comfortable talking with you than anyone else my own age. I even took the pacifier out of my mouth to converse, which was a big deal for me! I think, I hope, that brought you some joy in this world. Maybe you saw something special in me, too. I feel as though I am taking over your role in this life, at least to some extent, nearly a century later, like I was the descendent you never had.

You were the rogue traveler, the care taker, and you were smart as a whip. Ahead of your time in so many ways. I look up to you, even still. Perhaps more so now. I read your journals as if they were my own. To think what it would have been like if we had time on our side and could have traversed the seas and watched the stars together. We probably would have gotten into some trouble, the good kind, of course! I wonder, though, why you traveled so much. Were you as curious as I am about how everyone else lived or were you running away from your own life, much as I think I’m doing sometimes? Maybe you craved adventure and short-lived romance or going somewhere where no one knew you. Perhaps it was all of these things. I want to thank you for blazing a trail and for leaving behind your journals. Aside from my passport and my camera, they are my most prized possession. I promise to carry on your legacy, the travel gene.

With love,
Monster