(I hope you have a laugh at some of the hyperbole, the embellishment of usually insignificant experiences, and the rather terrible attempt at combining pseudo-romantic narrative with vaguely historical scholastica. The subject in question is named 'Pilgrim to Backpacker: Travel histories')
Wisemans Ferry: Winding and Wandering on a Pilgrim Trail
“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you’re always in a compartment... through that car window everything you see is just more TV...
On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.” (Pirsig)
Being a motorcycle tourist is unique experience. As a motorcyclist every second and every centimetre of the journey is absorbed with exaggerated significance. Unlike in a car, stretching your legs means actually touching the road; every breath is of the air around you; every bump is felt, every change of environment is noticed. The road is as important as the destination, and it seems as though only fellow motorcyclists can appreciate this sentimentality.
As with any tourist experience, the trip begins with the preparation. For a biker this is steeped in ritual: check the weather, maps, fuel, tyre pressure, chain, strap bag to your back seat, climb into your riding gear (jacket, pants, gloves, helmet), press the starter and wait as the bike warms up. The anticipation builds, not just at the prospect of the ultimate destination, but also for the feeling of absolute freedom that the road brings.
Thankfully the weather was fine, and the maps looked promising: I was planning to visit Wisemans Ferry, a place not only of historical value and natural beauty, but also a Mecca for motorcyclists – and this would be my first time making this pilgrimage as a biker.
It wasn’t until after Windsor, when I was forced to turn to my well-beaten guide book that I began to truly feel like a motorcycle tourist. The roads slowly emptied as I followed the path of so many before me, heading north through Ebenezer, and down to the first ferry crossing at Sackville.
The ferries of this trip (I would take three in total) had an intrinsic value of their own – they offered the chance to stop and reflect on the roads just travelled and the roads yet to be ridden. It was on this first ferry crossing that I met a fellow pilgrim – another biker, eager to share tips on roads in the area that were worth exploring. As I made a mental note of road names and directions, I found myself reassured to know that I wasn’t alone.
This sense of community is something that would continue as I powered along Wisemans Ferry Road, pulling in to Hawkins Lookout on a ridge above the Hawkesbury River. A well-known bikers’ haunt, this is almost a compulsory stop for any bikers approaching Wisemans Ferry from this direction. Sure enough, I struck up conversation with a fellow pilgrim almost immediately – crouched first next to my bike, then his (inspecting engines, brakes, tyres, suspension), we talked about the different bikes we’d owned, and the journeys we had taken in the past. A few more riders pulled up and joined the conversation, including two on their way from Canberra to Newcastle via the back roads (seeking “adventure before dementia” in their own words), and the rider that I had met aboard the first ferry.
I had never met any of these men before, yet we were all able to share our stories freely, liberally – we were all united by our shared passion, embodied in our “journey of devotion.” This is exactly what I had hoped to find on this trip.
Down into Wisemans Ferry, I indulged in some genuine history; the reason that non-bikers might come to visit this historic town. Founded by Solomon Wiseman in the early 1800’s, the town gained its name when Wiseman established a ferry crossing here in 1827. Having run continuously in its current location since 1829, this ferry is the longest-running in New South Wales and possibly Australia.5 And then there is the famous Wisemans Ferry Inn. Originally built as Wiseman’s own home, the pub is now the traditional stop off for all bikers on the Wisemans Ferry run, and was where I stopped to catch an afternoon bite to eat.
But ultimately I was here to ride. Across the punt, left onto Settlers Road, sliding along the dirt road to St Albans, then back again along the tarmac to the last of my ferry trips for the day. Chatting with the ferry operators (a privilege that those in cars don’t have, as they are ordered to remain within their vehicles) I was urged to try River Road (ignoring the ‘Road Closed’ signs) before I left the area. A beautiful road that hugs the southern banks of the Hawkesbury, it is quiet, shaded by trees on either side. Add to this the twists, turns and the changes from tarmac to dirt; this idyllic setting becomes an exciting, fulfilling journey.
I was a pleasure seeker, indulging in both the ride and in the pleasure of being a member of a community of riders who had all passed before me. Just like a pilgrim or a grand tourist, it was this community that truly defined my day of riding: riding the established biker paths, engaging passionately with those that I met along the way, and truly earning my place within the motorcycling society.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The sort of papers I occasionally get to write this semester...
(For a history subject called 'Food, Environment and Culture in Europe' - and yes, it is a real subject.)
Foodie Fantasies, Decadent Dreams: An exploration of Sydney’s more luxurious side
Degustation menus, once solely the domain of the most expensive restaurants, exploded onto the Sydney scene around 2004, for no apparent reason other than to allow chefs to demonstrate their expertise. Naturally expecting the best from my restaurant experiences, I decided to optimistically investigate some of Sydney’s more luxurious options.
Restaurateur Guillaume Brahimi puts on a menu to match the fine location of his Opera House restaurant Guillaume’s at Bennelong – he combines his French style with local flavours to present such wonders as the deboned rib eye of Mayura wagyu beef with a tombé of field mushrooms, baby spinach, confit of shallot, and merlot sauce. At $250 with a complement of French wines to match this eight course menu, one would expect such extravagance.
Tetsuya’s is often flouted as one of Sydney’s best, and Tetsuya Wakuda only offers a degustation menu to his diners. I have it on good authority that, amongst the nine courses on offer, it is his tataki of veal with roasted eggplant & caviar that best demonstrates his ability to marry his Japanese background with French styling. To be treated to a meal at Tetsuya’s one would need a spare $290, accompanying wines included.
And how could one go past restaurant of the year for 2009, Quay. Chef Peter Gilmore oversees an eight course tasting menu that can cost up to $400 with the inclusion of his finest wines. He makes a point of showing off his ability to source only the best ingredients with dishes such as the Butter poached quail breasts, pink turnips and onions, white lentils, morels, truffle custard, bitter chocolate black pudding, jamon de bellota, and milk skin.
The purpose of these menus is twofold – they allow chefs to demonstrate their creative culinary credibility, whilst indulging diners with luxuries of nearly unaffordable decadence. For those enjoying such meals there is grandeur comparable to the banqueting of the French courts in the time of Louis XIV: settings and service are impeccable, and meals are presented in such a way that creates harmony between the beauty of the ingredients and the skill of the chef. For those creating the meals, there is an obvious need to put all of their skills on display: dishes are created and plated with flamboyance, flair, and finesse, appealing to the fine tastes of consumers of luxury. But (if the profiles of these chefs is to be believed) there is also an emphasis on creating a harmony with natural ingredients, recalling the Enlightenment philosophies of finding reason in the kitchen, and having an intimate knowledge of the properties of food.
Dishes are supposed to present the extravagance of the Old Regime in their presentation, their showmanship and in the number of courses on offer; but they also pay tribute to the nouvelle cuisine of the Enlightenment in their (apparently) simplistic appeal to natural flavours, and the experience of the chef. Whether or not the degustation menus of Sydney’s finest restaurants are successful in treading the fine line between decadence and natural simplicity, they are all proud of their French inspirations. Ultimately, it is French cooking methodology that still rules supreme in the kitchens of Sydney. I wonder how many of these chefs have a copy of François Massialot’s Le Cuisinier roïal et bourgeois sitting on a dusty shelf in their kitchens…
Foodie Fantasies, Decadent Dreams: An exploration of Sydney’s more luxurious side
Degustation menus, once solely the domain of the most expensive restaurants, exploded onto the Sydney scene around 2004, for no apparent reason other than to allow chefs to demonstrate their expertise. Naturally expecting the best from my restaurant experiences, I decided to optimistically investigate some of Sydney’s more luxurious options.
Restaurateur Guillaume Brahimi puts on a menu to match the fine location of his Opera House restaurant Guillaume’s at Bennelong – he combines his French style with local flavours to present such wonders as the deboned rib eye of Mayura wagyu beef with a tombé of field mushrooms, baby spinach, confit of shallot, and merlot sauce. At $250 with a complement of French wines to match this eight course menu, one would expect such extravagance.
Tetsuya’s is often flouted as one of Sydney’s best, and Tetsuya Wakuda only offers a degustation menu to his diners. I have it on good authority that, amongst the nine courses on offer, it is his tataki of veal with roasted eggplant & caviar that best demonstrates his ability to marry his Japanese background with French styling. To be treated to a meal at Tetsuya’s one would need a spare $290, accompanying wines included.
And how could one go past restaurant of the year for 2009, Quay. Chef Peter Gilmore oversees an eight course tasting menu that can cost up to $400 with the inclusion of his finest wines. He makes a point of showing off his ability to source only the best ingredients with dishes such as the Butter poached quail breasts, pink turnips and onions, white lentils, morels, truffle custard, bitter chocolate black pudding, jamon de bellota, and milk skin.
The purpose of these menus is twofold – they allow chefs to demonstrate their creative culinary credibility, whilst indulging diners with luxuries of nearly unaffordable decadence. For those enjoying such meals there is grandeur comparable to the banqueting of the French courts in the time of Louis XIV: settings and service are impeccable, and meals are presented in such a way that creates harmony between the beauty of the ingredients and the skill of the chef. For those creating the meals, there is an obvious need to put all of their skills on display: dishes are created and plated with flamboyance, flair, and finesse, appealing to the fine tastes of consumers of luxury. But (if the profiles of these chefs is to be believed) there is also an emphasis on creating a harmony with natural ingredients, recalling the Enlightenment philosophies of finding reason in the kitchen, and having an intimate knowledge of the properties of food.
Dishes are supposed to present the extravagance of the Old Regime in their presentation, their showmanship and in the number of courses on offer; but they also pay tribute to the nouvelle cuisine of the Enlightenment in their (apparently) simplistic appeal to natural flavours, and the experience of the chef. Whether or not the degustation menus of Sydney’s finest restaurants are successful in treading the fine line between decadence and natural simplicity, they are all proud of their French inspirations. Ultimately, it is French cooking methodology that still rules supreme in the kitchens of Sydney. I wonder how many of these chefs have a copy of François Massialot’s Le Cuisinier roïal et bourgeois sitting on a dusty shelf in their kitchens…
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Adjusting, re-adjusting. Considering, reconsidering.
Time is.
And that is all that we can really say about it. There is nothing else in this world that is comparable, and descriptions (in words) rely on comparison, imagery, tangibility to at least one of the five senses. But Time is different.
Even air you can feel. Time just passes. It just is.
I'm really struggling with concepts of Time this year. Since returning from my grande adventure I haven't been able to grasp how Time works in Australia. I haven't been able to grasp Time at all. It is, to me, some ethereal concept that is as foreign here as the sun was in Edinburgh.
This has been a real problem for me. Where I reach out and grasp at this thing named Time, my hands return full of Discontent instead. And Discontent, contrary to popular belief, is a tangible commodity.
The thing in between Time and Discontent, in Sydney, seems to be another concept that we call Life - have I lost you yet? I, myself, am reasonably confused at all of this. And that is the essence of the problem.
I went travelling to find, above all, Perspective. Thankfully, this is exactly what I brought back with me. Mission successful, right?
Not quite. Perspective on Life is glorious. But Perspective without Time is useless. Perspective combined with Discontent is frustrating.
And that is exactly what I am with Life in Sydney - frustrated. I have no concept of Time here, and my newfound Perspective is fuelling the Discontent.
In more tangible terms, I am enjoying being back at University. The learning and thinking and growing have all reminded me how satisfying personal progress can be. Not having a steady job is difficult, because I miss applying my personal progress to activities that have value outside Academia. I am in an amazing relationship, have fantastic friends, and a wonderful (if absurdly dysfunctional) family.
But I just don't have the Time to use my new Perspective. It is itching to get out, pushing at the flood gates that hold it back, and driving the feelings of frustration and Discontent that exist in between all the other moments. It's like that new toy sitting in the wardrobe that is begging you to play with it, but you know that you have to do your homework first.
But maybe I am looking at it all wrong - maybe I don't need Time to use Perspective. Maybe I need Perspective to understand Time.
I'll get there eventually... I just need a bit more Time.
And that is all that we can really say about it. There is nothing else in this world that is comparable, and descriptions (in words) rely on comparison, imagery, tangibility to at least one of the five senses. But Time is different.
Even air you can feel. Time just passes. It just is.
I'm really struggling with concepts of Time this year. Since returning from my grande adventure I haven't been able to grasp how Time works in Australia. I haven't been able to grasp Time at all. It is, to me, some ethereal concept that is as foreign here as the sun was in Edinburgh.
This has been a real problem for me. Where I reach out and grasp at this thing named Time, my hands return full of Discontent instead. And Discontent, contrary to popular belief, is a tangible commodity.
The thing in between Time and Discontent, in Sydney, seems to be another concept that we call Life - have I lost you yet? I, myself, am reasonably confused at all of this. And that is the essence of the problem.
I went travelling to find, above all, Perspective. Thankfully, this is exactly what I brought back with me. Mission successful, right?
Not quite. Perspective on Life is glorious. But Perspective without Time is useless. Perspective combined with Discontent is frustrating.
And that is exactly what I am with Life in Sydney - frustrated. I have no concept of Time here, and my newfound Perspective is fuelling the Discontent.
In more tangible terms, I am enjoying being back at University. The learning and thinking and growing have all reminded me how satisfying personal progress can be. Not having a steady job is difficult, because I miss applying my personal progress to activities that have value outside Academia. I am in an amazing relationship, have fantastic friends, and a wonderful (if absurdly dysfunctional) family.
But I just don't have the Time to use my new Perspective. It is itching to get out, pushing at the flood gates that hold it back, and driving the feelings of frustration and Discontent that exist in between all the other moments. It's like that new toy sitting in the wardrobe that is begging you to play with it, but you know that you have to do your homework first.
But maybe I am looking at it all wrong - maybe I don't need Time to use Perspective. Maybe I need Perspective to understand Time.
I'll get there eventually... I just need a bit more Time.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Lazy slacker
I would try to convince you that I have been too busy to write lately - indeed, I try to convince myself frequently. But the truth is that I have been lazy and hesitant.
Laziness could easily be equated with a complete lack of motivation. Hesitation refers more to a fear that the trip is over. All is done, and should I choose to write about it I will quickly run out of travel stories and be left with nothing. Can you hear the violins playing between my sobs of despair?
I am now back in Sydney, and have been for about a month. I haven't told many people about this. In fact, there are very few people who know that I am back in Sydney, and this is mainly because I haven't had time to catch up with anyone. Lame, I know.
I flew in about a month ago, had a day of rest, and have since been working full time in various jobs (a few days in a warehouse, a few days for a kitchen and bathroom company doing marketing, a few days doing some research for a private school - all for family and friends). On top of that have been endless family engagements, from birthdays to farewells to many many Christmases. I haven't had the time of day, let alone the time to do anything that I would have liked to do.
But the biggest saving grace of the holiday season is, hopefully, some additional time. The warehouse work is quiet, the kitchen and bathroom company is closed. And now that the Christmas weekend is drawing to an end (there has been 2 parties per day Christmas, Boxing day, and today), I may actually have a few hours here and there to relax and catch up with life.
I am in the middle of attempting to buy a motorcycle, and have my eye on a half-decent ZZR600 which currently resides in Campbelltown. I need to see it again, but am quite confident that this will be the bike that I buy.
I am also house-sitting a bit for some friends and family - this isn't so much a favour to them, but more a reprieve for me and a chance to have some time and space for myself which I can mould in whichever way I choose.
So now I will be able to chase down and catch up with many things from which I have fallen behind. Friends, definitely. This blog, hopefully. Some riding, beaching, bushwalking, reading, relaxing, swimming - I guess we'll see.
I have a new mobile number which, for obvious reasons, I won't publish here. But if you'd like it, please get in touch by email or message on this blog and I will happily pass it on. I'll be online here and there, but at the moment there are too many things needing to be done that don't involve a computer.
All that being said, I do hope to catch up with everyone and everything soon.
Starting now.
Laziness could easily be equated with a complete lack of motivation. Hesitation refers more to a fear that the trip is over. All is done, and should I choose to write about it I will quickly run out of travel stories and be left with nothing. Can you hear the violins playing between my sobs of despair?
I am now back in Sydney, and have been for about a month. I haven't told many people about this. In fact, there are very few people who know that I am back in Sydney, and this is mainly because I haven't had time to catch up with anyone. Lame, I know.
I flew in about a month ago, had a day of rest, and have since been working full time in various jobs (a few days in a warehouse, a few days for a kitchen and bathroom company doing marketing, a few days doing some research for a private school - all for family and friends). On top of that have been endless family engagements, from birthdays to farewells to many many Christmases. I haven't had the time of day, let alone the time to do anything that I would have liked to do.
But the biggest saving grace of the holiday season is, hopefully, some additional time. The warehouse work is quiet, the kitchen and bathroom company is closed. And now that the Christmas weekend is drawing to an end (there has been 2 parties per day Christmas, Boxing day, and today), I may actually have a few hours here and there to relax and catch up with life.
I am in the middle of attempting to buy a motorcycle, and have my eye on a half-decent ZZR600 which currently resides in Campbelltown. I need to see it again, but am quite confident that this will be the bike that I buy.
I am also house-sitting a bit for some friends and family - this isn't so much a favour to them, but more a reprieve for me and a chance to have some time and space for myself which I can mould in whichever way I choose.
So now I will be able to chase down and catch up with many things from which I have fallen behind. Friends, definitely. This blog, hopefully. Some riding, beaching, bushwalking, reading, relaxing, swimming - I guess we'll see.
I have a new mobile number which, for obvious reasons, I won't publish here. But if you'd like it, please get in touch by email or message on this blog and I will happily pass it on. I'll be online here and there, but at the moment there are too many things needing to be done that don't involve a computer.
All that being said, I do hope to catch up with everyone and everything soon.
Starting now.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Time is of the essence!
No time left on the campground wifi, so I will keep this short.
Am on the south coast of France, just south of Nice near a town called Antibes, camping with my lady.
There have been some bike problems which have given my confidence and my wallet a double hit, so plans are up in the air - this isn't such a bad thing. Might end up somewhere around St Tropez tomorrow.
I hope it doesn't storm tonight like last night... Thunder is extra loud in a tent.
Will try to write again properly sometime soon, but if not will catch up on the adventures when back in London town.
A bientot!
Am on the south coast of France, just south of Nice near a town called Antibes, camping with my lady.
There have been some bike problems which have given my confidence and my wallet a double hit, so plans are up in the air - this isn't such a bad thing. Might end up somewhere around St Tropez tomorrow.
I hope it doesn't storm tonight like last night... Thunder is extra loud in a tent.
Will try to write again properly sometime soon, but if not will catch up on the adventures when back in London town.
A bientot!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Preparation, Anticipation
I've been quite busy lately.
Within the past 3 weeks I have finished up at my two workplaces in Edinburgh, packed up my house, taken my parents on a tour of Scotland, loaded my house into their car, ridden my motorcycle down to London, and am now about to leave London early tomorrow morning.
Destination: France.
The preparation has tired me, but even more exhausting has been the anticipation. Nerves, anxiety, excitement, objectivity, subjectivity, stress, eagerness - all are thoroughly tiresome activities, never mind the additional practicalities of packing, prepping KC, budgeting, mapping, etc.
I take the 10am ferry from Dover to Calais tomorrow morning, and from then on am in a completely foreign world. Exciting and nerve-wrecking all at once.
I will be camping my way down the eastern border of France, meeting my parents in Dijon for final fun and farewells, before picking up Ms M from Nice Cote d'Azur Airport. From there it is on to Corsica, and then to infinity and beyond...
Or so the loosely-constructed plan goes.
Connection with the outside world may well be minimal. I hope to take the time to write some posts, but will have scarce access to the world wide web, and will rarely be in reach of a powerpoint for my wee writing companion.
I know I am due to write a fair few emails to people awaiting replies from me. For now, unfortunately, my sincerest apologies will have to suffice. I will write to you as soon as I have a chance.
And I will try to publish here as regularly as is possible.
Until then, I bid you all a fond adieu, au revoir, bonne journee!
Merci beaucoup!
Within the past 3 weeks I have finished up at my two workplaces in Edinburgh, packed up my house, taken my parents on a tour of Scotland, loaded my house into their car, ridden my motorcycle down to London, and am now about to leave London early tomorrow morning.
Destination: France.
The preparation has tired me, but even more exhausting has been the anticipation. Nerves, anxiety, excitement, objectivity, subjectivity, stress, eagerness - all are thoroughly tiresome activities, never mind the additional practicalities of packing, prepping KC, budgeting, mapping, etc.
I take the 10am ferry from Dover to Calais tomorrow morning, and from then on am in a completely foreign world. Exciting and nerve-wrecking all at once.
I will be camping my way down the eastern border of France, meeting my parents in Dijon for final fun and farewells, before picking up Ms M from Nice Cote d'Azur Airport. From there it is on to Corsica, and then to infinity and beyond...
Or so the loosely-constructed plan goes.
Connection with the outside world may well be minimal. I hope to take the time to write some posts, but will have scarce access to the world wide web, and will rarely be in reach of a powerpoint for my wee writing companion.
I know I am due to write a fair few emails to people awaiting replies from me. For now, unfortunately, my sincerest apologies will have to suffice. I will write to you as soon as I have a chance.
And I will try to publish here as regularly as is possible.
Until then, I bid you all a fond adieu, au revoir, bonne journee!
Merci beaucoup!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The importance of the senses
I crave tangibility. More than anything, I crave something tangible.
I have known this all of my life, but at certain times it becomes much more apparent. Tonight I am thinking about planning a motorcycle trip - there is so much fun to be had in planning. And for me, that fun begins with a map.
A map is a representation of all the places I want to see and go to, and all the places in between. More than that, a map is a representation of all that will happen along the way. The distances represented on a map can be equated to time spent covering those distances. And time can be equated again to experiences, Experience. A map is important, it is the first mental step before the physical steps can begin.
And when I can touch that map, draw on it, pick it up in my hands, feel it against my fingertips - it is then that I can truly feel and know the significance that it implies. I can plan as much as I like using web applications like google maps, and they are great. But for me the route does not exist without tangibility, and I can't touch a google map. Or smell it or taste it or hear it or see it in the full three visual dimensions that exist in this world.
If the map isn't palpable, then how can the roads and routes and plans that it represents be any more real to my senses?
I am reminded tonight of something that I learnt in an English class when we were studying Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos.
Our teacher posed:
Why is the format of this book so important? Why does it matter that it is letters? What does this signifiy?
Stumped, we responded with predictable answers - it allows him to write in the first person, helps develop characters, add some sort of credibility to a fictional narrative - none of them incorrect.
But, she asked, how do we feel when we receive a letter in the post? Is it not somehow infinitely more special than getting an email, or even a phone call from the same friend? It is the tangibility that is important.
With a letter in our hand we can connect more intimately to the words that it contains. We can screw it up in disgust, cry tears all over it, hold it to our hearts and sigh. We can smell the paper and imagine the person who wrote it, and know that they also held this paper at one point, know that they too had a chance to feel, smell, taste, hear and see what we are seeing as we experience this letter in the real world.
Complete experience - experience that is emotional, physical and psychological - begins with tangibility.
I need a map.
I have known this all of my life, but at certain times it becomes much more apparent. Tonight I am thinking about planning a motorcycle trip - there is so much fun to be had in planning. And for me, that fun begins with a map.
A map is a representation of all the places I want to see and go to, and all the places in between. More than that, a map is a representation of all that will happen along the way. The distances represented on a map can be equated to time spent covering those distances. And time can be equated again to experiences, Experience. A map is important, it is the first mental step before the physical steps can begin.
And when I can touch that map, draw on it, pick it up in my hands, feel it against my fingertips - it is then that I can truly feel and know the significance that it implies. I can plan as much as I like using web applications like google maps, and they are great. But for me the route does not exist without tangibility, and I can't touch a google map. Or smell it or taste it or hear it or see it in the full three visual dimensions that exist in this world.
If the map isn't palpable, then how can the roads and routes and plans that it represents be any more real to my senses?
I am reminded tonight of something that I learnt in an English class when we were studying Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos.
Our teacher posed:
Why is the format of this book so important? Why does it matter that it is letters? What does this signifiy?
Stumped, we responded with predictable answers - it allows him to write in the first person, helps develop characters, add some sort of credibility to a fictional narrative - none of them incorrect.
But, she asked, how do we feel when we receive a letter in the post? Is it not somehow infinitely more special than getting an email, or even a phone call from the same friend? It is the tangibility that is important.
With a letter in our hand we can connect more intimately to the words that it contains. We can screw it up in disgust, cry tears all over it, hold it to our hearts and sigh. We can smell the paper and imagine the person who wrote it, and know that they also held this paper at one point, know that they too had a chance to feel, smell, taste, hear and see what we are seeing as we experience this letter in the real world.
Complete experience - experience that is emotional, physical and psychological - begins with tangibility.
I need a map.
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