It’s presently just after 6 AM here in Da Nang City, roosters crowing, freshly made coffee in hand. The sun is glimmering through and all is well in my world. But it’s June 8. On June 8 2018, just before 3:45 AM pacific time, I was still awake, as I often am, listless, thinking of something to write in one of my many notebooks, sitting on my living room floor whilst sipping green tea (my thing my back) when my best friend sent me a text that simple read “Anthony Bourdain is dead.” We exchanged messages back and forth opining on what the cause of his death could have been. And then twenty minutes later, Grace, much more of a news hound than I back then and even still to this day, broke the news: death by suicide. Whilst it was not surprising given troubled history, it was still a terrible shock. I felt perhaps foolish in the hours afterward for feeling like I’d lost not just someone whose immensely eloquent words as a writer inspired me, but his wit, vulnerability deliberately shrouded a cantankerous air, his adventurous nature, but most of all, the kindness with which he treated all of the locals to the far off places he visited and how he was quite a proponent of travelling off the beaten path. Then as tributes rolled in to this brilliant but troubled man, I felt a sense of whatever comfort could be felt at that juncture that I was far from the only one who had taken his death so very had. He was like the cool uncle or the older, seasoned, wiser friend whose life was a little bit of a cautionary tale, but one you wanted to emulate within safer bounds. After all of these years, I still think of him often, and in fact spoke of him the other night with the random Greek guy I mentioned in my last post, who was also a major fan. Before Tony, I’d always wanted to come to Vietnam, a place that beckoned me, and after learning it was his favour country on earth, it intrigued me all the more. So, Tony, here I am, on my third journey here to Vietnam, and every time, I understand it a little more when you once said that it’s a place that “grabs you and doesn’t let you go.” And deep within my soul, I understand exactly what you meant when you said that it’s a place that you keep coming back to “because you have to.” Travel indeed isn’t always pretty, it’s hardened me, it’s left me more restless, but it’s also something I’ve always done. Thank you for teaching me how fortunate I am for that, Tony, and for inspiring generations to see beyond their little world… if only through your words and shows that we so dearly miss, but not so much as the man himself.
Comment
Share
Leave a Reply