Snowy day in CO. Cozy, inside, plenty of time to write. Taking a trip back in time today…
The Museum of Broken Relationships is dedicated to objects. Objects as symbols of love lost, and hearts broken.
What reminds you of your former lovers?
I visited this museum in Zagreb, Croatia, four years ago. It was on the list of tourist activities at the hostel, and at the moment, I wasn’t too far from the end of my own college relationship. And so, with such things on the mind, one dreary Zagreb December morning, my traveling companion and I set off to visit this strange little museum.
It turned out to be one of the more powerful experiences of my young life.
As the Coronavirus crisis was mounting in the US, we were in Southeastern Utah, near Moab, rock climbing the impressive desert towers that dot the area.
My climbing partner was a Swedish woman, Anna, a full-time climber who lived on the road. A “dirtbag”, we say in the climbing community. Without a permanent home, remote desert was about the most socially-distanced she could be.
I had a home; but amidst the mounting anxiety, I’ll admit: I wanted to escape. Lockdowns had not yet begun in the USA. But I read the news everyday. Italy closed. France closed. That omnipresent graph, always growing. It was coming.
Last month I took a short trip to Europe to see my buddy Shawn. After three years living in Budapest, Shawn’s finally moving on. But he wanted one last little European hurrah, so we planned a climbing trip.
But not to Spain or Italy or Greece or any of the other world-class Euro climbing destination. Nope. Shawn chose Bosnia.
When I travel internationally, I like to send postcards. I have quite a long list of contacts now, many in the USA, some abroad. Every person on my list means something to me; the postcards serve as a way to let them know that no matter where I was, what I was doing, they were on my mind.